#had to have my vision drawn professionally

[2a-void]

Look... I can explain... (;● ﹏ ●)

Commission I requested from Cereal on Twitter :)

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the ringing of phones and panicked conversations were replaced by the only the sound of air conditioning (when it worked) and the occasional sneeze or cough. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated—time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than heavily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early—too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become—it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones--professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. He’d even go as far to say you dressed more modestly than most.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional—he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today—black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it—his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong—knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there—so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones—greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences—pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting—he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though; the pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want--what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect--the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing—knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day—but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

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join my taglist here!

[sha-biest]

SHA's Golden Future DTIYS [Art & Writing]

Close ups of Mikey

About 10 days ago I had the idea to host a DTIYS and even though I told myself it wouldn't happen anytime soon.. the idea struck and it wouldn't let me go. SO, here it is! One thing before everything else:

1st place: One handmade custom plushie made by me

More information about this DTIYS down below

I am aware that this is a rather challenging DTIYS but it was done so intentionally by me. (Trust me, I tortured myself too 🙃) HOWEVER. you are allowed to chose to draw only one segment of the whole piece and not every single one! You will however get more points for including all 3 parts of it. I will judge the pieces based on: • How many segments of the whole piece were drawn • Creativity (in what way was it changed from the original to emphasize your own style for example) • Colors (did you chose to use colors or is it black and white?) • Hands. I do accept written entries for this as well! I love reading and I don't want to exclude writers for this one should they decide they want to tackle this! You are allowed to use my art up top of the DTIYS to promote your writing!

If you want to participate be sure to @sha-biest and use the tag #GoldenFutureDTIYS Additionaly, let me know what YOU would like to get as a plushie! (don't worry, you don't have to stick to that decision should it change over the course of the DTIYS)

Deadline: 10th March 2025

More Info: • #GoldenFutureAU art tag • Written Story by Co-Creator @rosesofenvy (More about Mikey's mindscape and him unlocking his full mystic powers can be read in "Keep You Safe" especially within Chapter 4 and Chapter 8) • The Sun God's appearance here and here References:

Mikey's mindscape in Golden Future:

In the beginning he thought it was black water but it's actually black sand

He can dive into the sand and uncover "treasures" (parts of his mystic energy)

Diving down means no vision, sound or air gets through to him

He can uncover the mystic powers by pulling them up with his chains

Uncovering a "treasure" will turn that part of the desert golden

Disclaimer: • The plushie that can be won cannot be used to be reproduced and/or sold • The size of the plushie depends on the character chosen by the winner and by the package size I can send • I am by no means a professional plush maker so I do have the right to decline a character should I not be able to turn it into a plushie • Changes might need to be made to the chosen character for the plushie for more complicated details (I will provide sketches of possible versions) • Minors are permitted to participate, but only with the express permission of a guardian and limited correspondence if they win • You can chose to get a full illustration piece instead of a plushie should you win! (if you are too uncomfortable sharing your adress for example)

Plushie examples:

Questions can be send in via my ask box! I will try to compile them in here or give them a dtiyas specific tag! I'm curious what you guys come up with and most of all.. have fun! :D

PS: I will consider doing two first places (one for writing and one for art) depending on how many entries there are

[little-diable]

Hold me close - Prof!Carlisle Cullen (smut)

I know this isn't what you requested @emberfrostlovesloki – but I hope you still enjoy it! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Let's be honest, this is pure pwp, prof!Carlisle worries about the reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, prof x student, reader is legal ofc, age gap

Pairing: Prof!Carlisle x fem!student!reader (1.8k words)

The room was filled with students, a buzzing atmosphere that trapped them, forcing anticipation to flush through their systems. Every Thursday morning they found themselves in this room, eyes glued to the professor most of them fawned over, begging for a few seconds of his attention. 

Professor Cullen had joined the university a few semesters ago, instantly becoming the students favourite professor. He had something to him that drew the students to him, lured closer by the man with golden eyes and frame so tall, they wondered how it must feel to have him towering over them. And trapped in the middle of it all was (y/n), one of the few students the professor called by her first name.

She couldn’t remember how it had all started, longing glances, inside jokes, cold touches. Nothing inappropriate had ever happened between them, Carlisle Cullen wasn’t one to cross lines that could end his career and ruin her future. And yet there was something between them that was anything but professional, an ongoing back and forth neither of them wanted to put an end to. 

“(Y/n)?” His voice cut through the sounds the crowd of students produced as they left the class, already excited for next week. Their eyes met, drawn to one another like moths to flames, silently communicating. He watched her move closer, trembling feet struggling to support her frame, hand darting out to grasp the edge of the table he was leaning against. “Are you alright?”

Concern dripped from the professor’s voice, worried eyes wandering over her features, trying to stop his hand from reaching out to touch her. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, trying to find her voice, but the room began to close in on her, unable to speak up as her vision grew blurry, head pounding. 

“Come, let’s get you somewhere quieter.” This time he didn’t manage to stop himself from touching her, hand placed on the small of her back as he guided (y/n) out of the room. Neither of them spared the curious eyes of the other students any of their attention, while Carlisle found himself worrying about (y/n), her mind slowly grew clearer once again, hyperfocusing on his touch. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water, please.” A hum left the professor as (y/n) sank down on the comfortable couch placed in Professor Cullen’s office, the room she had been in numerous times before. He moved quickly, placing the glass of water down for her before he sat down next to (y/n), eyes not leaving her features once. “I think I simply forgot to drink enough, I’ll be fine.”

“Mhm, you need to take better care of yourself, love.” The word left his lips before his mind could pick up on the things his mouth was doing, hearing her heartbeat picking up its beat. Even though he’d never admit it out loud, Carlisle loved the way her body was reacting to the things he said, the things he did, wondering how it must feel to have her pressed against him, fully focusing on every little reaction. “I can’t have my best student passing out, can I?”

“Your best? I doubt that.” (Y/n) didn’t dare meet his eyes, breath stuck in her chest as his hand found her chin, forcing her to look at him. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, while her blood began to sing in her ears, his eyes flickered down to her lips, allowing him to focus on the thoughts he had tried to drown out ever since meeting her. She felt his thumb on her trembling lower lip, carefully stroking the soft skin as a gasp left her, unable to stop the sound from leaving her. 

Before either one of them could move, the sound of his alarm going off ripped them apart. Carlisle rose to his feet with a sigh, reaching for his phone to silence it once again. “I’ll have to leave now for my shift at the hospital. Do me a favour and text me tonight, just a small update on how you are feeling.” 

……

Ever since (y/n) had left Professor Cullen’s office, she had wondered if their moments together had truly played out like that or if her confused mind was playing a trick on her. Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but be grateful for it, clinging to the memories playing in her mind over and over again. 

She wondered how long she should wait to text him, but ever since 8pm had rolled around, she had been sitting on her bed, eyes focused on her phone. Again and again she tried to type out her message to her professor, wondering what and how she should update him. Her fingers trembled at the mere thought of her professor, mind filled with sinful images she found herself longing for whenever she got time to think. 

Before she could send her text the professor had taken it upon himself to reach out, a simple “How are you doing, (y/n)? Do you need something?”. Heat rose in her body at the sweet message, biting her lip to stop her smile from growing even wider. With her heart pounding in her chest she typed her reply, fuelled by her curiosity and excitement. 

“I am alright, still a bit shaky, but no longer close to passing out. How was your shift?” Her phone was tossed away from her the second she had sent the text, insides churning in excitement, silently praying to whoever was listening that he’d fuel a conversation. 

It didn’t take him long to get back, but not in the form of another text, forcing (y/n) to reach for her buzzing phone as he called her. A deep exhale of warm air left her before she picked up the call, murmuring a soft “Hello?”.

“I don’t like that you’re still feeling unwell, if it’s alright with you I’d like to check on you.” She was glad that the professor couldn’t see her, pupils growing wide as her lips formed another grin. 

“I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do, I’m okay, promise.” (Y/n) could imagine him staring down on her, shaking his head with a displeased sigh leaving him, not trusting the young woman. 

“Nonsense, text me your address, I’ll be there in a few.” 

……

If somebody would have told her back then that within the next hour she’d end up in his lap, arms wrapped around his cold neck, lips locked with his, she probably would have broken out in laughter, doubting that he’d ever give into their game. And yet, here she found herself, straddling the man’s lap, fingers tangled in his golden hair. 

Carlisle’s cold hands moved up and down her back, leaving sparks to shoot down her spine. She kept on trembling, though no longer because of her exhausted body, but because of the things the man made her feel. He kissed her as if he was in search of her soul, chaining her to him with a few simple touches that left her burning from inside out. 

“You can always tell me to stop, love.” She couldn’t help but swoon at the care dripping from his words, holding her close with warm eyes getting lost in hers. (Y/n) cupped his cold cheek, pressing another kiss against his lips before a quiet “Don’t ever stop, please” left her.  

For a few seconds he stared at her before he flipped her onto her back, pressed against her couch with her legs wrapped around his waist. Her gasps left him smirking in pride, lips kissing their way down her throat, allowing her shaking fingers to unbutton the black dress shirt he was wearing. Both were fueled by their desire, unable to ponder on the question whether what they were doing was right or wrong, needing to feel one another. 

“My pretty girl, such a pretty sight. I want to take my time with you, but I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle.” The words left her moaning, eyes threatening to roll back into her head as her teeth left marks on her lower lip.

“Don’t be gentle, mark me up, please. Fuck me, professor.” (Y/n) whimpered the words, coaxing a deep grown from the man as he rose from his position. Without breaking eye contact both got rid of their clothes, bare bodies searching for one another’s closeness. Their lips met once again as he sneaked a hand between their bodies, making moans claw through (y/n). His cold fingers felt all too good against her pulsing bundle, the perfect sensation to push her closer and closer to the edge, once again begging him to fuck her. 

Carlisle was rough with her, forcing his cock into her tightness without another warning, but she was aching for him, desperate for him, ready to give him whatever he wanted from her. The tall man didn’t hold back as he fucked her on her couch, forcing her further into the fabric with his eyes growing darker and darker.

“Jesus, you feel so good, fuck.” (Y/n) kept praising the man, eyes squeezed shut, desperate to focus on the feeling that felt so unfamiliar she wondered if she had ever been touched before. Carlisle chased her lips, hungrily kissing the moaning woman as he fucked her even faster, leaving marks that would turn into bruises the next few days. Marks she’d forever cherish, smiling at the memories she clung to. 

Curses left the two as she clenched around him, unable to stop herself from cumming with his name leaving her, nails scratching at his skin. It took him a few more moments to let go, holding onto her with his dark eyes taking in every inch of her body. The groan leaving Carlisle as he came made (y/n) shudder, studying him with awe laced in her gaze.

“Fuck, that was-” she struggled to find any words as he gave into a laugh rumbling through him, kissing (y/n) once again before he pulled out of her. 

“It was. We can’t go back now, I hope you know that.” (Y/n) pulled him down once again, mumbling a “As if I’d ever want to go back” against his lips. 

[ginnsbaker]

prophylaxis

Summary: The most powerful Avenger is afraid of one thing: dental appointments, or the one where you're a dentist and Wanda is a baby about seeing one

Word count: 2.6k | Warnings: None. This is just good ol' fluff

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: This has been sitting in my drafts for some time, and while this is a one shot, I might follow up with more :)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Next part: the follow up

--

Steve and Natasha are barely done with their own routine dental check-ups when the notification of an emergency mission comes through. The Avengers' annual dental visit is typically swift and uncomplicated, but the arrival of their urgent mission turns the day into something far more chaotic.

“Where is Wanda?” Steve asks, scrolling through the mission details on his phone.

Natasha shrugs, sipping on her post-check-up glass of scotch. “I haven't seen her since breakfast.”

Vision appears in the room at that moment, his face expressing the closest thing to exasperation an android can manage. “She’s only now on the chair,” he says, glancing at Steve, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Now? But everyone else is done!”

“I had to convince her to come,” Vision sighs. “I found her hiding in the back library. It took me the better part of an hour to persuade her to face the dentist.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the revelation, trying to suppress her chuckle. The most powerful Avenger, avoiding a simple dental prophylaxis. “We don't have all day, Steve. The mission is critical.”

Steve nods, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We'll leave a note for her. She should meet us ASAP once she's done.”

Natasha gets up from her chair, glancing one last time at Vision, as she quips, “Good luck to whoever is the dentist working on her this year.”

As you approach the dental chair, you take note of the apprehensive figure occupying it. You've already seen a dozen Avengers today, each with their unique quirks and idiosyncrasies. 

But Wanda Maximoff, her gaze filled with clear distaste for the situation, seems to take the cake. She's curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than she actually is. The sight of her alone would have been enough to unnerve you, but the intermittent quivers of your dental tools due to an unseen force send a cold shiver down your spine. You can't help but wonder if you've drawn the short straw when they assigned you the patients for today.

You try your best to project an air of calm. Inside, though, your nerves are jangling like alarm bells.

“Wanda, right?” you confirm, trying to keep your voice steady.

She nods, her eyes wide as saucers.

