#gate solved questions

[void-botanist]

uh well. the au that I am currently calling "Sharran AU" has blossomed far beyond my goofy wip au and I'm basically rewriting act 2 of bg3 as we speak. I'm giving myself everything that I want

[prokopetz]

I think a big part of the reason that efforts to redefine a "metroidvania" as any exploration driven semi-open-world game with ability-gated progression tend to implode is that they're not acknowledging the precision platforming side of the equation. A world navigated via precision platforming creates a very specific set of opportunities and constraints regarding the kinds of ability-gating a game can implement, and those opportunities and constraints are where a lot of the metroidvania "feel" comes from.

Like, there's a reason that "are the 3D Legend of Zelda games metroidvanias?" is treated as a controversial question, and then Psuedoregalia comes along and practically nobody questions its status as a metroidvania in spite of the fact that its actual gameplay resembles Super Mario 64 more than anything: Pseudoreglia is a precision platformer, and thus has the kind of ability-gating that metroidvanias – as conventionally described – have.

I suspect it's possible to construct a continuum of ability-gating paradigms in semi-open-world games with a pure focus on precision platforming on one end, and a pure focus on environmental puzzle-solving via the interactions of novel "gadgets" on the other end, but I'm not sure what you'd actually call those extremes; certainly, most conventional metroidvanias sit more toward the former end, and most "Zelda-likes" sit more toward the latter end, but pure examples of either pole are thin on the ground.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | riley poole x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - having a girlfriend who can decode secret messages comes in handy when you're a treasure hunter; and having a clingy, needy treasure hunter boyfriend can be annoying when you're trying to decode something, but you find a way to compromise.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT (18+ only, and honestly who under 18 is watching this 20 year old movie about the declaration of independence? regardless, minors go away), established relationship, free use kink, touch of dumbification kink, FLIP PHONES (oh the noughties nostalgia), a totally unnecessary plot because everyone deserves a dose of colonial american history with their filth, riley and reader being nerdlove goals

(honestly can't believe I actually wrote this but now that I did I'm like hold up... is this my new obsession??)

When Ben answered the door obviously not ready, and obviously surprised by Riley’s presence, it didn’t take a genius to put together that he’d forgotten about tonight— which Riley had sort of seen coming, with how many times this one thing had been put off or rescheduled at the last minute.  One of the downsides of being a treasure hunter?  Your coworkers tend to be somewhat… unreliable.

“Riley— what are you doing here?” Ben wondered.

“Warm greeting as always…” Riley sighed before answering the question: “I'm here to pick you up.”

Ben gave Riley an even more confused look.

“For dinner,” Riley added flatly.  “At Talerico’s.  To meet my—”

“To meet your new girlfriend, oh god,” Ben realized, “was that tonight?”

“No, it's tomorrow, I'm just picking you up twenty-four hours in advance,” Riley replied snarkily.

“I'm sorry, Riley,” Ben sighed, “I really— I do wanna meet her, Abigail did too— but I completely forgot— can we move this to another night?”

“Ben, we've moved this so many times that she's not even a new girlfriend anymore,” Riley sighed.

“I know, I know, but we can't tonight— Abigail just went out,” Ben justified.

“Where'd the missus go?”

“The library, she's trying to help me with something.”

“A clue?  It's another clue, isn't it,” Riley realized, not trying very hard to hide his excitement.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Ben explained.  “Come in, I’ll show you.”

After walking into Ben’s house and upstairs to the study, Riley wrinkled his brow when Ben handed him the coded message.  “Well, that’s just a whole bunch of letters,” Riley noticed.

“Astute as always, Riley,” Ben frowned.  “We found them in a journal that belonged to James Madison.”

“Why would James Madison write down a bunch of random letters in his journal?”

“No— each letter was underlined in a different entry.  And, at the back, we found this,” Ben continued, showing Riley a scanned parchment.

“GABE FADECCE,” Riley read aloud, changing his mind a few times about the pronunciation.  “It’s a name, right?”

“It must be,” Ben shrugged, “but we’ve been searching online for any evidence of a Fadecce family or a Gabriel that worked for or with Madison, and we haven’t found anyone.  That’s what Abigail went to the library for.”

“It sounds Italian, could he be Italian?” Riley wondered as Ben set down the images with a sigh.

“I don’t know— possibly, but we’re at a dead end at this point,” Ben replied.  “I’m sure we’d have a lot more to work with if we could decipher those letters from the journal entries, but we were up all night trying to figure it out—”

“Not what I’d be up all night doing with my girlfriend, but okay,” Riley interjected.

“And I haven’t gotten anywhere with it,” Ben concluded.

“Wait— you can't solve it?” Riley challenged with a smug grin.  “The Ben Gates can't solve a clue?”

“It's not that I can't, it's just that a code like this requires a lot of time,” Ben explained.  “I'm a historian, not a cryptographer.”

“We need a codebreaker,” Riley nodded thoughtfully, “somebody who can decode something this complex, and knows enough about the Founding Fathers to have some context for the message...”  He tapped on his chin like he was really thinking about it, before proudly smiling and tilting his head in faux-realization.  “Hey, how about a former intelligence agent who specialized in decryption, with a master's in world history and beautiful eyes that you can get lost in for hours?”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Riley.  “Yes, that would be great— give or take the eyes thing— but where are you gonna find one of those?”

“At Talerico’s,” Riley announced, “waiting at a table for four.”

“Your girlfriend is a cryptographer?” Ben realized with wide eyes.

“I told you you'd like her,” Riley beamed.

~

Riley was engrossed in his game, furiously clicking the mouse and clacking at the keyboard before mumbling a curse of defeat and pulling the headset off; sighing, he turned around and looked over the back of the couch at you.

He'd only started playing the game because you weren't giving him attention, so it made sense that as soon as he died, he'd go back to bugging you.  “Hey,” he greeted plainly, smiling yet clearly fighting the urge to pout.

You were laying on your stomach on the bed, half-dressed, looking at the pages Ben had given you and scribbling notes on a pad.  “Hey,” you returned flatly after a pause, adjusting your reading glasses before taking a few more notes.

“You look cute doing that,” he hummed.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

You frowned a little in concentration but didn't look away from your papers.  “I like to think I'm always thinking…”

“No wonder you're so cute all the time then,” he cooed, leaning in closer and resting his chin in his hands.

He waited for a moment for you to keep the conversation going, but sighed when you simply continued working on the cipher without paying him any mind.

Getting off the couch with a sigh, he hopped onto the bed and laid beside you, making the mattress bounce a few times.  He kept looking at you for a little while, eventually reaching out and rubbing your back for a moment, before sliding himself even closer to you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.

Even with ninety-five percent of your attention on the puzzle in front of you, you could still tell what sort of mood Riley was getting himself into.  “Well, there is one thing that makes you stop thinking…” he recalled in a purr, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and giving you a teasing trail of kisses there.

You sighed a little and shrugged him away.  “Riley, I need to focus.”

“Baaabe,” he pouted.  “I can't help it, you're just so— how am I supposed to resist you like this?”

“I'm literally just laying here,” you noticed.

“You know what you do to me in those bifocals, sweetheart.”

You snorted and finally looked back at him, admiring the puppy dog eyes he was giving you— they almost always worked on you, and he knew it.  Sighing in relent, you looked back at the pages in front of you.  “I need to get this done, I promised your friend I would finish it in twenty-four hours,” you explained, “but you can go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” he repeated, confused.

“You can just use me, while I work,” you offered flippantly, hardly noticing the way his face turned red.

“R-right… I can just, um… use you.  That's— okay, sure,” he coughed nervously.

“Just be quick,” you insisted.

“Yeah, that's a challenge,” he scoffed, shuffling on the bed to straddle your legs and run his hands over your back.  “I, uh, like when you wear my shirts,” he informed you, as if feeling his erection press against your ass wasn’t enough of a clue.

“Just get on with it, please?” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah— sorry…” he mumbled, moving his hands down to your panties which he traced slowly.  “These are cute,” he noticed aloud anyways, and you sighed a bit to yourself as you realized how futile it was to try to keep him from talking.  You were just going to have to tune him out to get this done.

His fingers shakily hooked into the elastic and pulled your panties down, a low hum echoing in his chest as he looked at you.  Grabbing handfuls of your ass and kneading them gently, he mumbled something to himself that you weren’t really paying attention to— until he got your attention suddenly with a quick slap.  “Hey!” you yelped, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed through a grin, “couldn’t help myself.  I-I won’t distract you anymore, okay?  Just, you know, keep working…”

You did just that, of course, re-ordering the papers in your hand to look at the scanned back page again.

He went on mumbling to himself as he shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs to free his cock: “juuuust keep working,” he breathed.

He spit into his hand quickly and smeared it on himself, before nudging in between your legs and pressing himself to your opening.

Admittedly, you did react slightly when he pushed inside you— a wince from the stretch of it, especially without much preparation— but you managed to keep quiet and focus on your work again.  “God, so tight,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips slightly as he slid deeper.  “You're too good to me, baby…”

He pushed as deep as he could go, which was honestly a bit further than you expected at this angle, and leaned over you slightly as he started to move.

“You feel so good,” he praised through a heavy breath, not taking very long to savor the moment before picking up speed.  You knew if you reacted too strongly to what he was doing, he'd notice instantly and start trying to pull you away from your work; so, you did your best to focus on the problem, even if you found yourself gripping the pages a bit tighter.

Even if your attention was straight ahead, you almost wished you could see him now— but then again, you had a pretty good idea of what you would see if you looked back: his mouth parted slightly with sighs of pleasure, a subtle pink flush across his face, his eyes going a little glassy as they drifted over you.  In fact, you could sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially at those times that his fingers traced your back and hips.

Realizing something suddenly about the cipher in front of you, you put your pen between your teeth and pulled the cap off, biting down on it slightly to hold it in place so you could keep writing on the paper your other hand held.  “Fuck, you're so hot,” Riley groaned, starting to thrust a bit more urgently.  Resisting the urge to smile to yourself too much, you kept taking your notes and didn't especially pay attention to him behind you, even when his occasional whimpers started to grow louder.

For the most part, you were able to keep your focus.  It wasn’t that Riley was especially easy to ignore— certainly not with him going just a bit faster with every thrust— but you were finally on a roll with this puzzle; maybe you would’ve already solved it if it weren’t for your boyfriend, even if he was a welcome distraction.

He panted with each movement, holding on tighter to your hips.  “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning down after a moment to rest his forehead on your shoulder.  Normally, you would have to stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, but you were too engrossed in your work; and it was a good thing, too, because if you’d done that he almost certainly would’ve grabbed the papers and tossed them away, impatiently demanding for you finish that later and let him finish now.

Instead, it seemed like the pace and intensity of both your decryption and his movements grew together: your writing was hurried while his thrusts were faster and harder suddenly, until you could hear skin hitting skin, his groans muffled slightly as they came out through his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking your pen away from the paper abruptly and looking at your work.

“Yeah, you like that?” he encouraged in a rough voice.

“Oh my god, I solved it,” you announced, hardly noticing how he'd misunderstood your exclamation.

That seemed to break him out of his focus for a moment, and he stopped moving as he leaned down over you, resting his chin on your shoulder to read the page you were holding.  “At the place of eighty-five pleas, remove the Crucifiction keys,” he read aloud from the paper— once he managed to navigate your disorganized notes.

“It's a polyalphabetic substitution cipher,” you explained excitedly.  “Once I realized the key word was his wife’s name it was relatively simple— aside from having to reverse engineer some Vignere tables—”

“But what does it mean?” he wondered.  “What even is a Crucifiction key?  Please don’t tell me Ben’s gonna rob some nuns.”

“This was Madison’s journal,” you recalled, “and he co-wrote the Federalist papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay— eighty-five pleas— but Hamilton wrote the majority in his home.  I think we need to go to his estate, and see if they still have any of the instruments he owned.”

“Instruments?” 

“The Crucifiction keys, that threw me off too,” you admitted, “but Hamilton was a pretty accomplished pianist— but he would’ve played the colonial precursor to the piano, the fortepiano, which was created by an Italian inventor named Cristofori.  Cristo as in Christ, obviously, and fori meaning ‘holes’.  The Crucifiction!  The keys are piano keys!”

“But who’s Gabe Fadecce?” he pressed.

“It’s not a name,” you answered, “it’s a song.  G, A, B, E, F…” you hummed each note as best you could recall.  “If we start at the first key in the bass and take out the first G, A, and so on up the scales, I’m guessing there will be another clue beneath them, or on the back or something.”

“You're amazing,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek proudly.

“I'll call Ben,” you decided, reaching to pick up your phone from nearby on the bed and flip it open; you hadn't even opened your contacts yet before Riley wrapped his hand around yours and— gently— pulled it away and closed it.

“I'll call Ben,” he offered, “later.”

You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you, though there was something softer and darker about his gaze as it fell slowly to your lips.

