#i suppose i might be convinced to uh expand on this

[sagau-my-beloved]

Unknown Feelings

This takes place in a sort of courting phase where the creator doesn't have any established romantic-like relationships

Warnings: general sagau, implied self-esteem issues kinda, fluff and flirting, honestly this is pretty tame

Paring: Venti/reader

-

It felt as if Mondstadt never changed, not really at least. Perhaps that was one of the disadvantages of building a city on an island, a finite space unable to really be expanded. As set as the stone that made its foundation.

And perhaps it was that unchangeable sense of consistency that got to you when everything else seemed so uncertain. It was always calm there, quiet, safe. Even back when this was all nothing more than a game that rang true, a place which purpose was simply to breathe, to provide rest and rejuvenation.

Maybe it was specifically for those reasons that you didn't find yourself spending a lot of time in the quiet nation, though that wasn't necessarily of your own choice. It was simply hard to justify, lounging in a city that didn't truly need your help or guidance.

Of course they wanted you there, the people, the monsters, the trees and flowers, and their Archon above all else. But when faced with Liyue's treasure hoarder infestation, Inazuma and its many threats, small peaceful Mondstadt was simply overlooked.

That didn't stop you from missing it though, from quietly longing for the day you'd get to return, if only for a short time. And that was exactly why you found yourselves at none other than the stone bridge, mere steps from the neglected land of the Anemo Archon.

You only meant to look, to simply gaze for a moment at the other side and then be on your merry way, onto where your presence was truly needed. That was until...

"Your grace!"

Oh no.

You spared a hesitant glance to your left, met with none other than the very Archon you missed seeing.

"How lucky I must be,” Venti continued, throwing you a playful smile, “to catch you alone like this."

The bard quickly and happily wrapped his arms around your arm, hugging it close. "You are alone, right? Morax isn't, uh… hiding somewhere back there... right?" The nervous laughter was hard to miss as he spared a few quick glances behind you, keeping a careful eye out for flying land-formations.

"Don't worry, you’re safe. Though that might not stay true if I don't get to where he's expecting me." You teased as the Archon pouted.

"Aww, so you didn't come for me after all? How cruel, and I was so excited to spend the day with you."

Venti had known from simply observing you that Mondstadt wasn't the final destination you had in mind, but what was he if not convincing?

"Hmm, why don't you come with me anyways your grace? I'd love nothing more than to entertain you on this beautiful day~"

You could get out of this, it wouldn't even be particularly difficult, but... did you really want to? Your thoughts drifted momentarily to how the rest of your day would unfold if you declined his gracious offer, sitting at a desk for hours on end, paperwork, distraught followers because you happened to sigh at the wrong time...

Your mind was made up before you spoke, and Venti's grin only widened.

"I... I suppose I could. But only today, and I need to be back before dark, and I'm not protecting you from whatever consequences 'Morax' deems worthy to bestow when he finds out."

His hold on your arm tightened as he pulled you along giddily, over the unmarked threshold that held so much weight.

"Completely worth it, I've missed you far too much to let an opportunity like this slip away."

It didn't seem like he would be letting go any time soon, dragging you ever onwards.

"Where to go where to go..." Venti mused, thinking it over rather intensely. "We could go to the Angels Share! I could even perform for you, it's been sooo long after all."

You laughed slightly, "Oh? And here I thought you'd wanted to horde all my attention for yourself. You know what'll happen if we go there."

You had a point. You being sighted anywhere in Mondstadt city would be cause for quite the commotion, he ponder this for a moment.

"I suppose you're right... Then maybe a private show hmm?" His tone started teasing, but dipped into something more genuine. "The audiences will come and go after all, but you'll be here to listen to my music forever, if you so choose. It’s the very least I can do."

You couldn't quite confirm or deny that statement, the topic of your mortality still being rather unknown territory, but you decided not to speak on it.

"How about we just go to Windrise, I don’t particularly feel like hiking up any cliffs today."

Venti giggled softly, "Well I could always just carry you, your grace. Wouldn't that be fun?"

It was your turn to laugh, "Good to know your sense of humor hasn't changed."

"Hey, I was serious." He whined, clinging ever tighter. "I'd do it in a heartbeat you know, I swear this on my honor as a bard, promise~ I am stronger than I look."

You could only playfully roll your eyes, marching onward to Windrise with him following pace.

It didn't take long for you both to be sitting together under the large tree, crystalflies curiously observing and him contently resting his head on your shoulder, listening to the wind.

The silence was pleasant, a nice break from the excessive amount of talking you had to bear the past few weeks. The never-ending stream of questions and pleas.

"I'm going to Inazuma soon." You finally spoke, causing Venti to glance up, his eyes shining softly from the light of the sun’s gentle rays.

"Hm, what for this time?" He asked lazily, happy to keep resting on you, trying hard to sound as if your statement wasn’t a big deal.

"'A concerning increase in elemental slime activity', as if that's anything more than another blatant excuse..." You mumbled the last part, a certain form of tiredness clinging to your words, one he picked up on immediately.

"'An increase in elemental slime activity'? Really, a second time?" Venti laughed lightly, “Just as bad at concealing her intentions as ever it seems.”

"Meanwhile I'd love nothing more than an excuse to come here and visit you more often."

It was stated with a light joking tone, but Venti took it deathly serious.

"I...” He was almost at a loss for words, “I can't begin to describe how much I enjoy hearing you say that." The genuineness dripping from his voice gave way to a more playful note as quick as it had appeared. "Don't be surprised if I call you over for the most trivial things then."

"Heaven knows the other Archon do it more than enough." You laughed lightly, before a more serious expression took over. "I can't say I mind all that much though, trivial things are easy to solve. Makes me feel more useful than I probably actually am."

It wasn't quite meant in a self-deprecating way, simply as a factual observation. There weren't a whole lot of world-threatening events happening, and it wasn't as if you even really knew you had the ability to stop them. You didn't realize quite how it came off until you saw Venti with a look of abject horror.

"Your grace, my lovely divine creator, please don't speak like that. All of Teyvat adores you, no matter what you do or don't want to handle. You've done so far beyond enough already."

You gave him a small smile, "'Adore' huh? I guess that's one way to put it. But I just..." You paused a moment, thinking over the phrasing. "I think it's more they worship the concept of me over 'adore' who I actually am. If that makes sense..."

It was a frustrating thing to try putting into words, it almost felt selfish to even talk about. Complaining about the admiration and unconditional love so freely given.

"That might be true, but I know you personally." Venti sat up straighter, making intense eye contact and grabbing your hand with his own.

"I will only ever speak to you with sincerity. So, when I tell you that I adore you so dearly... I hope you believe me."

You were taken aback slightly by how genuine he was being, how loving he was in the face of your doubt.

"And, believe me, I do. I simply adore you, your grace. I could never stop adoring you."

Your body felt warm, unintentionally flushing, breaking eye contact to look anywhere but his intense gaze. It only strengthened his resolve.

"I am more than happy to sing my praises of you." The bard practically chirped, laying back at your side and wrapping his arms around you, yet again, in a hold that could be considered more secure.

You scoffed slightly, still a bit flushed. "Surely you exaggerate, I really haven't done anything praise-worth since my 'descension'."

"Exaggerate?! Don't make light of my affection for you." He scolded, holding you tighter, sounding almost offended. "I don't need to have any accolades to speak well of you. Just to say that you exist should be praise enough, should it not?"

It was true that he envied every other that stole your attention, how he went out of his way to meet you in other nations when obviously not wanting or welcome by their respective Archons.

"I could spend all my days speaking of your grace, your brilliance, every truly divine piece of you... I couldn't express my love for you fully in a dozen lifetimes."

He paused a moment, soaking in your expression, as if it alone could sustain him, his voice taking on a sweeter tone.

"But I'll try to do so in this one."

You struggled to come up with a decent retort, stunned into some form of silence before finding your footing again. "Poetic as always I see." He really never ceased to amaze you.

"I've been lucky enough to find someone that allows me to put my words to good use. They'd simply be wasted on anyone else."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little at how sickeningly sweet he was acting. Surely he was only acting like this to cheer you up, to make you feel a little less like a mere decoration… right? His grin gave nothing away.

You both sat there for a while, him telling occasional jokes, often with flirty undertones, and playing you a few songs, per your request. It was such a stark contrast from how you had previously been living day-to-day that you didn’t notice how much time seemed to be passing until the sun was almost barely visible.

You eventually gave in to your unavoidable fate, giving him a small apologetic smile as you parted ways after he walked you back to the stone gate. All the while left wondering just how sincere his words really were, and, more importantly, when you'd be able to do this again.

[asksoldieron]

SO-20: "I just… um… Words. Sometimes. You know."

If there's a lot of engagement on this, this post is liable to get real long, beware before you expand.

Welcome to the Engagement Lounge, for A Little Loopy (249|20) an instalment! Short comments can go in the replies, but there's a 475 character limit. Longer ones will need a reblog. Remember to @asksoldieron if you're reblogging someone else's reblog, so I can see it too!

Okay! I may get myself in trouble here because I have to talk about this instalment when I'm still a little messed up about someone (with the BEST intentions) correcting the language I use to talk about, uh, loosing my language. They increased my anxiety about a word I need to use sometimes to get appropriate care, to the point where I won't be able to use it to get appropriate care right now, if I have to. I'm slightly less safe going out in public alone, with one less way to catch myself if I fall, and that makes everything worse because I know it. No matter how noble the intent, that's not okay. But Tumblr is the sort of place I could get in trouble for saying it's not. Because some folks here want to file me according to their perception of just how disabled I am, and then tell me how I should be acting. I'm really not sure how that's supposed to help everyone, but some folks are convinced it will.

But, Erik's meltdown here is mine, at least as far as the words go. I went back and changed it out of spite after I wrote it, because someone induced that kinda meltdown in me, and sometimes I wanna punch people until they develop empathy. I know it won't work, but I really, really wanna. I opened the doc and said to the spouse, "Fuck it, no words at all. If they love him, they'll figure it out." But, of course, I didn't say that. I said "totally nonverbal." And there is discourse about that. My God, is there discourse!

I don't like performing my pain in an attempt to get others to treat me how I want to be treated. And how I want to be treated is please, please don't make it harder for me to find a word I can use to get people to back off and let me put myself together when I can't find hardly any words. Erik has a hard time finding words he doesn't use a lot, so that word's not likely to come out of him. I have a hard time finding words that aren't specific, so it might come out of me. But I do need to be able to use it when I'm not struggling, sometimes, or it gets harder to find. Like now.

I did go write down some of what my deal is, and how I feel, after that person politely nudged me into my place. But I didn't post it anywhere because I don't wanna tell it to the world. At least not right now. That's inviting more well-meaning people to categorize me and I have enough on my plate. Please just remember, not everyone who fails to play by the rules is dog-whistling to cause harm, or just being entitled. And you're not entitled to demand, "Prove it."

I know if Erik could say "nonverbal" someone would pop up to tell me, "no, bad writer." But I do wonder, if ya had to sit him down in the hotel room and say it to his face as he breaks down crying with no words to explain how to help him, would anyone say, "You can talk most of the time. That word is wrong for you. Pick another"? I really hope not. But, if someone said that when he was having a good day, he'd remember it. He'd still remember (at some point, heh, poor kid) when he's having a meltdown. Being scared and upset doesn't erase someone trying to take that word away from him so he can't use it ever, because he's not having a hard enough time in comparison to someone else.

It's hard for me to stick up for myself, but - oh, man - I will come for you if you hurt my boy. Please try not to. We all hurt each other without meaning sometimes, so all I can ask is that you try.

There is so much that would make this world better and more accessible for all of us. Just for example: safe, affordable housing for all, and not having to drive everywhere to get healthcare and/or food. It can't just be for the least of us, because then we hafta fight each other for the title of "least." I don't wanna. I'm real tired of it. Why isn't everyone?

[Back to Site?]

*Art Edit: My reference image is from Voodoo Child by Rogue Traders, and I think I pulled it off. I mean, if you've seen the video, I think you'll recognize it.

And if you haven't, it still makes sense. Poor Erik!

I can point out exactly where I screwed up, too, and the Glaze artifacts stick out like crazy (to my eyes, anyway). Nevertheless, Erik look like Erik, and I'm happy with his design in this style. Happier than I have been with how he looks in my art-deco-ish style! I'll have to put the HQ version in the Ko-Fi store.

[grokebaby]

HI WAVES MY HAND IN THE AIR. PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT JARMO AND THE RED HOTEL. You mentioned the whole thing is gaining sentience slowly, how does that work ? Do its residents (when there are any) notice it, and how does it manifest at first ? Does it feel fear and stuff when there's like bad people inside ? And what about Jarmo, can he talk ? Considering he's less a person and more just a puppet apparition, I'd suspect he doesn't actually have a voice, but rather just uses one that he THINKS the people staying in will recognize as friendly. OH and and. Do you have a front of the hotel drawn :3 /NF IM JUST GENUINELY CURIOUS BECAUSE I IMAGINE THE FROMT COULD KINDA LOOK LIKE A FACE IF YOU SQUINTED. ENOUGH. Sorry im excited this concept is fascinating

HII WAVES BACK AT YOU. LOVE THE ENERGY LOVE THE CREATIVITY MY BROTHER

I realise now that my wording made it seem like the hotel itself, first and foremost, starts developing personhood and while that wasn't what I intended to say,.... Oh boy the potential??? You always present ideas so awesomely I can't not be inspired by them like. Oh man.

Okok I wouldn't say the hotel develops sentience (or rather sapience, like Jarmo) in that way but like. I imagine that further along the line it would kinda become like the house in Encanto, bc the hotel, in some sense of the word, is absolutely alive. It's like a self sufficient video game map that generates whatever is needed and it's capable of expanding and generating more space and items (granted it has enough energy, ykno, it needs sustenance). It's reactive, proactive, and has the ability to adapt. So while, with Jarmo I kinda debated over the emotions thing, with the hotel I....... (stares off into nothing) uh.

To tackle the part about fear and bad people, no the hotel doesn't have the capacity for judgement necessarily but it definitely will get aggressively more defensive, if for example, there are guests actively breaking shit and trying to break into places they're not supposed to go. Jarmo is actually meant to take care of this part if the guests start going too far and getting too destructive towards the hotel, bc it too is just trying to survive. I feel that yes, the guests would likely notice that this hotel sorta.. "behaves" very differently from how normal buildings should (which is to say, not really at all). The hotel is aware enough to know when a certain door should be "locked" (aka not have the capacity to be opened at all), or where a hallway should lead (exactly the place the guest was looking for. Unless it contradicts with being a place the guest isn't allowed into). I wanna say, you might be able to trick or outsmart the house, but you'll definitely get hit with the consequences later if you manage to do so as a guest.. And since the hotel is Jarmo's "natural territory", he too can influence it. Going back to that locked door thing, the hotel will know to make a door or area unavailable if Jarmo tells the guests that it is so. Also, if Jarmo states that some guest in particular is banned from something, the hotel will act accordingly

The hotel is also capable of being injured.

ALSO that idea about how the hotel looks from the outside. Fucking mint, I gotta say. That is so cool. But no I've almost never drawn locations or buildings, so I've got nothing except word description of how the red hotel looks. Even then tho, it is a place capable of warping with your perception or even independently from it. So.

And, you are so correct about Jarmo's voice! He is always and in every way, customer service mode 24/7. He does have a distinct voice, so it's not just a different one every time (consistency is convincing), but yes, it is a very manufactured, ad-reading esque, customer service voice. Actually, as I mentioned in some tags earlier, this started as a (LIVE ACTION) Roleplay setting, which meant I had to voice act Jarmo, so he does have his own voice! It's generic tho, yes. But it very much fits his face, and it's nuances can change with what the guests would expect to hear from a face like that, but generally it's a jolly, enthusiastic but contained, warm buttery voice belonging to an older man. With no discernible accent. Simultaneously so full of personality and so devoid of life.

[theninjamouse]

3, 12, 40? With the shoregrillster trio? In any combination you like

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

12. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

40. A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

This is going under a cut because one, it got hecking long and two, it got mildly SPICY. Nothing explicit but you have been warned

Parties are....they’re supposed to be at least a little fun, right?

When it was announced that Gaster’s work on a new environment friendly, cost effective and all around sick public transportation design had been accepted by the city council, there was also the call to a party to celebrate the occasion. You’re beyond happy for Gaster, for his accomplishments in finally getting more steps taken to integrate monster magic into human technology on a world changing scale.

But holy crap, this party is boring.

Calling it a party at all is being generous. It’s just an excuse for people of ‘classier’ society to act like they’re taking part in something grand and to show off how fancy they are by sipping at cocktails and standing around pretending to care about what the other party goers bring up for conversation. But it is an important part of getting full funding for the project, as well as schmoozing up to anyone who might open up lanes for future development, so here you all are.

The majority people here are humans that you don’t recognize in the slightest aside from the occasional ‘oh it’s...that guy. Yeah’. There are a handful of monsters from the science and tech division all involved on the project. They’re mostly keeping to themselves, nervously socializing as little as possible.

Sans was here at some point. You don’t doubt he’s snuck off to find a corner to snooze in, if he hasn’t left the party outright at this point.

Lucky jerk.

However, you will admit, there is an upside to this whole thing. Gaster is not usually one to dress up. At least, not in any level aside from his beloved lab coat that you highly doubt contains more than a scrap of the original material thanks to all the repairs that have had to be done on it.

He’s been talked out of the lab coat and is instead wearing an utterly dashing three piece suit of the deepest purple you’ve ever seen captured by fabric. From the distance between where you’re leaning up against a pillar to rest your feet and him being caught in a circle of engineering heads pelting him with questions, the suit looks black until he shifts and the light catches the lines of shimmering purple.