“I promise this won't hurt,” you reassure her, even as your tools continue to rattle on the tray. “It's just a routine check-up.”

A skeptical glance is thrown your way but it's at least some reaction. Her gaze is piercing, and it takes every bit of your collected facade to keep from faltering. An absurd thought flashes across your mind: if you were to meet an untimely demise in your line of duty today, who on earth would inherit the numerous houseplants that have taken over your apartment over the years?

With a nervous smile that Wanda can barely make out behind the surgical mask you wear, you gently ask, "Shall we begin?" Your tone is soothing, carefully modulated to put her at ease.

The poor Avenger takes a deep, long breath before giving you the go-ahead to proceed with the checkup. 

For her part, Wanda begins to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of your gloved fingers in her mouth. Her gaze settles on your oversized prescription glasses that lend an air of professional yet friendly vibe. And there’s something about the clean, familiar scent wafting off your white coat that comforts her more than she's willing to admit.

She can’t help it when her mind starts drawing comparisons with last year's dentist—a gruff, no-nonsense man whose hands always seemed cold and who lacked any bedside manner whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are like a breath of fresh air with your calming demeanor and reassuring approach. Wanda blushes at the thought that, admittedly, you’re kind of a nice upgrade.

You begin the examination with meticulous care, your movements deliberately gentle to assure Wanda of your sensitivity to her obvious anxiety. As you carefully check her teeth and gums, you're acutely aware of how much trust she's placing in you, despite her apparent discomfort.

Glancing into her eyes as you angle your dental mirror to inspect her molars, you're suddenly struck by the piercing green of her irises. Even under the harsh clinic lights, they appear incredibly vibrant. Framed by the dark eyeliner she wears, her eyes are sharp and arresting. They follow your every move, staring up at you with an intensity that causes your skin to perspire under your uniform.

You've dealt with many patients over the years, some with eyes equally as fascinating, but something about Wanda's gaze is different. It's as if she's not just watching you but reading you, understanding you in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Your focus starts to waver under her scrutiny, and that's when you notice something strange. The dental tools on the tray beside you begin to quiver more violently, vibrating with an unseen force. Your heart skips a beat, realization dawning on you that Wanda's powers are reacting to her nervousness.

But it's not just her nervousness; Wanda's face takes on a look of surprise, her eyes widening momentarily. You can almost feel her presence in your mind, a subtle brushing against your consciousness. 

She's read your thoughts, albeit accidentally. 

She knows how captivated you are by her eyes. 

Catching yourself, you quickly shift your thoughts to a safer topic–your plants. The vibrant green of Wanda's eyes morphs into the various shades of green gracing the leaves of your beloved indoor jungle. Your Monstera, your string of pearls, your peace lily–

And yet, none of them are a match for the pair of green orbs that your mind keeps going back to. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you meet her gaze, the unspoken understanding between you making the air in the room feel charged. Wanda's cheeks take on a hint of color, and her control over her powers seems to falter, your tools–and a chair behind Wanda–now levitating a couple of inches from where they originally sat.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers, wide-eyed and apologetic. You barely make out what she’s saying with her mouth still wide open. “I didn't mean to…”

“It's okay,” you reply in a comforting murmur, pausing your examination. The room fills with the soft humming of the overhead light and the subtle scent of sterilized equipment. “I'm here with you. We'll go at your pace. Just breathe.”

Giving Wanda a few moments to calm herself, you pull back, placing the dental tools on the tray beside you. You keep your eyes on Wanda, a soothing smile hidden behind your mask. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she follows your instructions, taking deep, calming breaths.

However, you can't help but glance at the floating items around you, fearing that one of them might go straight for your heart that’s thudding loudly in your ears now. They seem to be suspended in mid-air, almost like a magic trick. Wanda catches your gaze, following it to the levitating objects. The already present color on her cheeks darken, and with a flicker of her gaze, your tools reintroduce themselves to gravity once again.

You don't comment on it. Instead, you simply offer another encouraging smile, masked by your surgical mask, but visible in your eyes. You extend your gloved hand towards the once again earthbound dental tools, feeling the cool metal against your palm. 

“Are we good to proceed?” you ask in a soft voice, patiently waiting for her agreement before picking up where you left off. 

Wanda doesn’t move, seemingly hesitant to say yes or no.

“Will it help if I talk to you?” 

She gives you a small nod in response this time.

“Alright,” you say with a hint of a chuckle. “Don't judge me if I start to sound silly, okay?”

And so you start to speak as you get back to work, recounting random memories and thoughts as you continue with the examination. You talk about funny incidents at work, share stories about your beloved plants, and even admit to that time you almost killed your favorite fern with coffee instead of water. At first, you feel slightly ridiculous, babbling about the care of succulents to an Avenger, one of the most powerful beings on the planet. But as the minutes tick by, you see a change in her. The initial terror in her eyes fades into curiosity, her body relaxes, and she even smiles at some of your sillier anecdotes.

You get lost in talking to Wanda, feeling both delighted and somewhat ridiculous that you're enjoying this one-sided conversation. You're fully aware that she can't respond with an excavator in her mouth, but it doesn't feel like she's just tolerating your chatter. Her eyes are attentive, following your movements, reacting every now and then. Her body language is open, receptive, almost as if she's hanging onto every word.

As for Wanda, something unexpected is happening. She finds herself liking your voice more and more, feeling an unfamiliar pull towards it. It's warm, comforting, and filled with a sincerity that she didn't expect. She even finds herself slightly attracted to it. But it's a foreign feeling, one she doesn't quite understand, especially in this setting.

As you conclude your examination, you realize that one of Wanda's molars needs a filling. It isn't urgent, a situation that could be deferred to another appointment if she wishes.

“Looks like you have a small cavity,” you inform her, meeting her eyes. “It's not of immediate concern, but we should schedule another appointment if you'd like to have it filled.”

To your surprise, Wanda agrees, not just with a polite nod, but with a subtle hint of anticipation lighting up her eyes. She agrees to another date, another round of you poking around her mouth with your scary dental tools. And yet, there's a hint of eagerness that surprises even her.

As you finish your work, you lean back, pulling off your surgical mask and gloves. For the first time, Wanda gets a full view of your face. It's like a silent reveal, one she hadn't been expecting, and it takes her aback.

She finds herself caught in a subtle admiration, a feeling that quickly intensifies as she takes in your features. There's something about your face that she finds herself drawn to, the warmth of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the soft contours of your cheekbones.

And when you smile, her breath hitches slightly. It's a simple gesture, but one that lights up your face, reaching your eyes and causing them to crinkle at the corners. It's genuine, open, and a little bit contagious.

“Thanks for your patience, Doctor...?” Wanda voices, feeling a tad awkward. It occurs to her belatedly that she didn't have the foresight to ask for your name before you started the check-up. 

“Just call me Y/N. It's my pleasure,” you reply, your smile deepening, unaware of the effect it's having on the Avenger before you. “I'll see you for that follow-up appointment, then?”

As soon as Wanda is escorted outside by Vision, you release a breath you didn't know you've been holding. Leaning against the counter, you try to calm the racing of your heart, which beats as if you've just run a marathon.

Wanda Maximoff is... quite a surprise. Her beauty, her vulnerability, the way she seemed to really listen to your inane chatter–it's all unexpected, disarming even. You find your mind drifting back to the way her eyes softened, the almost shy smile that graced her lips.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. This is unprofessional, you think. She's your patient. A patient who just happens to be one of the world's most powerful individuals. It's nothing more than that.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing you've spent more time with Wanda than any other patient today. You should be moving on to your paperwork, getting ready to call it a day.

But as you sit down at your desk, the fluttering feeling in your stomach doesn't subside, and Wanda Maximoff's haunting green eyes remain etched in your mind.

Walking down the corridors of the Avengers compound, Wanda finds herself in step with Vision. As they pass various agents and fellow Avengers, Vision turns to look at her.

“Wanda,” he starts, his voice taking on that concerned lilt that she's grown accustomed to. “I'm detecting unusual signs in your vitals. Your heart rate is elevated, your body temperature has slightly increased, and your pupils are dilated.”

Wanda blinks, feeling an unexpected heat crawl up her neck. Her palms are also feeling slightly clammy, and she has this weird fluttering sensation in her stomach. She tries to brush it off. It must have been the anxiety, right?

“Are you not feeling well?” Vision probes further, halting in his tracks to face her. His eyes scan her face, looking for any visible signs of discomfort. Wanda's mind races, trying to figure out how to downplay her seemingly irrational reaction to a denti–a dental appointment.

“No, Vision. I'm... I'm just fine.” Her voice sounds surprisingly steady to her own ears. She forces a smile onto her face, aiming to reassure her friend.

Vision doesn't seem fully convinced but doesn't push further. They resume their walk, but Wanda can't shake off the feeling that something has changed, something she doesn't quite understand yet. And for some reason, her thoughts keep drifting back to a certain dentist with a soothing voice, warm eyes, and a love for plants.

How did it happen that a dental appointment, of all things, has turned into the highlight of her day?

The kitchen is dimly lit when Vision enters, the only illumination coming from the withdrawn overhead lights. Natasha is there, assembling her favorite late-night snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looks up as Vision approaches, her eyes curious.

“I trust the mission went well?” Vision inquires, noting the subtle signs of fatigue in Natasha's posture.

She offers a half-smile, nodding. “It did. It's all sorted now. How's Wanda after the check-up?”

Vision's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates for a moment before responding, “She is... well. The new dentist was quite effective in putting her at ease.”

Natasha smirks, spreading the jelly onto the bread with precision. “Told you a change would do the trick. I still can't believe you managed to convince Tony to switch dentists.”

“And find the perfect replacement,” Natasha adds after some thought, licking the jelly from the knife.

“It was a logical choice. The previous dentist was less than satisfactory, particularly with Wanda.” He pauses, considering something. “But this one... she seemed to have a rather profound effect on her.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking up from her sandwich. “Profound effect?”

“Yes,” Vision says thoughtfully. “I detected unusual signs in her vitals afterward. Increased heart rate, heightened body temperature, a certain... excitement in her demeanor. It was quite unexpected.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly, and a mischievous smile begins to form on her lips. “You don't say?”

Vision gazes at the digital interface on his palm, a soft hum of approval in his voice. “Indeed, she has also filed for a leave of absence a week from now. She has another dental appointment, but this time at the doctor’s private clinic.”

Natasha pauses, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. 

Vision meets her gaze, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Do you think it could mean something?"

Natasha shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who knows, Vis?” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. “Maybe it's just a good dentist.” And then with a wink and a knowing smile, she adds, “Or maybe…”

She leaves the thought hanging, deliberately ambiguous, and exits the room, her satisfied crunching echoing down the hallway.

Vision is left standing in the kitchen, confusion etched across his synthetic features. He considers the day's events, attempting to analyze how Wanda suddenly managed to conquer her most irrational fear.

Humans really are something.

[redwineandtarot]

Who are you?

hi! today's pac is all about you. i want to say that every person has so many layers and this a general (and a too short to describe a person fully) reading. so please keep this in mind while reading. you may be drawn to more than one pile in this reading as well. take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. i would love to hear your feedbacks <3

decks used: raider waite tarot deck, ethereal visions tarot deck, spirit animal oracle deck, the soul's journey lesson cards, moonology oracle cards, archetypes cards

🥀paid readings🥀

Disclaimer:My readings do NOT replace any professional advice. Use your own judgment while making decisions. You have your own free will. Take everything I say light-heartedly. All of my readings are for ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.

pick a pile

pile 1-2

pile 3-4

i do not own any of these photos

pile 1

I see that you mostly radiate feminine energy. And you are highly spiritual in some way. You have a gift of manifesting. Of course everybody can manifest things intentionally but your approach is kinda different? It is like you have mastered manifesting from the get go.

You may also have a great protective barrier around you. I kinda struggled to read your energy. You really have a highly spiritual vibe. Even if you are not that spiritual you have the “gift”. Everybody can be spiritual, I mean, however something about you feels different. I cannot really put my finger to it.

Number 4 may be significant. 

You have really strong feminine energy and like the feminine energy you can deal with chaos. You can bring chaos in an intentional way. You are not afraid to put an end to things and start new. You can use chaos to manifest the things you want.

Water element may be significant.

While you are a spiritual person you know when to use your logic. Your logic and spiritual sides are not in war but they, together, help you move through life. 

You may sometimes be sharp with your words despite you giving me a calm energy. You have a calm and intentional chaos. You may be witty and win arguments easily.

You may sometimes be indecisive about your intuition. You may have a knowing inside you but just because you don't see a real life “proof”, so you may find it hard to believe it.

You may also have guilt while enjoying worldly pleasures. In the end we are still living in a material world so do not shy away from them. As long as you do not have addictions and know when to say “no”  it is okay, pile 1.

Embrace your chaotic side.

Extra messages

You may have been waiting for a manifestation for a long time. Do not worry it will come in an unexpected time. Whatever you are doing, keep going. 