“You and I have unfinished business first,” he continued softly before kissing you with more patience than you expected from him after all that…

When he pulled away, you reached up to take off your glasses, but he clicked his tongue as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

“No no no, leave those on,” he encouraged.  You grinned before he kissed you again, his weight sinking into your back as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.  You moaned softly into the kiss when he started moving again; it was a relaxed pace, but with him draped over you like this, he seemed to go so much deeper.

When he pulled away, you found yourself leaning towards him for more— but he just smirked at you and propped himself upright again, starting to move faster behind you.

“Look back at me,” he requested in a softer voice, and when you turned to look over your shoulder at him behind you, you found him biting his lip at the sight.  “Oh god,” he choked on a groan, meeting your gaze before shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.  “Fuck, is it weird that you ignoring me kinda turned me on?”

You laughed a little, and shook your head.  “No, that's fine… I can go back to it, if you want—”

“No, please— I still like you better like this,” he insisted.  “I like how responsive you are.”

He ran his hand up your back and you shivered, rocking your hips up slightly as he ran his fingers over your hair before taking a hold of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, something beautifully dark to his voice, “like that.”

He began to fuck you hard— not fast, but intense and deep and just the right amount of impatient— and you didn't even try to hold back the loud whine of pleasure that jumped from your chest.  “Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god, yes…”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged, watching with half-lidded eyes at the way you moved under him, your body naturally starting to rock back towards his.  “Tell me how that feels.”

“Good,” you panted.

“But not good enough to distract you from your work, huh?” he challenged.

“Well, to be fair, nothing feels better than cracking a code,” you giggled.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, putting his hands on either side of you on the bed so he could lean down and kiss your neck, only to bite it a second later— not too hard, but a little harder than just playful.  You felt him smile when you yelped softly.  “You’re trying to piss me off, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged a little bit.

He sat back up and pulled out of you unexpectedly, but thankfully explained himself before you would’ve likely let out a pathetic whine that he would’ve held against you.  “Turn over,” he instructed, “and take that shirt off.”

You flipped onto your back with a smile; “I thought you liked how I look in your shirts,” you reminded him as he helped you pull it over your head and toss it aside.

“Yeah, but I like how you look without them even more,” he explained, running his hands along your sides before surprising you as he suddenly bent down to swirl his tongue around a hardening nipple.

“Fuck,” you gasped, grabbing onto his hair as he moved to the other, first with his eyes shut and then opening them to look up at you as your back arched.

“You’re so pretty,” he praised as his lips traveled to your neck; he yanked you closer by your hips, making you laugh slightly with surprise as you slid across the bed, though it turned into a moan when he thrust into you again in one go.

This time, he didn’t hold back at all: rough, needy, hungry.  You moaned louder than you planned to, grabbing onto his shoulders through his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted out through a thin laugh, “but I can’t slow down now— not after you drove me crazy like that.  God, baby, you’re so fucking wet—”

You choked on the back of your own throat; you couldn’t help it, you just loved the way he said that.

“— this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, 

“You like when I use you, huh?” he taunted, and you bit your lip before nodding.  “That’s pretty kinky, you know.  Is that all you wanna be?  A fucktoy?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Want me to just fuck you whenever I feel like it, whatever you’re doing?” he continued.

“Yes,” you admitted in a hiss, head dropping back onto the bed.

“You're really trying to spoil me,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your neck in between words.  “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart— I might end up fucking you five times a day.  At least.”

You moaned lowly, feeling your muscles seize up on him briefly, making him laugh in the most condescending-yet-sexy way.

“Oh, fuck— you want that!” he realized, and his voice dropped to a low growl again as he thrusted even faster, teeth teasing your pulse.  “You can never get enough, can you?”

Not that you ever really thought your response to that was going to be especially coherent… but the way you cried out totally gave yourself away; how had he made you so desperate so fast?!

“Oh, poor baby,” he offered pityingly, only to fuck you even faster until you whined pathetically.  “You don’t wanna think, huh?  Just wanna be my hole.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped, “fuck…”

“You’re too fucking perfect, you know that?” he praised.  “The only thing sexier than fucking you while you use that gorgeous brain of yours, is fucking you until you can’t.”

Your moan was sort of trapped in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it down; you wished you had the wherewithal to hold it back better, but you weren’t really used to him talking like this.  Normally he would just go on tangents of praise and begging (as needed), and even though it wasn’t your first glimpse of his more dominant side, this all felt a bit different.  Even the way he was looking at you seemed different— a sort of pride in his eyes, pride in his own ability to turn you into a wet and whimpering mess.

“So fucking good,” he cooed, “you’re so good, baby— my good, dumb little fucktoy.”

“G-god,” you choked, holding on tighter to the sheets under you, trying to hold yourself together.

“You’d better come fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he warned with a sigh— which would be a much more credible threat if he’d ever left you hanging.  But no, those times Riley’s stamina hadn’t taken you all the way, he was more than happy to put his mouth on you and let it do the rest of the work.

This time, though, all he needed was a thumb drawing rough circles on your clit to help you along.  You hadn’t even noticed how sensitive it had become, not until your back arched and a needy whine jumped from your chest.  “Oh fuck, Riley, I’m close,” you yelped.

“Yeah?” he whined— actually, he repeated it a few times as he watched you get closer to your peak, but it was all falling on deaf ears as your moans got louder and louder.

“Yes!” you cried out, shaking under him; even with his weight pressing you down into the bed, it began to feel like you were floating somehow.  It was one of those orgasms that left you a little numb, with little jolts of raw pleasure that were almost too much— but your only defense was holding tighter onto him, inside and out.

“O-oh god,” he choked weakly, the movement of his thumb slowing but his hips going faster than ever.  “Fuck, fuck!”

He stopped all at once, burying himself in one last stroke as deep as he could reach, moaning lowly against the crook of your neck as he went mostly limp atop you.

After catching your breath for a few moments, you hummed softly in contentment and he carefully lifted himself up just to fall back down beside you on the bed.  He looked at you with heavy eyes but a huge smile; “You wear me out, you know that?” he breathed, reaching up to move some hair stuck to your face.

“You distract me from my work, you know that?” you countered.

“Hey, you got it done,” he defended.  “We’ll let Ben know as soon as I… you know, remember how to exist.  And use cell phones.”

“And maybe after a shower…” you suggested.  As soon as you saw the sparkle in Riley’s eye you added: “Separately.  I’ll pass out before we can make it to dinner tonight if we just end up fucking again.”

“I mean, they’ve been putting off dinner for months— why can’t we blow them off for once?” he suggested with a smirk, moving closer to you on the bed.

“I thought I’d worn you out,” you remembered with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into him.

“You did,” he sighed against your neck, “I’m just… easily re-inspired.”

~

It was a good thing this place was mostly empty, since this was technically somewhat sensitive information, but you figured anyone who overheard wouldn’t know enough about the conversation to glean anything too significant.  You found yourself rubbing your hands together under the table anxious as you watched Ben across from you, holding your work, and waited for his response.

“This is incredible,” Ben smiled as he read your decryption, making both you and Riley smile back with pride.  “A polyalphabetic substitution cipher, I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, any idiot would’ve known that,” Riley joked flatly.

“Where’d you find this girl?” Ben asked him, and you glanced at your boyfriend to find a little flush on his cheeks.

“You know, the technical answer is that we met at a panel lecture proposing that certain ‘random’—” he accentuated the word with a sarcastic tone and air-quotes— “radio frequencies detected by military technology might be messages from extraterrestrials—”

Ben rolled his eyes even at the passing mention of one of Riley’s more absurd conspiracy theories.

“But,” Riley continued, “I have a theory that she was actually created in a lab, specifically for me, by a team of scientists with the inexplicable goal of making me happy.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggled nervously, shoving Riley on the shoulder but failing to stop him from giving you a kiss on your heated cheek.

“That line working on you really is a testament to the fact that you’re made for each other,” Ben offered, and you decided to ignore the backhanded element of the compliment because of your sense that there was something very genuine about it.

“Look who’s here,” Riley pointed towards the front door of the restaurant, over Ben’s shoulder, causing the latter to turn in his seat and look back.  “Abigail, over here!”

She waved when she saw you, quickly approaching the table and taking her seat as she apologized for being tardy; “This is Dr. Abigail Chase,” Ben introduced her with a proud smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” she gently scolded him (maybe everything she said sounded that nice with her accent, though), but she beamed as she grabbed your extended hand to shake it.  “It’s so nice to meet you, finally— I’ve heard so much from Riley.  He’s been bragging about you so much these past few months, I feel like I already know you!”

“Apparently he met her attending some panel about secret alien messages from space,” Ben told her with a smile and a yeah, I know, it’s crazy look in his eyes.

“Attending?” Riley repeated with a scoff.  “We were both speakers!”

Abigail was a little better at hiding any judgmental instinct; “How perfect,” she announced sweetly.

“She’s a real whiz with decryption though— look at this,” Ben instructed, handing the (condensed) page of your notes over to Abigail, who took it and tilted her head as she read to herself.  

“Wow,” she sighed, “you made quick work of it: Hamilton’s fortepiano?  That must be in a museum somewhere.”

“It’s still in his home in New York,” you replied quickly, “we already looked into it.”

“Did you help her at all with the solve?” Ben asked Riley suddenly, who turned to you with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes.  

“Uh,” he stalled before clearing his throat nervously, but never looking away from you— “y-yeah, I helped… in my own way.”

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: A for Aphrodisiac

Summary: On a quest to save your little brother, you and your fated companion Dream of the Endless, run into a small problem in Aphrodite's Temple.

Notes: ~2.2k words, GUYS! I finally wrote a fic that wasn't below 500 or above 5,000 words, it just doesn't need any random side characters... or a definitive plot.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiac (duh), porn without plot, unprotected sex (get tested yearly guys), P in V, no foreplay just straight fucking, Dream is a red flag but he's my red flag. I am willing to die on that hill.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

B for Breeding

“A temple of Aphrodite?” You question as you walk through the marbled entrance. The overwhelming smell of roses fills your senses and the honks of swans disappear as you cross into the building.

Morpheus follows closely behind. The drizzle of rain seemingly bounces off his coat and hair leaving him dry like the Sahara. On the other hand, you, the poor human with no otherworldly affiliations, were soaked to the bone. Your light jacket and sundress stuck to your skin until it became itchy and you quickly take off your jacket to dry easier in the momentary shelter. 

You miss the way Morpheus stares at your exposed shoulders and legs. His eyes run up and down your body, to the way the dress sticks to you like a second skin.

“Aphrodite loved Ares, unlike her vowed husband. But such is the game of gods.” Morpheus explains and peels his eyes away from you. 

You lean on a large pillar that supports a large brazier, one of many others. The heat helps you warm up and the shivers slowly leave your body as it dries your clothes. 

“So, Ares is… here?” You say without much confidence.

When the fates set you out on this quest to find your brother, you hadn’t even packed your lunch yet. They just threw you to the wind and then gave you Morpheus as a guide. As for him, it was so “He could get out of the house more” as his older sister has explained it to you. 

So, here you were, soaked in summer rain and sharing conversation with Dream of the Endless on a quest to find your kidnapped brother - all of which happened since this morning. The everything bagel and cream cheese you had for breakfast sat uncomfortably in your stomach, the same stomach that was screaming at you to eat something as your journey had left you to skip the midday meal. 

“Ares is behind this gate created by Aphrodite,” Dream sighs as if he were spelling out the obvious. “Yes, it is a possibility.”

You simply roll your eyes. For someone who is almost infinitely older than you, he certainly didn’t act like it. Feeling warmer and dry you started exploring the temple, running your fingers across the divots in the carved stone much like the climbing ivy that decorated the walls. 

At the end of the temple stood a magnificent statue of Aphrodite herself, wrapped in cloth and her hair flowing in the wind. Beneath her pedestal, you could make out a rectangular outline made out of large roses. 

“Hey! The door!” You exclaim in excitement. As much as you hate to admit it, Morpheus was right. He usually was right but you’d rather keep that comment to yourself, in case the ego inflates any more of his head and he drifts off. Which, would unfortunately leave you on your own to solve these puzzles. 

Morpheus appears behind you, peering over your shoulder at the door. 

“Seems like a hidden mechanism. It would be wise to not touc-”

You press your palm onto the center of the door and it gives away to the pressure of it. 

“You fool!” Morpheus seethes out and you tense. 

It seems like a trap, now that you think about it. With bated breath you wait, slowly inching yourself closer to Morpheus in hopes that the King of Dreams may be able to protect you if something were to go wrong. 

Yet, nothing. 

The door slides back into place, the sound of marble against marble scraping against each other in the otherwise completely quiet sanctuary. The quiet atmosphere stays peaceful for a few seconds but ends when a yelp escapes you when the roses suddenly go into full bloom, the petals giving a “floosh” right in your face, its sweet pollen dusting both of your bodies. You stare wide-eyed at it waiting for anything else to happen. When nothing did, you let out a sigh of relief and turn to Dream with a smile. 

“See, nothing to worry about.” You shrug with your palms facing upwards. The two of you stare back as a golden engraving appears on the door. 