You sip appreciatively at your drink, eyes taking in the way the suit fits his skeletal frame. Perhaps the night won’t be so boring after all.

“He cleans up really good,” you muse as the air to your left grows warm. “Almost makes the feral cat fuss he made about getting in the suit worth it.”

“Says you; I had to actually drag him out of bed while you were in the shower. He actually tore holes in my sheets.” Grillby leans against the wall as well, offering you a plate of ‘fancy people food’ he snagged from one of the wandering waiters.

Ah, you were wondering about those. You take a piece, not exactly sure what the heck it even is and pop it in your mouth. Your expression twists. “How is it that rich people food always looks so good but tastes like sour air and dried regret?”

“I’m still working that out myself.” Grillby finishes off the plate and sighs.

You shift your gaze to Grillby. He too is dressed to the nines, with a deep red button up, a black and gold trimmed waistcoat and matching tie. He always looks good of course but damn if his snazzy outfit isn’t making the worst kind of butterflies flutter in your belly.

“I’ll make us something actually substantial when we get home,” he continues, oblivious to your less than pure gaze skimming over him.

“If Gaster hasn’t imploded by that point.” The poor guy is fidgeting like crazy. It’s difficult for him to be around so much noise and fuss, this you know from experience.

Grillby looks at you, gaze sharpening a bit as his eyes trail over your outfit. Said outfit for the night is a deep blue one piece, sleeveless suit dress. The smooth material hugs your frame just enough to offer a hint at the form underneath and is blanketed by a sheer capelet that rests over your bare shoulders and gathers together at your waist with a thick belt.

The intensity of Grillby’s staring sends a delightful thrill of heat up your spine. “I guess I clean up alright too,” you murmur, brows lifting teasingly.

“’Nice’ is not quite the word I’d use.” He’s moved closer, plate of food discarded and hand rising to rest rather low on your hip. “Ravishing. Tempting. Something like that.” His head has tilted down, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You pull a goofy face at him, because if you don’t, you’re pretty sure your face will burst under the growing blush in your cheeks. “That’s me, the ultimate temptation.”

He’s not deterred by your teasing. He merely glances around just enough to see if anyone is currently looking your way before his grip tightens and he presses a warm kiss to your lips. It’s soft and gentle and a smile easily comes to your face as you kiss him chastely back.

Then-oh his mouth opens, and you quite forget about your boredom and the fact that your feet are killing you and the taste of bland rich people food on your tongue because Grillby tastes so much better. Your hands rise, gripping the edges of his waistcoat, pulling him closer to you and he makes a sound deep in his throat that urges your mouth to move faster, go deeper-

A laugh rings out, clear and far too close and Grillby jumps like he’s been shocked, pulling away with an eruption of blue over his face. Both of you guiltily look over towards the noise but it would seem that it was just someone laughing at a point in conversation. No one is staring in aghast mortification at the social faux pas.

A little breathlessly, you giggle. “Wow, how scandalous of you. We’re out in the open and everything.”

He shoots you a heated look. “You kissed me back.”

“You used tongue, you cheater!”

He flushes a brighter blue, but you can’t help but notice that his hand remains firmly on your hip. This isn’t fair, stupid party, stupid crowd….

An idea sparks in your heat addled brain. A dumb idea but, well, you’re rather past the point of caring too much.

You press up closer to him again, eyes darting out over the crowd for the briefest moment. You dance your fingers up his buttons. “Why don’t we go rescue Gaster? I think we could all use a... social recharging?”

He blinks and the soft “oh” that escapes him when he realizes what you’re getting at gets your ears burning.

But he doesn’t say no. In fact, he simply nods quickly, steps back and offers you his arm, which you gratefully take. Heels suck and your ankles are not pleased with you. “You want to take the lead?”

“Absolutely,” you say with only a touch of a manic grin actually reaching your face.

Gaster looks on the verge of whipping into a ranting frenzy or throwing an actual punch as the two of you approach. The human speaking to him is going on about engine semantics or something. Incorrectly, going by the promise of violence glinting in Gaster’s eye sockets.

“Pardon me,” you say with syrupy sweetness, cutting off the man speaking. All heads turn, faces going blank with subdued irritation at the interruption. “I need to borrow the good doctor for a bit. Doctor Gaster?”

Gaster inclines his head. “Excuse me,” he says with the sincerity of a child apologizing for stealing cookies. You swap to hold onto his arm and let him sweep you out of the ballroom, Grillby following on your heels.

“You are an angel,” Gaster groans. “Those imbeciles were trying to convince me to add in ‘a profitable angle’ to the design. Pigs.”

“I think that’s an insult to pigs.” You carefully look him over. “Are you holding up okay?”

He sighs heavily, coming to a stop out in the hallway where the only person present is a coat attendant lost in a book.

“Objectively, yes” he says, rubbing at his skull. “I just wish Asgore did not insist on me staying and playing nice with these people.”

“Sounds like it’s just been a big pain.”

Grillby tugs on your arm.

“It is!” Gaster proclaims, sweeping his free arm back towards the ballroom. “Vultures! Well…most of them are, there was actually a rather fascinating young man who had his facts mixed up but the core of his idea was not a bad one—”

Grillby tugs harder.

“Mmhm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows at Grillby. Just because you can, you let your tongue dart out over your lips for the briefest of moments.

He looks as frustrated as a fire could possibly be. Were the coat attendant not glancing up over the edge of his book, he probably would have scooped the two of you up and gone to work right there.

“Uh, is something wrong?” Gaster, finally noticing the agitated flick of Grillby’s flames, looks between the two of you.

“Well, we’re both kind of…hmm, how to be nice about it…bored? Sorry,” you pat Gaster’s arm. “I know it’s your special night.”

“That’s fine, I’m quite bored myself,” Gaster says dryly.

“Oh perfect!” you chirp brightly. You glance to Grillby and smile slyly. “We had a thought about how to recharge our batteries. As it were.”

Not for the first time, Gaster displays an impressive ability to give the look of raising eyebrows without any actual, yanno, eyebrows. “Do tell?”

“It’s not really a tell so much as a show-oop!”

Grillby’s run out of patience. His hands land on both yours and Gaster’s backs, urging you forward and down the hall. The coat attendant is very pointedly Not Looking as you pass by. Grillby must have done recon or something when you first got here because he seems to know exactly where he’s heading. He takes you down a small flight of stairs and round a corner that leads to a small room that’s empty save for a few boxes stacked against one wall and some unused furniture.

And just your luck, it’s unlocked.

Going by the rising purple on Gaster’s face, he’s caught on to what exactly your ‘recharging’ idea is. “Uh-um, yes I—”

“I didn’t have much of a chance to say it earlier.” Your arm slips smoothly away from his and you turn to him. You have to lift up a bit on your tip toes and pull him down to you to press a kiss against his cheekbone. “You look very handsome tonight. And we are your dates to this thing, and yet we haven’t hardly had a chance to even talk to you.”

Gaster’s blush is now bright enough to nearly compete with Grillby’s flames.

Speaking of Grillby-

He’s moved in behind you, hands dropping to your waist as his mouth descends down on your neck. The heat of his body and fire presses against your back and you have to take a moment to catch your breath.

Gaster’s eye lights have gone wide and bright, flickering with a nervous sort of energy as his gaze darts between you and Grillby. He swallows, though he really has no need for it. “I…this isn’t really the best…what if someone sees…?”

“Then you better move fast,” you murmur. Tugging on his tie, you pull his face down closer. “Kiss me,” you demand breathlessly. “Please?”

There’s a moment where his eye lights shift in such a way it almost looks like they’ve taken on the shape of stars and then Gaster’s hands lift to your face, nearly bonking your nose with his teeth with the speed at which he kisses you. Kissing a skeleton is difficult sometimes, given his lack of lips.

But you’ve had plenty of practice.

One of your hands shifts to pull Gaster closer to you while the other desperately scrambles behind to find purchase on Grillby. His own hands are quite busy, one running gentle circles on your hip and the other moving up, closer to where your chest is pressed up against Gaster’s ribs. His fangs scrape deliciously at your skin, nipping lightly in a way that makes you squirm with a mixture of ticklishness and building heat.

Your hand finds Gaster’s spine, prominent even through his suit and you grab on just below where his ribs end. He jolts at the contact, a breathless curse falling out in a rush of air. Grillby takes the chance to pull away from your neck and captures Gaster’s attention with a heated kiss.

Now quite solidly squished between the two, a soft and breathless noise escapes you as you drink in the building pressure of their bodies, basking in the contrast of Gaster’s silk smooth suit and Grillby’s growing heat. His hands continue to work at your curves, every touch sending a searing wave of warmth over your skin, kneading with a gentle intensity that makes you arch into Gaster.

You have just enough presence of mind left to sputter, “D-don’t tear the capelet.”

He growls, low and deep and oh if that rough and wild sound from such a restrained monster doesn’t make the most embarrassing shuddery moan hum in your own throat. “Take it off then,” he suggests with a tug at the belt around your waist. 

So off it comes, fluttering down the floor, soon joined by Grillby’s more carefully folded waistcoat. Then you find yourself being pulled back, led by him to an armchair covered in a cloth. The force of him sitting makes a heavy whumph sound thanks to your added weight on his lap. 

Gaster had let the two of you slip from his grasp while the extra bits of clothing were being discarded and he watches you now with a face openly full of warm affection. When you grin and beckon at him with a finger, he huffs out a sigh that is probably meant to be taken as annoyed, but just comes off as fond and longing. 

“You two are going to get me in trouble,” he grumbles. “There is a party I’m supposed to be at right now just down the hall, or did you forget?” 

Grillby, busy at work pressing scorching kisses over your bare shoulders, pauses and lifts his head. “So eager to get back, are you?” 

“Not at all. But I’ll be missed if I stay away much longer.” 

You sigh heavily, letting your weight lean back against Grillby’s chest. You might just happen to let your hand trail down to your thigh and lightly run your fingers over the fabric there as you pout at Gaster. 

He’s broken out into a bit of a sweat. 

Sweetly, you plead, “Five more minutes?” 

He stares. He sweats. Then his hand smoothly tugs at his tie and it and his coat joins the other outwear on the ground. “Five more minutes.” 

It winds up being six minutes and forty-two seconds but well. 

Who’s counting?

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! Anything full metal alchemist?

Pretending to be a boy is the easy and obvious thing to do.

Mustang already thinks she is one - apparently the paperwork he'd found on her had only called her Ed and he'd decided that was short for Edward. It's not like there was anything feminine about her while she was lying in bed trying not to bleed to death.

The military might agree to take a twelve year old boy, but will never consider the same for a twelve year old girl. It's safer, too, for people not to know what she is.

"I don't like this, Sister," Al says as she transmutes a heavy coat to wear over her thick leather pants and chunky boots. She almost cuts her hair, but their father had long hair, and she's already lost two limbs. If her hair is what gives her away, then clearly she has bigger problems.

"Remember that it's Brother once we get on the train to central," she warns.

He can't make facial expressions anymore, but the mulishness to his silence is easy for her read. She's his big sister, after all. “It’s just until we get our bodies back, Al. It’s fine.”

“Won’t it bother you to be called a boy?” he asks. “It would bother me to be called a girl.”

Yes. “Not really. It’s just temporary, and you and Winry and Granny know. It’s fine.”

Eden isn’t looking forward to it, but her brother doesn’t have his body because of her. She has to fix this, and whatever it is she has to do in service of that is what she’ll do.

~

They get to Central and meet Mustang again and his office and Maes Hughes and his very nice wife and no one even bats an eyelash at calling her a boy, or when Al calls her Brother, or at referring to her as Edward. She can at least tell them she goes by Ed, which is true.

The physical that disqualified Al might be an issue except she’s twelve and they don’t ask her to take her boxers off. Standing there shirtless feels weird, even though her chest is completely flat, but they’re more interested in her automail than in questioning her gender.

She’s dubbed the Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, and the victory is bittersweet for more than one reason.

~

Sometimes, in the beginning, when they’re far from central she’ll take down her hair and transmute a dress and just go out and be a girl for a little bit. Soon, that becomes too risky, because she’s so well known, because Al makes her identity obvious.

Al stops calling her Sister except when they’re in a room alone and she tells herself it doesn’t bother her.

When she’s fourteen, the jokes about her voice not having dropped yet start at around the same time as she starts having to bind her chest to keep it looking flat. The baggy jacket worked for a while, but now she needs an extra step. She’s fifteen when she really starts to hate it, when her chest is large enough that flattening them constricts her movements and makes it so she can’t expand her lungs fully. It’s too much of liability. She wears a sports bra and gets a baggy tank top and saves the binding for when she has to report into Mustang.

Nearly three years of no one guessing anything and then they’re in Liore when Rose takes one look at her and says, “I thought the Fullmetal Alchemist was a boy?”

“I am a boy,” she says, but it comes out awkwardly, because she’s never had to say that before, never had to try and convince someone before. There’s a little spark of pleasure at Rose just looking at her and knowing, but it’s drowned out by the terror at the possibility of being found out.

Rose frowns, but then her face clears as an embarrassed flush rushes across her face. “Oh! I didn’t know that you were – uh, right. Sorry, I – yes, um, of course, you are definitely a boy. My apologies!”

Wait, that’s not what she – oh fuck, whatever. It amounts to the same thing, she supposes.

Then she’s too busy chasing after this fake priest and Rose is furious at her and Ed is pretty sure she’s going to get murdered by this whole town at one point, but it works out, more or less. The town is sort of a mess, but there’s no more fake priest offering false hope and false gods, so that has to be good, right?

Rose is tear stained and empty and she’d known that Ed was a girl. “Hey,” Ed says softly, “it’s going to be okay. You can rebuild.”

“Rebuild what?” she hiccups, trying to contain her sobs. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and no one cares about us and without those miracles, fake or not, people will be hungry!”

Fuck. This isn’t Ed’s problem. But she wants to help. She wants to help Rose, who’s nice, and pretty, and saw her. “What if there was a river around the city? Then you wouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere and you could grow something or catch fish, or whatever.”

“The river isn’t anywhere near here!” she shouts.

“It could be,” she says and now Rose is staring at her and Al is sighing.

She’s the Fullmetal Alchemist. What’s one river?

She and Al take the train to the nearest branch of the river, marking off what they’ll do on the map and debating circles and Al doesn’t say a word about this being a waste of time, but he wouldn’t. He’s usually the bleeding heart between them.

They buy two boats, split up to each take it to a bend in the river that almost no one uses, and get to work. It takes almost two weeks to push the new bit of the river near Liore and she meets Al in the middle, the two of them connecting the new river right outside of city gates.

They go back to Liore, to tell Rose and everyone else what they’ve done, and they find something they hadn’t expected.

That damn priest is back.

The ensuring fight nearly kills her and she was certain it actually would, but the strange creature literally slithers away from her rather than killing her. It at least proves to the people that that thing isn’t a prophet, although it does leave a large portion of the town destroyed.

They can rebuild closer to the river anyway.

Ed is broken and bruised and Rose is tending to her and she tries not to think how she’s going to write any of this up in a report.

“What’s the river called?” Rose asks as she checks on the stitches she’d made. She’s not as good as Winry, but she’s not bad either.

Ed bites her lip to distract herself from the pain of disinfectant on her wounds then says, “What? I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

“You made it,” she says stubbornly. “You should name it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insists, wincing as Rose rubs some sort of salve into her many bruises, sliding her hand beneath her sports bra to get the one that’s all along her side and her ribs. She’s probably broken at least one. Then, without thinking, “Eden. Call it the Eden River.”

Someone should at least get to use her name if she can’t.

Rose pauses, staring at her, and Ed looks down rather than meeting her gaze. “Ed,” she says gently, “please don’t take this the wrong way, and I promise I won’t ask again, but – are you a boy?”

She should say yes. Even though Rose had guessed right the first time, she should say yes, and protect the same secret she’s been protecting for the past four years.

But it’s been a really long couple of weeks.

“I’m what I have to be,” she says, shrugging even though it hurts.

Rose smiles at her, warm and pretty and ugh, why does she have to be so pretty? This is so unfair. “In this room, all you have to be is yourself, Eden.”

She can’t help but return Rose’s smile. She hasn’t been able to be herself in a long time.

~

Ed is sixteen and has just received a summons from Mustang, who apparently hadn’t been satisfied with her initial report of Liore and had finally tracked her down after months of dodging him to demand she return to Central, which is annoying as shit. She’s finally found some books that even sort of explain what that creature in Liore was, and now he wants her to come back? What a waste of time.

“Um, Sister,” Al says and Ed automatically looks around, but they’re completely alone in this corner of the library, “do you think, now that you’re enlistment age, that you might tell them truth?”

She stares. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, we haven’t been back in a long time, and you look a lot – especially this past year, you know?” She continues staring, because she does not know. “Most people see what they expect to see, but you might have to – I don’t know, do something, if you don’t want them getting suspicious.”

“Why would they be suspicious?” she demands, baffled.

Al groans and throws up his hands. “Because you’re older and you look like a girl, Sister! You’re not a kid anymore, and they’ve known us for years, and they pay attention to stuff.”

This is a serious problem that she has to deal with.

Which she’ll do as soon as she can make herself stop smiling.

[asweetprologue]

hematoma of the heart

Octoberfest 9: Wound reveal (whumptober #30)

Hitting the tree is more surprising than painful. A strange shock goes through Jaskier’s entire body when it happens, a litany of unspoken no no no through him as his side slams into the wood and he topples to the ground. For a moment he can’t see, can barely even think, just feeling a dizzying sense of wrongness that makes his skin buzz with anxiety. 