I also see an unexpected emotional situation happening. You may be meeting someone new (romantic or platonic), you may hear something that will make you feel really happy or this again may be your manifestation coming and you feeling intense emotions regarding that.

saturn, sagittarius, 3rd house

thank you for reading <3

pile 2

You are a highly creative person, pile 2. For most of you, this is a creativeness in art, music etc. However this can be in other things as well. Or you may bring this side of yourself to your daily life while being a creative person in art. You are really original when it comes to creativity.

You have a colorful personality. You may use art to heal yourself. You may be expressing things that you cannot while talking with others through your art. Some of you had nothing but art/music while you were growing up so it became like your friend. It healed you.

Number 5 may be significant.

You have a child-like energy to you. You are in balance with your emotions. Maybe because of these two qualities you are able to create such wonderful things.

You have spirit guides that are near you a lot. They encourage you on your path. See you like their friend.

Another intuitive pile. You have a great intuition. You may want to try channeling through art.

You may hide your sorrows, abandoning them almost sometimes. But you try to nurture your inner child. I am not sure what happened in the past pile 2, it is probably different for each one of you but i want to say that you are such a brave person for not leaving your inner child alone. Something that happened in your childhood(mostly) or teenage years may have scarred you a lot and you are still trying to heal yourself. 

People may envy your creativity. And see you as an abundant person. And you probably are. And I see you living an abundant life. (Abundance may be in different or multiple things) You deserve it pile 2.

Your words are powerful. I see lots of different talents: singing, painting, writing etc. 

Extra messages

Do not burden yourself with little details. You may benefit from slowing down a bit and looking at the bigger picture.

Maybe you need a little vacation or an adventure.

sagittarius, 5th house, north node

thank you for reading <3

pile 3

You are a healer in some sort of way pile 3. You may be the mom friend of the group. You may work/ want to work in a medical field or a field where you help beings. But for most of you it is related to health. You are great at giving advice and hyping people up. You see the little details in people that they may not see. You are a detail-oriented person. Your observations are on point most of the time.

You have what it takes to be a great leader. 

You are a multifaceted person.

You may be more on the quiet side. But not because you are shy, it is just a preference. You probably have a friend group that you would give so much to. You love and prefer grounded relationships. You are not likely to have a big friend group or a friend group whose bonds are loose. You like your alone time.

Spirit is protecting your loved ones.

You are ready to work hard for the things you want. I see that you have great visions/big dreams for yourself. However you keep them on the low. You probably work hard in silence. 

You value your peace and are not afraid to leave something for your happiness.

You give me so much earthy energy. You probably honor nature and love spending time out in nature.

You may fear failure. And can sometimes leave things at a place where you have one more step to go for achieving your goal. 

Extra messages

You may have something in your mind that you are afraid of pursuing; whether it is a relationship, a job, a hobby etc. Do not back away and go forward with it. But not in a fiery way. Think thoroughly. Depending on what you want to pursue, you may need to make a plan first. A practical plan. After that, spirit gives you the green light to go forward!

12th house, neptune, taurus

thank you for reading <3

pile 4

You are a playful person. You like to have fun, at the same time pursue your goals. You may have fire placements in your chart because I sense a lot of fiery energy from you.

You may like partying or just having fun around. You like earthly pleasures and are not shameful about it. 

You wish to improve yourself. You may like self help books, philosophy or anything that will broaden your vision. 

You may sometimes try to run away from your emotions. You can even use a way of escapism like social media, partying, tw!substances etc. Balance is key pile 4, if you really struggle with escapism you may want to get help from a therapist.

You can achieve great success and build some sort of wealth in this lifetime. You have what it takes to do it. You are not afraid to go after what you want and stand tall. Your words may sometimes be sharp.

You may like to dance and even be a dancer. This is a confirmation if you were thinking about taking a dance class, go for it!

You may sometimes be too much in your head. Almost like an addiction despite your carefree attitude towards life.

You also have a gentle side to yourself. It is not up front but you still have it. You value the people in your life a lot. You probably show this gentle side of you to your loved ones.

People most likely find your eyes beautiful.

People may envy you a lot. While we all have struggles whether we show it or not; people are prone to think that you have it all. You may also have lots of admirers.

You may meet important people on your journey to success (like soul family, soulmate etc.)

Extra messages

Keep being you and do not be afraid! You have a lot to contribute to this world in your own unique way, pile 4. You may want to start meditating and listening to your emotions a little more. Hear what they are saying. 

1st house, virgo, uranus

thank you for reading <3

[luminetti]

Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors  ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so!  also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’)  ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday. 

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch�� my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

 “What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

[seungkw1]

maestro — ljh // chapter 1

⛧ pairing: lee jihoon x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns) ⛧ theme: fantasy, suggestive (18+ smut in future chapters) ⛧ chapter wc: 2.7k ⛧ warnings: minor knife violence ⛧ a/n: when i tell u that lee jihoon wrecked me sooooo bad this comeback !!!! the maestro mv was fully giving villain!woozi and my brain took that and absolutely ran with it. also, this is my first chapter fic!! much more to come, stay tuned <3

Your knowledge of the enemy is minimal, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer that is not to be trifled with - and you’ve just walked right into his trap.

You fucked up.

Your task was simple enough: sneak into the palace, steal the ring, and get the hell out. You’ve done countless jobs like this over the years - you're a professional for fuck’s sake. Sure, this gig was a bit more high-profile than usual, but nothing you couldn't handle. 

Yet somehow, they caught you. 

You rack your brain for a clue - something, anything, to indicate what went wrong. But you come up blank. Everything had gone according to plan (up until you found yourself surrounded by imperial guards with a knife at your throat, anyway), not a single detail overlooked. Something is off here, your instinct tells you. 

Here you are now, being forcefully escorted through the palace’s underlevels by a squad of imperial goons. The head goon hauls you through the dim hallways, his grip on your arm painfully tight, knife drawn and at the ready in case you were to try something foolish. A dark mask covers his lower face, so he's hard to get a read on, but you can tell he’s nothing more than a large, brainless oaf. You’ve single-handedly outwitted enemies like him in the past - but here, you are far too outnumbered. For the time being, you comply. 

You arrive at a large steel door, adorned only by a small barred window in its middle. With a rough shove the guard pushes you into the cell - you fall to the ground, your palms striking the cold stone floor. The hinges let out a horrid creaking sound before the door slams shut with a loud CLANG. You hear the clunking of a heavy chain, then the click of a padlock. Footsteps fade away as the imperial squad retreats - then, silence. You are all alone, trapped, imprisoned in this musty cell, somewhere in the depths of the Maestro’s palace. 

You sit on the hard ground, alone with your thoughts. The more you think about it, the only explanation is that this was a setup. But the Agency’s entire job is to sift through lies and misinformation; if this was a trap, there must be something larger at play - something elaborate, sinister. 

Unfortunately for you, you have nothing but time to try and piece together this puzzle. You lean your head against the stone wall, trying to figure out how the fuck you're gonna get yourself out of this mess. 

The absence of natural light leaves you with no way of telling time. The silence grows eerie. Your mind wanders, imagination soon running wild. You’ve heard of people who lose their minds within days of solitary confinement. Will that happen to me?, you can’t help but wonder. How long will I be here? Are they going to bring me food, or am I doomed to die of starvation? How did I even end up here? What are they planning to do with me? What if they forget about me? What if…

Your mind grows weary. You decide to lay down - no use in staying awake and overthinking. You rest your head on the gravelly floor - it’s uncomfortable, but your eyelids soon become heavy. You drift in and out of consciousness, strange visions and voices floating through your mind. Before long, you are asleep.

You’re running. You don’t know where to, but you are running through winding, endless corridors. Running from… something. You don’t know what. The sound of your racing heartbeat pounds in your ears, surpassed only by the heaving pants of your labored breathing. The neverending halls begin to expand around you - they grow larger and larger, disorienting your sense of perception. From behind, unsettling noises draw nearer and nearer: screeching echoes, thunderous crashes, wicked laughter. You run, but it’s not fast enough. The horrid sounds infiltrate your mind, reverberating through your skull so loudly you feel as if your head is about to explode. Suddenly, through blurred vision you see the hallway’s end; at it stands a cloaked figure, facing away from you. You can’t see anything else of the entity, but you sense the dark energy that surrounds it. Dread wells in the pit of your stomach, filling you with terror - but, for some reason, you are drawn to the malevolent being. Their presence is magnetic, alluring - frightening, but seductive. You press on - you don’t know why, but you must get to them. Your legs feel as if they’ve turned to lead - each footstep slowing you down further. You’re almost there, almost, almost… finally - the figure is within arm’s reach. In excruciating slow motion, you extend your hand toward them. Your fingertips graze the black cloak, its woven texture coarse against your skin. Your hand glides over the thick fabric - you close your grip around their shoulder, forcefully turning them around to face you. You lift your gaze to look at their face-

BANG.

You jolt awake in a panic. Disoriented, heart pounding, it takes you a moment to realize you’re still in the cold, dark prison cell. Faint light enters the room through the now-open doorway. Standing in it is a tall, thin man - you can barely make out his face, but his presence is unsettling. He peers down at you, his piercing eyes practically boring a hole into your head. 

“Come with me,” is all he says. 

You blink dully a few times, still not fully lucid. You try to process what all is happening, but your dream (nightmare?) weighs heavily at the forefront of your mind. The odious man quickly becomes irritated.

“GET UP!” he bellows at you.

You rise, stumbling to your feet. Two guards enter from behind him, swiftly seizing hold of your arms and yanking you out of the cell. They halt in front of the man. An unpleasant scowl seems permanently engraved on his face. He smirks at you.

“Well aren’t you pretty.”

You spit on the ground in front of his feet. The man glares at you with vitriol. He draws a short sword from the depths of his cloak, pointing it at your face. He traces the razor-sharp tip lightly across your cheek.

“Act like that again,” he sneers. With a quick flick of the wrist he delivers a small slash into your cheekbone. You barely flinch.

“And I’ll carve some very permanent scars into that pretty little face of yours.”

You stare at him, but say nothing. With a huff he turns, sauntering off into the hallway.

“Come along now. The Maestro wants to see you.”

—

The first thing you notice upon entering the chamber is the hundreds of candles set alight, illuminating the otherwise unlit space. The second is the hooded figure seated upon the throne at the room’s distant end, reclining arrogantly - watching you intensely. 

You hadn’t seen their face, but you know: it is the figure from your dream.

The guards stand you before the Maestro. You still can’t see their face. The thin man who summoned you steps forward, giving a small bow to his master.

“The thief, Your Majesty.”

The Maestro leans forward. Their face, previously shadowed, becomes illuminated in the candlelight: you see a man, much younger than anticipated - and strikingly beautiful. His eyes, adorned with dark makeup, peer up and down your body, studying you. He rises, nonchalantly descending the few steps before him; the clacking of his boots against the dark marble echoes through the otherwise silent chamber. He strolls toward you, maintaining eye contact, coming to a stop within mere inches of you. Slowly he removes his hood, revealing a head of long pale tresses. Up close, he is even more stunning. 

The man lifts his hand, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your head, observing the cut on your cheek.

“I told you to bring me the prisoner unharmed,” he scolds his servant. His gaze doesn’t stray from your face.

The subordinate’s face drops. “Apologies, my liege,” he responds hesitantly. “I-”

“Leave.”

He says nothing else. The servant’s eyes darken with fear. “My liege-”

The man before you motions to the guards. “Take him away.”

The guards seize the man, dragging him from the chamber in silence. The door closes with a heavy thud. You are now alone with the enemy. 

Your existing knowledge of the mysterious individual known as the Maestro is minimal - you have a fairly high level of clearance within the Agency, but even there the details are sparse. Rumors abound, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer, and is not to be trifled with.

You watch the man before you intently as he turns on his heels, meandering casually across the room, hands behind his back. Undoubtedly, his presence is intimidating; but admittedly he does not seem to be nearly the loathsome monster you’ve been led to believe he is. Regardless, you will not be letting your guard down. 

“My apologies for the poor treatment you have received thus far,” the man starts as he resumes his seat upon the large, ornate chair. A bowl of deep-purple grapes sits on the table beside him; he reclines again, reaching for the supple fruits. He plucks a particularly round grape from its stem, drawing it to his lips - he places it upon his tongue, holding it there momentarily before biting down, its juicy flesh bursting within his mouth. He chews, his eyes fixated upon you. He swallows before continuing.

“I had to ensure you were who I thought you were, and not some irrelevant member of the Agency.”

You grimace, displeased to learn that your suspicions were correct. He did know about the mission, and presumably the Agency’s agenda too. If that’s the case, then how much else does he know…

You’re itching to ask him who exactly he thinks you are, but you hold your tongue. You know better than to engage with the enemy unless absolutely necessary.

“But now that I am certain, I assure you you will receive nothing but the finest accommodations.” 

You say nothing. He eats another grape. You’ve been staring for far too long when you realize his plush lips seem to have you in a trance; you quickly return to glaring at him.

A few moments of silence pass. The intense eye contact he sustains stirs up a sensation within you - not fear, not worry, but rather… intrigue. You know the man is dangerous, yet here you are - simply captivated by him. You silently curse yourself for allowing emotion to infiltrate your mind like this. You’re smarter than this. Get your shit together.

“Refusing to speak, I see. Very well then. But aren’t you curious?” He leans forward, taunting you. “You know I hold the answers you seek, y/n.”