“One from two, enter together.” You read out loud while trying to dust off the shimmering pollen, sneezing when some enter your nose instead. 

Great, a riddle but nothing comes to your mind as you think. Morpheus glares at you still and his eyes drift down to the palm that touched the door. 

“Your hand is glowing,” He states. 

You look down at your open palm and panic. The skin is bright pink and as Morpheus has stated, glowing. You scream at your hand and shake it aggressively. When the glowing still doesn’t reside you scream again and face the palm towards Morpheus’ face and shake it aggressively to grab his attention. 

“Enough,” He commands and grabs your wrist. The grip is stern but it doesn’t hurt and the warmth of his skin calms you down. 

It is now that you realize that the skin doesn’t actually hurt. There’s no burning sensation or pins or needles, nothing. Morpheus takes a closer look at your hand and you can feel the exhale of his breath fanning your palm. It tickles and you try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t relent. 

“What? Do you see something?” You ask, your other hand is clenched in on itself as a way of grounding yourself. 

Morpheus doesn’t entertain you with an answer and instead brings his face closer. A sound that you didn’t know you could produce comes out from your throat as you feel the warm, slick feeling of his tongue on your palm. 

“Wha..mm” Your words fall short and he licks again and a whimper leaves your lips. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he inhales deeply.

He brings your hand to his cheek and leans into it. When you release your hand and he lets you, you see that your glowing mark has smeared to his cheek. You come in closer, nervous about marking the Endless but he stops you again. He peers at you, all silver gone from his eyes and instead blown pupils pull you deep into their voids. 

His hands find themselves around your waist and you place your hands on his chest to stop him from invading any more of your space. It doesn’t and he advances still. His brooding act doesn’t help with voicing whatever he could possibly be thinking. 

“Hey, what’s gotten into you,” You release a moan at the end when he presses his nose to the junction of your neck. The hot breath released from his mouth had your lower regions start to grow hot and slick. 

When his tongue licks the length of your neck, your fingers grasp desperately at the lapels of his jacket, holding on tight as your knee buckle beneath you. Morpheus smelled like grass after a summer thunderstorm and he stood sturdy like an old oak tree. 

You whisper his name and his grip tightens more, bruising and unforgiving. 

He groans into your neck. “Aphrodisiac.” 

Of course, Aphrodisiac, named after the goddess Aphrodite, the very goddess you are trying to please and solve her riddle. The thought crosses your mind momentarily but it is quickly cut short by Morpheus’ continued administration. The pink stain spreads further on Morpheus, anywhere and everywhere you touch him. Your cheek was pink as well, where he touched yours and markings of his tongue glowed pink as he continued his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. 

“Oh, gods,” You moan into his hair as he dives deeper towards your chest. Your body is turning hot and you can’t tell if it’s just the aphrodisiac or the way he is touching you. Perhaps it’s neither, perhaps it’s both. Either way, you can’t stop the sounds that escape your lips. 

He presses forward and you step back until your back hits the pedestal and Morpheus’ large frame follows, trapping you between a rock and a harder place. You can feel his erection pressing against your stomach, hot and heavy and begging to be released. 

With restraint, Morpheus pulls back and pants into your neck. Your own breath was ragged, your tongue felt heavy when you speak. 

“Please,” You whisper, your hands travel down his chest, pink smearing along his black shirt, and cup his erection. 

He looks at you now, eyes peering into your soul asking you if you really did want this. You nod, not trusting your voice for a second time. 

“Say it,” He commands again, his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it,” He whispers in a plea. 

You tip your head up and respond with the strength you have left. “Yes,” You murmur against his lips, barely brushing yours with his own. 

He seals the deal with a kiss and hands once again go to your waist. He grabs you, hoisting you up and your legs immediately wrap themselves around his lean torso. You impatiently grind your heat into his as he dips his hands below your dress line and moves your undergarments to the side. 

It was rushed, it was sloppy and it was nowhere near romantic, yet you’ve never felt so much excitement. No one was near but the peering gaze of the daunting Aphrodite statue made you feel exposed. Morpheus doesn’t bother to warm you up for him and the heat of his cock presses against your cunt. He pushes forward and it stings. Tears swell in your eyes at the intrusion, his cock splitting you open as he sets a rhythmic pace. 

“Forgive me, forgive me,” He chants into your ear but the words fly in one ear and out the other. The pleasure the Dream Lord was giving you more important and present in your mind. 

Your hand reaches into his hair and grabs onto his roots. A groan sings from his throat and you can’t help it when your lips connect to his Adam’s apple. You leave bruising kisses along his neck and continuously feel the vibrations of his moans, each one low and gritty. 

Morpheus felt like he was about to lose his mind if he didn’t quickly finish the two of you off. His body felt like it was on fire and his head pounded in his skull with ideologies of fucking you until you were nothing but a pile of pleasure. When your nails grip his shoulders, he welcomes the pain and bites down on your collarbone to suppress his wanton moans. 

You were too sweet for him, a type of innocence that he didn’t want to taint. Tears well up in his eyes as he realizes that he did it without him even knowing. The aphrodisiac completely consumes the two of you. He loved it, the feeling of your legs wrapped around his waist, your grip on his hair, your moans filling the space and echoing around the temple, but were not his to take. 

“More, more, more,” You moan, head thrown back towards the ceiling and he couldn’t deny you the pleasure.

His thrusts become ferocious, slamming into you harder and harder until you were just a babbling mess in front of him. Your words range from his name to curses to simple pleas. The contractions of your cunt spasming around him make him falter for a moment but he presses on. When your orgasm reaches you, your scream is muffled by his open mouth kiss. His thrusts turn sloppy and uneven before he finishes as well and you feel the way his cock pulses within you. His semen drips out of your spent hole and mixes with your release on the polished marble floor. 

Your body deflates as the orgasm finishes and you’re left panting and leaning on Morpheus as your thighs tremble around his waist. The door behind you opens with an ungodly scrapping sound and you look behind you. Lust was still evident in your eyes but you were pulled back to the real world again. 

The aphrodisiac wore off and a blush rose high into your cheeks. You push against Morpheus’ chest not wanting to be in his space, asking him to put you down, but quickly realize that it was a bad idea when your knees buckle and you start to fall. 

Morpheus grabs onto you to steady you and you murmur a thanks, too embarrassed to look at him in the eyes. The aphrodisiac has made you look at Morpheus in a different light, but there were more important matters at hand. You take one steady breath and readjust your underwear and dress, Morpheus releases his grip on your arms as you go to turn towards the open door. 

Beyond the door is nothing but darkness with a slight wind blowing out towards you and the smell of metal and leather comes into your nose. Before you can go, Morpheus’ fingers wrap around your arm again. 

“Should we… talk about it?” He asks in that low voice of his. 

You look back at him, somehow finding the confidence to look at him in the eyes. You find that they are full of adoration and passion that it turns your eyes downwards again. You’ve heard the rumors of what it means to be the lover to Dream of the Endless. It is rainbows and butterflies, the world at the edge of your fingertips, but one wrong move, and you are cast away like you were less than nothing. You think of Nada, Queen of the First People, who is still condemned to Hell for declining his promise to make her queen of the Dreaming. 

It’s too much, you have your brother to save, and there is no room to talk about love. 

“Later,” You say instead. You still need his help and if the promise of ‘later’ keeps him around long enough until the end of your quest, then so be it. 

“Very well. Later,” He repeats then follows you into the realm of Ares.

B for Breeding

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Want to be added to my tag list for my future fics? Comment, send me a message, or a DM and I'll add you!

This is going to be a 26 part series, all porn, no plot hehe ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)

Until the next fic,

♡ Yours, Layla

[urfavlarry]

Just saw that you take SBG requests! If possible could you do a Tyler oneshot where the reader starts out as Barron’s gf (it’s not going well bc he’s a jerk). Maybe Tyler helping her out of that relationship and just fluff of him being there for her. Bonus points if reader’s in the group!

Tyler Hernández x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, toxic relationship, manipulation

genre: angst(??) but mostly fluff

A/N: hope this doesn’t look rushed lmao I tried my best :,)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’ve been dating Barron for a few months now, you wanted to give him a chance, thinking he would be different towards someone he actually loved, or so you thought he did. It started off as a normal relationship, he was sweet, took you out on dates, but now you realize that was just a trick so he could wrap you around his finger. You tried leaving several times, but you learned from your mistakes and didn’t think it was worth the bruises you would get. You. just had to pull through! Right?

You met Ashlyn and the other after you started dating Barron. They were really hesitant to let you in the group, thinking you were just trying to lure Logan into doing things for Barron like before, but they quickly relized you weren’t the type of person to do those types of things. You were complete opposites; he was manipulative, mean, and just a total jerk, while you were kind, truthful and calm unlike Barrons short temper. Everyone in the group was questioning how you even managed to be in a relatiomship with such an idiot but you brushed off the comments and told them he was different in private, which was a lie. Well if they asked this a few months back it wouldn’t have been a lie, but I guess people like Barron fairly change quickly. It was a few weeks after you started hanging out with the group that your situation with Barron worsened. To say that he was upset you were hanging out with the group that literally BEAT UP him and his little minions was an understatement. He would start beating you, yelling at you; “Oh so I’m not enough for you you fucking whore?” “You think you can just run off and think they will solve your problems for you?” But right after he would put up this kind facade, hugging you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and playing with your hair; “I’m sorry love, you know I get angry.. it’s just that..” Just endless excuses that you fell for, so you stayed.

The group quickly noticed your bruised figure; “Oh I’m fine, I was playing with my brother and fell!” or “I bumped into the side of a table this morning because I was in a hurry!” Everyone seemed to believe you except Tyler. He eyes you the whole lunch break, even during class. You glance at him every now and then and your mind starts to race; “What if he knows?” You think to yourself and look at Barron who like always wasn’t paying attention at all and would ask for you to do his work for him. You roll your eyes and decide this class doesn’t deserve your attention so you lay your head down on your desk and drift off.

The sound of the bells jolts you awake and you groan, gathering your stuff and go to leave the classroom. You feel a hand on your shoulder; “Leave me al—” “Come meet me after school, i’ll be waiting in front of the gates.” You hear from behind you and recognize the voice as Tylers. You nod and leave the class immediately, praying Barron didn’t see your little interaction.

The day went by dreadfully slow and you counted down the minutes when the last bell finally rang. The hallways were crowded with angsty teens and pick me whores who couldn’t wait to get drunk on a Friday night. You push your way through the mob of people and go to the gate where Tyler said he would be. You see Barron and his minions in the crowd of people and you sprint towards Tyler, grabbing him by the wrist and pull him towards the nearby coffee shop you had near your school. After you believe your put of sight you slow down, walking in silence. “Um, you can let go now?” Tyler says, pointing to his wrist. “Oh yeah, right.. sorry.” You look away, putting your hands in your hoodies pocket. Tyler raised a brow, it was mid May and it was getting hot out, every girl at school was either in tank tops, shorts, or dresses. He pushes the thoughts aside and opens the coffee shops door, letting you in first. You sit down in one of the more secluded spots in the shop and place your bag down.

“Soo.. whats up?” You ask, ordering a refreshing drink. Tyler just looks at you, eyes furrowed and arms crossed over his chest. “I know what you told us today was just a load of bull.” He says in a stern voice, having a “if you lie to me I’ll personally jump over this table and smack you” face.

“What do you mean? Are you implying anything?” You smile innocently, fiddling with your fingers under the table. He raised a brow, and hums; “Maybe I am.” He says and stays quiet after thar, staring you down, making you shift in your seat. You clear your throat and finish your drink, standing up; “Well if you don’t wanna discuss anything, i’ll be leaving—” You get cut off by getting tugged back by your wrist. You sigh and turn around, looking down at the ground not wanting to meet his harsh stare. He sighs and lifts your chin to look up at him, his gaze softening just a bit. “Wha—” He pulls you into a hug and you freeze, the new form of affection taking you by suprise. You hesitantly hug him back, feeling a bit awkward hugging him in a coffee shop but you pushed the thought away. He grabs your wrist and pulls you from the coffee shop; “I know that relationship between you and the hijo de puta isn’t healthy hermosa.” He says letting go of your wrist, looking away from you and kicking rocks he had in his way. You sigh, contemplating if you should say anything, the things that Barron had told you haunting you everywhere you went. “I don’t know what your talking about.” You say and Tyler rolls his eyes; “Yeah right, you got that bruised cheek and eye from chasing your cousins riiight yep that explains it!” He says sarcastically and crosses his arms over his chest; “Really Y/N let me or the others help you, we aren’t blind, the others just didn’t wanna be pushy and force you to say anthing.” He says as you both walk to the park, only a few minutes away from the coffee shop.