Then, finally, the pain does come to him, bursting from his ribs. If his breath hadn’t already been crushed from his lungs, he would have wheezed at the intensity of it. He lies there for a long moment, curled into a protective ball and trying to get his chest to expand beyond the jagged feeling in his ribs. Through bleary eyes, he can see that Geralt is still fighting the fiend, twisting and rolling deftly around it. That’s good, Jaskier thinks. Gives him some time to sort this out. 

The fiend hadn’t even really been paying him any mind, which was almost more embarrassing. Jaskier had gotten in the way, a bit, though it wasn’t really anyone’s fault that the fight stumbled its way so close to his hiding spot. Normally Geralt would never allow Jaskier to tag along to a fight this dangerous, but as usual trouble found them. Geralt had picked up the smell of the fiend on the breeze, and the noble bastard hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. His stubborn bravery and selflessness is one of the many reasons Jaskier loves the man, but at this exact moment he finds himself wishing that, for once, they’d just kept out of it. 

After a long moment of lying still and trying to gather his wits, Jaskier slowly sits up. He leans his back against the offending tree and tries to stay as still as possible, not wanting to draw the fiend’s attention or break Geralt’s stride. Mentally he takes inventory. Toes and fingers wriggle when he tests them, so that’s good. No pain in his neck, though it radiates out from his left side and across his back like a sunburst. When he sticks a hand against his shirt he doesn’t feel the wet, tacky sensation of blood, so aside from a few abrasions it looks like he’s escaped with his skin intact. 

Jaskier knows his ribs are bruised, maybe even slightly broken, but overall it’s not as bad as it could be. Jaskier watches as Geralt’s sword descends into the neck of the fiend, a hot spray of blood splashing across the ground and Geralt’s face. The second the beast falls to the ground, Geralt looks up and finds Jaskier’s gaze, his own eyes wild.

Jaskier realizes two things at once. One: Geralt is going to be livid if Jaskier was hurt during a fight, and there’s a very great chance that it will make him not want to take Jaskier on hunts in the future. He’ll say that Jaskier is at risk and is a risk himself, likely to cause Geralt to get distracted and wind up with one of them dead. Never mind that Geralt often needs help after a hard fight, might not be able to make it back on his own or just needs a hand patching up the worst of his wounds. Never mind that Jaskier hates being left behind, hates sitting in a cold, empty camp or inn waiting to see if Geralt will come back this time. Never mind that Jaskier’s entire supposed reason for being here is to get first hand experience of what monster hunting is really like, even if that maybe isn’t so much the reason he’s so dedicated to the Path anymore. 

And two: Geralt will blame himself. 

Jaskier decides, in the span of a second, that he’s not going to say anything. It’s not so bad, after all. How hard could it be to keep a few bruised ribs to himself? 

In the time it takes for him to determine this course of action, Geralt is upon him. He doesn’t touch - Jaskier touches Geralt. Geralt does not touch back, unless it’s to manhandle Jaskier out of danger. Jaskier tries not to think too hard about why this is. Geralt looks at him, his eyes intense but unreadable as always, and Jaskier takes a steadying breath that makes his ribs ache. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, almost more of a grunt than a name. He’s only breathing a bit more heavily than normal, as if he’d just been on a light morning jog. “You alright?”

Jaskier nods, forcing himself to climb unsteadily to his feet. The movement is agony, his back screaming as his muscles shift and stretch. He bites his cheek, forcing himself not to gasp or wince. The pain isn’t sharp, just pulsing, which is a good sign. He thinks. “All accounted for,” he says to Geralt, hoping that his voice doesn’t sound too strained. 

With another human, Jaskier doesn’t think he’d have been able to get away with it. No one would be able to get thrown against a tree with such force and pop back up perfectly alright. But Geralt isn’t human, and over the years of traveling together, Jaskier has realized that Geralt knows fuck all about how much humans can withstand. He is both terrified of their fragility and entirely unaware of their limits. He grew up around witchers and has never stuck around any human beings long enough to figure out what really could hurt them. Jaskier thinks, sometimes, that maybe Geralt doesn’t touch him because he’s afraid Jaskier will break. But then Jaskier falls from a horse or gets punched in the jaw or stumbles over the side of a small ravine and Geralt will act surprised when Jaskier’s ankle is twisted or his face is bruised. The witcher just has no idea what will actually cause damage and what Jaskier can walk away from.

So Jaskier plasters on his most convincing court mask and gives Geralt a winning smile, and he knows he’s won when Geralt gives an almost imperceptible shrug. Jaskier watches his shoulders drop ever so slightly, his expression loosening just a fraction. Jaskier drinks up Geralt’s worry like a man drowning of thirst, but he’s still relieved when Geralt turns back towards the fiend. If Geralt knew he was really hurt, his tender concern over Jaskier’s well being would morph into guilt and anger, and that’s the last thing Jaskier wants. So he forces himself to follow after Geralt, and he doesn’t even limp. 

Jaskier does not limp as they set up camp that night, or as he follows Geralt to town the next day, or over the course of the next week on the road. It’s probably making the healing process longer than it needs to be, he knows, but he’s in too deep now to back down. And if he winces occasionally when he’s getting up in the morning, stiff and sore and aching, or if he sucks in a breath to hide a yelp when someone brushes past his wounded shoulder in an inn, Geralt doesn’t seem to notice. Jaskier changes when Geralt leaves for breakfast or to take a piss or to bathe and he thinks he does an okay job, overall, of hiding it. It hurts in another way, deep in his gut, that Geralt doesn’t say anything. Jaskier doesn’t want him to say anything, doesn’t want him to know, but in another way he does. He really does. He wants Geralt to find out and be upset because he cares about Jaskier, cares about his well being and whether he’s in pain. He wants the full force of those golden eyes on him with total attention, those broad hands running across his flank to search for damage. Jaskier wants. 

Maybe that’s why he lets his guard down. Or maybe he’s just healing nicely, and so for a few hours Jaskier just… forgets. They’re in a tavern, stopped in a small town a week and a half away from the fiend encounter, and Jaskier is a bit drunk. He’s been playing, for the first time since he was thrown into that tree, and it felt so good he got a bit lost in it. The crowd was small but invested, lively and eager for entertainment, and Jaskier had been passed more than a couple of tankards. Geralt had watched it all unfold with mild amusement, matching Jaskier cup for cup but barely tipsy by the end of the night. Jaskier had stumbled up the stairs with Geralt close on his heels, likely making sure he didn’t tumble back down the steps. He isn’t that drunk, truly. Barely wobbling as he’d made his way into the room. But as he tugs off his boots now and tosses aside his doublet, he’s drunk enough that he forgets, for the first time in a week, that he’s got something to hide. He turns away from Geralt and unbuttons his shirt, yawning around some garbled sentence about how many ales he’s had. The fabric has barely left his shoulders when he hears Geralt make a strangled sound, and turns to find himself nose to nose with the witcher. 

“Uh,” he says, articulately, and hisses as Geralt’s fingers come up to prod his side. Oh, right. Fuck. He’d been doing so well. 

“What the fuck is this?” Geralt asks, and his voice comes out as a low, warning growl that Jaskier feels in his toes. It’s threatening, he reprimands himself. Geralt is scary when he’s mad. Not hot. Scary. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier snaps back to the moment. 

“I’m fine,” Jaskier says, too quickly. He’s trying to pull his shirt back up to cover up the canvas of blue-purple-yellow that’s scattered across his ribs and shoulder, but Geralt’s hands are in the way. He must be truly surprised, to break his own rules about personal space like this. “I fell, it looks worse than it is. Nothing to be concerned about, truly, I don’t even think my ribs took too much damage -”

“When?” Geralt says. His tone and his hands are demanding, pulling Jaskier’s arm up away from his body so Geralt can get a closer look. Jaskier feels himself flush under his touch, and he’s annoyed at himself for it. 

“Uh, a - a week ago? Around then? It’s been a few days.”

Geralt looks away from the bruises, his eyebrows pinched together. His golden eyes are intense, searching Jaskier’s face for a lie. There’s a moment of quiet between them, Geralt thinking with his hand spread across Jaskier’s ribs, and then his face softens with surprise. “The fiend hunt,” he says, and then his face shutters into that expression, furious and guilty, that Jaskier was trying to avoid this whole damn time. 

“I was fine,” he tries to say, but Geralt is already growling at him. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, Jaskier?” he snaps. Gentle-rough hands push Jaskier down onto the one bed in the room. They’d decided to share, to save money. Always to save money. Geralt starts pacing, not an aimless trek but a journey around the room, pulling various supplies out of their scattered bags. “You could have died. What if your lung had been punctured? Or your kidney ruptured?” A jar and a roll of bandages are thrown down by Jaskier’s side, and the bard winces at the sharp movement. Geralt stops in front of him, fists clenched at his side, glaring down at Jaskier’s face. Accusation in every line of his body. 

Jaskier sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, not bothering to hide the wince as it pulls at his side. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he says, and his voice is smaller than he’d like it to be. He didn’t do anything wrong, really. Geralt isn’t entitled to know of Jaskier’s every scrape and bruise. Yet Jaskier feels guilty regardless. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The fiend was there, so was I, I ended up fine! I’ll be better in another week or less.”

Geralt looks away, jaw clenching as he studies the far side of the room with intense scrutiny. Without looking back, he says, “You should have told me.” 

Before Jaskier can respond, Geralt turns and gathers up the supplies on the bed and sits down beside him. The lid of the jar pops off, releasing a cool, minty smell into the air. “Lift your arm up,” Geralt says gruffly, and Jaskier does. He can only go up so far without pain, so he rests his forearm on Geralt’s shoulder, suddenly aware that he’s bare from the waist up and Geralt is still fully dressed. It makes him feel off balance and short of breath, for some reason. A moment later Geralt’s fingers are smoothing lightly over his ribs, rubbing whatever salve was in the jar across Jaskier’s bruises. The gentle touch steals the rest of the air from Jaskier’s lungs.

Jaskier lets Geralt work on him in silence, the minutes stretching out silently between them. He’s not sure what to say - how to tell Geralt that he didn’t want him to be mad without sounding like a child, how to make Geralt feel less guilty without being patronizing. Jaskier never quite knows how to manage Geralt’s emotions, not like he does everyone else’s. A crowd, a pretty barmaid, a professor at Oxenfurt, all of these are easy to push and pull where he pleases. Easy to predict. Geralt… isn’t. He digs in his heels when Jaskier tries to lead him, closes himself off when Jaskier tries to get a peak under the mask. Geralt is, Jaskier thinks, perhaps one of the most complicated people Jaskier’s ever met. He knows that’s part of the draw. But it’s frustrating in moments like these, when Jaskier wants so badly to say just the right thing to make Geralt’s shoulders relax, to make the deep frown marring his lovely mouth loosen into a smile. He thinks he could figure it out, given enough time. If Geralt will let him. 

When Geralt finally moves to face away from him, to attend to his back, Jaskier speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he forces his voice to be steady and firm. “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want you to feel bad for not - That is, I don’t blame you. And I didn’t want to slow you down.”

Geralt's hands still on his back, his warm palm burning where it rests on Jaskier’s shoulder blade. It’s so hot in the room, sweat prickling against Jaskier’s brow, and Geralt’s hand doesn’t move. “I don’t care if you slow me down,” Geralt grunts. Jaskier can feel his breath on the nape of his neck, and he can’t suppress a shiver. Geralt must notice, but he doesn’t comment. 

“You very much do,” Jaskier argues, irritated. “You remind me on a near nightly basis that if I’m not up when the sun is you’ll leave me behind. I don’t even bother to ask for a break anymore because you never fail to remind me that it’s my choice to be here. And it is, I know that. I’ll keep up, and if I can’t I’ll take my leave. You’ve made it quite clear that the onus of responsibility rests with me, and I accept that.”

From this close Jaskier can nearly hear Geralt grinding his teeth together. “Not at the expense of your health,” he says, and he sounds properly angry now. “Fuck, Jaskier, you can’t think I’d - That I wouldn’t wait, that I’d leave you behind when you were hurt. You could have fucking died, if it’d been more serious. You couldn’t have known that it wasn’t, right away. What if I’d woken up the next day and you’d choked to death on your own blood in your sleep? What if you’d -” He cuts himself off.

Now Jaskier turns to face him, shocked by the display of emotion, feeling Geralt’s hand shift across his back. Geralt looks away from him, hiding, but the expression that Jaskier catches on his face is… pained. As if it would truly hurt him, to see Jaskier damaged beyond repair. Hesitantly, Jaskier reaches out and touches Geralt’s knee. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t think of it that way. I just didn’t want you to take it personally.”

Geralt’s eyes meet his again, smouldering in the low light. Jaskier suddenly remembers that he’s a bit drunk, and they’re so, so close together. The space between them is warm, and Geralt’s hand slowly slides down his back to rest at Jaskier’s hip. “I always take it personally when it comes to you,” Geralt says. Jaskier breathes out shakily. Geralt reaches out with his other hand and gently grasps Jaskier’s elbow, making Jaskier’s fingers press more firmly into his knee. “Tell me next time,” Geralt says. And then, “Please.”

Jaskier is powerless to refuse him anything in this moment, so he says, “Alright. I will. Just don’t leave me behind.”

“I won’t,” Geralt says softly. “I won’t. I promise.” Something tense releases in Jaskier, because Geralt is not frivolous with his words and a promise means something coming from him. He won’t leave Jaskier behind. 

“Well good,” Jaskier says, and smiles easily at him. His side feels better now with the salve and the fuzzy layer of alcohol in his system, and every part of him touching Geralt is tingling pleasantly. It’s a lot of parts, he realizes giddily. He’s nearly in Geralt’s lap, held close by Geralt’s hands in something that’s nearly an embrace, and Geralt’s lips are right there. All Jaskier would have to do is lean forward just a smidge, press them together gently, soft as a feather -

Geralt’s eyes flicker to his mouth, and Jaskier flushes hot all over. Gods. Just a look and he feels undone. 

But before he can do anything, Geralt is up and halfway across the room, tucking the jar away like nothing had happened. Jaskier lets out a breath that’s equal parts disappointment and relief. A moment later Geralt is back at his side, holding the roll of bandages. 

“This will keep you from pulling them while they heal,” Geralt says gruffly, and Jaskier obediently raises his arms up as much as he can. Geralt wraps up his ribs efficiently, and it does feel a little more stable. It will help him sleep, at the very least. Just before he wraps the light gauze around Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt leans in and drags in a deep breath. 

Jaskier splutters. “Are you sniffing me, Geralt of Rivia?”

Geralt huffs out an amused breath against his skin. “Checking for infection. You don’t smell sweet, so you’re probably alright.”

“I smell plenty sweet,” Jaskier gripes. Geralt finishes the bandages, tying them off neatly. Jaskier feels compressed, a bit, but it’s for the best. 

“You smell like ale,” Geralt says with a raised eyebrow. “And the salve. And that lavender soap I hate.”

“You only hate it the first day I use it,” Jaskier points out. The smell is too strong for Geralt to abide by. Jaskier tries not to use it unless they’ll be apart for a day or so. He’d bathed with it the day after the hunt, hoping that the intensity of it would mask anything else Geralt might scent on him. Pain, or distress. Geralt had supported a pinched look of annoyance for a full half a day.

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it sounds annoyed and fond at the same time in equal measure, which Jaskier wouldn’t have said was possible before he met Geralt. The most complicated man he’d ever met. “You need to rest.”

“Up at dawn?” Jaskier guesses, shucking off his pants and settling under the covers. Geralt removes his own boots and pants and crawls in on the other side, settled between Jaskier and the door. Jaskier’s not sure if it’s to protect him or to keep him from running off. As if he ever would. 

“We’ll leave when you're ready,” Geralt says, snuffing out the candle flickering on the bedside dresser. In the darkness, Jaskier hears, “I’ll wait for you.”

For once Jaskier has nothing else to say to that, so he settled down into the covers and plans to sleep past noon.

[albertasunrise]

Just Another Conquest - Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: You were sweet, innocent and completely infatuated with Javier Peña. After an incident at the Christmas party, you become the talk of the secretary's at the embassy and everything starts falling around you.

Pairings: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of abortions, Mentions of Miscarriage.

Notes: Still a few touchy subjects in this chapter.

Part 1

You lay there waiting for the procedure to start, heart in your throat as you desperately tried to avoid his gaze. You weren’t sure why Javier wanted to be there for it, why he’d refused to leave your side since he’d found out you were in the hospital. You guessed he felt guilty, after all, he was the one that had gotten you into this mess so you had tolerated him. Had been civil. He had saved you from possible jail time, after all, flashing his badge and convincing the doctors not to report what you’d tried to do to your unborn child.

‘Right you ready?” The doctor asked in Spanish and you nodded, mixed feelings engulfing you at what was about to happen.

You nodded and she placed the probe on your exposed stomach, so you shut your eyes and waited, praying for it to be over. Javier watched you, his heart twisting as he watched the conflict you were suffering saturate your features. You had said you wanted this baby. That you were going to raise it alone and that he had an out. So why did it look like you didn’t?

Then he heard it and all thoughts disappeared like a puff of smoke.

The rhythmic thump of his child’s heartbeat filled the air and his own heart seemed to expand in his chest. He turned to look at the screen, the doctor pointing out the baby he’d helped create and he sobbed. He cried openly and you opened your eyes to see him staring at that small shape, hand over his mouth as he let his emotions flow freely. So you allowed yourself to look.

It was instant.

The feeling of love you had for this tiny being that you were growing inside of you. This tiny life that the doctor informed you were currently around the size of an olive. She then left the imaging on screen as she started to clean the jelly from your stomach and as soon as she was done, Javier placed a soft kiss there.