Your stomach drops. He just called you by your real name. Members of the Agency are exclusively referred to by their code names - even amongst colleagues, true identities remain concealed. How does he…

Your face remains stoic, indifferent, but he smirks. He can read you like an open book, and he knows you know it. 

“Go on, question me. You must see there is no threat here - I am unarmed. You may speak freely.”

You know that’s an absolute crock of bullshit. A cunning sorcerer is never truly unarmed - god knows what he could conjure up in the blink of an eye. But, admittedly he does have a point. You very well may die here - might as well get some fucking answers first. 

“How did you know I was coming?” you ask coldly.

A sly grin appears on his face. “Ah, she speaks! Good girl.” You scowl at him; he continues. “It’s simple, really - it was me who allowed the Agency to ‘discover’ the location of the palace. I made sure their little reconnaissance efforts would lead them to send their most skilled operative to retrieve the ring.”

“You wanted the ring to be stolen.”

“No. I wanted the ring to be stolen by you.”

You pause at his unexpected words. What?

Every neuron in your brain is screaming at you to be silent, don’t play into his little games. But you open your mouth anyway.

“And why me?” 

“Oh, I’ve had my eyes on you for quite some time, darling.”

Your stomach jolts. He said it so nonchalantly, as if he was telling you the weather rather than admitting he’s been watching your every move for god knows how long.

You stare at him incredulously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He simply shakes his head. “Patience - you will learn the whole story in due time. Guards!”

A new pair of imperials, much more polished and intelligent-looking than their brutish counterparts you’ve dealt with thus far, enter the room. 

“Please escort my guest to her bedchamber for the night. I must retire.”

The guards steer you toward the hallway. You follow without resistance. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” the man calls as you step through the doorway. You glimpse back: he is seated in the same position, watching you intensely. You catch a curious look in his eye, one you can’t quite read. He disappears as the heavy door shuts behind you.

—

As promised, your new accommodations are satisfactory - lavish, even. You’ve never seen a room with so many ornate embellishments, nor a bed with so many cushions and fine coverings. The washroom was equally fanciful, offering a large tub and luxurious-looking towels. Enticing, certainly, but at this point you are exhausted, and simply want to sleep anywhere that isn’t a cold stone floor. You lay upon the bed, not even bothering to retreat under the covers. Within seconds, you drift off to sleep.

You find yourself in the same hallway again - this time, not running, but merely standing behind the cloaked figure. You extend your hand, grabbing his shoulder and turning him round. You raise your eyes, meeting his gaze - but where his eyes should be, you only found blackness. You stare into the void of his sockets, hypnotized in fear, their darkness seeming to infiltrate your soul. He draws a dagger from his cloak, shoving you into the wall and placing it against your throat. You feel its pressure, but it does not break skin. He draws his face into yours, tenderly placing his lips upon your cheekbone - right atop your freshly-scarring cut. He kisses you - slowly, fervidly, his lips burning against your skin, but instead of pain you feel only pleasure. His free hand wraps around the small of your back, pulling your torso into his, holding you tightly against his blisteringly-hot form. The dagger remains perilously at your throat, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. His lips parts from your cheek as he draws his head back, looking at you once again, the abysmal darkness of his stare penetrating through you. Slowly, he leans in, his lips converging on yours. Your mouth reaches for his, wanting for his kiss, yearning for his taste- 

Your eyes open. There are no windows in your room, but you get the sense that it is morning, midday perhaps. Dazed, you try to wake yourself up, but your mind keeps drifting back to your dream - to the man who has somehow infiltrated your subconscious. You raise your hand to your face, running your fingertips over your wound, but…

Quickly, you sit up, tossing your feet to the floor and heading toward the washroom. You approach the mirror, peering your face in close to the glass. Where there should have been a fresh scar: nothing. Not a mark on your skin. 

You frown. You don’t know what this means, but you suspect nothing good will come of it. 

A knock comes from the door. You hear the turn of the lock, followed by the creaking of the door swinging open. A young female servant enters, carrying a bundle of fabrics. A second follows, placing a tea set on the small table.

“You are expected at supper today,” the first woman informs you curtly. She places the fabrics upon your bed. “Wash up and dress in fresh clothes.” The two leave swiftly without another word.

You let out a sigh of annoyance. So this is how it’s going to be then. Fine - I’ll play along with his little games. You glance back at the mirror. A tired face looks back at you, grimacing.

Not like I have much of a choice anyway.

⛧ chapter 2: coming soon ⛧

[ohcorny]

hey corny. so i always see people recommending to outline their story before starting it, but could you talk a little bit more about what that means? what is an outline and how do you structure one? how long are the ones you write, depending on the project? do you focus on plot beats or feelings? how specific do you get? can u recommend any readings for learning more?

up front i don't have any resources for this, only experience. and outlines feel like one of those things where it's like... there are a million ways to do it and the way that works for me might not work for you. i have a friend who writes out all his ideas on index cards and that, for me, is insane. but he's also a better writer than me so who can say what is right or wrong.

anyway an outline is essentially a sketch but for a story. you go through the whole thing, start to finish, and figure out what goes where and what happens when. the idea is that this is the stage where you work out all the big picture stuff and make sure it all fits together, now, and not after you've drawn twenty pages and suddenly go "wait shit that doesn't work" and have to do it over. it is much easier to delete and rewrite a paragraph than to redraw several pages.

doing anything more, ie including dialogue or feelings, depends entirely on how useful that information is to you at that point in the process and whether the purpose of the outline is for your own guidance, or so somebody else can tell what you're trying to achieve.

this got really long with multiple examples

here is an excerpt from the original outline i used to pitch Hunger's Bite to publishers. this one had to be polished to a professional standard, because somebody else was going to read it and decide whether they wanted to give me thousands of dollars to tell this story. (also several of the details are no longer accurate. for instance it now takes place 9 years earlier lmao)

this paragraph represents the first eight pages of the book. the final book is 264 pages long, and the outline was 12 pages of paragraphs as dense as this one.

it establishes where we are, who's there, and what they're doing. i describe their conversation, but i don't commit to the dialogue. i will occasionally include snippets of literal dialogue, but usually only if it's Important Dialogue, or i just don't want to forget a good idea i had while outlining. it's not expected at this step.

an outline written as part of a pitch to a publisher should tell the whole story, with all the important details, and leave nothing ambiguous. they need to know the tone, shape, and the arcs. no secrets! all the spoilers. outlines for yourself should do this too, but outlines for others need to be as clear about your vision as possible. again, an outline like this exists for the purpose of getting you paid thousands of dollars. you should write it like that.

in comparison, here's an excerpt from the outline i wrote for revisions to my WIP prose novel, so i could show it to my agent (who already read the draft) to be like "do these changes sound good?" i'm not selling it to anyone yet, just making a guide so i can have a conversation about it. so it doesn't need to be neat, it just needs to be functional and clear. the first chapter was entirely new stuff. the second bit was just writing down what was already in the chapter that existed.

i have historically been very bad at outlining things when i don't think i "need" to, and only wrote this one after having written like 60k words of the book without any overall plan. i gave what i had to my agent for feedback and then sat down and figured out how i could apply it. it's made the whole revisions process significantly less daunting. now i have a checklist for things i need to do! this one was a paragraph or two for each chapter, with the ones that needed a lot of rewriting given a bit more detail.

lastly, here's a bit of the outline for the first roger crenshaw book. i was the only person who had to see this, and since the story was planned to be very short i didn't have to worry about a whole lot. as long as i knew what was supposed to go where, it would work. honestly it's not a whole lot different from the previous example.

this one was like five paragraphs and it did the job, and this story was like 15k words. you only need as much or as little as will actually help you on the page.

basically if you take nothing else from this, it's that there are multiple ways to write an outline, that it does not need to be perfect if you're doing it for yourself, and that it only needs what you think is important (unless it is for other people. then it should have everything). and also it's a good idea to do it earlier in the project than after you've written 60k words or drawn--jesus christ i got up to 12 chapters in never satisfied? it's amazing i didn't quit sooner

[yuri-is-online]

I really love Sebek and Epel and Deuce

Sebek's Yutu would be a tad hilarious but also kinda sad because his dad MAY OR MAY NOT BE ALIVE because man

Malleus :(

Epel's Yutu tho......

I saw a fic where Epel can use a gun (mentioned in passing) so I'm imagining that while Epel's Yutu is a great farmer just like his dad

He's also got a rifle :)

You have given me a vision... the one thing Epel! Yutu wants... is to be a cowboy. Can you picture a baby who looks a lot like Epel with a little cowboy hat and boots, he'd be so cute. Also, I was having brain rot and decided to introduce one of the friends lovely @archetypal-archivist helped create for Yutu! Please check out their Azul! Yutu posting it's very good and I love it sososo much. Unfortunately this post does not feature Epel riding on a horse, I'll have to fix that sometime. And get back to Sebek later.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. For more fyuutre kid au, please check out the series section of my masterlist.

Yutu's earliest memory is of apples.

His parent had him in a sling as they worked, picking and packing the fruit as they softly hummed a lullaby to soothe his grumpy mood. He never was able to get over how big an orchard could be, even when he was old enough to walk under the trees and play with the other workers children something about that sea of greenery just felt magical. Like if he really focused the outside world would cease to be and he could wake up in a land of nothing but him, Yuu, and the acceptance you can only ever find in nature.

But that's not how things ever went. When he opened his eyes Yuu would pack him up and they would move to follow the harvest until the winters shut things down and it was back to that god awful place Yuu had been born in. He was glad to move away when Yuu found them a permanent place to stay when he turned 10, gladder still for it to be a farm even if it didn't have the orchards he loved so much. The old couple that hired Yuu on were impressed with how deeply the single parent cared for their son, and how eager the son was to to help his parent. It was the perfect set up for an ideal, if difficult, childhood that would nurture Yutu in to a strong young man.

But this isn't the happy family future, it's the bad one. And things were always going to go wrong sooner rather than later.

Mixing things up from the other posts, Yuu feels particularly drawn to farms and farm work when thinking about Yutu's father and ends up crisscrossing their country as a migrant farm worker until they're offered a full time position as a farm hand they happily accept in the hopes of stabilizing Yutu's education. Yutu genuinely loved his childhood and grew up having a deep respect for manual labor and agriculture. He assumes Yuu must have met his father while traveling and had a brief relationship that produced him, but accepts that whatever accident caused Yuu's memory loss will keep him from ever really knowing if that was the case. Yuu impresses on him that his dad was a hard worker with a bit of a temper who never backed down from a challenge. They tease him that he gets his "cute" side from his Pappa, which Yutu likes about as much as Epel probably would.

He's doing his time in the short king mines, Yutu won't hit his growth spurt until around 17 and how tall he gets is from that is up to you, but if he stays short just know he is not happy about it at all. Unless someone brings up the fact he could probably have a career as a professional jockey and then he will maybe think about it as being a blessing. Maybe. Yutu learned to ride pretty early on in life and he loves doing it, but he doesn't really want to race horses. He'd much rather be a cowboy with his own little farm and a family of his own with a big orchard to tend to. He's got big dreams of one day being able to introduce his partner to Yuu and give them a nice place to retire to.

Plays outside by himself a lot. There are some kids at school he befriends, but a lot of their parents are wary about letting their kids hang out with him at his house. Yuu is seen as a bit weird, even if the old couple they work for is well liked most people in town know their kids who really dislike Yuu and Yutu for reasons that escape Yutu but his parent seems to understand. "They think they're protecting their parents." As Yutu grows he thinks it has to be more about money, he and Yuu love working the farm but their kids all have different jobs they got college degrees for so they probably want to sell the land when their parents die. He's right about that last bit of course, and willing to let Yuu give them some charity but he doesn't think they care about their parents near as much as he cares about his. Otherwise they'd at least be nice to someone their parents considered part of the family and not ship their mom off to a nursing home before their dad was even in the ground. Or evict the outcasts they considered part of the family too.

You have no idea what to do as you pack up your few belongings, Yutu can tell that you are stressed and it makes him mad. He tries to focus on helping, taping things up and dragging them out to the beat up car as you listlessly stare at the kitchen sink. After he moves the second box he notices you're not packing anymore and goes to check what's wrong and his instincts begin screaming something's wrong. Your eyes are unfocused, staring down at a framed picture he remembers well.

"Do you ever think about how all of this is my fault?" You sound a world a way and Yutu guesses that you are, the photo of a younger you with a toddler him in a sling under the apple orchards stares back at you both questioning just where is it you plan to go from here. It can't be back on the open road, school is about to start and the entire point of staying here was to make things better for him. Yutu is about to ask you the same thing when he hears the wind pick up, and is that a carriage he hears? "If I hadn't forgotten you, then maybe I could have found a way back..."

"What in the goddamn-" Yutu is cut off by the glass being blown out and he dives on instinct to cover you as the world spins around him.

"I'm real sorry Epel, you don't have to forgive me but... even after all this time. I still love you... I still love you and how sad is that..."