He sits you down on the bench and towers over you, glaring right at you. “Come on we just wanna help, well at least I do, come on cariño, let me help you.” He says and sits down next to you. You look at him in disbelief, maybe you could finally get out of Barrons torturous grasp? But what if he would keep bothering you? What if he hurts your friends? Your eyes water and you hug Tyler, sobbing into his shoulder; “I’m scared Ty, I really am.” You choke on your sobs, shaking uncontrollably while Tyler rubs your back soothingly. “Aw Y/N don’t cry hermosa.. it’ll be fine.. I promise.” He says, cupping your cheeks and wipes away your tears. You smile softly, finally calming down from your little nervous breakdown. “Thanks Ty..” He nods in acknowledgment and puts an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder and talk with him for what feels like hours, explaining your situation with Barron and how he has been treating you. Tyler listens, only commenting a few times since he didn’t wanna interrupt you and make you feel like he doesn’t care. Oh he did care, more than you could imagine. He’s been a bit overprotective of you since you joined the group, always protecting you from bullies you didn’t even know you had because Tyler always kept their mouths shut.

The next day you texted Barron to meet you at the school gate, which he did. “Hey babe whats up?” He smirks and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You give him a disgusted look and shake him off, stepping away and try to keep your distance from him. Tyler was watching the whole scene unfold, promising you that if things got out of hand that he would intervene. “Barron I think we should—” He cuts you off and glares at you; “Oh so that’s what this is about? We already talked about this you fucking bi—” While he was rambling, you didn’t even notice Tyler walking up to him and punching him right in the nose, an awful cracking sound being heard seconds later. “She said what she said estúpido, now leave her alone.” Tyler holds your hand in his, pulling you away from the now bleeding boy. Barron knew better then to mess with Tyler so he just cursed under his breath, leaving you alone. You walk into the boys bathroom that people rarely went to since people thought it was “haunted” and he grabs you by the shoulders looking at you with a worried expression.

“Y/N are you okay?” He asks, concern evident in his voice. You look up at him and pull him into a hug, having the biggest smile on your face. You mumble like a hundred thank you’s, and pull away from the hug. “Thank you so much Tyler, you don’t know how much you helped me.” You say and kiss his cheek. “I know this won’t make up for the problems I causes you but—” You get cut off by soft lips on yours, leaving you stunned. You close your eyes and kiss back, wrapping your arms around his neck while his arms travel down to your waist. Your lips move in sync, like you were just made for each other and pulled apart for breath. Tyler smiles down at you and kisses your forehead and smirks; “I’ll need a few more of these~” He leans down to kiss you again, a finger on his lips stopping him. “First of all, take me out on a date.” You smile innocently and head to your class, leaving Tyler to plan your date for the rest of the day.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[samsno1]

Honesty

Sam Winchester x Reader

lmao, i'm sorry. this is kind of an au where instead of sam getting the trials...you do! haha......might make a second part to this but i'll see how it'll do. also, in this there isn't the stupid "sam doesn't look for dean in purgatory" because the writers were fucked up when they wrote that, respectfully (or not)

Summary: You finally have a chance to close the Gates of Hell, forever, but everything comes with a cost, the question is, are you willing to pay for it?

Warnings: ANGST, love confessions, sad sammy, kisses, reader sees bobby as a father figure, reader is shorter than Sam, NOT PROOF-READ, english is not my first language

WC: 3.7k

You can learn how to change Y/N for your actual name here

enjoy!

As you lie there, soaked in hellhound's blood, panting after a fight against the creature, the glasses you wore to be able to see it dirty and obstructing your view, Sam and Dean stare at you, frozen and horrified.

You knew they would try and talk you out of doing the trials, especially after Dean's words to both you and Sam before he went on to almost get killed by the hellhound. Of course you two had followed him, even if Dean explicitly said not to, and you ended up under the dog, his disgusting breath fanning on your face as he barked above you, trying to rip your neck off. You knifed it and it quite literally exploded over you, bathing you in his gooey substance.

Now, all of you were in a room, Dean pacing back and forth while Sam just stood with his head down. You had your arms crossed, your eyes accompanied Dean's movements. He was restless, probably angry and desperately trying to find a way to counter this.

“We can find another hellhound,” He argues “I kill it then it's all solved”

“Dean, Crowley will be even more on our asses over this, he will not let his dogs out of the leash” You say, calmly, trying to counter Dean's protectiveness in the lightest way possible. “I can do them”

After you said that Dean stopped pacing around and both him and Sam looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed, almost as if you had just admitted to an unforgivable crime. The crime in the case was wanting to protect the brothers from these crazy trials. You knew how death followed them around like a plague and you couldn't handle losing them.

“No, Y/N, you're not doing these trials” Sam speaks up, a tinge of anger in his tone. Anger, worry. He looked at you, his hair casting a shadow over his face because of the poor lightning in the environment. “You could die”

“Well, too bad Sam” You said and the boys shared that look, a silent conversation between both of them, something that pissed you off in these moments because you had the right to know what they were plotting. “Look, I know you two feel like you have some responsibility over me, this…instinct to protect me ever since Bobby…” You trailed off, the memory of the man you considered to be your father still too heavy on you. Sam frowned and Dean changed his position, on edge. You cleared your throat, the sudden lump bothering you. “But I can protect myself, I can fight my own battles and, honestly? If we do close the gates of hell for good, which battles will be there to fight?” You say with a faint smile.

You look between both of them. They seemed deep in thought. Too deep and that worried you. You slowly walked towards Sam and when he took notice he stiffened up, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly, his eyes taking in your rather dirty appearance. But still beautiful, he mentally stated.

Sam always thought you were the most incredible woman he ever met, invincible even, nothing could ever put you down and you could make everything work your way with your amazing mind and skills. And, obviously, your killer looks always managed to stun him every time, everywhere.

He was used to seeing you in any type of clothing, from suits and dresses to sweats and shirts with corny sayings written in the front, which you argued were comfortable. And you always looked absolutely gorgeous wearing anything. Sam used to think he just admired you, the looks from afar were just friendly appreciation, his yearn to be around you was just a protective instinct, the goosebumps on his skin when you’d touch him were just a natural reaction…

Until it wasn’t just. It was. And that was horrifying.

And it got worse when both you and him spent the last year alone looking for Dean and Cas. Spending so much time beside you made Sam realize what he truly felt towards you and he was scared. Scared to say anything and scared to lose you. So, when you killed that hellhound, his heart fell to his stomach because he knew you would want to do the trials. 

And when you stretched your hand to him, looking directly in his eyes, that determined gaze of yours slicing through his soul, he knew you would do anything to go along with this.

“Sam, give me the spell” You said firmly, not a request, a demand. He swallowed again, still speechless, still frozen, his fist tightening around the small paper which contained the words in enochian you were supposed to recite for the trials to start. You emphasize your demand by widening your eyes angrily and doing ‘come here’ motions with your stretched hand. “Sam”

“Y/N-”

“Dean.” You interrupt, anger seeping into your tone, making Dean shut his mouth into a thin line and a huff of air come out of his nose, just like a child would do when it was refused candy before dinner. He thought he’d seen you like this before, determined, practically unstoppable but boy was he wrong. You were more than insistent and that rang an alarm in Dean’s head. You knew that the one responsible for the trials could die and you were willingly going with it.

“Dean, can you give us a moment” Sam speaks up again and you quirk an eyebrow at him, looking between him and his brother. Sam looks at Dean, his pleading eyes and subtle nod giving enough information for Dean to get the message across. If there is one thing that can make you understand is honesty.

Dean slowly walks out of the room, giving you one last look that said clearly that you needed to listen with an open heart and mind to anything Sam would say. When he closed the door behind him, Sam’s eyes were already on you, trained on your features and you shifted your weight on your feet, his stare intimidating.

“So?” You said, trying to keep your ground. Sam sighed and lowered his head, considering all his options in the situation, he could tell you everything and be either rejected or accepted, he could lie to you, give you the wrong spell and work his way out like he always did and still keep you safe. Honesty. The word echoed in his mind like a chant.

He pushed himself off the table he was leaning on, crossing with you and going towards the bed to sit down. Your whole body accompanied his movements, his long strides making the distance between the table and the bed shorter than it actually was.

Once sat he looked at you and then at the spot beside him on the bed, silently asking you to sit with him and you caved, obliging to him. Your feet were light on the floor, quiet, accustomed to being silent while being a hunter, as you walked to the bed. The hardness of the cushion was not too much of a bother but still kept you grounded. Don’t let your guard down.

After making yourself as comfortable as possible, sitting criss-crossed, you turned towards Sam who was with both his feet on the floor, staring at his hands drying his sweat on his jeans. You waited for him to travel inside his own mind, finding the words, the phrases, the honesty. 

Honesty. Honesty. Honesty.

You swam in your own thoughts, especially those in which Sam was included. And those were the few thousands of reasons you wanted to be the one doing the trials, not him, not Dean. In your time alone, Sam had opened up to you about his want to live a normal life, away from apocalypses, monsters, gods…White picket fence, the whole nine. Dean had wanted that too, hell maybe he wouldn’t let go completely of the hunting but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with demons on his ass, never ever again. You didn’t see yourself getting out.

You grew up in this, much like the boys, but to you was different. You liked it. The adrenaline was like a drug pumping through your veins everytime you killed an abomination and, honestly, family wasn’t your strongest trait. All those whom you considered family were cremated – just because…we don’t usually bury hunters, so you can’t say they are six-feet under. Your love life was most definitely inexistent, you didn’t have time for falling in love with anyone.

Until. You did.

Until you fell. And hard. Face first in a bag of nails because you knew it would be trouble falling in love with Sam Winchester. You were both unlucky when it came to that feeling, always losing, always sacrificing, always in a battle. But how could you not? He was a gentleman in full, kind, sweet, caring and at the same time deadly – no pun intended. He would protect those he cared for with his life, his sense of protection his greatest quality. He was so selfless sometimes it made you mad. You had told him once ‘Be selfish, just this one time!’ and even so he couldn’t. It wasn’t his nature.

Sam wanted out of this and you wouldn’t let him abandon that dream because of you. You weren’t worth his life, you told him once after following a lead on how to open the doors to Purgatory and pull Cas and Dean out that almost got both of you killed. You were crying as you drove him to the hospital, the blood on your hands staining the steering wheel.

He was pale, his hand weekly pressing over the wound on his stomach, his breathing shallow. When you told him that, he trained his tired eyes on your face and in a rough and tired voice told you to shut up. Shut it, jerk. And fainted.

At the hospital you stayed hours by his bed every day. The doctors had told you he would be okay, that thankfully no vital organs were damaged and when he woke up you hugged him tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck desperately trying to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. His hands soothed you, rubbing your back up and down. You won’t get rid of me that easily, he had said and you laughed.

Ever since then you swore to yourself that you would guarantee that Sam wouldn’t put himself in danger for you anymore and you were not breaking that promise.

“Do you remember the night we met?” Sam spoke and you turned your eyes to his face, his hair shining against the yellow light and worry lines between his eyebrows.

“John had left you at Bobby’s and when I came back from school you scared the shit out of me. I had my gun in hand and everything until Bobby popped up, desperately trying to explain” You said, smiling at the memory. You were all so young back then, Sam was still shorter than you – which didn’t last long – and you had lost your parents a few months back.

“Ever since that night I knew you would be…something in the long run” You gave him a puzzled look and he laughed lightly at your face, his dimples appearing on his cheeks. “I knew you would turn out to be strong, brave and I knew you would end up being one of the most important people to me”

You smiled stupidly at that, your face heating up. You didn’t know what to say to him, your eyes drifting to your fingers over your lap because you couldn't keep his strong gaze. Sam sighed and considered his options, he could either hide his feelings for longer or be honest. Honesty, honesty. The word echoed through his mind like a mantra.

Sam reached his hand to wrap over one of yours, making your eyes shift from your hands to his face again. Physical touch wasn't uncommon between the both of you. Sleeping in the same bed when motels were full, sleeping on each other's shoulders, – more you than Sam given the height difference – hugs, cheek kisses, cuddling while watching movies. But something about this hand hold felt more intimate, like a wave of emotions were being poured over you like cold water. Sam squeezed your hand.

“I can't lose you” Sam said, his voice low because he knew that if he spoke any louder he could break.

“Sam–”

“Y/N. Please.” He begs, even if he doesn't know what he's begging for. Please, let me talk. Please, don't do the trials. Please, love me like I love you. “I can't lose you”

He repeats and you feel like you just got punched in the guts or like a knife went through your chest. He sounded so raw. Those four words meaning more than any poetry you've ever laid eyes upon. You squeeze his hand to ground yourself.

“Can't or won't?” You ask, voice weak.

“Both” He answers. “Both because I won't let you do this and can't because if I lose you I won't know how to keep going.”

You shake your head no, closing your eyes for a brief moment, your memories together flooding in again. His smile tattooed in your brain, his laugh playing over and over like a broken vinyl. You needed to do this.

“If I do this then that means you can finally have a life, a wife, kids…I can't let you lose this.” You say, tears welling up in your eyes. “And I need to do this for you, for Dean, for Charlie…Losing me is just a consequence for the greater good”

Now it's Sam who shakes his head, low breathy no's coming out of his mouth. He looks up at you, eyes watery and those stupid puppy dog eyes staring right into your soul, crushing your heart to pieces.