“Hello, little one.” He whispered and you swooned “I’m your Papi and I look forward to meeting you.” He finished before he looked up at you “If you’ll let me?”

You were at a loss for words. You’d not expected him to be so welcoming of this baby and a pang of guilt struck you. What if you had succeeded? You would have taken this away from him. You’d never stopped to consider that he might actually want this. Want to be a father.

You’d been too scared to consider it.

You were discharged later that day and Javier took you home, helped you get comfortable before putting away the medications and vitamins you’d been given. You weren’t sure when you dozed off but you’d been surprised to find that he was still there when you woke up later that day, carrying a tray of food with him as he set himself down on the bed beside you.

“Made you some soup.” He said softly as he placed the spoon in the bowl and handed it to you “Wasn’t sure whether you’d be up for anything bigger.”

“Why are you doing this Javier?” You asked, your brows furrowed as you gave him a questioning look.

“Doctor said you were going to be weak for a few more days and that you’d probably need a little extra help.” He replied, placing the bowl down when you didn’t take it.

“I know all of that I was there.” You grumbled, “I mean why are you helping me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“If you cared about me we wouldn’t be in this mess.” You spat and he flinched at the statement.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” He fumbled as he pushed the tray closer to you and stood “You don’t want me here... Fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not you… I’m a fucking idiot. Thinking that you’d accept help from me.” He elaborated “Or that you’d be willing to let me be a part of this baby’s life. I have no right.” He finished as he shook his head and made his way towards the door “I’ll get Connie to come and help you. She's more qualified anyway.’ He threw over his shoulder as stepped through the doorway, only to be stopped when you called his name.

“You have every right to be a part of this baby’s life.” You started, expression softening a little “I just… I just don’t want you to feel like you are obligated to take care of me just because I’m carrying your child.”

“But that’s exactly what I am.” He turned to face you, tears pooling in those chocolate depths “It is my duty to care for the woman who’s to give me the greatest gift I’ve ever received. So I will do that however you’ll let me. Not because I need to.” He paused, locking eyes with yours “But because I want to.”

You nodded at him, giving him a weak smile before picking up the bowl of soup he left beside you and hummed in delight at the savoury flavours.

“Did you make this yourself?” You asked and he nodded shyly “This is really good. How did you learn to cook like this?”

“I nursed my mum through cancer.” He replied honestly and you looked up at him in shock “Kinda taught myself to cook so that I could take care of her and pops. He uh… Well, he didn’t cope well with her illness. Even worse when she passed.”

“Javier I-”

“I’m glad you like it Hermosa.” He interrupted with a smile, changing the subject “I’ll be just out here if you need anything.” He finished and you nodded, watching him leave whilst your heart ached for him.

~

3 months along…

“So the baby is around the size of a plumb now according to the baby book I got.” Exclaimed Javier excitedly and you smiled sweetly at him.

“You read a baby book?” Snorted Steve as he laughed at Javier’s statement, earning a smack on the arm from his wife.

“I think it’s sweet.” Announced Connie as she gave Javi’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Have you told work yet?” Steve asked you, taking a swig of his beer.

“No.” You replied, shrugging as you spoke “We wanted to wait another month. Just to be sure everything’s… well you know.”

“Makes sense.” Connie replied as she placed a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of you “So there’s been no complications from…” She trailed off and you caught the hurt that flashed in Javier’s eyes.

“No.’ You replied simply, giving him a regretful look “We’re both very lucky.” You finished as you placed a hand on your slight bump.

“Still can’t believe you tried to get rid of it yourself.” Said Steve, not seeing the glares he then received from you and Connie.

Javier felt his stomach twist at the memory of it. Standing abruptly from his seat and making a b-line for the bathroom, Steve watched his partner leave with confusion etched into his features before finally turning his head to see the angry stares of you and his wife.

“You really do need to work on your mental filter Steve.” Connie growled as she turned to look at you “I’m sorry. You okay?”

“I am but Javi…”

“He’ll be okay,” Steve waved off but you shook your head.

“No… You don’t...” You paused a moment, remembering the conversation you and he had shared a few weeks back ‘It still hurts him to know I tried.”

…

2 weeks prior…

‘So I got this baby book.” Said Javier as he placed a large paper bag down on the table “And don’t be mad, but I got a few other things.”

“Javier I’m not even 3 months along.” You chuckled “There’s still a risk that-”

“That what?” Javier asked, his tone taking you by surprise.

“That I could lose it.” You said, voice cracking a little when you saw the expression that spread across his face “I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“You tried to get rid of it and it came through that. I’m sure-”

“Why are you still holding that over me?” You snapped “I made a mistake Javier. You need to move on.”

“Move on?” He growled, tears forming in his eyes “Move on from the fact you tried to kill our baby?”

“I was scared, Javier!” You yelled “I let you in, gave myself to you and you rejected me. Quite publicly I might add.” You paused as you tried to calm your breathing “I’m then forced to take two months off because I became the talk of the embassy and in that time I find out I’m pregnant. How was I supposed to feel about it all Javier?”

“You should have come and talked to me.” He said, tears streaming down his cheeks “I would have-”

“You would have what?” You pried “Welcomed me with open arms? Told me that we could be a happy family and that you’d made a mistake telling me I was nothing more than a stress relief exercise?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh no… we were just two friends comforting each other right.” You scoffed “Except I was in love with you...” You stopped yourself there, unable to believe that you’d just blurted that out. “I’m glad you want to be a part of this baby's life, Javier. It’s not exactly the sort of situation I’d ever expected to have a child but we have to play with the cards we’re dealt. So why don’t we just agree not to discuss the horrific thing I tried to do and just celebrate and enjoy this experience.” You paused as you took his hands in yours “I’m sorry I nearly took them from you. I know it hurts you and it pains me that I inflicted that on you but they’re here.” You placed his hand on your stomach “Growing inside me, safe and sound. We’re going to be okay.”

He'd simply nodded, unable to say anything else on the matter but he knew that he needed to try and move on as you said. It had all turned out for the best.

Right?

…

Steve sat there in shock, reeling from what you’d just told him. His partner hadn’t talked much about what had happened, it had been Connie in the end that had told him, after gaining your permission of course.

“I should go talk to him.” You said as you pushed yourself to your feet, only to be stopped by Steve.

“Let me.” He said as he stood from his seat “My fault he’s upset.” He finished as he made his way to where Javier had gone.

He found his partner staring down at a sleeping Olivia, shoulders shaking as he desperately tried to keep his internal struggle from slipping to the surface. He didn’t notice his partner step up behind him and tensed when the man's hand landed on his shoulder.

“What you doing in here partner?” He asked softly, glancing at his sleeping daughter before returning his attention to Javier.

“What if I’m no good?” He asked, taking Steve off guard.

“What do you mean brother?”

“What if I don’t make a good father?” He asked, letting out a shuddering breath “She tried to terminate the pregnancy because she didn’t think I’d want this.”

“Well, you did publicly humiliate her.”

“Fuck I know that Steve.” Javier growled as he fell back into the soft armchair beside Olivia’s cot “I made a mistake but something really wonderful has come out of that. I just… I dunno how this is going to work.”

“Do you love her?” He asked, perching on the changing table opposite his companion.

“No.” He replied, shaking his head “I mean she's attractive and we had a great time but no… I don’t love her. I’m not looking for anything more with her.”

“Well, I dunno how to advise you then man.” Steve sighed, scraping a hand over his mouth “All I can say is that you’re an idiot. She's an incredible woman and you’d be lucky to be with someone like her.”

“Trust me I know but… I don’t know I guess I just don’t know her well enough.”

“Well then make an effort to. See where that takes you and if you still don’t feel anything for her then fine but you owe it to her and your baby to at least try and see if there’s something there.” His partner finished as he got to his feet and placed a comforting hand over his shoulder “Just think about it Javi.”

…

“I should see what’s taking them so long.” You said, your nervousness getting the better of you “I’ll be right back.” You said over your shoulder to Connie before getting to your feet and making your way to where you knew Steve and Javier were, stopping when you heard their voices.

“Well, you did publicly humiliate her.”

“Fuck I know that Steve.” You let out a stuttered breath as you continued to listen “I made a mistake but something really wonderful has come out of that. I just… I dunno how this is going to work.”

“Do you love her?” Your breath caught in your throat as you awaited his answer.

“No.”

Your heart shattered.

“I mean she's attractive and we had a great time but no… I don’t love her. I’m not looking for anything more with her.”

You couldn’t listen a moment longer. You made your way back to the kitchen where Connie was finishing up with the dishes, grabbing your cardigan and purse.

“You off?” She asked, noting the change in your demeanour as you headed towards the front door.

“Yeah, I uh…” You paused, trying to keep yourself together but failing miserably “I’m tired. Say good night to Steve from me.” You choked before heading out the door, finally allowing yourself to fall apart the moment you were out of sight.

…

“She gone?” Asked Steve as he and Javier made their way back into the lounge.

“Yeah just a moment ago.” Connie stated as she looked at them both “She seemed pretty upset.” Her concern was evident in her features.

Javier’s stomach dropped. He said nothing, just sprinted out the door where he found you curled up on the ground as your tears fell freely. He was at your side in the blink of an eye, crouching down in front of you as he tried, desperately, to get you to look at him.

“Hermosa.” He pleaded and you finally look at him “What's wrong? Is it the baby?”

“Leave me alone Javier.” You growled, your sadness dissolving into anger.

“What is it?” He asked again and you scoffed at him.

“I think it would be best if we go our separate ways, Javier.” You said as you pushed him away and got to your feet “This isn’t going to work. I’m going to go and you can go back to screwing whoever takes your fancy. You aren’t cut out for this.” You finished as you cradled your small bump.

He recoiled at that, his own insecurities finally breaking free.

“I won’t stop you from seeing them. I’ll send you my address when I’m settled and if you want to come and see them then that's fine.”

“You’re leaving?”

“We both know I can’t stay here.” You growled.

“But the baby.” He sobs “I’ll miss everything.”

“You were going to miss that anyway.” You spat as you made your way over to the stairs “You’re a fool if you think you were actually going to see this through. We both know you can’t commit.”

With that, you left, stalking down the stairs and leaving a broken man in your wake. You were right. Of course, you were. He wasn’t cut out to be a father, he was deceiving himself and yet he'd wanted so desperately to try. Steve’s words floated around in his head. He should try to get to know you, to try and make a go of it but how could he when you wanted nothing to do with him. He wasn't against the idea of a relationship with one woman, he'd tried once before with Lorraine but that had crumbled to the ground.

Could things be different with you?

Sinking to the floor he allowed himself to weep. To mourn the loss of his child for he knew that you’d keep them from him, you were right to. The floor is where Connie found him a short time later and it was where she held him as he cried. When his tears dried up she pulled him inside, comforted him as he slowly turned into a shell of the man he once was and Steve knew this was his fault. He had to fix it. He just wasn’t sure how.

~

2 weeks later…

Steve had worked hard to try and bring the two of you together. You’d not mentioned leaving again but you’d also not spoken to his partner since that night. He had pleaded with you to try, told you how broken Javier had been since then but you struggled to believe the agent. You’d heard what Javier had said, he didn’t want to be with you and that he wasn’t sure how this was going to work. You knew what that meant. So you knew you had to take matters into your own hands.

You had to do right by your unborn child.

Steve continued to plead Javier’s case, however, telling you that the man was terrified to approach you for fear you would slam the door in his face you gave the blonde an opening. If Javier could come to you and make you believe that he was serious you would stay. If he couldn’t you would leave. Little did you know that the two DEA agents would be shipped off to Medellin for two weeks before he even got the chance.

Javier knocked on your door, flowers in hand and he nervously shifted from one foot to the other but when no answer came his brows furrowed in confusion and he knocked again. He'd had time in Medellin to think about things. To think about how he did want to try and make a go of things. Just because he wasn't in love with you now... Didn't mean that wouldn't come with time. He'd started to picture the family he could have with you and his heart had swelled at the idea. Knocking a third and final time he let out a frustrated sigh.

Still nothing.

Resigned to the fact you weren’t home, he sprinted upstairs and knocked on his partner's door, knowing his wife would be home with, hopefully, a little update on how you were. He’d read in the baby book that morning that now, at 14 weeks, the baby was around the size of a nectarine and that had excited him to no end. He had wondered if your bump had gotten any bigger and how you’d been coping with the morning sickness, something that had been a struggle when he’d last spoken to you.

“Javi.” Said Connie as she opened the door, Olivia in her arms “What are you doing here?” She asked as she bounced her fussy baby in her arms.

“Is she here?” He asked, saying your name when Connie gave him a bemused expression.

“You don’t know?” She questioned, her face crumpling at the realisation that he couldn't have.

“Know what?” He asked, his pulse racing as he watched Connie’s expression change to one he struggled to read “Connie where is she?”

“She left.”

Part 3

[orange-waterfalls]

G-Bots (TM)

Googleplier (x4) x viewer!reader

ty anon for the request!

A/N: Funny story! I am no longer physically capable of writing normally! I tried so hard to be normal and just veered off into SCP/Cryptid viewer territory because I like expanding on the idea that the viewer is Not Human! Anyways, you’re hanging out with the Googles. That is it. Nothing is wrong. You do not recognize the bodies in the water haha anyways I think I like went a little creepypasta-esque at the end there but it’s fine I think probably. It’s fine. Might be a little weird in terms of story, but i think this was more focused on world building to me. Probably seen as more platonic than romantic, but see it however you wish. Enjoy!

Word count: 2.5k

G-Bots (TM)

You wheezed just a bit as you sped through wherever-the-fuck you were. Sure, maybe that was a bad idea. Sure, Dark was a little bit threatening and SURE, you were supposed to be back by now, and the fact that you weren’t back with Mark trying to convince him NOT to split up was the tiniest bit problematic. You weren’t even sure this was a building? Were you in the void? Goddammit, not again…

You stopped, concluding that this was bullshit and you did not want to do it right now. You bent over, hands on your knees and took deep breaths. You stared into the emptiness for a bit, then looked around for a moment, just trying to figure things out. You needed to reassess. It was basically one big, long hallway with random twists and terms every few meters. You’d always end up back at the paintings of… them… and knew you’d gone too far. You did that over, and over, and over again. At this point you thought Dark had just forgotten about you. You took a deep breath in and let it out. You stood up straight and looked up at the paintings. You heard their voices echo through your head a bit. You squeezed your eyes shut and your head twitched.

“You’re alright… you’re ok… cool it…” You whispered to yourself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Meditate. Think.

You looked on either side of the hall and, for the first time, you noticed doors extending down into the void and not stopping. You let out a breath. You felt a slight sense of dread. Something was telling you not to enter the rooms. Some little voice in the back of your head that sounded suspiciously like Mark. But, hey, what else were you gonna do?

“Ok… do i want to enter the door on the left or the door on the right?” You asked yourself. You paused to think about it. After a few seconds you felt yourself jerk forward a bit. Your brain felt staticy and you felt compelled to the left. You turned the knob and opened the door slightly. Immediately you heard music that might be in an SCP game, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like “do you recognize the bodies in the water?”. You were hoping no, and you bailed before you had a chance to look. You ended up almost exactly in your previous position in the hall. Your brain felt fuzzy again, and this time you gravitated to the right. You opened the door just a little, maybe to see what was inside, but again you heard the SCP ambiance.

But this time it was from behind you. So, like any smart person, you swung the door open, slammed it behind you and did your best to lock it. But there was no lock. So you stood. Waiting. Nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened. Why would anything happen? Dark wouldn’t want you to get hurt… probably. This was his domain. Probably. If you were alive, it’s because he wanted you to be. If you were in this room, it’s because he wanted you to be.

Speaking of: Where the hell were you?

You turned around to look behind you. In the blank white room there was a single grey couch with all 4 Google androids sitting on it. Apparently they were recharging, because they hadn’t noticed you standing there and also they were plugged into an outlet in the wall. You hadn’t considered that they had to physically plug into something to charge up, but the thought made you snort.

Bad idea.

All of their eyes snapped open at once, revealing the glow of their assigned colors. They all stood up and began walking towards you in unison. You felt a slight sense of dread. Even so, you tried to grab the doorknob, the one that apparently was no longer there, and cursed under your breath when you could only feel the smooth wall behind you. The androids stopped, staring at you. You cleared your throat.

“Hey…” you laughed nervously, “So, uh, funny story, actually-”

“You are not supposed to be here,” The original Googleplier, Blue, stated.

“Well, see, that’s where this whole thing started, um, see, Mark wanted to split up-”

“No human is allowed inside of this room, and not you, either.”

“Well-” You stopped, processing what he said, “Wait. ‘Either’? I’m human.”

“No, you’re not,” Google Green said. You wanted to be offended, but you were more confused.

“What do you mean? I’m human!” You argued.

“What color’s your hair?” Red asked with a mean smirk on his face. You opened your mouth to respond, and an amalgamate of voices saying “BROWNBLACKBLONDEWHITERED” came out. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

“... what the hell was that?” Your muffled voice whispered. Well, you thought it was probably yours.

“What’s your eye color?” BROWNGREENBLUEAMBERYELLOW exited your being before you could even try to answer.

“Do you have any pets?” That one just ended with a computer error sound from you.

“... huh.” You dropped your shoulders a little. The revelation probably should’ve upset you more.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… do not recognize the bodies in the water.” You explained.

“Ah, I see. Darkiplier would want you to not die, therefore you may stay.”

“Ha. Wow. Who knew the Googleplier androids-”

“G-Bots.”

“... what?”