Good news, Yutu doesn't have to sleep and a shitty motel tonight. Bad news, he's in the middle of some fancy private school shit and his parent is flat lining on their floor. He starts screaming bloody murder until Crewel comes and scoops him up and ushers him off to the hospital wing where they have a very tense conversation. Yes, he does belong here actually he was supposed to have been born in this world with it's magic, monsters, and annoying private school uniforms he finds himself shoved into and marched back out to that fuck ass mirror to hear what dormitory he belongs in. The fuck is a Pom-e-fee-or and why does that girl with the 2000s throwback hairstyle look like she wants to kill him for asking that?

That girl is the Vice Warden of his new house and she absolutely hates him on sight. Like, she's heard about Epel before, duh who hasn't? He performed in the VDC with the Vil Schoenheit and he had like a fun Magicam account where he promoted his family's apple farm. Didn't Yuu tell him anything about that? Ugh guess she'll have to do it and hey why is hE RUNNING AWAY DOES ELEGANCE MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?!?!?! WHERE IS YOUR POMEFIORE DIGNITY YUTU DON'T THINK SHE CAN'T CATCH YOU BECAUSE SHE'S GOT HEELS ON BITCH!!!

It's exactly where Epel's Pome Pride was when he first joined to dorm, down a drain someplace because Yutu thinks his dorm is the pits. Growing up like he did made him starkly aware of just how different people with money see people like him and instilled a deep hatred of people who make their personality their skincare routine. He thinks the way rich people spend their money is boring and hates that his dorm mates are spending their precious time in a literal apocalypse doing their make up and hair. His Vice Warden is irritated with him and asks what he does then when he can't control the circumstances around him and Yutu goes to snap back at her but finds he doesn't really have an answer.

"Have you even tried taking care of yourself before?" Peyton is looking over his hair in genuine disgust, it's different than the resting bitch face she usually has. Yutu has seen enough of both to be able to tell the difference now.

"I mean I don't not take care of it." Because Yuu had tried to get him to do things like a skincare routine before, and come to think of it they had phrased the reasoning much like Peyton is now. Take good care of yourself. His Vice Warden rolls her eyes and turns towards her vanity, the amount of homemade products and their labels immediately tells him they aren't all for her hair type.

"Yeah but you don't do it well. Look I'm not crazy about bougie stuff either but like, you just feel so much better when you put the effort into yourself and not what other people say about you." She hesitates before meeting his eyes in the mirror and adding. "Trust me, I'd know." And Yutu believes her.

It has got to be hard being a vocaloid stan in a dorm with a literal ballroom.

Yutu really does belong in Pomefiore. He's great with alchemy and magical plants, just like his dad Crewel is all to happy to tell him. They talk a bit about his dad and the situation in the Shaftlands, how no one has heard from Epel since the blot took over and it's insanely difficult to get anywhere near there since the Phantom Hunter makes your life a living hell if you try. Most people think he's dead, but Crewel isn't so sure. He thinks that the various communities across Mt. Moln could easily sustain themselves if they barricaded against the blot monsters, but they also don't have a lot of mages so actually defending themselves could be difficult. Then again this does mean that the stronger phantoms would be less interested, so who knows. In the climate of the day though it is probably best to brace for the worst.

The sports clubs still exist in a less intense manner than before to give people different ways to relax and things to do. Since Yutu loves horses he tried the equestrian club out before deciding it was way too "fussy" and settling in to the board game club since he never really had enough friends to actually play them with before. It's a lot of fun to compare all the ways these games are similar to ones he knows about from Yuu's world and yet completely different. It helps nurse his sadness over losing Yuu since they were the only one who ever played these sorts of games with him and he has fond memories of how they totally never let him win.

He takes a great deal of comfort in knowing his dad had similar struggles with his dorm placement and is overjoyed to learn about the family farm! He wishes he was there right now and drives Peyton absolutely bonkers telling her all about the tests he's run on the soil around campus, how he thinks blot might effect plant growth, and the ways he can think of to combat it. She's crying please just go talk to the Ignyhide kids they totally care about that stuff probably! His lectures end up being useful when they're finally unable to avoid going out on missions any longer as understanding the signs of heavy pollution makes the stronger phantoms easier to track.

It's a realization Epel has also had, secluded in his little village as he is. Harveston has heavily fortified it's position and bulked up it's population with the survivors of other surrounding communities. They have been gifted the ability to endure, but Epel doesn't know if their community will survive long term unless the phantoms are dealt with. The surviving members of his family from the Queendom told awful stories when they retreated here, if that's what's going on in the rest of the world he imagines S.T.Y.X. is probably involved so he tries to keep his eyes peeled for anything like their tech. He manages to find a busted drone in the snow one day and brings it home to work on it whenever he gets a spare moment. It helps him ignore his grief over losing Yuu, his child, and contact with all of his friends. When he's focused on not breaking the drone further, he can convince himself he's either worked through that already or that once he fixes it he will have everyone he lost back at home with him where they belong.

Unit 7954 cackles back to life with a stream of what sounds like a stream of curse words, but Idia has certainly never heard any of them before. He knows that joyful cackle though and he thinks he must have stayed up too long again because he as to be hallucinating. There is no way he's actually looking at Epel, but the whooping before he shyly calms himself down reassures him he is. The two frantically talk about the situation in the Shaftlands and the number of survivors before Idia smacks himself and remembers to mention Yutu's existence. Epel falls off his chair in surprise at the news and Idia is worried he's killed the man before he hears his sobbing. Breaking through the front lines of the Fairest Queen might be impossible, but a video call now that Epel has fixed the drone isn't and Ortho is nice enough to set one up.

"Sevens yer big." Yutu feels like he's 10 feet tall when he hears the drawl of his father's voice. "Bigger than I was at yer age I reckon." The man is certainly taller than him, with lavender waves he's tied neatly back to let him see better under his thick winter clothing. His smile is so warm and friendly Yutu wishes he could dive through the screen and be there with him right this instant. "'s ok if ya don't know where to start with the questions, I bet you got a bunch."

"Why'd you marry Yuu?" It's not what he expected to ask first. He wanted to talk about school, or ask something practical like tips about finding his unique magic or fighting monsters. But that was what he really wanted to know wasn't it? Why Yuu was so important, if he was important to this man and his different accent even after all these years. And the happy smile that relaxes his father screams that he is, it's as if he's shed years of stress and suffering just thinking about his parent.

"Be easier to list the reasons I didn't like them since there aren't any." Epel closes his eyes and thinks about that first moment he realized how much he liked you, tucked away studying in the library and bickering about how to do an assignment as he wondered why you were even there and if you thought he was cool at all. "Since Yuu was from another world a lot of us felt like they deserved a good home here, but that just meant I wanted to invite them over for the summer and stuff like that. Didn't mean I wanted to spend the rest of my life with them, that's what I thought at first anyway. But well, you know Yuu pretty well. They always somehow know where the good lies in even the worst of people. Or at least they knew where it was in me and made sure to believe in it right up until the last day I saw them." They both quiet at the thought of that, Yutu wondering if he should push further before Epel quietly adds. "I hope you know they'd be stupid proud of you for everything. Pomefiore isn't an easy dorm to be a part of but if you put in the work you'll really thrive there, and the both of us really believe you've got what it takes to do that yeah? If you'll let me speak on their behalf anyway."

"Of course you can." Yutu does his best not to cry, but Epel can tell it isn't going to work. "You- you miss them too after all." And isn't that the truth.

The plan to go back in time is decided on before the blockade around Harveston can be breached. Epel gives Yutu as much information as he can about the past and what to expect before he goes, making him promise to hug the younger him at least once in the hopes the memory will somehow flow across time and he'll get a taste of what it's like to hold his son before he sends him off with a "good luck" and "kick their ass!" Even though neither of them fully know who is responsible just yet.

Epel! Yutu has an easier time adjusting to the past than a lot of the other Yutu's thanks to Epel's descriptions of people like- well mostly just his description of Rook. He still comes off as weird but in an endearing way as opposed to an "I need to run for my existence literally" type of way. Unfortunately his dad might have buried the memory of just how in his feelings and jealous he got about Yuu pre relationship. He's rolling his eyes and ignoring everything Yutu says because he wants to monopolize your attention and Yutu is honestly kind of living for it. He thinks it's super cool that his dad is willing to fight for Yuu's affections even though he could be considered to have no chance. He's short, more "cute" than he is "hot," and poor by a lot of people's standards. Sure, Yutu loves the farm life and Yuu must have to raise him in it but if that isn't how you grew up he's super surprised you chose Epel. Surprised and grateful because Yutu really loves his dad.

That love gets through to Epel somewhat, he's super confused as to why the new guy thinks he's so cool AND why he wants to complain about it. Isn't that what he wants? To be seen as cool, strong, and reliable? Well sure but he wants you to see him that way more than anything, it'd make him so happy if he had your approval. He's happy to have your friendship but- well it would just be nice to have you around forever. He's going to miss you when you go back to your world.

Yutu considers re joining the board games club to get close to Idia, but sees Azul and moonwalks his way out of there in a move that definitely doesn't put him on either of their radars and announces to Yuu that he will be starting a book club instead. He does this so he has a reasonable excuse to spend a bunch of time in the library and request access to various archives but Sebek joins since it meets once a week on Saturdays and railroads it into being like. An actual book club. They have other members too and Yutu hates it because he isn't super fond of wasting his time reading things unrelated to his mission but some of the stuff Sebek recommends is good he guesses.

Yutu thinks he's doing a good job of flying under the radar of suspicion, and to be fair Epel and Yuu are a bit too caught up in each other to notice the stranger things about Yutu but Sebek is not and convinces them to surveil where he goes after the book club meetings. Grim is on board just because he's tired of watching Epel and Yuu make heart eyes at each other and he thinks he can get tuna out of it so they make a day of it. It turns out Yutu goes to Craneport every weekend without fail to meet up with... someone. He goes to an apartment building and it would be a bit too obvious if they followed him in there without more evidence (Yuu has to be the one to point this out because you know Sebek and Epel are ready to charge.) So they keep this up for a couple of weeks until one day Yutu cancels the book club meeting and leaves campus early. This time he heads towards the mines Yuu explored with Ace and Deuce for the mage stone that second night they were at NRC. There are several people there, and Yutu does something he's never done, not even around Yuu who he has described as a friend. He lets down his hood.

The shock of lavender that tumbles out from the hood has all three of you tripping over yourselves to cover your mouths. His facial expressions, mannerisms, and even the way he goes the pull his hair screams that he has to be related to Epel. He's admitted to being from your world, and the way he speaks, the shape and color of his eyes and the way he laughs have to come from you. Sebek isn't able to keep it in any more as he starts crying, then loudly denying he's crying, congratulating you on your marriage since you are a friend of the young master before yelling at Yutu for acting in a manner that could have brought dishonor to his parents.

All of this scares the phantom Yutu's friends were hunting out of hiding and forces everyone to fight it. Yutu is extremely flustered from Sebek's scolding but he is nowhere near as embarrassed as Epel who immediately starts taking it out on the phantom and cussing up a storm. It's one of the quicker fights Yutu has had with a blot monster, and he isn't really complaining when Epel drags him and Yuu into the Dwarf's Cottage for a chat.

"So I'm yer Pa, Yuu's m' spouse and ya didn't think to spit that out 'fer you went fighting shit fucks BECAUSE?" Epel is steaming mad, he's almost as red as Riddle which Yutu would be impressed by if he wasn't so embarrassed.

"Um. Cause I didn't think you would-"

"YER GODSDAMNED RIGHT I WOULDN'TA BELIEVED YA! At first anyway." Normal, or would it be fake? Neither Yutu supposes, calm Epel is back as he crosses his arms and really looks at him. "You look like me, and you sound like them. I bet there's things you can tell me about myself you'd have no way of knowing otherwise so why bother hiding yourself? Don't you want my help?"

"Our help." You speak up immediately and Epel nods, affirming what you said slightly embarrassed he let his insecurities forget that you were here too for a moment. Yutu doesn't answer immediately, instead he looks very firmly at the ground as if he would rather be anywhere else than admit what he's about to.

"... not if it means you both die. I- I don't think I can watch that happen again." And oh seven does that change the tone of the conversation, because what does he mean by again?

Yutu refuses to answer until he gets to hug Epel. He expects it to be awkward, but it isn't at all. His dad squeezes him so tightly Yutu is sure his future self has got to feel it as he slowly lays out his story about the bad future and how he thinks it got to be there. About growing up in Yuu's world and the pain of watching you die. Epel is mad as hell to hear about it and swears it won't happen and is halfway out the door before he even has time to process it. Everyone brings Sebek up to speed, who insists on informing the young master immediately; something everyone agrees is a good course of action given how Briar Valley was the first place they know of being effected.

Malleus is delighted that everyone agreed to invite him on their secret mission, but also deeply disturbed by what hears. As Briar Valley's King, it is his responsibility to make sure nothing like Yutu is describing happens for no other reason than it would harm his subjects, but he can't help but be personally insulted that whoever did this would rob his human friend of their happiness too. The only re-payment he requests is that when (not if) he saves the future that Epel and Yuu invite him to the wedding, baby shower, christening, and any other important milestone they have in their lives. It's an easy enough thing to agree to Epel thinks. He has the approval of Ace and Deuce already, so to have Malleus announce he accepts him as your man too? That's all of the family you've collected in this world so... it's not too much trouble to ask you to join his, right? He won't be tricked this time, promise. You will walk this life hand in hand until the eternal sleep takes you both, and that won't happen until Yutu is practically an old man himself. And you of all people should know what Epel can do when he sets his mind to it; he got you to fall in love with him after all, didn't he?