“You don't get it” He says “When I look into the future I can't imagine–” He takes a breath, considering whether to tell you or not. Fuck it. “I can't imagine it without you. The house, the kids running around, the dog…they're ours.” He stops for a moment, waiting to see if you caught what he meant but you just looked at him, wide beautiful eyes full of confusion.

“Sam what are you–”

“And you're the wife. My wife.” He says and he can see the realization come into your face, slowly. The way your jaw drops slightly, your shoulders tense and your hand squeezes his even harder. Sam swallows but now he can't back away. “So I can't let you do this because if you do it and die I won't be able to keep going because I love you, Y/N. I love you and even if you don't reciprocate I won't stop loving you. You're the first thing I think when I wake up and the last thing I think about once I fall asleep.” He keeps going, almost out of breath once he finishes, avoiding your eyes, avoiding rejection. “So, please, don't”

Don't do this, don't reject me, don't run.

“Sam, look at me” You say, one hand slowly grasping his cheek, your thumb drying a tear that he didn't know had fallen. Once he looked at you he saw you smiling. Smiling with teary eyes. “I love you, too”

You practically whispered and a feeling rushed into Sam's body. Like someone had shot him up with adrenaline and suddenly he was aware of everything around him, your warm hand on his cheek, your hand under his, the white noise of the animals outside. And his own heartbeat.

He closed the distance between the both of you, his lips finally touching yours in desperation. Pure and raw desperation. His hand went up your arm to your neck, gently pulling you more into him and yours slipped to tangle into his hair, running the soft locks through your fingers.

The kiss felt electric and it burned. Burned you from the inside out with the wave of a thousand emotions. Your head went back to those moments with Sam. Your mind was just completely him.

And it was the same for the Winchester.

He already had thoughts consisting mostly of you but now he felt in heaven, like in finally connected with whom he mostly desired, both physically and emotionally. His other hand slipped around your waist to pull yourself over him as he laid down on the bed.

You followed and slightly smiled into the kiss. Until you grounded yourself. Sam wouldn't let you do the trials, not now that you had confessed, not now that he knew you loved him too. So you had to take matters into your own hands.

As Sam laid you over him, you straddled his hips, the kiss continuing into an unexplained hunger and lust for each other. You sensually dragged your hand down his chest, earning a soft gasp out of him, both his hands tangling in your hair, messing up your curls.

Your hand that slid down his body discreetly went into his pocket, feeling for the paper with the spell written on it. You mentally apologized over and over to Sam, your mouth opening to let his tongue in to explore it, butterflies flying around in your stomach. He was gentle, caring but yet hungry and you could feel it.

I'm sorry. 

You pulled away breathless, the paper clutched in your hand and Sam looked at you through hooded eyes, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths and a confused frown on his face.

“I'm sorry Sammy” You said as you got off the bed and started to quickly pronounce the words in enochian, your hands trembling around the paper. Sam widened his eyes once he realized what you'd done, patting his pocket in reflex, knowing you had taken it out of there, and stubbled off the bed.

“Y/N, no, please!” He yelled but it was too late. Once you said the last word an almost unbearable pain cursed through your whole body, knocking you to your knees, a loud groan of pain leaving your throat.

Sam kneeled beside you with a hand on your back, mumbling curses and apologies to you but you couldn't hear him, the pain so strong it made your ears ring. You felt a burn, like you had injected lava into your veins, opening your eyes to see your arms shining. Everything was spinning and the only thing guaranteeing you that you were still alive was Sam's warm touch over your back.

After seconds of excruciating pain you felt it going down and saw your arms returning to their normal tone. You collapsed into Sam's arms and he made sure to hold you tightly, still mumbling apologies with his eyes glossy with tears.

“Why did you do this?” He repeated, over and over. He didn't know if he wanted to kill you or hug you so he decided for the latter. He hugged your frame, pressing your head against his chest with a trembling hand and giving light kisses over it.

His other hand pressed your back against him, making your whole body stay in contact with his. His knees hurt on the hard ground but nothing compared to the pain he felt in his heart. He felt helpless.

You opened your eyes to look up at him, a faint smile on your face. You lifted a hand up to his cheek and took a very good look at the handsome man you loved. He was crying but he always looked beautiful, no matter how.

At your touch he closed his eyes, guilt spreading through his body. He touched his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes until you spoke up.

“I did this because I love you” You said and he opened his mouth to protest. You gave him a look, saying you weren’t done. “I love you too much to see you die and I know you can keep going if I die, you are one of the strongest men I know. You’re smart, you’re brave and you went through so much that I can’t let you give it up because of me. And you know I would never, ever, let you take responsibility over this and I don’t want you to blame yourself, this was my choice”

“I can’t– I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry I got you into this, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you–” You stopped him with a kiss and he sighed sadly, his hands wrapping around you tighter as if you would disappear at any second. You felt horrible but at the same time relieved. Relieved that if anything happened, Sam would live.

“Don’t say that” You whisper against his lips. “Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault. This is on me.” You say as you pull slowly away to look into his eyes, the mix of colors hypnotizing you. You felt like you could see every ounce of his soul through those eyes and it was filled with sadness.

Sam was angry, not at you, at himself. The moment he saw the hellhound die above you, bathing you in its blood he knew it was over, that you wouldn’t back away but still he blamed himself. If I were quicker. If I were smarter. The words ran around in his brain. When he looked at you he saw yet another one of those he loved dead. Another corpse that hung over his shoulder.

“We can do this, I can do this. I’m strong enough” You said. Sam knew you were strong but this was beyond you. This was God and Demons and Heaven and Hell. This was biblical and nothing like the things you faced before. He was scared.

“I know you are but what if I’m not?” He asks and you wait for him to continue. “What if I’m not strong enough to let you go if it comes to it?”

“You’ll have to be. If not for yourself, for me. Keep going for me” You reply with a soft look and a slight smile that made Sam choke on a sob and smash his lips against yours.

This kiss was filled with different emotions. Sadness, grief and guilt were poured into it but yet so much love. So, so much.

You didn’t get a verbal answer from Sam but you got plenty of information from the kiss. I’ll try, for you.

And that was enough.

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading, Xoxo.

[woundedoves]

teacher al haitham & kaveh x bottom gn!student reader

tags: teacher student sex, semi public, car sex (kinda)

a/n: sorry for the sloppy format this is literally a word vomit bc i got so horny… erm!

MDNI!

your teacher Al haitham who’s just a little bit too touchy with you, a bit too attentive, his gaze lingers a bit too long than acceptable, who thinks about bending you over and rutting into you slowly while he makes you solve the exam questions a little too much.

he stops you as you reach the gates of your school, says that he forgot to give you your project back to get your irritating friends away so he can have you all to himself. you agree naively and tell your friends to not wait for you as you follow your teacher to his car; are you doing that on purpose? being so gullible, so blind to see how he looks at you?

he’s thankful that he was able to find such a secluded place, only one other car is parked a few slots away. you help him open the trunk of his car and look up at him with confusion; your voice gets caught in your throat as you let out a small gasp when he grasps the hem of your bottoms with one hand and bends you over with another. you flail your arms but its no use, those muscles aren’t for show it turns out.

“be good for me and I’ll make you feel good in return.” he breathes out as you hear his belt being undone, pants unzipping and jumping a bit when his erection hits your plush ass; making him hiss. you want to fight back, say you don’t want this, say that you’ll tell everyone what he did and yet you know that’s not what you want to do. it’s not a coincidence that you look the most ‘cute’ when your english teacher Al haitham has a lecture that day. no coincidence how you basically eye fuck the man while he’s writing something on the board that you don’t care about, you only want to feel those muscles flex and hear him groan while he fucks into you; you feel your ego shoot up as he murmurs about how cute your tight little hole looks just for him.

you whine pathetically as you wiggle your ass subtly as you can, which earns a hiss from him a throb from your own sex. you hide your face in your arms as his hands roam around and squeeze your hips; your voice comes out soft and muffled when you do speak. “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be a good student, sir.” you smirk when you feel his cock throb against your ass and shiver when you feel his finger that’s coated in his own spit slowly enter you. he quickly adds in a second finger as you feel your hole burn so good with the stretch; letting out the most whorish moan as his fingers leave your hole and you feel his tip enter.

you hear him groan as he finally bottoms out, letting out a whimper of your own as he immediately starts bouncing your ass on his cock. you feel your hole tighten with every thrust, his hips slamming into you so fucking harsh it has your legs shaking and moaning his name between shaky breaths. you whine as you feel him slow down, turning your head back to look at him only to see your art teacher Kaveh approaching. panic bubbles in your chest as your eyes widen but Al haitham looks ver nonchalant, as if he was expecting Kaveh…?

“a parking lot al haitham? couldn’t you at least get them inside the car first?” he sighs as he puts his hands on his waist, al haitham doesn’t change his expression one bit as he speaks so nonchalantly: “will whining be more pleasure than cumming down their throat for you? if so be my guest.” kaveh rolls his eyes as he undoes his own belt, “yeah yeah shut up and let me sit on the trunk already.” you think you hear a hmph as al haitham, arm snakes around your tummy and he pulls your upper body up; kaveh now sitting on the trunk where your head was, his cock already out and semi-hard. you know you should say something but fuck kaveh’s cock is so pretty, al haitham’s cock burns so good and you just want to enjoy the fact that you get to fuck the prettiest teachers in your school, okay?

you lick your lips as al haitham releases his hold on your tummy and his hands find your hips again; watching as you stroke the base of kaveh’s cock and enveloping it with your mouth in one go. you hear kaveh whine as he feels you moan around his cock while al haitham starts his brutal pace again. soft whines, grunts and slick sounds of skin against skin are heard as you feel your hole tighten around al haitham’s dick while your nails are digging into kaveh’s thighs as you suck his pretty cock dry. you feel kaveh’s hands on either side of your head to keep it in place as he starts thrusting into your mouth.

your eyes roll back as kaveh breathlessly moans about how warm your mouth and how tight your throat is while you feel al haitham’s pre cum coat your insides as he takes your wrists and pulls them onto your back; steadying himself with one hand as he holds onto them and getting even deeper into your hole, making you feel every inch of that fuckin’ cock that you just knew was big.

“fuck— im gonna cum, im gonna cum down your throat, okay?” you whine around kaveh’s cock as you feel al haitham’s thrusts getting sloppier, his breathing uneven and his nails digging into your wrists.

your whole body goes still and you can feel tears streaming down your face as you finally cum together with both of them; kaveh cumming down your throat with a loud groan as al haitham gives you a few quick thrusts and cums inside, sucking in a breath when he feels your hole tighten around his dick.

kaveh pulls out his cock out of your mouth as he gently holds your face to kiss you, which makes you gasp softly that derails into a whine as al haitham slowly pulls out. they aren’t even done with you yet.

[letmesleeponu4sumtime]

Illuminance

When I first started collecting photo books, I remember texting my friend, “How do you even read photo books? Like, what are you supposed to do?” It sounds like a silly question, but I was genuinely perplexed. I’m paraphrasing here, but she essentially told me, “Just read them—sit with the images.”

I was. I was sitting with the images, flipping through the three photo books I owned a dozen or so times, frustrated that I couldn’t seem to absorb them like the girls on Tumblr. I’d flip through them so quickly, feeling nothing, like I was missing something. It felt like there was a secret that others knew—something only the pretentious could understand. Yet, I kept buying photo book after photo book, searching for that “ah-ha” moment.

It eventually came to me, but it wasn’t an “ah-ha” moment, not even a moment. It felt more like a subconscious awareness, like a steeping teabag. Imagine that: a rich awareness, steeping slowly, until it becomes over-brewed. This realization came to me through Rinko Kawauchi’s Utatane (うたたね). I remember sitting on the floor of my living room, flipping through the book, my eyes soft with awe. How could someone take such perfect images? It was as if she photographed with her eyes. I was so engrossed in this book that it felt like it had words. I wasn’t trying to understand anything—I was just experiencing it. There I was, on the floor, my bones aching against the hardwood, lost in the imagery.

Sometimes our minds are so gated that even the simplest form of freedom feels like the harshest torture. I had been looking for a guide, a step-by-step way to achieve this…illuminance. In reflection, I realize I tend to do this a lot—searching for instructions in situations that don’t need them. When something as simple as looking through a photo book feels like solving advanced math, I read it as sign that my sacral chakra, among other things, is unbalanced.

Now, for me, the art of photo booking has become an important ritual in my life. I don’t always, but lately, I’ll light some incense—Japanese cypress from MUJI—and head to a space with natural, low lighting. Dim evening light is my preference, or the glow of my hanging paper lamp from IKEA. I’ll prepare some tea—Hojicha is perfect, though sometimes I’ll have matcha or another green tea. Snacking is wonderful too. For some reason, I associate sweet potatoes and delicate desserts with photo books. Ambient music is always a good companion. Then, I start flipping. I usually keep a pen and notebook nearby for any emerging thoughts—my black Moleskine and 21_21 Lamy pen.