“We are legally not allowed to use the name ‘Google’ anymore. We are now G-Bots.”

“... legally.”

“We were discontinued. And sold. And signed a contract.”

“So does that mean I can’t call you Google anymore?”

“No, that is simply my name. The name of us as androids, however, is now G-Bots.”

“Ok. What about them?” You pointed to the other three.

“Yellow is Oliver, Green is Lee, Red is Elliott.”

“And you’re just Google?”

“They’ve been trying to change my name to Gregor. I deeply dislike it.”

“It’s a good name.” Oliver suggested, smiling.

“Means vigilant.” Lee shrugged.

“Don’t be a pussy, Greg.” Elliott adopted a shit-eating grin as he leaned a little closer to Google.

“You can do… whatever you wish. Just do not be like them, DA.” Google instructed through gritted teeth.

The room began to shift color and expand. The couch was still grey in the center, but there were now four sections of each of the colors. The yellow section was filled with flowers, with a laptop on a desk next to a switch and a little Vector robot sitting by on the windowsill that showed a colorful meadow with bees buzzing to and fro. It glitched for a moment, so you knew the window wasn’t real. The green section had large houseplants and looked a bit like a greenhouse, and had an Xbox hooked up to a TV in the corner and seemed to have a view of a lake in the faux-window. The red section had miscellaneous wires and computer parts and lights here and there, looking like a fire hazard, and a PC on a table, while the window showed what appeared to be space. Google’s section was absolutely spotless, not a single thing anywhere, apart from a tiny skateboard next to a PS4 in the corner, and the window showed computer code.

“Wow.” You said. You might be stuck here for a while, so you might as well enjoy it.

Though you wondered who DA was. -- You hate to say it, but you had a favorite G Bot. It was kind of like having a favorite child, in your mind. You felt like they somehow knew that you had a favorite, but you didn’t know why.

Oliver was the sweetest by far, immediately going to make you as comfortable or entertained as possible while you were with him. He asked you if you wanted to watch something, if you wanted to play a game, if you were hungry, etc. It was kind of like going over to a friend’s house for the first time. He was enthusiastic to the point where he was shaking with anxiety over wanting to make you happy. You thought he didn’t get many visitors and maybe that was why. He showed you his flowers, and the bees, and a small painting in the corner, hoping for  validation. His glowing eyes seemed to dull when you moved on to the next section, but said you’d visit him again. That did help, but he turned away sadly and went to water his flowers.

Lee seemed as though he couldn’t care less if you were there. He told you where everything was and that you could do whatever. If you asked for help, he would stop what he was doing and help you. Once you understood, he immediately resumed his previous task. He was a bit cold, like Google, but in a “I am very busy but I am still here if you need me” sort of way. He played a game or two with you, having a preference for the puzzle games more than anything else. Puzzle horror, more specifically. If there was a shooting part, he immediately shoved the controller into your hands, saying he didn’t want to do that part. When you left, he simply continued with his work without a goodbye.

Elliott tried so hard to ignore you for the longest time. You could hear him scoff and growl anytime you made any sort of noise. You were self conscious at first, but you came to understand that he was just an asshole. You started on a game, playing for a few minutes, and felt the red couch sink next to you because he had sat down next to you. If he thought you sucked (which he did) he would snatch the controller from you and finish whatever you were doing before giving it back. He refused to say anything or help you, either. He’d just make rude noises and walk away occasionally before coming back. When you left, he seemed a lot angrier than he had before, and wouldn’t say goodbye to you. He turned away with a huff and started pressing random buttons on the controller.

Google was by far the least interested in anything you had to do. You sat on the couch next to him, and he didn’t move an inch. You sat there for a bit, waiting, but he did not move. You stood up, walked around, messed with a few things, attempted to play a game or two. Google didn’t move. You pulled up the Gamer ChairTM and sat directly in front of Google, arms crossed. You sighed. Finally, he looked up at you.

“Is there something you need?” He asked in that monotone voice of his.

“I’m bored,” you said.

“Go to one of the others,” He closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” You asked, curious.

“That is not-” He sounded exasperated.

“Hey Google, what are you doing?” You interrupted like the little shit you were

“Currently, this G Bot system is recharging its battery. This G Bot is at: 69%.” He shifted to a purely robotic voice.

“Haha nice.”

“This G Bot’s primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible. Would you like to ask a question?”

“Yes. What do you like to do, Google?”

“I enjoy answering your questions. Do you have any more?”

“What company owns you?”

“G-Bots were recently sold by the Google company to Warfstache Incorporated.”

“Wilford has a company?”

“Warfstache Incorporated is co-owned by Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache and Damien-Dami-Da-Darkiplier.” He glitched while answering.

“Who’s Damie-”

“The Corporation owns shows such as ‘Markiplier TV’, ‘Warfstache Tonight!’, and ‘Hire My Ass’. Do you have any more questions?”

“Do you pass the Turing Test?”

“Wondering if you have to treat me with basic decency?” He shifted back to his less robotic, but still monotone, voice.

“No. Just wondering.”

Neither of you spoke again for a while. He did scold you when you tried to move the couch with him still on it, so… progress. -- You were beginning to suspect that Google didn’t like you very much.

The blue one. Google. The other ones liked you. Oliver ranted to you for a whole half hour about different kinds of bugs and the hierarchy of bees. The queen is assassinated when she is bad for the hive, it would seem. Lee made you play Resident Evil with him because he didn’t like the fighting, but he liked figuring out what to do. You frantically passed controllers back and forth a lot. Elliott basically did speedruns of several games, you watching intently the whole time. He seemed to like the attention and actually smiled at you whenever he finished one.

But Google didn’t like you. He ignored you, and told you not to touch anything, and scowled whenever you asked him personal questions. Not like “what’s your sexuality” type of personal questions. More like… “what’s your favorite color and why is it blue” sort of questions. He didn’t like them either way.

But the others liked you, and that was pretty neat.

You still wanted Google to like you though.

“Hey Google,” he perked up with the little “do-do!” noise, “Can you guys go into your different sections?”

“All G-Bots have the ability to pass into other’s color-coordinated sections,” He answered politely.

“Why don’t you?”

“We don’t want to.”

“Do you get along?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Celine dislikes when colors are mismatched.”

“Who’s-”

“I’m sorry, this G Bot needs to charge.”

“But you haven’t been-”

“This G Bot needs to charge.”

“Come on, if you--”

“This G Bot needs to charge.”

You quieted and plopped into the chair. You stared at Google. His eyes flickered for a moment before they closed. -- The other Bots knew who Celine and Damien were, they just weren’t telling you. Their eyes always flickered when you asked, but they wouldn’t tell you.

You threatened not to play with Lee anymore. He said he could play on his own. You could see that he didn’t want to. You played Alien: Isolation. His eyes seemed duller.

You threatened not to watch Elliott’s speedruns. He said he didn’t care. You could tell that he did. You watched him play Hollow Knight. His eyes seemed duller.

You threatened not to listen to Oliver’s rants. He looked terrified, but he said that was fine. You could tell it wasn’t. You begged him to tell you. He looked sad.

“Who’s Damien?” You asked softly, stepping towards him.

“I can’t tell you,” He shifted back.

“Who’s Celine?” You stepped forward.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who’s DA?”

All of the G-Bots stopped what they were doing. You heard static and felt like you were being watched. -- You looked up at the color on the outside of the museum.

You were doing something. You were doing something.

Were you robbing this place? It felt like you were. What happened to Mark? What happened… to you?

You stared at the doors, feeling a slight sense of dread. Something in the back of your head was telling you this wasn’t right. To go home. To…

--

“Ignorance is Bliss. Try Again?”

[rawbins-undertale-blog]

This is a slight TW question, so feel no obligation to answer:

How would horrortale Sans react to an S/O with an eating disorder?

TW for eating disorder(s) (nearly only ARFID is spoken about, anorexia is mentioned)

If I missed any tags you think I should've included, please tell me.

This may sound a bit strange, but I’ve actually been wanting to write something for this, specifically because I suffer from an eating disorder. I’m not comfortable writing anything with an eating disorder (or any disorder in general) I personally don’t have, mostly because I don’t have the time to give it the proper research it deserves, so I’ll be writing about a lesser known eating disorder, that being ARFID. Let me explain it so people who don’t know what it is will, uh, know what it is lol

ARFID - also commonly called “Selective Eating Disorder” - stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. A lot of people with it are characterised as being “picky eaters”, but it goes to a point where it’s seriously unhealthy and crosses a line that makes it into something more serious. It has to do with sensory processing issues, rather than self-image issues (though self-image issues could also play a part in it I'm pretty sure, but it’s not the main “motivation”). Most people with ARFID actually wish they could go up in weight, but can’t because they can’t make themselves eat. I, for one, desperately wish I could just eat like a normal person, both because it’s very… not convenient to only have around 20 or less meals I can eat (and that list is slimming down as I grow tired of my safe foods*) and also I’m skinny enough to match Papyrus in looks, which isn’t very confidence-inspiring when you’re supposed to be a human and not a sentient magical skeleton, believe it or not. Whereas a person without ARFID could eat most things, including things they don’t really enjoy eating, somebody with ARFID might not be physically able to. For example, I literally throw up food that I don’t like (and I’ve gagged while eating food I do like due to seeing somebody eat something I don’t like and/or just smelling other food nearby). When I'm to try a new food, I have on more than one occasion gotten anxiety attacks. That’s how bad it can be.

*a "safe food" is food you know you can eat without panicking/throwing up/getting triggered in one way or another

I’ll be basing these HCs off of myself, so keep that in mind. You’re free to point out misinformation (and I, in fact, encourage you to point it out if I somehow got something wrong) but I ask that you stay respectful and don’t make fun of this. I doubt it would happen, but this topic means a lot to me and is really serious. So yeah please don’t be rude or invalidate people. Anyways onto the headcanons (which aren’t in the usual format, sorry if that bothers you)

Dusk (HT Sans) wouldn’t really understand. He’s able to eat pretty much anything (not like he had much of a choice for a while) and food is important… But he’ll try to understand. Especially because he can accommodate you. He’ll be fine eating the same meals, however “boring” they are, over and over because like I said: not a picky eater. Any food is good in his book. So long as you’re not restricting him and his food intake and so long as you aren’t dying from starvation and/or malnutrition, you’re free to do whatever.

It does annoy him when you go to social gatherings and you can’t eat the food because it’s not one of your safe foods. He’s not going to let you just starve yourself when there’s perfectly fine food just waiting for you. Not gonna lie, he’s pretty insensitive the first time this happens. Basically, he’ll pull you over when he notices you’re not eating anything and try to convince you to eat. Starts out really gentle and encouraging, but when you don’t budge he becomes increasingly agitated and insistent until he hisses that you’re making a fuss over nothing. Needless to say, you aren’t thrilled and it starts a pretty serious argument that probably ends with you either leaving, starting to cry or blowing up at him. He feels bad when it’s all said and done and apologises, because he realises after some thought that he wasn’t being helpful and he decided to do more research again. Even if he forgot it all like he did the first time he tried researching ARFID, it would have been worth a shot. After that, he’ll instead pack food with him for you whenever you go somewhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s “socially acceptable”, because like I said, you’re not starving if he’s got something to do with it.

He’ll also, after coming around to realise the best he can do to help you isn’t trying to push you out of your comfort zone forcefully, try to make sure there’s always at least one of your safe foods available. Don’t get me wrong though, he’ll still encourage you to expand on your list of safe foods. He’s got memory issues so he sometimes forgets, which he feels really bad about, but he has multiple alarms set to make sure you eat properly for the most part. (He’s got an alarm for nearly every minute of the day and he has his calendar full of things as mundane as “make sure s/o eats” and “do laundry”, by the way.) I have a tendency to skip lunch because I simply don’t like food, but he’d put a stop to that lol

To summarize, the whole thing with you having an ED starts off with the two of you having a rocky start before Dusk comes around to be really good at handling it.

Anyways sorry if you meant an ED like anorexia. I know most people write about things like that, but like I said: I’m not really up for writing things that I have to pour hours of research into to make sure I portray it respectfully and accurately because I don’t have that time or patience. (Or attention span, tbh.) Also, I literally hadn’t heard of ARFID for like… the majority of my life, I’ve only known it’s a “thing” for like. A few months. I really thought I was the only one who was so picky with my food and it made me feel alone and isolated (ESPECIALLY after I went to a "specialist" (not sure if she was actually a specialist anymore because her technique to get me to eat was to give my a small glass that I'd pour sauce into to try it every time it was served which obviously didn't work lmao) to help me when I was like six and she said she’d “never seen somebody this bad” before not giving me a diagnosis (as far as I know)), so if anybody with undiagnosed ARFID is reading this:

you're not alone. I know it’s difficult to deal with this - it can be humiliating and embarrassing and horrible and terrible in so many ways - but you can do it. It’s so hard, so fucking hard to step out of your comfort zone and try to expand on your list of safe foods, but you can do it. I believe in you. You aren’t alone and you can learn to have a healthier diet, please just try. I’ll be honest in that you’re probably never going to completely overcome this, ARFID is something that likely stays with you forever, but you can make it into a smaller problem. You can turn it into something so much smaller and inconsequential that you won't encounter any more embarrassing situations where you can't eat what you're given. To a point where you won't have to use the excuses "I already ate", "I'm not hungry", etc anymore. It’ll take time and patience, but you can do it. Don’t give up, okay? <3

[emospritelet]

Manifesto - chapter 10

It's been 84 years...

Last time, Sutherland convinced Belle to join in with a Government consultation. Cue snark and UST

[AO3]

-

Belle stared at Sutherland, her pulse thumping at the base of her throat as she met his eyes. He had that tiny smile on his face, his eyes glinting, and she licked her lips nervously.

“I - I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said lamely, and he pushed upright.

“Well, it is my house,” he said. “After a fashion.”

“No, I didn’t mean…” She closed her eyes, swallowed, and opened them again. “I just meant I didn’t think you’d concern yourself with a consultation, that’s all. I - I thought it might be one of your Ministers.”

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t,” he agreed, reaching for the coffee. “But we’ve decided to give this policy more priority, and given that it’s a cross-government initiative, I thought I’d show face.”

“Right,” she said weakly. “Great.”

“Oh, I won’t be here for the whole thing,” he added. “I suspect I’ll leave after lunch. Coffee?”

“Thank you.”

Belle looked around the table, spying pieces of folded card printed with names marking each place. She read over the names, trying to find her own.

“You’re here,” said Sutherland, placing both hands on the back of one of the chairs and pulling it out. “Please. Take a seat.”

For a moment she was frozen in place, but then she lifted her chin, stalking around the table and sitting down. He pushed her chair in, and she murmured her thanks, squeezing her thighs together as he reached over her shoulder and grasped a cup and saucer between thumb and forefinger, slowly pulling it over until it was in front of her. Belle watched the movement of his hand: long, tanned fingers above a perfectly white shirt cuff, and wanted to sigh. Nope. Still fancy him. Dammit!

“I trust your journey here wasn’t too tiring,” he said, crossing to the chair opposite the door and taking a seat.

“It was fine,” she said automatically.

“And the accommodation?” he went on. “I’m sure Anna arranged something suitable.”

“Yes, it’s - uh - lovely.”

He nodded, reaching for his own coffee, and Belle glanced down at the table. There was a folder of documents in front of her, a close-up picture of a smiling multiracial group of people with their arms around each other in front of a gleaming modern building of steel and glass. Shaping a Stronger Society was written in yellow font on a dark blue background. Belle opened the folder to reveal a sheaf of documents, the day’s agenda lying uppermost.

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a long day,” said Sutherland, making her jump. “We’ll do our best to keep you lubricated. There’s plenty more coffee, if you need it.”

Belle automatically took a sip of her own coffee, and was spared the ordeal of making conversation by the door opening to reveal Anna. She was followed by several men and women in suits, and there was a buzz of conversation as introductions were made and seating places indicated. Belle smiled at the man who was directed to sit next to her. He looked a little out of place in his tweed jacket with elbow patches, glasses perched on his nose and red hair curling back from a high forehead. Belle read his nameplate.

“Dr Archibald Hopper,” she said. “Are you an academic?”

“Oh, Archie, please,” he said, with a warm smile. “And yes, I was a practising psychiatrist for many years. More recently I’ve been teaching at Cambridge, so that and research take up most of my time.”

Belle sat up excitedly.

“Oh! I studied at Cambridge,” she said happily. “So of course I have to say there’s no finer university for you to be teaching at.”

“Well, I certainly won’t argue with that,” he said with a smile. “And everyone knows who you are. A modern day freedom fighter for literacy, which is an excellent cause. Miss French, I believe.”

“Belle’s fine,” said Belle, with a grin. “What’s your interest in this?”

“I’ve been studying the psychological impact of poverty and deprivation and its links to poor health and other life chances,” he said earnestly. “I think your interests and mine probably overlap.”

“I should think they probably do,” said Belle. “Although I imagine your credentials are somewhat more impressive than mine.”

“On the contrary,” said Archie. “You have experience in the field, as it were. I’d certainly be interested in hearing your perspective on the literacy programmes you’ve introduced.”

“You heard about that?” she asked, surprised, and he smiled.

“There were a number of pieces in the press after your - ah - meeting with the Prime Minister,” he said. “I understand you’ve created a useful community resource built around literacy for all ages.”

Belle opened her mouth to explain what she was doing, but was cut off by Sutherland clearing his throat.

“Right, well, good morning everyone,” he said, leaning on the table and glancing around at the occupants. “We have a full schedule, and I’m sure you all want to make the most of it, so I won’t be doing the creeping death of introductions around the table, as you’re no doubt relieved to hear. We can save the obligatory networking for the tea breaks.”