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 43

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 700

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"Is the debate tonight?"  

I looked up as Alexia appeared in the office that Friday afternoon.  

I sighed, “It seems so…”  

I dreaded the debate, knowing I’d have to face Lucy again. After our last encounter, I expected it to be fiery.  

“I swear, Ona, I don’t know why you got yourself into this mess! That woman is a political animal—she’s going to crush you!”  

“She’s not targeting me, she’s targeting Philippe!”  

Alexia shrugged. “Yeah, but with this whole disclosure-or-not mess, she won’t hold back on you…”  

“She’s had a week to calm down!”  

Even a week later, I still felt her reaction had been completely over the top. Maybe I had guided Philippe a bit, but that was my role as a teammate. And besides, I owed Lucy nothing.  

“Well, I’ll be there, ready to scrape you off the floor if she leaves you in pieces!”  

That evening, our team gathered for a final prep meeting to fine-tune the debate strategy.  

The debate structure was as follows: The first part featured the two mayoral candidates in a head-to-head exchange. This would be followed by questions from the public, allowing team members to respond on specific topics, showcasing the expertise of the entire list.  

My area was urban planning and land use—a field I had studied extensively and genuinely loved. I had prepared diligently to present our vision passionately and clearly.  

“Sharp, impactful, and convincing!” were Philippe’s parting words as we stepped onto the stage.  

The room was packed, the atmosphere electric. A journalist moderated the first part, alternately giving the floor to each candidate. As expected, it was intense.  

Lucy was sharp, confident, and relentless, delivering her points with charisma and no notes. She defended her record and laid out her program with precision. Philippe held his own, skillfully countering her arguments—a feat in itself, given Lucy’s prowess. The verbal sparring was fast and clever, the audience captivated.  

I couldn’t help but watch Lucy, drawn to her magnetically. Under the harsh stage lights, her movements were animated, her hands expressive, and her piercing blue eyes swept across the room. She was mesmerizing, and that only made me more determined.  

When the focus shifted to public questions, team members had their moments in the spotlight. Topics ranged from education to traffic, culture, and beyond. It felt like a political battlefield.  

Then came a question about urban development—a project in a struggling suburban area we aimed to revitalize.  

Philippe passed the mic to me. I took a deep breath, nerves bubbling inside me, and found courage in Alexia’s gaze from the audience.  

I outlined our plan confidently, emphasizing that this neglected area had been overlooked for years. My arguments subtly criticized Lucy’s administration for failing to address it sooner.  

When I finished, Philippe gave me a discreet wink and a broad smile, clearly pleased with my delivery. I felt a flicker of pride.  

Then, Lucy’s voice rang out:  

“If I may…”  

My throat tightened. She continued,  

“I just hope this project will be more effective than your professional work, Miss Batlle!”  

Her sharp gaze met mine briefly before turning to the audience.  

“I invited her to a conference to showcase her firm not long ago, and she left halfway through the weekend! Such professionalism—very promising!”  

Her tone dripped with mockery as the audience chuckled.  

Lucy pressed on:  

“And let’s not even mention the construction project at my own home, which this young architect handled. The timeline practically doubled! The results? Well…I won’t get into that.”  

I was stunned, speechless. She wasn’t wrong—the delays were due to her constant changes of heart and external delivery issues—but she used them to paint me as incompetent.  

Philippe motioned for me to respond, to defend myself, but no words came. Lucy seized the moment to twist the knife.  

“Let’s just say, with this level of professionalism, good luck!”  

Laughter rippled through part of the audience. I sat frozen, unable to retaliate.  

The debate wrapped up soon after, but it felt like an eternity. Philippe tried to reassure me, complimenting my earlier response.  

Alexia approached with a sympathetic look.  

“Well, tonight wasn’t exactly a great PR win. Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s part of the game.”  

But deep down, I wasn’t fine. I felt humiliated, gutted by her public attack.  

Rage simmered within me. I vowed that at the next and final debate, I would bring her down.  

[irradiatedsnakes]

more reigen is dead and a ghost now sillies ft. mob all grown up. a couple other things under the cut

bonus older (~40s) mob bc im happy w her design. luckily her and reigen's designs just came out of the pen pretty naturally not many iterations necessary. mob's felt like a natural progression from my ~24 y/o design, and i kinda feel like reigen never really changes up his look, he just. ages. he's gonna be wearing a pink tie when he's like 80 (well, i mean not in this au, but, yknow). im kind of dreading designing the others.. i think tome should be pretty easy i have a fairly clear vision of her in my mind but i;m not so sure about serizawa. i know im gonna give him a beard though. others may come into this eventually if i get the ideas for it . i feel like designing older shou would be fun in particular

anyways. this sort of started cus i wanted to make an 'intro' comic to the au besides the post i already have, but i couldnt figure out a good way to get what i had in mind to a comic.. basic 'story so far' is that while off on a job at like.. ive had it as a parking garage in my mind for some reason. anyways, reigen serizawa and tome* out on a job, you know the story from the other post, reigen falls down some concrete stairs REAL badly, bonks his head right on the edge of one, beefs it.

(*tome at this point has her own job stuff going on- Professional Ufologist Babeeey you KNOW she's gotten interviewed for ancient aliens. BUT she still does stuff with s&s when she can.)

he comes to kind of gradually, like, feels like he's been walking for half an hour but onl having just become aware of it. he doesn't realize he's dead for a bit, just kind of feels 'floaty' and not-quite-there, with a vague awareness that Something Has Gone Wrong. he keeps walking, unable to remember what he was just doing, and finds himself drawn to mob's place, and fully realizes Something Is Super Wrong when he tries to knock on the door and his hand goes right through. meanwhile on the other side of town serizawa and tome are having a supremely bad time. things'll settle down when everyone learns reigen's not Entirely Gone but it's Not good at the moment

(also, something im not sure yet how to resolve is that tome wouldnt be able to see reigen?? hes a very weak spirit so hes not visible to your average non-esper and i dont know if he'd even be able to possess anyone either (in the sense that tome could see dimple after being possessed by him).)

also so imprtant to me that mob has a cat that's very important

[r0-boat]

Hear me out, flying type hybrid darling using their wings to hug their partner.

Like 'preening' their partner's hair and hiding their feathers in their partner's clothes; chirping / hooting happily when their partner come back home with hands full of their feathers like a silly game

(Can be anyone you like I just cant get this thought out my head haha)

Now I am absolutely obsessed with shipping Larry with monster reader. And when I saw Harpy reader I dived for it aaa.

The characters I will do is Larry, Warden Ingo, Leon,

Various characters (pokemon) reaction to their beloved as a flying type hybrid harpy.

Larry

You just showed up one night scratching in his back door with your sharp claws. You were looking for nesting material the day before you never asked a human for some this human seemed shocked But ultimately gave you some cloth it was strong yet soft and smelled nice. This human was nice : )

As a flying-type trainer, he knows some of the mannerisms you have. He thinks it's cute when you preen his hair or make a small nest out of his clothes because you missed him. Sometimes, he would show you how humans court and then do the same thing to you

And his coworkers and boss are none the wiser when he starts finding feathers in his suit all day. They just assumed that he had a new flying type Pokemon and not a hybrid birb spouse. Even so, coming to work covered in feathers isn't professional, but he can't bring himself to tell you to stop. He knows you're doing this out of love for him. Maybe Larry will ask you if he could wear one feather and put it in his pocket.

Your feathers are just so soft when you wrap your wings around him. He can't help but cuddle into you and fall asleep. He can feel your nails thread through his hair, mimicking the way he touches you.

Before stepping into his house, he could hear the excited tapping of your feet as you do your happy dance. The little bird hops with your feathers all fluffed before yelling his name and throwing feathers all over the place. His home life has never been this exciting, and he can't help but smile.

Warden Ingo

You struggle the flap of your wings, kicking up the snow on the ground. The Searing pain in your left wing and arm is almost overwhelming. Your energy is slowly draining as your body struggles to keep warm. Your feathery down kept you from freezing for a while, but how long will that last? Has the wind begun to pick up? You hold your broken arm close to your chest, trying to keep in your subs of pain as you huddle your wings closer together, desperate to cling to any ounce of warmth; your vision blurs and your brain tells your body to conserve energy. The only thing you saw when you began to blackout was a man in a long coat approaching.

You were protective of the man who saved your life—wrapping your wings around him not only for affection but also for protection. For some reason, this human was drawn to you. Your beautiful white wings and Feathers jogging his memory of something, though not enough to figure out why.

Every time his Warden duties called, he would leave his cabin even though he had sworn he would go you home somehow, always following him, stalking him in the distance until he was alone. Then, you would appear either from a high ledge of a cliff or a dark cave to brush yourself up against him, cooing for his affection.

Every time he falls asleep, he wakes up to his jacket being stolen and wrapped around you, not that he Minds that you wear it, though he has to tell you to be careful; those sharp talons of yours could easily rip a new hole.

The Striking eyes of his remind you of a Braviary hybrid. You can't help but Preen his hair and put some of your feathers in it. You coo in Delight of how handsome he is. Cuddling close to him and playing and tugging on his clothes.

Leon

Wherever he was, this was definitely not the Pokemon Center. In fact, this wasn't a town at all. He didn't even know how he got so high up in the mountains. Leon swore he was following a path. As he continued to wander, getting himself more and more lost, it wasn't before long that the sun began to set. Still, he took this challenge with a smile despite being low on supplies. He was in the wilderness. They're sure to be some berries somewhere. However, before the sun dipped below the horizon, he saw a blur Bolt from the tree to the dense foliage. It was like lightning, but he could have sworn he saw feathers. The figure was a human shape, a hybrid, perhaps? It stood at a distance where he could barely see it. It stood there tilting its head almost as if it wanted him to follow. As he followed the creature until they were nowhere in sight, that's when he realized he was back on the path.

Almost every encounter with you was by pure chance. You don't even know how he does it; a dumb human gets lost, and then you guide him back suddenly. A month later, he's back?! What the heck?? What is this human's deal!? is he trying to get himself killed?!

You only watch the human to make sure he doesn't get himself killed, not because you think the human is attractive. And you absolutely didn't swoon when you saw that he was wearing the feather you dropped as a necklace.

But unbeknownst to you Leon wasn't just adventuring for adventuring sake he was looking for you. Oh yes the mysterious hybrid that led him back to the path on that night he met you. Hybrids are already so rare, and when you caught his eye, he couldn't help but relive the memory. He not only wanted to meet you, but he wanted to get to know you to understand you. And you were just as infatuated with him as he was with you.

Even though you're instincts told you to court him as a potential mate, you knew that as a human, he couldn't be trusted, but somehow, Leon knew that , he knew that you were wary of him. He didn't blame you. How could he? Thus begins the slow build of trust and your relationship

[tarjeismoeworknews]

Den Norske Filmskolen talked to Tarjei and "Catalina" producer August Colding about his director debut and getting NFI grant for it

" Tarjei Sandvik Moe and August Colding make a short film with NFI support

Photo: Camilla Pavlikova Sandland

The year got off to a great start for cohort 13 alumni screenwriter Tarjei Sandvik Moe and producer August Colding. With production support from NFI, they realized the short film "Catilina" where Tarjei is in charge of direction and script and all the department managers are from Cohort 13. The film will be Tarjei's debut as a short film director.

The Norwegian Film Institute recently presented the five short films that received a total of 5.2 million in production support in the latest award round. Among the selected projects was the short film "Catalina", directed and written by Tarjei Sandvik Moe, which was awarded 750,000. Tarjei graduated from the screenwriting department of the film school's cohort 13 in the summer of 2024 and the short film is produced by cohort 13 colleague August Colding and True Content Productions. The team includes photographer Mikkel Lyng-Jørgensen, production designer Rikke Seim Trana, editor Mariel Melø Hansen and sound designer Paula Franke, all of whom attended the film school with Tarjei and August.

"Catilina" is about a young drama teacher at Skien High School who, through a horrible winter day, tries to remain true to himself and his artistic visions as an Ibsen director, while his girlfriend, the school system and the present stand in his way.

In her artistic assessment, film consultant Nina Barbosa Blad describes the project as unique and exciting and highlights Tarjei's broad experience from both film and stage: "This is Tarjei Sandvik Moe's first professional short film as a director, after he has shown good results in the short films he has written. Here he has a good team behind him, and his formidable experience as an actor and his clear vision convince that this will be a unique and exciting film."

We spoke with director and screenwriter Tarjei Sandvik Moe and producer August Colding right after the happy news was announced.

Tarjei Sandvik Moe: "I have no interest in making safe films"

Tarjei Sandvik Moe and the rest of the scriptwriters from class 13 at the theater premiere at Dramatikkens hus in April 2024. The scriptwriters wrote and directed six one-act plays that were performed to a packed audience, an event that has become a tradition for the screenwriting students in the film school's graduating class.