Let this serve not as a guide or a “how-to” but rather as a reflection on a fleeting thought of mine. Perhaps also as a reminder—however you might need it.

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

[janearts]

Roisia Lydgate: Character Overview

This is really more of a background introduction to her character, but I'm trying to put as much information in one place for future reference or for anyone who wants to get a better idea of her character. Details underneath the cut!

Meta-Knowledge

Roisia is my Source Hunter from Divinity: Original Sin, but I recreated her in Baldur’s Gate 3 as a way to continue her story albeit in a completely different universe. The story and events of DOS have since become part of her backstory, and tweaked to fit the world of Faerûn.

Name Pronunciation

I’m honestly none too fussed about pronunciation. Her name is an 11th century mediaeval name that would later become “Rose” in Middle English. Roisia is probably meant to be pronounced something like /ɹɔɪːsiːɑ/ (Roy-see-ah) based on other name variants found around the same time. Her nicknames, as given to her by her parents, include: Rose, Rosie, petal, pet, rosebud, bud, so on and so forth.

Personality

Roisia is charming, adventurous, with a voracious curiosity, and a deeply analytical mind. She believes that taking care of the dead and providing a voice for the dead is her life’s calling. She was formerly raised to be a Cleric of Kelemvor, but believes that her god has disowned her since she reanimated her father. She now believes herself to be deemed among the Faithless. She’s compassionate to those in need and is willing to break rules (and the law) to help others. While she is generally a law-abiding citizen, she is dogged in pursuing the whims of her curiosity and will likewise do whatever it takes to solve a puzzle, a mystery, or a murder… or simply answer a question that has occurred to her. She is sociable, prefers when everyone gets along, and will try to talk her way into and out of most situations. This includes charming, reasoning, intimidating, and/or deceiving others to get her desired outcome. Ultimately, she finds solace and comfort in the company of animals, the dead, and books. Her favourite animal is the noble spider, and she breeds and raises some species in her spare time.

Spells and Such

I tried as best I could to replicate Roisia’s DOS character. In DOS, she was classed as a Witch. Witchcraft spells in DOS are a mixture of Necromancy spells and Enchantment spells, and I chose my spells in BG3 to imitate the ones that you get in DOS. As a witch in DOS, Roisia also had the ability to talk to animals and summon a spider. (I cheesed this in BG3 with the Find Familiar spell—technically a Conjuration spell—and having her drink a potion after every long rest.) To be more in keeping with her backstory, I gave her a Guild Artisan background and invested skill points in skills like Medicine.

Backstory

Roisia grew up in Eastway of Baldur’s Gate. Her father worked in the Gray Harbor shipyard as a shipwright and her mother was a Mortarch, running the Eastway Cemetery & Lydgate Funeral Service. She was raised to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a Cleric of Kelemvor, and specifically as a Mortarch, from an early age. She assisted her mother in managing the burial customs and rites for the Lower City’s diverse community (from embalming to ritualistic cannibalism to poisonings), comforting grieving family members of the deceased, and tending to the dead buried in the cemetery.

Her life took an unexpected turn when her father drowned during a sea trial. Grieving for her father, Roisia made her first attempt at Necromancy. She unwittingly used a wish spell in the process and reanimated him as a skeleton. Because it was the wish spell, not her first attempt at a necromantic ritual, that bound the soul of her father to his bones, Roisia is determined to master the School of Necromancy and truly resurrect her father.

She is interrupted in her early studies by the appearance of Eustace, who recruited her into the Source Hunters, an organisation dedicated to eradicating dangerous magic users (like… Necromancers). “We need you,” he said. “… and you need us.” Roisia & Eustace (or Roy & Stacey as they became known to each other) investigated the mysterious murder of a town counsellor and uncovered a Necromantic cult in the process. As they adventured together, Roisia began to develop feelings for Eustace, but as their adventure concluded and they returned to the Source Hunter Academy, Eustace did not return those feelings. Dejected, Roisia left the Source Hunters and returned to her home in Baldur’s Gate.

To “cure” herself of her heartbreak, Roisia drew up a list of lifelong goals for herself. They are:

1. A cemetery or plot of land of her own to oversee. 2. “Tenants”/”Residents” (aka The Deceased) to house and tend to on this land. 3. To master Necromancy such that she can extend indefinitely her own life and the lives of her loved ones. 4. One (1) Spouse (*not of the squeamish variety) 5. Children (*ideally 3-5)

Refocused aggressively on her list, Roisia returned to her duties during the day and her studies during the night. She was abducted by the nautiloid one night while she was off to dig up a new test subject.

Playlist

[syn0vial]

i'm seeing people argue over how to interpret astarion's age when he was turned and whether 39 years old is seen as childhood, teenagehood, or young adulthood for elves. some point out that elves don't consider themselves adult nor do they take an adult name until 100 years of age. others point out that astarion claims to have been a magistrate, which is not a job typically associated with youth.

honestly, i think this discrepancy is quite simple to solve with a quick look at the 5e compendium itself (emphasis mine):

Although elves reach physical maturity at about the same age as humans, the elven understanding of adulthood goes beyond physical growth to encompass worldly experience. An elf typically claims adulthood and an adult name around the age of 100 and can live to be 750 years old.

in other words, other races might consider a 39-year old elf an adult, but elves have a different cultural understanding of adulthood (one based more on wordly experience than physical/mental development) and would not. thus, it makes sense that astarion could potentially hold a government job in a racially diverse city like baldur's gate where a good chunk of the population sees him as an adult, while still being belittled by an old-school elf like cazador as a "little boy" and a "brat."

basically: this is not a question with a "right" answer! it just depends which cultural context you're using to answer it

[bharv]

Just thinking about potential paths through the upper city reputation quests in BG3...

That the Baldur's Mouth Gazette running bad press about you doesn't really hit until you get into the upper city, and then it is extremely difficult to gain access anywhere. Guards know your reputation, people won't be seen to do business with you, building reputation is extremely hard and the work arounds mean you have to ally with questionable sources.

Unless!

You can get the remaining Jannath's onside. This reputable house's remaining child is having issues with her husband who you hopefully happened to rescue, and if you can solve them, you get a powerful ally.

You can sort out who is and isn't in the pocket of Gortash in House Ravengard, and restore unity to the household through saving Ulder and reuniting him with his son. This takes a good amount of detective work, as Gortash has been getting his agents into house Ravengard for DECADES. You learn LOADS about Wyll and the family during this quest, including more about Ulder's role in the last Bhaalspawn crisis and the impact of his reform on the city, and his relationship with his own father and his wife.

You get your ally in Ramazith's tower (which is now correctly in the Upper City where it belongs) who blesses you with an aura of charm, which helps.

Cazador is trailing you everywhere, and can also be a way to find favour if you give him Astarion. Failing to do so will mean that his people are also on your tail, until you deal with him. But you can't deal with him until after...

The inauguration ball! An exclusive event for the finest of Baldur's Gate. Gortash has invited you specifically, how wonderful. There's dancing, there's even a bit of time for finding out secrets about Gortash and the Banite cult and even stealing a dance with either your love interest or the man himself. If you agree to ally with him, you're taken to his private quarters in his estate... to avoid the bloodshed. The patriars are massacred in an unholy alliance between steel watchers and vampires... and you realise Astarion is missing. You then have to rescue him before the ritual can take place (which makes more sense for the doors being locked in the Cazador estate...) And if you don't? Cazador will support you in the final fight.

[cotc-terminal]

Clash of the Cubes - Challenge 5

“Welcome back everyone, to the Clash of the Cubes. I’m your host Pulse.”

“And I’m your co-host Step!”

“Now, it’s time for the final challenge before the finale! I know how excited or scared you all may be right now, so without further a do, let’s start the challenge!”

“…”

“Uh… Pulse? The challenge…”

“…Any second now…”

“Wait wha- hang on OH SH—“

As soon as Step realizes his sense of Deja Vu, a trapdoor underneath him opens, dropping Step to who knows where.

“So, for this challenge, I managed to salvage some parts of the ULTIMATE OBSTACLE COURSE OF DEADLY PROPORTIONS, but I quickly came to the conclusion that a single buzzsaw and a truss wouldn’t make for a compelling challenge, so instead, I came up with another one, heheh…"

"In this new challenge, your goal is to get past three gates. These gates are opened by correctly answering questions of increasing difficulty.

“Now, why you may ask? Well, I put our beloved co-host in a cage suspended above a hole with a spike pit! If you don’t get past the gates within one minute, the cage opens, dropping him into the pit!” “Your goal is to save him by getting past the gates and also the Nulls past the last one, and getting them out safely.”

“Oh. And just incase you needed any more motivation… Heheh…”

Pulse turns on a TV, and it shows the cage with Step inside... along with the person closest to the Competitor inside.

“I have invited some… familiar faces to join us for this challenge, heheheh!”

“Now before we start, I gotta mention. Extra points are earned by getting them out as fast as possible. The timer for the points stops as soon as you and Step touch, so you gotta be fast~~”

“Anyways, on your marks, get set, go!”

//OOC; IMPORTANT:

The cage room is the exact room from Challenge 2, and anyone inside can also escape, although the nulls off to the side are kinda numerous and will try to put them back in if they escape

Plus, escaping the cage early doesn’t give the extra points

The gates’ questions are:

What is the powerhouse of the cell?

What is 12 x 2 / 2 x 2 / 2 - 6 + 1?

Solve for x: x^3 - 20x^2 + 121x - 210 = 0

Answers:

Mitochondria

7

10

Your cubes can break through the gates if they cannot solve them

The extra point timer is separate from the cage’s timer, so you can still touch Step and after the cage opened

By the way, show the timer by the end, and please make it be realistic

If you have any more questions feel free to ask

@lumhere @shaidai @orchuris @itzhosya @missmaydae @alionanight @dragongirl2k6 @acn97414 @mahoganystudios830 @pricklythepearcat @blockheadblog @nacora-najita

[autistichalsin]

What are some of Halsin's flaws, in your opinion?

Halsin's flaws, personality and others, major and minor (note that some of these are a bit circumstantial):

-He can't control his baser/animal instincts, which comes out in his wildshape issues. This corresponds with bloodlust in his animal form.

-He isn't suited for Druidic leadership, as shown at the Grove, which led to disastrous consequences.

-By his own admission, he focuses too hard on the tasks important to him and lets other ones fall by the wayside.

-Due to the above, he struggles tremendously with balancing conflicting obligations; he didn't bother much with the Grove when he was trying to solve the Shadow Curse, abandoned the Grove when the player showed up (though of course that was also due to his trauma and hatred of the Archdruid role), and if romanced to Karlach, is one of the only ones who refuses to go to Avernus with her, feeling that he and he alone can start the commune for the children and their needs are greater than hers.

-He has a self-sacrificial view about what being "good" is, and feels that he has to be unhappy if he's helping; he let himself suffer as Archdruid for 100 years rather than find someone else to take the role, and in the ending, he tries to break up with a romanced player to start his commune both because of his possible abandonment issues and because he doesn't see room for his own happiness when he's trying to help people.

-As I just mentioned, he does have abandonment issues to a degree; if the player dumps him in the ending, he says he knows nothing lasts forever. If the player suggests the party go their separate ways immediately after the battle, he says it was always destined to be so, but it stings nonetheless. He is shocked when the player comes to rescue him from Orin if taken.

-While he is an extremely kind and forgiving person, he has limits, and once those have been crossed, he gets very vengeful (I.E. everyone involved in his captivity with the goblins, or saying he'd like to "do the same" to whoever killed and stuffed a young bear for decoration in one shop in Baldur's Gate).

-He misreads social cues fairly often.

-He seems better able to assert his boundaries to strangers than to his friends and loved ones, I.E., not having much of a negative reaction to a Lolthsworn Drow threatening to sell him back into slavery.

-Because nature is his way of understanding the world, he struggles to understand things through any other lens. He has little interest in other things that can't be considered part of either nature or his Druidic duties.

-He takes things very literally at times, I.E. the phrase "you can say that again."

-He doesn't bother trying to hide when he doesn't like someone (I.E. if the player has incredibly low approval with him).

-He can sometimes be insensitive on accident, such as saying "imagine the horrors" when they're in a tadpoling facility, to Wyll in particular, though he does apologize right away when called on it.

-He is slow to true anger, but sometimes quick to annoyance, at least where strangers are concerned. (This is more so the case if they question him).

-He infamously doesn't trust Drow, and while this is justified in the case of Lolth-sworn Drow, he is initially mistrustful of the player if they are a Seldarine Drow too (though later he shows far more trust of Seldarine than Lolth Drow).

-His objections to some of the evil things encountered in the game are their unnaturalness more than their evilness, fitting with the Druidic belief that evil is as much a part of the world as good. He is more upset at how unnatural the tadpoles are than anything, at least at first, and if the Dark Urge shows off the Slayer form in front of him, he says it's "most unnatural. Most foul," and says that it only serves death/murder. (It's how unnatural and unbalanced it is that it bothers him more than the form being a giant monster, basically.)