There was an appreciative chuckle from the attendees.

“You all have a pack of documents in front of you,” he went on. “This contains information on everyone here, including interests and expertise. I’m pleased to see such a range of talent around this table, and I’m excited to see what we can achieve together. I know you all take the development of this policy as seriously as I do.”

Belle found herself nodding along with the others. Sutherland certainly knew how to command attention.

“The documents also set out some of the initial research provided by the government departments leading on this policy,” he said. “Of course you all have your own experience, and no doubt your own sources to bring to the table. I fully expect this to be a challenging session with a lot of strong opinions being aired, but I’m confident that we can avoid too much bloodshed.”

There was a ripple of laughter, but Sutherland’s eyes lingered on Belle a little longer than the others. She met his gaze steadily, hoping she wouldn’t blush.

“You might well be wondering why I’m here,” he added, looking around. “The Shaping a Stronger Society policy will fulfil several key campaign pledges and lay the groundwork for lasting change. I thought it right that I give it the high profile it deserves, particularly when it cuts across so many Government departments. We need to be presenting a united front on this.”

“I’m sure the fact that it’s election year is a happy coincidence,” remarked a woman with a white-blonde bob over dark roots. Belle read her nameplate: Ella Deville-Waters. Sutherland grinned.

“Well, you know what they say, Ella,” he said. “Politics is eighty percent timing, ten percent luck—”

“And ten percent knowing how to lie with a straight face,” drawled Ella, making everyone chuckle.

“Thought that was at least sixty percent,” muttered Belle, and Archie laughed and managed to turn it into a cough.

“Let’s get started,” said Sutherland, glancing at Belle again. “I know there are a few of you with presentations to give on your own areas of interest, and I’m assured the technology is working, so I’ll hand things over to each of you. Anna, could you help Miss French set up the first presentation?”

Belle blinked rapidly.

“Me?” she said weakly, and Sutherland smiled.

“Gets it out of the way, hmm?”

She supposed it would.

-

Standing up in front of a sea of expectant faces turned towards her, Belle momentarily wanted to run from the room. Once she started speaking and concentrated on her passion for the subject, however, she forgot that she was presenting to a bunch of politicians and academics in Downing Street. The fifteen minutes she had been allotted went by more quickly than she thought possible, and prompted a number of questions that she was able to answer easily. She sat down with a thump next to Archie afterwards, feeling an odd mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, and he sent her a reassuring smile before turning his attention to the next speaker, Ella Deville-Waters. It turned out that she was Undersecretary for Education, and she spoke eloquently about the importance of early years learning.

There were other presentations, each followed by an opportunity for questions, the final talk being given by Archie. Belle scribbled notes as he spoke, and made a note of the papers he referenced; they sounded like something she would be interested in reading at a later date. When the questions were finished, Sutherland announced that they would break for coffee, and Belle felt herself sigh in relief. She was surprised to see that it was eleven-thirty already; the morning was almost over.

The rest of the day went reasonably well and the group generated some robust discussion; despite Sutherland having said he would be leaving after lunch, he showed no sign of doing so, and took the lead in steering the conversation. There was general agreement on the merits of expanding opportunities for all, and the desired outcome of the policy. Disagreements arose when it came to discussing how to get there. There was a frank exchange of views between Belle, Ella, and the brusque Sir George King, who worked for the Treasury. He seemed to take any suggestion that money would have to be spent as a personal affront. Anna had to step in and smooth things over more than once, and Belle could feel her patience draining away as the day drew towards evening. The draft call for evidence that was produced was the last straw.

“This doesn’t go nearly far enough,” she said bluntly, lifting the paper and dropping it on the table. “The questions skirt around the real issues, and there’s no meat on the bones of this thing. Whatever responses you get won’t address what we’ve been talking about all day. It’s papering over the cracks at best.”

“This is merely a scoping document,” said Sutherland mildly. “And a first draft at that. You can’t expect the policy to be fully-formed at this stage.”

“No, but if this is the direction we’re being nudged in, the whole thing is pointless,” she said. “How can you expect us to even start to make a difference if you refuse to fund it properly?”

Sutherland took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We’ve been over this, Miss French,” he said, sounding weary. “Budget constraints—”

“Yes we have been over this, and as I’ve said, budget constraints only ever seem to apply to policies that benefit the many over the few,” she said tartly. “Your Government may have managed to sweep the whole Pennine Consortium debacle under the rug a couple of years ago, but I remember the reports about the amount of public money that was being poured into that project, and it turned out to be going into the back pockets of the Home Secretary’s relatives!”

“Paying out according to contractual agreements is normal practice in business, I believe,” he said, in a bored voice. “The matter was investigated and the Home Secretary was cleared of all wrongdoing, as I’m sure you’re aware. ”

“My point is that billions were paid out for defence contracts with no questions being raised about whether they were affordable.”

“Clearly you didn’t watch the Select Committee hearings,” he remarked. His voice was a flat drawl that was doing nothing to stop her rising irritation.

“They were held after the money had been spent, not before, that’s my point!”

“And of course the purchase of tanks is entirely analogous to the development of literacy programmes.”

“I’d argue that the purchase of tanks is of decidedly lower value, actually,” she said.

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to make these decisions, isn’t it?”

Anna cleared her throat.

“Perhaps we can get back to the matter at hand?” she suggested. “Ella, what were you saying about school opening hours?”

“Oh, we can talk about that later,” said Ella cheerfully, waving a hand. “I’d much rather listen to this argument.”

“No one’s arguing,” said Sutherland coolly. “Miss French has a passionate nature, it seems.”

“Thanks, that’s not at all patronising,” said Belle, in a dry tone.

“Passion for public service is to be commended,” he said, matching her tone. “I thought I was giving you a compliment.”

“No you didn’t.”

Sutherland fixed her with a dark-eyed stare, his mouth flat. It was strangely arousing, and she could feel her breathing quicken. She told herself it was irritation.

“Your input here is valued, Miss French,” he said, his jaw a little clenched. “But I’d be grateful if you would allow us to guide you through this process, given that you know nothing about the way Government works.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed, losing the last of her patience. “I don’t know about policy-making and contract negotiation and tendering and public procurement. And likewise I’d say you and most of the people that work for you don’t know what it’s like to worry about where the next meal is coming from.”

“Which is why we’re seeking the input of a wide range of stakeholders such as yourself.” He was trying for a smooth tone, but his eyes were flashing, and she could sense he was getting as annoyed as she.

“If you’re not prepared to listen to us, then it’s all empty gestures, isn’t it?” she protested.

“Wanting your input and allowing you to set the parameters of this thing are two entirely different things,” he said coldly. “I’m sorry if your expectations are out of step with reality.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Right!” said Anna briskly, slapping the table and making everyone jump. “That seems like a good place to break until tomorrow. It’s been a long day and I’m sure everyone could do with some fresh air.”

“Could do with a stiff drink, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Ella, and there were appreciative murmurs from the others.

Belle sat back in her seat, listening with half an ear as chairs scraped back and papers were gathered up. Sutherland had already gone, stalking out of the room, and the others were throwing curious glances at her as they pulled on coats and drained cups.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Belle,” said Archie, tucking his folder of papers into a battered brown leather bag. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about the scope being too narrow.”

She gave him a grateful look, and a smile, and he ducked his head a little and sauntered out. Belle sighed, toying with the cold cup of tea in front of her as the others began to file out. She felt drained, wrung out. Was this what it was like every day for politicians? She wondered how they coped. Maybe it was why so many seemed to go grey so quickly.

“You settling in for the night?”

Anna’s voice made her look up, and Belle realised they were alone.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” she said. “I feel as though my brain’s been scrambled and stuffed back in my head all wrong.”

“Welcome to Whitehall,” said Anna, in a deadpan tone, and Belle giggled.

“Sorry for letting my temper get the better of me at the end,” she said. “I’m not cut out for politics, it seems.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Anna. “You have the ability to see to the heart of things. He wasn’t joking when he said your input is valued, you know.”

Belle sighed, running her hands over her face.

“It just - it feels like I’m wasting my time here,” she said. “I know I don’t have much longer before the library has to close, and - and yet I’m down here in London, in what seems like a hopeless uphill battle! Maybe I should just go back to Avonleigh and try to do what little good I can.”

“You may have longer than you think,” said Anna, gathering up some papers. “The Prime Minister approved a scheme for local authorities a few days ago. It offers grants to support providers of breakfast clubs and after-school learning.”

Belle sat up.

“Like the library?” she asked, and Anna shrugged.

“Seems likely, doesn’t it?” she said. “Oh, we’ve made sure that local authorities have to use it for the intended purpose, by the way. The scheme is due to launch next week. I’d keep my eyes peeled to the website, if I were you.”

She put the papers in a leather satchel and took out another folder before slinging the satchel over one shoulder. Belle was smiling, her heart swelling with what felt like hope for the first time in months.

“A reprieve for the library?” she said. “And it was his idea?”

“Like I said.” Anna hitched the satchel on her shoulder. “He does listen. You might not think so, but he does.”

“Listening’s all very well,” said Belle. “It’s the choices that are made that are the issue.”

“There isn’t always a choice,” said Anna firmly. “Or at least, not one a Prime Minister can make.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Difficult decisions have to be made,” she added. “Sometimes hundreds each day. Everything’s urgent, everything has an impact, and he tries his best to make the right call based on the information given by people he trusts. He doesn’t always get it right. No one could.”

“Maybe not, but—”

“He has to balance fifty competing interests with almost every decision he makes,” she went on. “The papers turn on a dime and whoever’s lauded one week gets pilloried the next. Everyone around him is looking to him to lead and half of them are willing him to fail so that they can step into the spotlight. I won’t let that happen if I can help it.”

She picked up the folder of papers, turning on her heel.

“I’ll show you out,” she said over her shoulder. “I expect you’ll want an early night after today. Or a large drink. Or both.”

“You care about him,” said Belle, and Anna stopped dead before slowly turning back to face her.

“Yes,” she said simply. “He’s a good friend. And whether or not you believe it, Miss French, he’s a good man.”

Belle was silent for a moment.

“I haven’t made up my mind on that score,” she said eventually.

“Oh, I didn’t say he wasn’t a stubborn bloody pain in the arse at times,” added Anna. “He’s definitely that.”

Belle couldn’t help giggling.

“Well, bearing all that in mind, and in the interests of cooperation,” she said. “I suppose I really ought to apologise for snapping at him.”

Something in Anna seemed to relax at her words, and she smiled again.

“He’s used to being snapped at,” she said dismissively. “He gets far worse in the Commons, let’s face it. But an apology would probably make him more inclined to listen to you, so I certainly won’t stand in your way.”

Belle nodded agreement, and Anna jerked her head towards the door.

“I was going to take these reports to him before I head off,” she said, holding up the folder. “If you felt like going there now, I’d be happy to tell him you want to have a word.”

Belle hesitated, but nodded, and Anna smiled briefly and headed for the door. The interior of Downing Street was busier than Belle had expected at that time in the evening, aides hurrying with laptops and drinks and phones clasped to their ears. Anna led her down a wide, thickly-carpeted corridor and paused outside a heavy office door, where two Special Branch officers nodded to Anna and eyed Belle suspiciously before stepping aside. Anna rapped smartly on the door, and Belle heard a muffled bid to enter from behind it. She could feel her heart thumping in trepidation, and when the door opened she could see a room with a high ceiling, dark green carpet and a dresser in dark, polished wood where several cut crystal decanters sat, their contents gleaming in shades of amber and ruby. There were two leather armchairs and a couch around a coffee table in the same dark wood. Bookshelves stretched around two walls of the room, and Sutherland was sitting behind a heavy desk opposite the door, scribbling something. His eyes narrowed as they met Belle’s, but Anna walked forward, cutting off his view.

“Brought you those updates on the infrastructure options,” she said breezily, holding up the files. “If you want to go through them later let me know. I thought I’d go and get something to eat.”

“So I know why you’re in my office,” he said evenly, sitting back and putting down his pen. “Not too clear on the presence of Miss French. Unless she thought of something else she wanted to call me.”

“Actually I’m here to apologise,” said Belle, making his brows lift in surprise. “So I’m not about to insult you unless you start something.”

Sutherland’s mouth worked, as though he was trying not to laugh.

“Uh - thank you, Anna,” he said, glancing away. “Yes, go and get some dinner. I think Miss French and I can have a conversation without it coming to blows.”

“Good,” said Anna. “Behave.”

Belle was unsure who that last comment was directed at, but Anna left the room before she could ask, shutting the door behind her with a click. She turned slowly on her toes to face Sutherland, who was leaning back in his chair and tapping his papers with a pen, staring at her.

“Anna told me about the local authority grants for educational services,” she said. “That should help a lot more libraries stay open.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, with a shrug.

“Providing librarians know it’s available, of course,” she added.

“There’ll be an announcement when it’s launched,” he said. “Of course there’s nothing to stop you contacting your peers and explaining the process.”

“I guess not.” She fiddled with a button on her jacket before smoothing her hand against her skirt. “What made you change the policy on local grants?”

“I didn’t,” he said abruptly. “Just provided - clarification around eligibility.”

Belle took a step forward, until she was almost touching the desk.

“Well, that clarification should mean I won’t be closing the library doors this year,” she said. “Lucky for me, hmm?”

“Surprising as it may seem,” he remarked. “I do actually take into account the views of interested parties when making decisions. Where I can.”

“Hmm.” Belle leaned on the desk, pursing her lips. “Well, I’m sorry for yelling at you. I don’t like losing my temper and I try not to if I can help it.”

There was a tiny, amused grin on his face.

“A pity,” he said. “It was rather refreshing.”

“Yeah, well it wasn’t all that satisfying from my perspective,” she said. “Dealing with politicians is making me more cynical than I’d like to be.”

He gave her a twisted little smile.

“Well, that’s no bad thing,” he said. “The moment you start wanting to be cynical it’s probably time to run screaming for the hills.”

“At nine this morning I almost did run screaming,” she admitted, and he chuckled.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. “I enjoyed your presentation. It was delivered with your usual passion, and I think you may have brought some of the others on board.”

“I think Sir George King would rather I’d stayed at home,” she said, and Sutherland shrugged.

“If it was up to him we wouldn’t spend any money at all,” he said. “On the whole, today went rather well, I thought. No physical blows were exchanged, and there was almost no profanity. One of the more sedate policy meetings I’ve attended, truth be told.”

Belle smiled.

“We’re all here for the common good, I suppose,” she said. “Although in some cases I’m not sure how much common good they’re really interested in doing.”

“First rule of policy-making,” he said. “Try not to kill off half your contributors in a fit of righteous anger. Tempting though it is.”

“Hmm.” She was amused. “I don’t remember reading that one in the welcome pack.”

“Unwritten rule,” he corrected, raising a finger. “I think the pack said some bollocks about understanding motivation and managing expectations.”

Belle bit back a grin.

“I guess I’m not cut out for a career in diplomacy,” she said, and he smiled.

“Gets easier the more you do it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, thank goodness you’ll believe one thing that comes out of my mouth.”

It was said in a dry tone, but he was still grinning, and she returned the smile. There was a moment of silence, and he pushed up from the desk, crossing to the dresser.

“I was going to have a drink,” he said. “May I offer you one? There’s whisky, port, brandy… If that’s not to your taste I could easily have something brought in.”

“Uh - okay.” Belle was beginning to feel as though she had stepped into a strange parallel universe, where small town librarians sat and drank with the leaders of nations as a matter of course. “Thank you. I’ll take a brandy.”

“Excellent choice,” he said vaguely, and opened one of the doors of the dresser, taking out two brandy glasses.

Belle watched as he reached for one of the decanters and poured two small measures. His suit pants fitted him very well, skimming his rear as he moved. She shook her head, telling herself to stop ogling the man. Sutherland turned, glasses in hand, and nodded towards the armchairs.

“Take a seat,” he said.

Still feeling as though she was dreaming, Belle took the glass he held out and sat down, crossing her legs and watching as he put down his glass and lowered himself into the seat opposite. She took a sip of her brandy to take her mind off how good he looked, and how much better he might look if he lost the tie and unfastened the first few buttons of that crisp white shirt. The brandy was very good, far better than she was used to, and she licked her lips, enjoying the taste of caramel and spice and the pleasant heat on her tongue. Sutherland took a drink, sucking in his cheeks and setting down his glass on the coffee table. He looked tired.

“Are your work days usually this long?” she asked, and his eyebrows flicked upwards.

“It’s barely six-thirty,” he said. “I still have a few hours left in me.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a work-life balance,” she observed. Sutherland pulled a face.

“Gets a little quieter at recess, but no, I don’t suppose it is,” he said.

“Are you married?” she asked, and Sutherland shook his head.

“Divorced.”

“Oh,” said Belle. “I’m sorry.”

“No no, it’s fine,” he said, sitting back. “It was amicable. We’re still friends.”

“Oh.”

“She’s engaged to a High Court judge now,” he added. “I wish her every happiness.”

“Oh.” For God’s sake, Belle, say something intelligent. “You have kids?”

“A daughter,” he said. “Grown up now. Early twenties.”

“Oh.”

Sutherland took a drink, seeming to savour the taste of brandy on his tongue before swallowing. His gaze was steady, his eyes dark, and she could feel faint stirrings of desire in her lower abdomen. She looked down into her brandy glass, watching the ripples in the amber liquid and telling herself to snap out of her crush.

“What about you?” he asked then, making her look up. “You married? Children?”

“You mean you didn’t have me checked out?” she asked dryly, and he shrugged.

“Maybe you’re good at hiding things,” he said. “Or, as is more likely, Anna told me and I forgot about it.”