Tarjei Sandvik Moe, you have written scripts for other directors both at film school and for short films that you have made outside of school. What made you take the step into the directorial role on this project ?

-I've actually also directed a bit of short film and stage and audio drama in recent years and have some previous experience as an assistant director in the performing arts field, in addition to my screenwriting education from the Film School - so it doesn't feel like a whole new world to be directing it here. The exciting difference now is that I have a larger, professional budget to work with, even though the money quickly runs out in film production outside of school.

But to the question: Some projects it is obvious that I will write for others, while some I am drawn to direct myself - and this was one of them. It is probably about the fact that my cinematic visions here had a form of specificity to them. I became curious about trying to pursue this myself, in collaboration with a good artistic team. This is if I got the trust of a producer, production company, and film support from somewhere. Now that all this might fall into place, I think I will drive on like a madman, and then it will sink or swim(Tarjei uses expression "briste eller bære", literal translation is burst or bear). You never know how it will go, and I have no interest in making a safe film.

In many other projects, I am the one who is connected to a director's basic idea, which excites me (such as the graduation film from the Film School). Or it is my basic idea - but since I may not have such specific visions, I would rather see my material meet the gaze and expression of another director. It is a great privilege and incredibly educational to be able to do both.

Tarjei Sandvik Moe received the award for best screenplay for the graduation film "Jeg følte jeg måtte være her (I felt like I had to be here)" at the Amandus Blikkfang festival. Photo: Amandus Blikkfang

What do you want to explore in this short film?

-I want to explore so much. If I were to highlight one thing, it would be what it's like to be a human being who in some way has to relate to other people. That sounds general, but it's not easy, that kind of stuff.

Several of the short films you have written take place in and have a slant on the art world. What fascinates you dramatically about characters who want to express themselves through art?

-I remember watching "The Circus" with Charlie Chaplin when I was little. Chaplin, in the role of "The Tramp", is at the beginning of the film on the run from the police, he runs as hard as he can, and into a circus full of spectators, and from the moment he is inside the circus circle, he is something else, he is involuntarily framed in art, culture. And everyone in the audience laughs - now he is theirs. I like that moment very much. So such things have always fascinated me. Dramatically speaking, it is probably as simple as how people relate to art and culture says a lot about them, both individually and collectively - psychologically, philosophically, politically and sociologically (among other things!). But it is important not to just make "art about art", and I also hope that my films are about something else, even when they are ostensibly about art. I don't even know if "art" or "culture" in itself is something I think of as a theme, but it can certainly be a means on the way to exploring something else. Other times you can manage without it.

Still from the graduation film "I felt like I had to be here" directed by Sara Moland and written by Tarjei Sadvik Moe. Photo: Signe Edelboe Rasmussen.

What does it mean to be trusted as a short film director by NFI?

-Boring answer, but I'm simply very grateful. I'm generally grateful to live in a country that has such arrangements. And I hope we take care of it: That money for large and small, narrow and broad projects, in all possible fields of art can continue to allow us to do our thing, in the hope of perhaps getting closer to something - that we can share with the audience. Even if we don't always succeed. But if you scale down more and more, we lose the opportunity to work with low shoulders, and then we don't take as big risks, and then art becomes less significant.

So no, I'm happy, inspired, and I'm taking this seriously, but I'm also trying to shut out everything external, and not be too afraid of making mistakes. That's not good for anything. I'm also so fucking excited to see all the other films being made in Norway in the future, it feels like there are good vibes here in this little film country.

August Colding: "That the NFI has received the project so well says a lot about Tarjei's script and his vision as a director.

Producer August Colding

August Colding, how did the collaboration between you and Tarjei on this particular project begin?

The collaboration started when Tarjei introduced me to his personal project towards the end of Film School. The project was a feature film script with a very personal and, in my opinion, incredibly strong story. Tarjei and I have worked together many times, both in and out of school, but always as a screenwriter and producer. So when he mentioned that he would like to direct this himself, it suddenly turned into a new collaboration. But it also felt absolutely right.

Since the planned film project will be Tarjei's feature film debut as a director, we couldn't start working on the feature film directly. There are financial reasons for this, but if you look at it from a slightly more positive angle, it's fantastic to have the opportunity to explore a feature film in this way. By making a short film with the same universe and characters, we can dive deep into the story and see what works, and what interests us and an audience the most. Of course, the short film should stand on its own, as an independent artistic project, but the process also feels like an exploration of the feature film, which is a fantastic opportunity to have.

What are you most looking forward to about continuing your collaboration with your school colleagues?

-Most of the department managers are from our cohort at the Film School, so it's really wonderful. It feels safe and good to step into this professional world with familiar people. Hopefully they'll be a little more forgiving of the mistakes I'll make along the way.

What does the support from the Norwegian Film Institute mean?

-Anyone who knows Tarjei knows that he doesn't write short texts, and this film is no exception. Without the film school's time constraints on the films we produced there, he has really let his pen fly, so it will be a long short film. This is something both the film industry and film school teachers often warn against, but we thought it was best to go all in on the style instead of compromising before we had even tried. That's why it's incredibly nice that NFI has received the project so well, and that they support a debuting director. I think it says a lot about Tarjei's script and his visions as a director.

At the Norwegian Film School, we look forward to seeing the finished film and congratulates everyone who received support in this award round from the Norwegian Film Institute. In addition to Tarjei and August, there were several alumni among the five selected projects:

Jay Choi (MFA cohort 3) received 750,000 for "We Are What We Eat", which she directed and wrote.

Louise Beyer from Storm Film (BFA class of 12) is a producer on Liv Joelle Barbosa Blad's "Gaven" which received 850,000

Congratulations to everyone!"

[angstyaches]

The Hexagon: Aftermath, Part One

Hexagon Parts 1 - 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

This is a long one (4,000+). It's a lot of general recovery stuff, with a bit of rare Charlie/Ryan interaction.

Also, please note that I am in no way a medical professional (and neither is Ryan).

CW: effects of hunger/exhaustion/dehydration, passing out, slightly medical setting, injury (burns), nausea, mention of emeto, anxiety, refeeding, mention of blood drinking, stomach noises, embarrassment/awkwardness, demonic possession, fear for CT's wellbeing.

___

The last stretch of the car ride felt like the longest, and yet Charlie felt stuck in a daze. He couldn’t sleep anymore, no matter how badly he wanted to. What mental energy he had, he was channeling into not crying, not throwing up, not panicking over the sickening fear he felt, that he would suddenly be flung from a dream and back into the forest. Into the hexagon. 

He must have drawn a loud, shaky breath or something, because Shayne tilted his head to try to look at him. 

“You okay?” 

Charli nodded. “I’m...” 

Whatever the end of that sentence was supposed to be, it didn’t make it to his lips. He wasn’t even sure why that was, exactly. He just wanted his bed. He wanted his parents. He wanted to be alone with Shayne so they could cry and process everything at their own speed. 

He most certainly did not want to see Ryan Aldridge waiting in the driveway as Elliott pulled up to the townhouse.

There was no delicate way of putting it; Charlie had never stopped finding Ryan abjectly terrifying. He liked to think he’d done a decent job of acclimatising to a world that consisted of demons, demon eaters, witches, shifters, and vampires, but the most ancient vampire he’d ever met still send tendrils of cold through his body. She never smiled. She never looked angry. She never made any sudden movements. And she had never transitioned away from calling him Mr. Waters. Then again, he’d always been too terrified to ask her to call him anything else, so maybe that one was on him. 

In his fragile state, she was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. 

She was standing in the driveway of the townhouse, holding a black parasol to shield her face from the sun. She was wearing a crisp white pantsuit that washed out her unnaturally pale skin even more. For a woman trying so hard to block out UV rays, she looked like she should have come with her own light sensitivity warning. 

Elliott pulled up the handbrake and whipped off his sunglasses. The engine rumbled down to silence, finishing off with a whine from the air conditioning. Ingrid had been reminding Trevor to get that checked out for months. 

“Oh, god.” Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. “I-I need to tell my car where his dad is.” 

“You... mean your dad where –?” 

“My dad where his c-car is.” 

“Charlie,” Shayne muttered. “I’m sure they’re far more worried about you than the fucking car.” 

Charlie blinked, the movement happening far too slowly. The way Ryan Aldridge would blink. Probably. The thought of his parents worrying about him, unable to contact him, put a surge of panic right into the centre of his chest cavity. The way his mother’s face, her entire being, had collapsed inwards on that night three years ago, when he’d told them what he – 

Charlie jumped. The door next to him had been opened. Switching to autopilot, he slid out of the back seat and promptly forgot how to use his legs. 

Somebody – Shayne? Elliott? Ryan? – grabbed him, to keep him from sagging to the ground. Maybe CT had managed to pull themself together and levitate him. 

CT? he whispered internally, and a cold wave of black swarmed his vision. It seeped into his every thought, his memories of the past few days, flashes of childhood visits to the sea. Bubbles of pressure pushed up against his lungs, inside and out. 

Lights exploded in the darkness. His stomach heaved. 

His mind stretched on and on, and Charlie followed it, until he could feel the demon submerged in that same smothering darkness. They weren’t reaching back towards him. 

Still, Charlie took some semblance of relief in feeling the low, thrumming pressure of them. 

Come back to me, Charlie pleaded. When you’re ready. 

___ 

When he opened his eyes, he was on his back, but not in a pile of pine needles. Not on the concrete driveway in front of the townhouse, either. A white ceiling enclosed the room, where he’d half-expected to see drifting treetops through a purple gloss. 

Charlie savoured it for a few seconds. He had missed being inside. The older he got, the more sure he became that he had been put on this earth to be inside, to be cosy and warm and in soft lighting. 

The lighting here was not soft, though, and Charlie’s eyes protested as he tried to have a look around. 

Some kind of thin, narrow bed was stretched out beneath him, as though he had fallen asleep on an examining table. He could feel that his hoodie and Converse were gone, but his damp, three-day-old jeans and t-shirt still clung to his skin. Nausea rolled over him in cold waves, and he realised he was sweating. Was it always this warm when there was no natural breeze blowing through? 

With the glow of gratitude fading fast, Charlie turned his head. It felt like trying to shove his face through quicksand, but it was worth it. 

A few feet away, a leather chair sat across from the front of a massive, light oak desk. Shayne was standing behind the chair, resting his weight against its back. He was looking down, his eyelids heavy, and was attempting to wrap something around his hand. 

Elliott stood at the other side of the room, by the door, arms crossed, looking off into the middle distance. His aviators hung from the front of his shirt. 

Ryan had shed her parasol and one layer of her white suit. She was organising medical equipment on a plastic trolley. Her wavy white hair had been scraped back into a bulldog clip to keep it from falling into her face. Charlie hadn’t thought it was possible for the woman to look even more severe, but now he missed the softening curls that normally framed her face. 

He didn’t recognise the room, but he assumed it was Ryan office. Shayne had mentioned it to him several times in the past. Aside from books, the only decorations were a couple of deer skulls mounted on stands, and a square wall clock that, Charlie realised as soon as he noticed it, ticked obnoxiously in the quiet. And the walls, the carpet, the bookshelves, almost everything was clean and white. 

Of course it would be, Charlie thought, squinting his eyes to fight off the pulsing headache. 

This was where Shayne had first been medically assessed by Ryan, and where he had finally managed to tell them the truth about Madelyn and his eating issues. It felt a little bit bizarre that Charlie now had his own story to tell about this room. The time they got trapped in the forest and had to be rescued by Elliott. 

Except... They hadn’t been rescued by Elliott, had they? Someone had taken down the wards and allowed them to escape. 

Shayne had never quite explained that one, Charlie realised. Only now did that make Charlie feel a bit uneasy. 

As though he had been thinking the same thing, Shayne’s eyes swiveled anxiously upwards. His gaze softened, though, when he realised that Charlie was awake. He lurched away from the leather chair. 

“Hey, love.” 

“Hey,” Charlie breathed. 

Shayne closed the distance, his wrapped hand gently – messily – pushing Charlie’s hair back from his eyes. Charlie closed his eyes and groaned softly as his forehead was kissed. 

“Are you okay?”  

Before Charlie could respond, Ryan turned towards them. A stethoscope hung from her neck. If she was surprised at Charlie’s departure into consciousness, her face had no intention of showing it. 

“As I have said, Mr. Waters is dehydrated. His body has entered a state of adaptive ketosis. I will continue to monitor his vitals while he rests and is gradually reintroduced to food and fluids.” 

At the mention of food, Charlie felt a strange ripple go through the walls of his stomach. It had to be hunger, and yet there was the slightest tinge of acid in the back of his throat, as though he might be sick as soon as he tried to swallow anything. 

Shayne rolled his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering uneasily. His grip on Charlie’s hand was weak. “Are you okay, love?” he asked again. 

Charlie nodded, though he felt a stuttering echo of that panicked feeling in his chest. Nausea twisted in his stomach, heightened by the white lights. The absence of CT’s voice panged, not just in his head but throughout his body.  

He shifted on his back. 

“Want to sit up?” Shayne asked. 