-He has a huge case of hero worship to the player, which is why he falls in love with them almost immediately after they break the Shadow Curse, and has feelings for them even sooner than that.

-He despises turnips.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

HI!

Child reader takes on the persona of a hardboiled detective to solve a mystery. Her fancy cake is missing, and her best friend is also missing.

-You couldn’t be happier! You just got home from school, you had no homework, and you got to eat your special edition anniversary cake from your favorite bakery that you got the day before with Buddha!

-You opened the fridge, seeing your cake waiting for you and pulled it out, beaming down at it before heading to your bedroom, where your stuffed highland cow, Bartleby, was waiting at the tea table, as you had set him before you left for school.

-The box was opened, and you were ready to dig in when you heard Eve, “Y/N~ will you come here please?” you paused, looking down at the delicious cake before you inhaled deeply and ran out, with hopes that you would be back shortly as you ran to Eve.

-Only ten minutes later you were hurrying back to your room, excitement filling every inch of you as the thought of eating your cake.

-Buddha, who had gotten his own, told you in passing how delicious it was, “I wish we could have gotten more than just the one each we were allowed.”

-You opened your door and instantly your elation turned to distraught, your cake was gone, as was Bartleby, with stuffing where he had been sitting.

-You fell to your knees, anguish filling you, tears welling in your eyes before you inhaled deeply once again, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, standing up, “I won’t cry, Private Eye Y/N is a hard-boiled private in-best-e-gator! And I’m going to solve this case!”

-Moments later you knocked on Jack’s door who answered it, “Hello there Y/N, what can I do for you?” you held out your hand to him, “Can I borrow one of your hats please?” he seemed surprised by your request, but he got you one, handing it to you and you ran off, “Thank you! I’ll bring it back later!”

-He was a bit confused, wondering what you were playing this time. He’s sure he would find out soon enough. Jack was almost back in his chair where he had been reading when another knock, this time more frantic, came to his door. And who he found standing here was even more surprising.

-Back in your room, you put a lollipop in your mouth, looking around the room after putting up pink and blue steamers, with ‘crime scene’, misspelled, across the door, as far up as you could reach, taping off the crime scene.

-You stood there, monologuing out loud, “It had only been a few minutes. Mama Eve needed my help reaching the button that fell under the couch, a button that only my little hands could reach. Nothing else seems to be out of place. Nothing stolen except for my cake, and with Bartleby missing, it’s not just a burglary, but a kidnapping as well! Time’s a ticking to solve this case.”

-Adam, who had been standing there since you started your monologue, was a bit confused, “Y/N, who are you talking to?”

-You turned, pointing at him, “I’m the one asking the questions pal!” he seemed surprised by your words as you paced around, continuing, “My cake has been stolen, and Bartleby is gone too, and based on this stuffing, he’s hurt, meaning whoever took him hurt him in the scuffle.”

-Adam left you to your game, making a mental note to tell the others to not let you watch any more old cop dramas for a while.

-Zeus was the next one to pass by, about ten minutes later, seeing you using tape to make a crude outline of where Bartleby would have fallen, after he got injured, as well as a ‘crime scene board’, crayon drawings of everyone pinned up on a board, “Y/N what are you doing?”

-You turned, pointing at the crime scene tape keeping him out, “I’m in-best-e-gating! Someone hurt and took Bartleby, and they took my special cake!” he just chuckled warmly, before nodding back down the hall, “I saw Buddha walking by a few minutes ago.”

-Your eyes went bright, looking excited before you composed yourself, “Thank you sir, you may go on your way!” before you crawled underneath your crime scene tape and ran off, looking for Buddha.

-You found him only moments later, lounging in his room, in his big chair, with Loki and Brunnhilde in the room as well, enjoying tea together, “Buddha! I’m coming for you!”

-He seemed surprised as you ran in, looking a bit odd, as you were wearing one of Jack’s hats and a lollipop in your mouth. Brunnhilde was quick to halt you, “Y/N don’t run with candy in your mouth. You’ll choke.” You skidded to a stop, offering her a sheepish apology before you turned back to Buddha, a glare on your eyes.

-You paced back and forth before him, “Buddha, you mentioned earlier that the special anniversary cake was delicious. So delicious that you wished that you could have gotten more than one! So delicious that you took my cake when I was helping Mama Eve!”

-You ended your statement, making your accusation, pointing at him. Their eyes were wide as Loki was trying not to laugh, seeing that you were acting like the cop you’ve been watching on TV, with the monologues and all.

-Buddha leaned back, looking amused, looking down as he moved his own lollipop in his mouth, “Oh-ho~ and do you have any proof of this accusation?”

-You faltered, only for a moment, before speaking back, “Zeus said he saw you down by my room a few minutes ago. Why would you need to be down by my room when your room is on the other side of the house? Just admit it that you stole my cake and return Bartleby to me!”

-Buddha let his façade drop, confusion appearing on his face, “Bartleby, your cow?” you nodded, your eyes locked on him, “You hurt Bartleby, I found his stuffing at the crime scene! You took care of him when you took my cake so there would be no witnesses!”

-Loki was turning red, his hands over his mouth as he was hunched over, his ribs hurting as he was trying not to laugh.

-Brunnhilde then spoke up, playing along with you, “I can vouch for Buddha, he came to help me carry something from my room to the living room. You probably saw it, it’s the large empty box from the new dresser I got.”

-You turned, monologuing out loud again, “The dame’s right. I did see that box; it was big and full of the stuffing that people put in boxes with dressers. There’s no way she could have carried that on her own with how wide it was, and her room is past mine.” Brunnhilde’s eye twitched, hearing you call her a dame, as Loki tipped over backwards in his chair, unable to keep his laughter at bay any longer, roaring with laughter.

-Buddha smiled softly, kneeling down before you as you hit a dead end, putting a hand on your shoulder, “I swear to you Y/N, I didn’t take your cake. Remember when we got our cakes yesterday, we pinkie promised to not eat each other’s cake.”

-You looked down at your pinkie finger, remembering that promise well, and pinkie promises are something that can never be broken, “Well if you don’t have Bartleby or my cake, who does?”

-Brunnhilde, wanting to have a talk to the others about not letting you watch any more cop shows, just sighed softly, “Trying starting back at the scene of the crime. Maybe there’s something you missed.”

-You nodded softly before you tipped your hat to them, “Thank you miss, and thank you gentlemen.” Before you ran out of the room. Loki and Buddha were laughing loudly as Brunnhilde seemed exasperated.

-You didn’t make it back to the crime scene, but only a few steps out of the room when something caught your eye, stuffing on the ground, Bartleby’s stuffing.

-You fell to your hands and knees, “This is bad! Bartleby needs medical attention before it’s too late! But where is he?!” you left the stuffing there, returning only minutes later with a piece of folded paper, marking it as another clue.

-Back at your board of suspects, you crossed out several of the pictures using a red crayon, as you went over everyone, marking off who wasn’t home and who had alibies, like Eve, as she was with you.

-Odin was walking by when he stopped, seeing you crossing out Thor’s face, as he wasn’t home, “What are you doing Y/N?”

-You didn’t turn to him, instead answering with another monologue, “My list of suspects was dwindling. Each one seems to have an alibi, either they’re not home, or they have someone else who can vouch for them. Even the usual suspects seem to have clean hands. What am I missing?!” as you said this, your little fist hit against your board, for extra drama.

-Odin wasn’t sure what he was watching, seeing you playing out one of your little games, but it seemed more serious as he heard a snicker, looking down to see Loki recording you, “Someone stole Y/N’s fancy cake and took Bartleby, and Y/N’s on the case!”

-Odin just rolled his eye softly, “Y/N needs to stop watching those cop shows.” Loki just cackled softly, finding it amusing.

-You went down to the kitchen, looking distraught as you crawled onto a barstool, or at least you tried to, and Loki lifted you up before ducking back behind the corner, “Ignore me~” as he continued to film you.

-Apollo, who was getting himself something to drink, looked over at you as you sighed sadly, “Give me a double pal, on the rocks.” Apollo paused, hearing your words, before he couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing you pretending to be the hard-boiled detective you were always watching on TV.

-He slid over an apple juice box to you before pretending to clean a glass, like he was working in a bar, “Rough case?” you had been sipping it, but when he spoke you inhaled it quickly before slamming the empty box down on the counter, “I thought I had my man, but my cake is still missing and Bartleby, poor Bartleby- he’s out there, hurt! And I can’t find any clues leading me to my best buddy.”

-Apollo glanced over at Loki, who was holding his free hand to his mouth, like he was in shock. The sun god gave you a small smile, trying to be sympathetic to you, while also going along with your game, “Have you ruled out all your suspects?”

-You looked up at him, “There’s a few still left, I can’t find Lu Bu- Brunnhilde told me he was here, and I haven’t seen Jack or Zeus since the beginning of the case.”

-He handed you another apple juice, for the road, “Am I still a suspect Y/N?” you looked up at him, turning away from him, being dramatic, “Until I find Bartleby and my cake, I ain’t trusting no one.”

-Apollo fought hard not to laugh, holding his hand to his mouth as he doubled over, even more so when he saw Loki basically in the same situation.

-You wandered back towards your room, trying to think of anything you should have missed as you froze, seeing more fluff on the ground before you, fluff that wasn’t there before, meaning, “Whoever’s got my buddy is on the move!”

-You ran back to the kitchen, having finished your apple juice, throwing the empty box away, before running back to your room, grabbing another ‘evidence card’, marking it as you looked around the area, looking for any more clues.

-When you couldn’t find anything else, you felt the tears welling in your, feeling frustrated that you couldn’t solve this case!

-Loki, remaining back, held a hand over his mouth, trying not to cry, seeing you looking so upset, but he knew that you would get your man, eventually.

-You made it back to your room, rubbing angry tears from your eyes, as you looked at your suspect board, seeing who was left, trying to narrow things down a bit more, muttering to yourself quietly.

-You then froze, thinking about your show, “Of course! It all makes sense now! My cake and Bartleby went missing while I was helping Mama Eve, there was only a small window for the crime to happen. Buddha couldn’t take it because he was helping Brunnhilde move the box, but the one who put me on Buddha’s trail in the first place was none other than…”

-You ran out and Loki ran after you, not wanting to be left on a cliff hanger as you made it to the culprit’s room. You kicked the door, to kick it open before you quickly fell to the ground, whining about how your foot hurt.

-You quickly stood back up and opened the door, just a bit before you kicked it open, “ZEUS!!” the god in question flinched, holding your cake box in his hands, having just taken the last bite of it as his eyes went wide, seeing that you had caught him.

-You glared hard, pointing at him, “You knew that I was looking forward to that cake! You wanted one for yourself, but you weren’t willing to stand in line yesterday with me and Buddha for one, as that was the only way to get one! When you saw my cake alone, while I was helping Mama Eve, you thought it was the perfect crime, it would be easy! And you would have gotten away with it, if you didn’t try to pin the blame on someone else!”

-Zeus looked at Loki, hearing your monologue, “I think we need to stop letting Y/N watch those cop shows.”

-Zeus went to run, easily dodging around your short legs and went to run out when he ran into a solid chest, slamming hard into Buddha, who grinned, holding Zeus up from under his arms, “Not so fast there Zeusy, you need to pay for your crimes!!”

-Moments later everyone was in the living room, Zeus was tied up, pouting that he had been caught, as everyone, who was at home, minus Jack and Lu Bu, came down, seeing that you had caught your man.

-Brunnhilde and Adam both scolded Zeus for stealing from you, while Odin was a bit impressed that you solved the case, as Loki showed them all the video he had taken, at least after you visited him, Brunnhilde, and Buddha, showing your critical thinking skills.

-You were very upset that you wouldn’t be able to eat your anniversary cake, holding the empty box before you inhaled deeply, glaring slightly, “You took my cake, which I can overlook, I can get other cakes. But you hurt Bartleby and he’s still missing, now return my best friend before I make you sleep with the fishes with cement shoes!!”

-Okay it was unanimous, you weren’t going to be allowed to watch your cop show for a while, as Apollo, Buddha, and Loki were dying of laughter.

-Zeus gave you a grin, thinking your words were amusing, “I don’t have your cow, Y/N. All I took was the cake. I may have knocked him over when I was trying to sneak in and out, but I didn’t take him.”

-Your face fell, hearing this as you fell to your hands and knees, looking lost, you were sure that Zeus took Bartleby, so there would be no suspects, hurting him to keep him silent.

-Tears quickly filled your eyes, “But if you don’t have him, who does?! He’s hurt, he’s losing stuffing and without medical attention I’m going to lose my buddy! He’s got a wife and kids, with another on the way!!”

-Many tried not to laugh, knowing it wasn’t that serious, but to you it was, but Loki had his own hand over his mouth, tears welling in his eyes, fully invested in the story. Before you heard footsteps and you turned, seeing Lu Bu and Jack there.