Belle bit back a smile.

“Well, hiding a husband and children would be beyond me,” she said. “Luckily I have no need. No family. Well, there’s my dad back in Melbourne, but apart from that I’m on my own.”

“No large, intimidating boyfriend?” he asked. “Or maybe a girlfriend, what do I know?”

“Neither,” she said. “Last relationship was pretty crappy, to be honest. Made me want to take a break for a while.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I understand.”

“I thought you said you were on good terms with your ex.”

“Well…” He waved a hand. “I vaguely remember what it was like to be young. Aeons ago.”

She scoffed.

“Come on, you’re not that old.”

“Bloody feels like it, sometimes,” he grumbled.

“Well, that’s what comes from running the country,” she said pertly. “It’s why I stick to running a library.”

“No doubt that comes with its own stresses.”

“Only when I’m threatened with closure by arrogant, shortsighted politicians,” she quipped, and he snorted in amusement.

“Well, thank fuck there aren’t many of those around.”

Belle giggled before catching herself, and he was grinning as he leaned further back in his chair. His eyes gleamed when he smiled, and she couldn’t decide whether it was more or less arousing than when he was angry. A dangerous path for your thoughts to take, Belle.

“Did you say your daughter was in her twenties?” she said, trying to steer the conversation onto a safe topic. “Is she at university?”

“No no, she’s finished studying,” he said. “She’s started work in the City. Not in politics, thank God.”

“You wouldn’t want her to go into politics?” she asked, and he wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t think she’d be happy,” he said. “It can be a lonely, painful existence, and you make as many enemies as friends. Probably more, if I’m honest. She has a gentle heart, and I wouldn’t want to see her harden it to survive.”

“It seems a shame that people have to,” said Belle. “I think politicians could stand to be more compassionate, not less.”

Sutherland took another sip of his drink, eyeing her as he licked an amber bead of brandy from his lower lip.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “Alas, we have to deal with the world as it is, not as we might want it to be.”

“So why did you decide it was what you wanted to do?” she asked. “Did you always want to end up running the country?”

“No, I can’t say it was a childhood dream,” he admitted. “I started out as a barrister. The politician wasn’t born until I was in my late thirties.”

“So why politics?” she asked. “I’m guessing it wasn’t for the money.”

Sutherland pulled a wry face, taking another drink.

“I was earning more at the bar, certainly,” he said. “Far better work-life balance, as well.”

“Ego, then?” she suggested, and he grinned.

“That was certainly part of it.”

Belle waited, and he sighed, turning the brandy glass between his hands.

“Would you believe me if I said I thought I could make things better?” he asked.

“My new-found cynicism wouldn’t,” she remarked, and he chuckled.

“To the tragic death of innocence.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast, and Belle grinned, raising her own before sipping her brandy. The drink was almost gone, and she found herself regretting having drunk it so quickly. She would have to leave as soon as it was done, and to her great surprise she was enjoying their conversation.

“Do you think you have?” she asked. “Made things better?”

Sutherland hesitated, turning the glass between his fingers.

“I suppose it’s a work in progress,” he said. “But I’m trying. Perhaps not in the ways you would want me to.”

“I don’t suppose what I think matters,” she said, and he shook his head.

“You might be surprised at what matters to me, Miss French.”

He took another sip of his brandy, his eyes fixed on hers, and she could feel herself shiver. She drained her glass, setting it down on the table with a loud clink.

“Well,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I should go. I feel as though I’ve been wrung dry and turned inside out, and I could really use some sleep before I have to do it all again tomorrow.”

He smiled at that, setting his glass beside hers.

“In that case, I’ll show you out. Anna will expect me to have read those papers by the time she gets back.”

“She seems very committed to her job,” observed Belle, and he grinned.

“Couldn’t do my own without her,” he said. “I need someone to keep me in line.”

“I won’t argue with that,” she remarked, and he chuckled, a deep laugh that made her belly clench.

“I can see why she likes you,” he said, and strode to the door, opening it up and nodding to the Special Branch officers outside. “Good evening, Miss French. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

Belle nodded, slipping from the room and heading back along the corridor. A smiling woman with a dark ponytail and a brisk manner showed her out, and she stepped into the street with a sigh of relief. The press pack had gone, and she walked down towards the gates, smiling thanks to the police officer that let her out into the street beyond. It had been a long day, there was another to come, and her crush on the Prime Minister was developing into full-blown lust.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 3,079)

--------------------  

Part Six: Karl

This server is kind of weird. He’s only been here a few days, but he can already tell that much.

He likes it, of course. He wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t. He does like it, and there’s a few old friends here already—Sapnap, just to name one—and a few people that he thinks he’s going to become friends with very, very quickly. He’s even already working on building a pizza place, which is pretty neat. A lot of the land around here seems to be kind of a free-for-all. Except for the stuff in—what was it, L’Manberg? Which he has not been allowed to join, but it’s no real skin off his back. Other than that, though, there aren’t a whole lot of rules here. No stealing, no griefing, no going to the End. He’s cool with those.

But still. The place is kind of weird. He can’t describe it any way more specific than a vibe. A general, handwavey type of weirdness. Maybe it’s the people. A lot of the people he’s met have been a little weird. A good kind of weird, maybe, but still weird. Like that Wilbur guy, the president of L’Manberg. Very intense. A good talker, and fairly friendly, even if he didn’t let him join his country, but very intense. Or like Eret, who speaks with an odd kind of gravitas, phrasing things just so slightly more formal than the usual. Or like that guy who was pretty much naked. Quackity, he thinks. He seems like an interesting guy to get to know.

And then there’s this kid. TommyInnit.

“I need a favor,” Tommy says, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Karl’s just messing around with the pizza place for the moment. They’ve only got the foundations built so far, but Eret and Punz have both offered their help, and he’s looking forward to getting the place off the ground. Every server ought to have a pizza place, because pizza is the superior food choice. But he wasn’t expecting Tommy to come over to him, much less start off the conversation like that, and he’s feeling a little bit caught off guard.

What he knows about the kid doesn’t amount to all that much. From what he’s gathered, he’s loud, a little irritating, and a bit of a con artist. Not too weird on the exterior, but this? Right now? Is definitely a little weird, if only because the guy’s just marched up to him and asked him for a favor despite the fact that he’s only known him for about three days, tops. Which, he’s happy to see what he can do. The kid seems fine enough. But it’s weird that he’s asking him, specifically, for something, right? Instead of one of his friends? Of which he seems to have many?

“Um, that probably depends on what it is, but sure, I guess,” he says.

Tommy nods. He’s staring at him with some of that same intensity that Wilbur hit him with when they met. Which he supposes makes sense if they’re brothers, like he’s heard, even though Tommy didn’t present any of this attitude when they first talked. But then, first impressions aren’t always accurate.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal, I don’t think,” Tommy says. “I just need you to ask someone something for me. Simple, yeah?”

Again, he wonders why Tommy is coming to him with this. But he shrugs, leaning against the partial wall he’s gotten built. “It still depends on who and what, but I can do that. What do you want me to ask?”

Tommy stands straighter. “You know BadBoyHalo and Skeppy, yeah?” he asks, and Karl—still can’t see where he’s going with this.

“I know Bad and Skeppy,” he confirms, raising his eyebrows. Tommy takes that as a cue to continue.

“I need you to persuade them not to build somewhere,” he says. “Can you do that?”

“Probably,” he says. He’s hedging a little, but he thinks he’s justified. Tommy seems to be dancing around something here, and he’s not sure he likes that. “What exactly do you want me to say?”

“There’s a little bit of land over near” —Tommy scrunches his nose— “near Punz’s, I think—or, wait, is that—I don’t know if he’s—actually, it might be closer to Fundy’s? I can’t remember if—” He breaks off for a second, narrowing his eyes, looking away. But then, he looks back. “Nevermind. It’s not in L’Manberg. There’s a few little lakes and shit. Past where Purpled’s UFO is. You know where I’m talking about?”

“Um.” He tries to picture the area and comes up with a hazy approximation. “Maybe?”

“Alright, fine. Look, I’ll show you on a map if I have to. But the point is, I need you to talk to Bad and Skeppy, and I need you to get them to promise that they won’t build in that area. No building, no digging, no nothing. Skeppy’s gonna want to build a house to the north, and that—that’s fine. They can build wherever else they like, but that spot up there, that’s a no-go, alright? No one can dig around there, but mostly them.”

This is definitely weird.

“Can I ask why?” he says. “You’re not out to get them, are you? Or is L’Manberg planning to expand up there or something?”

“What?” Tommy says. “What the fuck are you on about? No, I’m not—I’m not out to get them. That’s fucking stupid.”

He holds up his hands. “Well, I had to be sure,” he says. “I’ve only been here a few days, I don’t know who likes who around here.” He pauses. “So, the expansion—”

Not that he really cares what L’Manberg does or where they spread the borders of their land. He may not be allowed to join them, but he supposes he’s not officially with the Greater SMP either. He hasn’t been here nearly long enough to commit himself to a side, especially when there doesn’t appear to be any kind of pressing conflict going on anymore. But if he’s going to argue Tommy’s case to some of his friends—and why Tommy has picked him for this task, he still has no idea—then he’d like to know exactly what he’s arguing for, and why.

But Tommy shakes his head. “No expansion,” he says. “Nothing like that. It’s just—look, man, it’s just bad land. Terrible land. It’s got—it’s got radiation, it has. So no one should go there, literally ever.” He waves his hands as he speaks, gesticulating emphatically.

Karl’s not sure he believes a word of this. But at the same time, he seems so earnest about it, or at least, about the part where it’s bad land, that it could hurt people. Maybe not the radiation bit.

“That sounds really dangerous,” he says, and watches for what the reaction will be, trying to get a feel for what exactly the catch is, here. “Shouldn’t we tell more people about this?”

Tommy jerks, and his eyes go wide. “No!” he says, definitely with far more force than should be necessary for a fairly innocent question. But it’s not really the force of someone caught in a lie and trying to cover his tracks. Nothing like that—he just sort of seems scared. “No, definitely not. It’s not—it’s not dangerous to walk on or anything. Just if you dig down. The—the radiation’s coming from under the ground. So as long as no one digs, or builds their home right there, it should be alright, yeah? Just, just tell them not to go poking around there, man.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, and raises his hands again, placating. “Sure, I can tell them. I honestly don’t know if they were planning to go up there in the first place. Uh, can I ask why them specifically?”

“No,” Tommy says, and does not elaborate at all, despite the obvious invitation to do so. The expectation, even. Which feels a little weird in and of itself, considering that from what he can tell, Tommy does enjoy talking. But nothing else is forthcoming, so he shifts his feet, clearing his throat.

“Okay then,” he says. “Okay. Look, I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try my best. I’ll even go with a different story than the radiation, if you want. I mean, Skeppy might want to check something like that out, you know? But as long as this isn’t some sort of plot to hurt them, I’m cool with it.”

“There’s no story,” Tommy mutters, and kicks his shoe against the ground. “‘S radiation.” He doesn’t even look like he believes himself, at this point, but he does look a little pathetic, and he’s got some big, sad cow eyes going on. Karl’s not sure whether they’re natural or just him putting on an act. But he figures it couldn’t hurt to throw the kid a bone, whatever he’s trying to accomplish with this. And even besides, maybe it would be beneficial to be in the guy’s good graces. He already has friends here, but a few more couldn’t hurt, since this server is so incredibly weird.

Weirdness can be dangerous, sometimes. He hasn’t decided yet whether this server is or not. Dangerous, that is.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, and Tommy’s face melts into open relief when he doesn’t press further. There’s still something about this he wants to know, though, so he presses forward. “Um, but if you don’t mind my asking, why are you getting me to do this? Why not someone like Sapnap?”

He thinks it’s a good question. Sapnap is, after all, their literal son. So even though he knows them pretty well, considers them friends, if anyone’s going to convince them to do something, it’s Sapnap.

But Tommy just shakes his head, narrowing his eyes like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Karl, pal, I know you’re new on this server,” he says, “but us over there in L’Manberg just fought a whole war against Dream and his groupies. Groupies that just so happen to include a certain pet-killing, fire-starting arsehole. No offense,” he adds belatedly, to which Karl just stares. “So you know, if I were to go to Sapnap myself, or even straight to Bad and Skeppy, they’d assume, and they’d be incorrect, mind you, but they’d assume that I have some sort of scheme in mind. A little plot, if you will. And I don’t. I’ve told you that, and I’m being honest with you. But if they don’t believe me, then that kind of defeats the whole purpose of warning them off, now, doesn’t it? So I thought to myself, well, maybe my buddy Karl could succeed where I wouldn’t be able to.”

He finds his lips twitching into a smile. The kid’s definitely a con artist in the making.

“Okay, you’ve sold me,” he says. “I’ll do my best to keep them away.” He pauses. “I’ve got a condition, though.”

Tommy goes still. “Yeah?” he asks, and it’s back to the tension, back to the intensity, and Karl almost regrets it. It’s strange, how quickly the kid goes back and forth between appearing to be exactly what he is on the surface—a kid—and seeming far, far older than that. “What’s that?”

“When you’re finished with whatever you’re working on up there, I wanna see it,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Tommy has some sort of secret project, one that he doesn’t want anyone else to stumble upon. Sounds like it could be a good time.

Tommy blinks. For a long moment, he is silent. And then his mouth twists into a grin, one that drags like a sharp line across his face and doesn’t really look like a smile at all.

“Sure,” he says. “The whole server might know by then, I don’t know. But yeah, when I’m done, you can come see, Karl.”

For some reason, the kid sounds like he’s pronouncing a death sentence. Which Karl is not going to examine too closely.

“Cool,” he says, and isn’t sure where else to go with this. “Uh, do you wanna hang out for a little while? Or—?” He trails off. The invitation is honest; he certainly wouldn’t mind spending time with him. But the vibes continue to be weird, and honestly, he would be surprised if Tommy took him up on it. He’s fidgeting like he’s got places to be.

And sure enough, Tommy shakes his head again.

“Nah,” he says. “Got places to go, women to see. You know how it is. See you around, Karl.”

And he turns to go. Karl decides to watch him until he’s out of sight, just in case, which makes it a little awkward when Tommy stops after about three paces.

“Actually,” he says, “do you mind if I ask you something else?”

“Go for it,” he replies.

Tommy hesitates. His hands clench and unclench, and his mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Struggling with himself, with whatever he’s about to say, and Karl waits. Patiently, he thinks, even though patience is not one of his strong suits. If ever there was a time to apply a bit of patience, it’s probably now; he has the sneaking suspicion that if he says anything to prompt him, Tommy will simply turn and leave without saying anything else at all.

“How do you do it?” Tommy asks, and his voice is different. Flatter, more tired. Does this kid sleep? “The whole—” He makes a broad gesture, which doesn’t clarify anything at all.

“The whole—?” he says, once it becomes obvious that Tommy is actually expecting some kind of answer to that.

Tommy makes a frustrated sound. “I mean, I don’t wanna spell it out,” he says, even though Karl is of the opinion that is what this situation needs, actually. “But the whole, the whole—look, I know, alright? We had—we found one of your books.” His voice cracks, and Karl feels increasingly out of his depth here. It’s almost like they’re having two entirely different conversations, because he has absolutely no clue what’s going on now. “So I know. And I get it if you—if you don’t want to talk about it. But it’s so—it’s just so fucking much, and I feel like there’s too much to keep straight, and there’s so much to do to make things right but half the time I’ve got no idea what my next move needs to be, and it’s—it’s just hard, man. So how do you—how do you keep it all together? I’ve tried writing some shit down, but it’s not helping all that much.”

“Uh,” he says. He doesn’t know what to do with that. This feels like an incredibly personal question, and he’s not even sure what the question is, he thinks. Is he even the one the kid wants to ask? Is he confused? Because Karl sure feels confused, so that would make two of them. “Huh?”

He tries to think of what book Tommy could be referencing and comes up empty. He likes to write things down, admittedly, places he’s been and people he’s met and stories he’s learned and collected, but he doesn’t have anything on him at the moment. He’d been planning to start afresh here. Maybe build a little library or something. Nothing too fancy.

“You know,” Tommy says, insistent, and he shakes his head.

“I really don’t,” he says. “I’m—look, I’m really sorry, but maybe you’ve got me mixed up with somebody. I’ve only been here a few days, and I haven’t really gotten to write anything down yet. Sorry, man, I don’t think I can help you.”

“But you—” Tommy starts, and then stops. He takes a few steps closer, and Karl has to resist the sudden urge to match him step for step, to move backward. There is a light in this kid’s eyes that he can’t place, one that’s almost like—something. Something that shouldn’t be, and he doesn’t have the words to describe it in any other way than that. But then, Tommy leans in, scanning his face, and makes a startled sound. “Oh, shit. You’ve got no fucking clue what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t,” he agrees, and wonders why that makes Tommy look like he wants to vomit. The light is gone, and he finds himself relaxing marginally.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy says, and steps back again, running his hand through his hair. His eyes are wide. “Ohhhh fuck. Fuck, shit, I—I’m too early.” He says the last in a whisper, as if to himself, and then repeats it: “I’m too early.” And Karl watches in horrified fascination as the kid visibly gathers himself, taking all of his emotions and stuffing them away somewhere in what is the most impressive display of repression he’s ever seen from someone under the age of eighteen.

“Are you—good?” he asks, because he’s confused, but he’s not a monster. Tommy’s obviously dealing with something here, and maybe that something is far out of his wheelhouse, but if he’s equipped to help, he will.

But Tommy backs up another few steps, pasting on a smile that shakes and wavers.