Charlie nodded again.  

As he moved, he found a drip connected to his arm. His own right hand had also been bandaged, all the way up to the tips of his fingers, where he’d touched the wards and blistered his skin. His movement unsettled a large, white basin that had been lying next to him. Shayne reached out to steady it before it could fall off the – he was literally lying on an examining table.  

Was it normal for Elder vampires to own examining tables? 

A smell suddenly wafted towards Charlie, conjuring up memories of various kitchens throughout his teenage years, all of them different, and yet the hearty aroma of his dad’s chicken casserole was the same in each one. After this, maybe he would study remotely for a few weeks, spend some time with his parents, if they were happy to have him. Maybe ask his dad to teach him his casserole recipe. 

After hearing what Ryan had said about a gradual introduction to food, he had a feeling that what he was smelling now was more likely to be some kind of broth. After almost three days, though, he’d take what he was given. 

“My... my parents.” Stars blinked in and out of his vision as he tried to focus on not letting his head sway back and forth. He mustn’t have done a great job, because Shayne’s bandaged hand came to rest against his cheek, and Charlie inadvertently leaned into it. He rubbed at his eyes, and found tears had gathered there. 

“Miss McDonagh has been tasked with informing Ingrid and Trevor Waters of the situation.” Ryan glanced at her silver watch. The clock face rested on the inside of her wrist. “I should expect she will be speaking with them presently.” 

“Miss McDonagh?” Elliott scoffed. Charlie had almost forgotten he was there. “Odd thing to call your lover, but alright.” 

Ryan ignored him. So did Charlie. He looked at Shayne. “Is that...?” 

“Lucy,” Shayne nodded. 

Charlie exhaled. He didn’t exactly trust this counsellor, who he’d never met, but he trusted Shayne. He swallowed, his throat feeling like grit. 

“Is... she here, at the townhouse?” Shayne was looking at Ryan as she worked. “Does that mean Nancy’s back, too?” 

Ryan pushed the trolley a little closer. The chicken broth smell became stronger. 

“Um.” Shayne reached across himself and held his waist. The gauze on his right hand was already unraveling. “Ryan?” 

“Shayne.” She dismissed him with a calm, fluid shake of her head. “Since you will not allow me to examine you, there is currently no need for you for you to be present.” 

“Wait.” Charlie’s stomach lurched, both at the prospect of being left alone with Ryan, and at what she’d said. He tried to catch Shayne’s eye. “You wouldn’t let her check on you?” 

Shayne scowled. He looked down and rubbed his thumb against Charlie’s wrist, sending tingles across his skin. “I’m fine. You’re the one who collapsed in the driveway. And threw up on your shoes.” 

“I –” Charlie grimaced. He couldn’t remember throwing up, but with the way his tummy had felt after the flat Coke, and the way he felt now, it definitely sounded like something that could have happened. That would explain the basin, too. 

It also spoke volumes that he didn’t even worry about his Converse being ruined. 

“I want to stay with Charlie. I can be useful –” 

“Elliott?” Nothing shifted in Ryan’s expression, and yet Shayne sucked in a breath as though he were being told off. “Would you terribly mind relieving me of this one?” 

As he peeled himself away from the far wall, Elliott looked just as surprised to be summoned as Shayne looked betrayed.  

Ryan picked up a deep, heavy mug from the trolley. Her fingers splayed delicately as she turned to pass it to Elliott. Charlie watched it go and felt his heart drop; rationally, he knew there would be more, and he would never take food away from Shayne, but Charlie’s stomach was starting to cramp up impatiently. It felt less like hunger and more like a burning anxiety over being so empty for so long. 

Ryan took a few more things from the trolley and thrust them towards Elliott. He wrapped a fist around the mug handle, but still managed to make it look precarious. He tucked everything else under his armpit so he could plant a hand on Shayne’s shoulder. 

“Come on.” 

“Really?” Shayne snarled at him. 

“Really.” Elliott directed him towards the door. “Charlie’s in good hands, and those hands will be even better if you’re not in here being a nuisance.” 

“See you later, lovely,” Charlie half-smiled. He hated feeling so helpless to do anything else about the worried look on Shayne’s face. He didn’t realise how pathetic he must have looked, keeping his eyes trained on Shayne’s back, until Elliott had finished herding him out of the room, until the door clicked shut behind them. 

And then, for the first time in his life, he was alone with a vampire. 

“Are you in any pain?” 

Charlie jumped. “I-I’m sorry, what?” 

“Are you in any pain?”  

Was it his imagination, or had she spoken more slowly when she’d repeated herself? Was she being sarcastic? Pointing out that he was a lowly, pathetic human, while she was an all-knowing Elder vampire? Was this a power play? 

“Mr. Waters?” 

Charlie flinched again, his heart stuttering. 

“I apologise for instructing Shayne to leave. I realise how that might be... uncomfortable for you.” 

Guilt seeped into Charlie’s gut. Was it that obvious? 

“In your condition, it is best for both of you to be in calm, quiet environments.” 

“Right. He needs to rest, too,” he said quietly. That was what she was getting at, right? That she was focused on tending to Charlie, but that she also cared for Shayne? She had protected him from Madelyn for this long, after all, and while Shayne was still a walking sack of issues, his mental and physical health had both improved a lot since living with her. 

That’s what you would tell me, isn’t it, CT? You’d be telling me to get over my stupid hang-ups and do what’s best in the moment? 

“Are you in any pain, Mr. Waters?” 

Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “My hand. My stomach. My head, the... the lights are hurting my eyes.” 

“My apologies again.” Ryan walked stiffly to the door and twisted a dimmer switch. The lights softened all at once, and although his head still ached, the buzzing pressure in Charlie’s eyes eased. He didn’t have to squint anymore. 

“Thank you.” 

She crossed the room again, dipping behind her large desk. As he watched her, Charlie now realised that she had a fridge in the back corner. The door was clear glass, and inside, what looked like tiny bottles of wine sat on a wire shelf. 

Charlie felt his stomach gurgle as he realised that those probably weren’t tiny bottles of wine. He looked away as Ryan reach inside, towards a lower shelf that was blocked from his view anyway. 

“I would like to take your blood pressure now that you are awake.” 

Charlie nodded stiffly, gaze glued to the floor. He glanced to the side, holding perfectly still, as Ryan wheeled over a blood pressure monitor – seriously, who had a blood pressure monitor ready to go at a moment’s notice? – and strapped the reader around his upper arm. He tried to control his breathing as the machine tightened. Would his anxiety mess up the results of this? 

Ryan was suddenly standing directly in front of him, staring down her nose. There was an uncapped bottle of water in her hand. 

“Oh...” Charlie stammered and took the bottle. The condensation immediately started to seep into his bandage, so he passed it into his left hand. “Thank you.” 

“Do not drink too quickly. Your digestive tract will not be capable of processing it yet.” 

Charlie nodded, trying not to think of that quarter-bottle of Coke and how it was now splattered across the Aldridges’ driveway along with his stomach acid. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and swished it lightly. He barely let his lips get wet, despite the clawing dryness in his throat. 

Ryan moved back to his side and unstrapped the blood pressure monitor. Charlie squeezed in a couple more miniscule sips of water, but found himself taking a little more each time. Ryan didn’t share the readings with him. Good. Too much bodily data could make Charlie feel squeamish, and between the hunger-nausea and the chilled cabinet full of what he could only assume was actual human blood, he didn’t need anything else stirring up his stomach. His water was only just starting to settle in, and it would be a shame to lose it all again. 

Ryan unhooked the stethoscope from around her neck. “Please lift your shirt at the back.” 

Charlie fumbled it a bit, with his gauzed hand and his water bottle, but was grateful that Ryan didn’t try to lift it herself. He winced as she pressed the metal chest piece to the centre of his back. 

“Breathe in.” 

Charlie did. He fought the urge to let the breath stutter back out prematurely as water and bile clogged his throat. 

“And out.” 

She asked him to do this several times before moving the stethoscope to his chest. The thought of her listening to the pumping of his heart made Charlie tremble. Was she picturing sucking the blood from his veins like straws? Would she tell him she needed a blood sample for medical reasons, stick him with a needle, and drain him dry before he even realised what was happening? 

Grrrrrroar. 

Charlie’s eyes widened, his hand clenching around his water bottle. By the sounds of it, his stomach was only just becoming aware of its newly-acquired contents. His eyes flicked towards Ryan’s face as she continued listening to his heart. If he had heard his own tummy rumbling, then she had heard it with her vampiric hearing and had most definitely heard it through the stethoscope. Her face didn’t give her away. She hadn’t even flinched, despite how horrifically loud it must have been. She continued listening to his heartbeat, and then swiftly turned, removing her earpieces, to write down the result. 

Something in Charlie’s chest suddenly unclenched. This whole time, he’d thought of Ryan as nothing but a vampire, whereas he should have been thinking of her as a... Well, maybe not a doctor, as he wasn’t sure she had any actual qualifications, but certainly a caregiver.  

She removed the chest piece and stood off to the side again. Charlie allowed himself a couple more sips of water, laying a hand on his stomach to ward off any uneasiness. He could feel his belly churning, but no cramping, which had to be a good sign. 

“You may cover yourself, Mr. Waters.” 

“Charlie,” Charlie said softly. He tugged his t-shirt back into place. 

“Next, I will give you a cup of light broth. It is important that you do not consume it too hastily, or –” 

“I-I know. It could make me sick.” 

Ryan gave a curt nod as she turned towards her trolley. Charlie flushed a little at himself for interrupting, but he was a teacher’s pet at heart and knew deep down he’d never let go of that need to seem like he was paying attention, participating, understanding the assignment.  

He was also dying to get his hands on something warm and nourishing. His mouth, now that he had the barest amount of fluids in his body, watered as he watched Ryan pick up a mug of broth. 

“Is there anything else in particular that is concerning you?” She paused as she handed him the mug, easing the bottle of water from his hand so he could hold it steady. She capped the bottle and turned to leave it on the trolley. 

It took Charlie a minute to answer her question. Maybe two or three. He gently sipped on the broth, and even though he knew he had to take his time, he struggled to keep himself from drinking it any faster. He wondered if he could feel the broth literally warming his insides as it slipped down his throat, or if the relief of finally feeling safe was only just setting into his body. 

He tentatively felt for CT, but still felt no energy coming back from them. 

Charlie lowered the mug to his lap. The light flavour of the broth stuck to his tongue and he fought to swallow it down as tears pricked his eyes. 

“I can’t talk to Charlie Too.”  

Ryan had busied herself with tidying up her equipment as he’d been drinking. She was standing behind her desk, sliding a beige folder onto a shelf filled with other, disturbingly similar, beige folders. 

“That’s what we call the demon that I –” 

“I am aware.” Ryan smoothly turned her head. “Perhaps this is the reason for Shayne’s questions regarding Nancy’s time of arrival. She has limited knowledge on the topic of demons, but regardless is the greatest source of knowledge at our disposal.” 

“Oh.” Charlie’s heart fluttered. “Maybe. I-I assumed he wanted to ask her if she knew anything about the trap.” 

It may have been Charlie’s imagination, but Ryan’s chin seemed to lower slightly, her eyes sharpening. He almost choked on nothing as fear spiked in his gut. 

“Not – not that we thought she set it,” Charlie sputtered. “Just –” 

There was a sharp knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, someone hurried into the room. 

She was pale and a little curvy, with cotton-candy pink hair tied in two low, messy pigtails. Her shoulders were hunched, and she kept a hold of the door handle. Her other hand hovered over her chin as she cast her eyes about the room. 

“H-hi, Ryan, I...” She grimaced as she caught Charlie’s eye. “Hi. Charlie?” 

Charlie nodded. “Lucy?” 

Her grimace widened. “Hi. So, your mother and father are fine. I explained the situation, and they’re coming to get you tomorrow. I assured them that you’re in great hands.” 

Charlie swallowed over the urge to belch, trying not to let his anxiety show on his face. Tomorrow felt too far away. Separated from Shayne and frozen out by CT, all he wanted was to see his parents’ faces. “Thank you.” 

“I would also like to schedule a meeting between the two of you,” Ryan cut in. She folded her arms. Her gaze swiveled from Lucy to Charlie. “A debriefing following your ordeal. Tomorrow morning, once you have had some rest.” 

Charlie tried to nod, to be a good student and show that he understood the value of Ryan’s suggestion. He flinched as another bubble of pressure rose up through his chest, muffling the burp with the back of his hand. 

“T-tomorrow morning, you said, Ryan?” Lucy said slowly. She took a step back, still clutching the door handle. 

“We will finalise the details later.” 

“Okay. Well, it’s – uh, been nice to meet you, Charlie. I’ll – I’ll just...” Lucy pointed with her thumb before backing out of the room, pulling the door shut with her. 

Alarm grew in Charlie’s mind; he hadn’t expected a qualified counsellor to slink about, acting like an embarrassed teenager. Charlie very much hoped she hadn’t been like this when she’d been on the phone with his parents. 

Doesn’t really matter, he thought to himself as he took a sip from his mug. And to CT, he thought, Everything’s going to be okay. 

He had to believe hard enough for both of them now.