-Your eyes went wide, your heart in your ears, as you saw Bartleby in Lu Bu’s hands, his head in one, and his body in the other. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and many shouted your name as you fell back, fainting.

-Once you were awake, sobbing in Loki’s arms who was crying as well, Eve was stitching your friend up carefully, Lu Bu confessed, “I was passing by your room, and I saw your cow on the ground. I know you get upset when he’s on the ground, so I went to pick him up. I didn’t know my own strength and I accidentally ripped him.”

-Jack, who was holding the sewing kit, nodded softly, “He’s telling the truth Y/N, he came to my room with Bartleby, asking for my help to fix it. I tried my best, but we needed more supplies, so we snuck around, trying to get him fixed before you found out, but in the end, we still needed help.”

-You sniffled softly, holding onto one of Lu Bu’s hands, “It was an accident, so I forgive you.” He seemed happy with your forgiveness, hugging you close before you turned to Eve, “Give it to me straight Doc, how’s my buddy? Will he be okay? Will he ever be able to play the violin again?!”

-More laughter filled the room as Eve couldn’t help but grin over at you, playing along, “It was touch and go there for a while, but he’s going to be just fine.”

-You beamed at her, and as soon as she was finished, she handed you Bartleby, and you hugged him close, “I’m glad to have you back, partner. You get your rest; I’ll be able to handle a few cases on my own.”

-Adam’s hand came down to rest on the top of your head, “Yeah… about that Y/N. You’re not allowed to watch any more of that cop show for a while.”

-You whined, demanding to know the reason, not thinking what you had done was anything wrong, which caused more laughter.

-Eve took Bartleby from you, promising to put him to bed, as Buddha picked you up, holding Zeus’ credit card, “You and I have a date to the bakery, on Zeus’ dime of course.”

-Zeus was yelling, “Hey! You can’t take that!!” Odin clapped a hand down on the Greek god’s shoulder, “They can and will. You took Y/N’s cake, so you can buy some new ones, and for this crime, you’re on dish duty for the rest of the week.”

-Zeus tried to fight this, as he hated dish duty, but everyone was in agreeance as you left with Buddha, looking forward to some new desserts, your reward for solving the case.

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn Into Baldur's Gate 3 - Chapter 3

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 3: You seek healing from Nettie for your injury, and you learn that you've forgotten more than you realize.

Word count: 2.1K

A/N: I can't remember if I mentioned this but I'm keeping the reader as gender neutral as possible!

You’re not sure who’s making a bigger fuss; Auntie Ethel or Tav.  While the old woman fretted over you, even after giving you a healing potion and bandaging up your hand, Tav was distraught.  He darted around you with a pout and furrowed brow, as if moving would solve your problems.  Based on the fact that the arrow went right through your hand only so much could be done.  The potion numbed the pain and increased your healing rate, but it was still a hole in your hand.  Auntie Ethel insisted you go to Nettie, and without giving you a choice Tav lifted you into his arms and ran to the bottom of the grove.  

Any pleas you gave about this being unnecessary went unheard as he came upon the three druids blocking the entrance to the circle.  The fact the wound was already bandaged and, you know, on your hand and didn’t affect your walking at all was also ignored by the burly tiefling.  The mother duck, it seemed, was terribly worried about her injured duckling.

“Stand back!” Jeorna orders, hand held out to stop Tav.  You are barely spared a glance from the bear, and gnome, the latter of which pulls Jeorna aside to whisper in her ear.  When she faces Tav again she says, “Kagha wants to see you, but tread carefully. We’re watching.”

This thankfully slows Tav to a quick walk, making a beeline for the stone door on the far right of the grove.  The engraved stone slowly withdrew into the ground and Tav stepped into the cool dark of the underground cavern.

“I can walk,” you say.

When he only takes a few steps down you grab the collar of his leather armour with your left hand and shake.  “Please let me walk.”

He’s hesitant, but lets you down.  Between the potion and the adrenaline you can barely feel your hand at all, let alone the pain.  

“Please, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

Tav’s worry for you is overtaken by the pleas of a child. Arabella.  You’d forgotten all about her in the sudden rush to get to Nettie—even Lae’zel and Astarion had been left behind.  You move down the steps, ignoring the pungent smell of the earth and stagnant water around you.  You find Kagha and her wretched snake exactly as you would in the game, threatening a child scared of losing the first somewhat safe place she’s had since her city fell into a literal Hell.

“She is a thief, and she will remain locked up until the rite is complete.”  Kagha lowers towards Arabella.  “Be careful child, Teela is restless.”

Arabella cries harder but thankfully doesn’t move, even when the snake hisses at her.

“Thief?” Tav questions.  “What’s the girl's actual crime?”

Kagha’s head whips in his direction.  “Girl?  She’s a parasite.  She eats our food, drinks our water—“

You tune out, eyeing the snake and trying to will Arabella to stay still with your mind.  She’s trembling and flinching with every move the snake makes.  You wish you’d thought to pick up your staff so you could smack that hissing beast over the head.  And Kagha, too.

“I’ll keep her out of trouble,” Tav says.  You breathe a sigh of relief as Kagha agrees.

“Teela, to me,” she orders.  The snake slithers to its master and once it’s at her heels Arabella runs from the cavern.  You watch her go, lips downturned at the sight of her very not pixelated tears.  

While Rath is reprimanded for mentioning Halsin’s name Tav whispers to you to go find Nettie.  You look between him and Kagha, but nod.  The druids don’t seem to mind you walking past them and into one of the back rooms where Nettie waits.  Your pace is slow and as you step into the mud you notice your boots don’t sink into it.  Instead the surface is hard as rock, and you only make an indent in the mud when you purposely jab the toe of your boot into it.  Magic boots, you wonder.  But there’s no time to think it over as you move to the stone room.  

 Nettie is on the right healing a bird, uncaring or not noticing the commotion just a few feet away.  You wonder why she hadn’t stepped in, but maybe the mindflayer parasites were too much a concern to care about tiefling children and the Rite of Thorns.

Nettie’s hands glow with blue energy that flashes onto the bird, and she lets out a stressed sigh.  “It’s up to you, now.”

The druid startles when she notices you from the corner of her eye.  She doesn’t question why you’re there when she spots the bloodied bandage on your hand.  You introduce yourself, unsure of what else to do.  

“Auntie Ethel gave me a potion and bandaged me up,” you tell her.  “I’m not sure what more can be done.”

“I can stop the bleeding, at least.”  Nettie raises her hands and you hold your injured one out to her.  There’s a tingle on your palm as her hands glow blue, like a spider skittering across the hole.  You shiver as the static wraps around your palm, and gulp down your anxiety when Nettie’s hands return to normal.  “How’s that feel?”

You wiggle your fingers, feeling the tightness of a scab on the wound.  “Amazing, thank you.”

“It’s strange,” Nettie says, observing your body with an inquisitive eye, “why didn’t the magic in your coat take effect and protect you?”

You look down at yourself, noting that nothing was torn in the earlier scuffle.  While you’d felt the gravel and rocks dig into you they hadn’t torn the fabric, let alone cut you.  

“I’m not sure,” you admit.  So maybe Gale was observing you because of the magic in your clothes.  “I reached out to stop the arrow, maybe I have to activate it?”

Nettie quirks a brow.  “You don’t know how?”

You hesitate.  “I…don’t remember anything besides my name and a few locations.”

She frowns, nodding at you.  “I’m sorry I can’t help with that.  Halsin probably could, but he’s not here right now.” 

A darkness overcomes her features.  You say, “I heard he was captured by goblins.”

“We’ll get him back in no time!”  Tav’s cheery voice startles you as he appears beside you.

“Messengers and now hired help?” Astarion complains.  “Is there anything you won’t volunteer us for?”

Tav laughs.  “No.”

Astarion and Lae’zel are in the stone entryway, the druids beyond them watching with apprehension.  Lae’zel’s upper lip curls into a sneer.  “We must find the crèche, the teeth-ling has already marked the location of my kin upon the map.  Our time runs short.”

With that the encounter with Nettie is triggered, and Tav takes over.  Watching the familiar scene gives you some comfort.  You already know that Tav will accept the wyvern poison, so there’s no need to worry about Nettie’s potential attack.  

When Nettie leads you all into the back room, the door descending into the earth, you look at the surrounding books.  The smell of stagnant water isn’t as strong here, instead replaced with a gentle scent of old paper and…dead body.  The drow lays on the stone slab by Halsin’s work desk.  

With all the attention on Tav you take a couple quick steps back to peruse the shelves, curious if they have any scrolls in them.  But as you look over the stone tablets and scattered books you realize something that hadn’t occurred until now.

You can’t read them.  The tablets you expected, but the books?  Surely you could—you grab one from the shelf and flip through the pages, unable to discern the swirls and symbols written within.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

“Forget how to read?” Astarion says over your shoulder.  “Or perhaps you just find The Recipes and Ruminations of One Dradeel of Tethyr truly abhorrent.”

You lift your head, finding him much closer than he’d ever been as you could count his eyelashes when he blinks.  You take a step away, flip through a few more pages before looking at him again.  “I can’t read.”

“Really?”  He’s so amused by this, you think.  “I was merely jesting but to think you can’t read…you could read before the parasite, couldn’t you?”

“I have literally no way of knowing,” you say.  When you don’t elaborate and you find him tilting a head at you, you add, “I…only remember my name.  Nothing else.”

“Well, you dress like an aristocrat,” Astarion muses, pacing a circle around you.  He stops close enough that you can feel his warmth through your coat.  You don’t have time to question why a vampire is suddenly so warm when he holds his right hand over your shoulder and reveals your bag dangling from his fingers.  “And you certainly had enough gold on you to live like one.”

You snap the book shut and place it on a random shelf.  “You got it back!”

When you spin around and reach for it he takes a step back, holding a finger up to your face.  “Ah, ah, ah.  What’s in it for me if I return this?  I could just take it and skip off into the sunset to live like a king.”

Is there really that much there?  No matter.  “Please, hand it over.”

“Oh, so polite.  Hm, let’s say this, you can owe me one.”

“Deal.”  You step forward and snatch the bag from him, nearly spilling the contents as you open the latch and peer inside.  Whatever excitement you’d felt before was gone.  “It’s just gold.”

“Never have I seen anyone so disappointed to look upon a fortune.”

You close the top and unbuckle the metal lock on the strap, wrapping it under your coat and over your shoulder.  Locking the buckle quickly the bag is once again secured at your hip.  You tug the strap to ensure it isn’t going to fall, forcing a twinge in your palm.  “I was hoping there would be something that would enlighten me to my identity.”

“Sometimes it’s a blessing to forget,” Astarion says, his eyes distant.  “To be lost.”

Whatever pain you see on his face is quickly wiped away and replaced with a fake grin.  “Don’t expect me to teach you how to read, that seems more like Gale’s thing.”

“Astarion…”  You can’t help but want to reach out to him.  You almost do but instead lift your left hand to rub at the bandage on your other palm.  You can’t look away from his eyes, the sheer lifelessness in them.  There is nothing you want more than to tell him he can escape Cazador, be free either as an ascended vampire or a spawn, but you can’t.  So you say, “We’ll figure it all out.  Everything.”

“Of course,” he agrees.  His eyes narrow on you.  “But remember what I said.”

“You won’t teach me to read.”  You snicker to yourself, holding your injured hand up to hide your smile.

Astarion huffs.  “You owe me.”

“Yes, yes.”  You wave him away, pretending your debt is no big deal.  “I owe you.  But…thank you for getting my bag back.  I know it’s not your thing to help people and you went out of your way to find it.  I appreciate it.  Truly.”

Astarion clears his throat, shifting his shoulders to straighten his posture.  “I merely thought you would be a good person to have in my debt.  Mind you that was before I learned you can’t read.”

His words are a stab in your gut.  Not only did you not know who you are here, you couldn’t even read anything you might find that could help you!  You’d yet to check the bag on your lower back, but the idea of more disappointment kept you from doing just that.  At least, for a bit, you could live with the hope it contained something about yourself.  

The longer you thought like this…the harder reality hit.  A strange new world, no family, no friends, not even Tav really (but it was nice to know you hadn’t been abandoned yet).  And a tadpole in your head.  And a long road to Baldur's Gate fraught with peril.  “I should go grab that staff…and thank Auntie Ethel.”

A deal with a hag was starting to look tempting right about now…

Up top you’re able to get your staff with little interference.  A tiefling guard asked why you were going into the prison but allowed you entry—Sazza ignored you.

When you go to Auntie Ethel and thank her she assures you it’s no bother.  “You’re still looking a might peaky petal.  You’re sure you're feeling all right?”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet.  The disguised hag steps closer, eyeing you with too much interest.  

“You know I might have something that could help you,” she reveals.  “I marked my home on your friend's map, talk to me there.” 

Auntie Ethel leans in.  “I have a feeling I know what’s got you in a tizzy, child.”

You gulp and nod, unable to do anything else.  That old lady facade was dropped in an instant, and you wonder if she knows more about your problems beyond the tadpole. 

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