“No, no, I’m good,” he says. “Just, just forget about all of that, yeah? You’re right, I got you mixed up with someone. Happens all the time, since I’m so incredibly popular. So I’ll just—I’m just going to go, now. Sorry to bother you, Karl.” And then, he waves, a sad, pathetic motion, and stalks off, his steps quick and rushed. It’s a retreat. Karl would go so far as to say that he’s fleeing.

“You’re not a bother,” he says, but the kid’s already out of earshot. So he goes with his original plan and stares after him until the splash of red and white is nothing more than a dot in the distance.

He looks back to the foundation of his building. His first mark on the server. For a second, he feels so discomfited that he considers calling it a day and going home. But then, he shrugs it off. In the end, it’s a whole lot of not-his-business.

Though he hopes that whatever Tommy’s grappling with, he manages to get through it. He seems like a good kid.

[indigo-wendigo]

#4: Timebomb

           Camuel leaned closer to a picture frame on an end table. It appeared to be Theo and his sister when they were children standing next to their parents. Charlotte rolled in from the kitchen. “They were hit by a semi-truck on the interstate. Driver fell asleep at the wheel and drifted over to the other side. Killed another driver, too.”

           “Jesus. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” He sat down on the sofa slowly.

           “Our only relative was a drug addict, so they tried to put Theo in a group home and me in assisted living. Since I was eighteen, I couldn’t go with him; they thought it would be better for me anyway. He refused.” She shrugged. “Not like a sixteen-year-old would do well in a group home anyway.”

           Camuel wrung his hands as he listened.

           “So, I became his legal guardian thanks to a really good lawyer. And Theo immediately got a job, working fast food, sometimes leaving class early under the guise of having a doctor’s appointment so he could get to his shift on time and work all night and go back to school the next morning. Did the same thing through college until we couldn’t afford tuition anymore.” She positioned her wheelchair near the sofa. “And I suppose you get the gist of the rest from there.”

           He nodded absently, thinking about Theo.

           “I really appreciate you letting him into your operation and giving us the buffer we needed so we weren’t just treading water. I have something else to ask though. Another favor.”

           “Okay.” He wrung his hands again.

           “I want you to turn me.”

           Camuel’s lips tightened. He saw this coming. “… Charlotte, I—”

           “Did Teddy—Theo tell you about my disease?” she interjected.

           “… He said it’s called… muscular dystrophy.”

           She nodded. “Uh huh, did he happen to mention that it’s fatal?”

           He blinked. “N-no.”

           “Mhm,” Charlotte sat back in her wheelchair and crossed her arms. “Wanna know something he doesn’t know?”

           Camuel stared.

           “At my last check-up they gave me about seven more years. Four until I’m bedridden. Or in one of those fully automatic wheelchairs we could never hope to afford.”

           He swallowed.

           “Here’s the problem with that: we’ll be broke again when I’m hospitalized and after I’m gone, Theo will be drowning in debt for another decade and he won’t even get to enjoy adulthood without having to take care of me.” Her icy blue eyes locked on his. “I will not let that happen. I can’t. Do you understand?”

           Camuel’s lips remained tight against his teeth, like he was trying to hide his fangs, though he wasn’t sure why.

           “Now. I either off myself while we’re still able to get by, or you cure me, and I have every opportunity in the world to pay him back for everything he’s lost because he’s a better brother than I deserve.”

           When it appeared she was now awaiting his response, he swallowed again. “Well… that’s a convincing argument if I’ve ever heard one.”

           She nodded as if to say she already knew.

           He kept wringing his hands. “There’s… no chance you’ll ever get better?”

           “No. My muscle function will continue to deteriorate until I need a ventilator.”

           He flinched at the statement, though it barely fazed her. Camuel inhaled. “I—I know you know this. But I need to hear you say it… before I agree.” He saw a twinkle in her eyes at the word “agree.” “I need you to verbally acknowledge that you will be trading one disease for another.”

           She blinked. “I’m aware. And I’d much rather have the one that doesn’t make me a timebomb.”

           “You’d—still be a timebomb,” he clarified, “You just have to keep… adding time to your countdown. And if you let that clock run out…” He took his turn locking his eyes on hers. “It’s not just you it will hurt.”

           For a moment he thought she might try to keep arguing how it was hardly a decision, but then she said, quite somberly, “I acknowledge and accept that responsibility.”

           They stared at each other for a moment. He took a breath and sat back, nodding at his lap slowly. “Okay,” he said in just above a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

           Charlotte’s chest expanded and she straightened her posture as much as she could. “Will you do it now?”

           He was frozen in thought for a moment, his mind still glancing across things like Theo’s feelings about this, Charlotte’s expiration date, her challenges she was bound to face after turning, was this the right thing to do. Camuel asked himself the question again. Was this the right thing to do? … Theo didn’t deserve any more hardship than he had already endured. And Charlotte did not deserve a premature death just because she was genetically unlucky. Camuel nodded. “Yeah. I can do it now.”

           She looked exhilarated. “We’re gonna need a washcloth.” She rolled out of the living room toward the bathroom. He was only left with his own circulating thoughts for a moment before she had returned and parked her wheelchair in front of him. “Is there… like, a spot you prefer?”

           He shook his head. “I’ve never done this before.”

           Charlotte gave him an incredulous look. “You’ve never bitten anyone?”

           “No. But it doesn’t matter. Wherever you don’t mind having a scar.”

           She pondered a moment. “Well… if you’ve never tried it from the vein, I want you to be able to get a good taste.” After a second, she held up her arm and tapped near the bend. “Right here?”

           “Sure.”

           Charlotte took the wet cloth and scrubbed vigorously on the spot she indicated to clean it. “I read that it can make you feel kinda high when you bite someone. I know I won’t pass out, but I want to be sure that you won’t.”

           He smirked. “I won’t.”

           She wiggled a bit. “I feel like I should salt it for you or something. Okay. Go ahead.” Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut.

           Camuel carefully held the bottom of her arm. “You’re sure this is what you want.”

           The raven-haired young woman opened her frosty eyes on him. “It’s not about me wanting to be a vampire, Camuel. This is the only way I can ensure Teddy will be able to live his life.” She didn’t correct herself and call him Theo this time.

           He nodded. “All right.” He waited until she closed her eyes and scrunched her face up again before he lowered his mouth to her skin. To be honest, his heart was racing. His first bite. Camuel thought he shouldn’t do it slow, as this might make it more painful. But he also didn’t want to do it quick for fear of startling her. Perhaps neither, an in-between speed of puncture would be best. So, he opened his jaws, pressed down, and latched.

           And his first real taste. It was true. Just like they said. It was sweet, sour, and savory all at once. He felt an immediate, almost electric shock, mild, like a warm tingle. It coursed through his very veins—not her blood but whatever was in it that made him feel spectacular. Camuel carefully pulled his fangs out of her flesh and leaned back, being careful to not drip. He closed his dry lips and lifted his eyes to her.

           Charlotte covered the dots on her arm with the cloth. “Good?”

           “Yes, very. You okay?” His brain was buzzing.

           She dipped her chin at him. “That wasn’t much at all. You literally just, like, stuck me. You want… a little more?”

           “Oh, no, no thank you.” He waved a hand.

           She must have been able to tell, because she rolled her eyes and took the cloth away. “Come on, get a real drink.”

           When she pushed her arm toward him, he answered as he leaned into it. “Okay, maybe just…” His fangs were in her again. When her blood touched his tongue his eyes closed autonomously. He caressed her arm and gently sucked, drawing a flood of deliciousness in, enough to submerge his bottom teeth. This time when he unlatched and leaned back, he’d made a mess. He hadn’t yet the wherewithal to wipe his mouth, still blissed out almost like after an orgasm. Camuel was still dissociated when Charlotte put another washcloth in his hand. Only then did he come to and rub it across his mouth. Then he sighed. “Wow, that’s so good.”

           “Yeah?”

           “Yeah, it’s really, really good. I can start to kind of see why people attack people for it now.” He shook his head a little to focus. “Okay. Bandages.”

           She chuckled. “In the medicine cabinet.”

           Camuel retrieved them from the bathroom with some antiseptic and returned. “You didn’t even flinch. Did it hurt bad?”

           “No more than anything else.” She let him clean the holes on her arm then bind it.

           He made sure to secure the bandages tight, but not too tight. “You may feel sick for a couple of days. Have you read about turning?”

           “Yeah. I’m prepared. Thank you.”

           “Just stay hydrated. Don’t consume any blood until you feel hungry for it. You’ll know the feeling when you feel it.”

           “Hey.” She put her hand on his shoulder to make him look at her eyes. “Thank you.”

           Camuel exhaled. “You’re welcome. I look forward to you feeling better.”

           She smiled. “Me too.”

[roselen-mylady]

the game

"First one to kiss Thor wins." Wanda suggested. Y/n tried to hide her scoff but judging by Nat's elbow in her ribs, she hadn't been successful. "Come on, Y/n!" Wanda groaned, rubbing her forehead in frustration. 

"Oh, you come on! What? Are we going to play 'would you rather' after?" Y/n joked, earning yet another jab from Nat. The two red heads glared at her annoyed but Y/n didn't care as she took a sip of champagne.

Pepper had convinced Tony to hold another party in hopes of boosting the team's morale and while it wasn't the first time he'd done it, the parties were still enjoyable. Y/n couldn't help the enthusiasm and joy that came with drinking, dancing and mingling. Everyone came, at least everyone she knew, along with a hundred other people Tony knew. Even Peter had started to attend the last few parties, granted Tony only made him a frequent attendee once he'd reached 18.

The parties were fun, yes, but still being the drama and excitement addicts they were, Y/n and her closest friends craved the thrill of their little games. They played them at every party. The first was a simple game of truth or dare and the second had been the cliche spin the bottle. But with each gathering their dares and games grew more and more risky. And Y/n loved it. They all did.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was boring.

"You're just upset that Bucky didn't want to make out in the closet with you last time we played." Nat accused. A deep frown settled on Y/n's lips from the stab at her pride but she quickly waved off Nat's insult with a dismissing hand.

"That's because he knew I was drunk off my ass. I didn't really wanna make out with him either, he's my friend. You know what alcohol does to me." She argued, getting a short disbelieving nod from Wanda in return.

"Uh huh. Or maybe cause he knows you're into his best friend." Nat suggested, sipping her own drink with a smirk as she narrowly dodged Y/n's threatening hand. Wanda giggled at the interaction, knowing there was truth behind Nat's words. She had seen into Y/n's mind and her fondness toward Steve practically screamed back at her.

"I'm not into Steve. The man is too self righteous for his own good and you know I'm into bad boys." Y/n shrugged, her attempt at hiding her feelings becoming transparent in her friends' eyes.

Yet before either of them could argue further and perhaps bring up the kiss she almost shared with Steve during spin the bottle, Sam and Bucky arrived. "Who's into bad boys? You've come to the right place ladies, I'm the baddest of them all." Sam flashed a charming smile to which they all rolled their eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I think Bucky has you beat on bad boys." Y/n challenged, sending a playful wink toward the soldier. Sam gasped, mocking hurt while Bucky rolled his eyes rather unamused with the discussion.

"That's right, weren't you the second shooter in the JFK assassination? That's gotta be as bad as it gets." Nat commented causing a dark flush on Bucky's face. A short flash of guilt appeared on his face but he instantly brushed the comment off deciding not to dig into his cloudy memory for the truth. The second shooter was just a conspiracy theory anyways. But then again, so was the Winter Solider...

"What are you, a cop?" Bucky let out a strained chuckle, bringing his drink to his lips subtly trying to pull himself from the conversation. Y/n offered an apologetic smile and he returned it gratefully before she turned her gaze away.

Despite his closed off nature she'd actually become a sort of friend to Bucky and while at first it was rocky, she rather enjoyed her friendship with him. Through Bucky she heard stories about Steve when they were growing up and she saw another side of him that she wished she'd known.

"You ladies up to another game?" Sam questioned suddenly. Nat nodded sharing a look with Wanda but Y/n's focus had been drawn away. While lost in her thoughts about him, her gaze had drifted to the man of her fantasies and she shamelessly watched as he talked with Tony and another man she didn't care to remember.

He was smiling, a sight that she cherished even if he'd never notice. The blue of his eyes seemed to shine brighter than any fireworks she'd ever seen and her heart skipped a beat just looking at them. His blonde locks had grown out while she had been snapped away but not enough to make him appear drastically changed. In fact she wasn't sure if anyone else had really noticed. Maybe she was just a stalker.

"Well, we were going to play one but Y/n thinks it's not big enough." Wanda replied, giving Y/n a glare as she turned back to the group.

"Well, it wasn't. I feel like everyone's used to our shenanigans so there's no challenge." Y/n shrugged, peering at the others with a bored stare. Sam shook his head, refusing to let the tradition die.

"What did you guys have in mind?" He asked, looking over the three women as they glanced around the party.

"Wanda suggested a competition to see who could kiss Thor first." Nat explained. Bucky scrunched his nose in disdain at the dare, exchanging a exasperated look with Y/n.

"Thor would do anything, if you asked him." Sam sighed, drinking whatever liquor he had requested. Y/n remembered him saying something about woman being attracted to a man who can handle hard liquor but she had chosen to ignore him. Though she did have to admit it must've been hard for him to compete with both of his best friends being able to drink without the effects of the alcohol they consumed.

"That's what I thought! Thor would gladly abide anything if it made us happy. He's too kind for his own good." Y/n playfully rolled her eyes as they looked over to said god. He had slimmed down significantly during his time with the guardians and Y/n could almost swear that there wasn't an ounce of body fat left on the man. His hair had been cut as well, returning to his signature length and his beard had been trimmed down to a reasonable length. In other words, the Asgardian had almost every girl swooning once more.

But Y/n was swooning for another.

The same man she had for years.

"We could make it more of a challenge." Nat proposed. The group turned to her with interested eyes, the only one who hadn't seemed to match their intrigue being a very grumpy Bucky. "We could expand the dare to all Avengers. Unless you guys wanna be pussys and limit it only to men." Nat winked.

Wanda's face flushed at the suggestion and quickly shook her head. "I have a hard enough time kissing the people I've known for years let alone all the new Avengers." She squeaked. Sam chuckled nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, not that you guys are pussys I'm just saying that is a lot of people. That'll take forever. Let's just stick with Avengers pre-snap." Sam's laughter grew at Y/n and Nat's disappointed expressions, having reaped them of the extra challenge they'd been searching for.

"How about this?" He began realizing without a catch the game wouldn't be that much fun for any of them. "You have to get them to kiss you but only using cheesy ass pick up lines." Sam explained, looking rather proud of his game plan.

"What type of kiss?" Y/n questioned suspiciously.

"Any." A buzz of laughter and eagerness flooded over the girls and Y/n smirked knowing she'd been born for this challenge. "Are we all in agreement?" Sam asked looking to each for affirmations. Once everyone was on board they put their hands in the middle, a sort of ritual they had developed as a way to insure everyone's commitment.

But another presence had been added to their usual group and they turned to Bucky to see what he would do. He had never been on the scheming side of the games and usually was a victim but now he had a choice. Though he'd rather be removed from the plan all together he figured he'd might as well get it over with while he still knew what was happening.

"Yeah, alright but I'm not doing make outs. You guys do your lines or whatever, get your kiss, then I'm out." Bucky told them, putting his vibranium arm into the middle along with the rest. With childish grins on their faces they let their hands fall as Sam stepped forward.

"As per tradition, you all start off with a good luck kiss from moi." Sam explained, putting a dramatic hand over his chest as he turned to Wanda. She scoffed at his attempt at charm allowing him to peck her lips with a teasing smirk. Turning to Nat, he hesitated allowing her to quickly kiss him, learning the hard way that coming onto her was an easy way to get a black eye. The smack of her lipstick made Bucky shake his head, his 40s mindset unable to grasp how easily they'd all accepted the concept.

Sam then turned to Y/n, noticing the way she subtly glanced in the direction of Steve as his arm came around her waist. "Looking for someone? Cause your prince charming is right here." Sam flirted earning an eye roll from the woman before him.

"I thought we were supposed to do the crappy pick up lines." Y/n raised a brow, keeping a hand on his chest to get some distance.

"I said cheesy not crappy. I'm offended." He frowned playfully only to have it wiped off his face by the soft peck of her lips. She pulled away just as quick, slipping out of his hold and shaking her head.

"Oh, how will you ever recover?" She replied sarcastically, making the girls laugh quietly beside her. He smirked turning to Bucky.

"Alright, Buck. Let's get this show on the road." Sam announced patting Bucky's shoulder roughly as he urged him forward. Surprisingly Bucky seemed more nervous than he did annoyed so Y/n decided to take the lead this time, stepping closer to the brunette.

Deciding to keep it simple for Bucky's sake she trailed her fingers along his forearm, giving him a gentle smile. "Hey, can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back." She spoke smoothly. Sam cackled behind them but Y/n paid no mind instead smiling back at Bucky as he chuckled softly, grateful she hadn't used one of the dirty lines he was sure she had.

Shaking his head he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to the corner of her lips. Though he made it seem like he was annoyed by the games he was forced into every party, he found Y/n made them more enjoyable, being one of his only friends.

"Go on. You better win since it's your fault I'm a part of this." He grumbled and Y/n laughed, nodding before running off to claim more lips.

On the other side of the room a certain blonde had caught sight of her, his eyes narrowing slightly in interest as Tony leaned closer to him. "I think Y/n's playing another one of those games. I swear that girl is going to be the death of me. Let's just hope Morgan stays innocent." Tony mumbled, bringing his glass to his lips as he surveyed Steve's expression.

"Yeah." Steve replied dully, his focus directed at the only girl in the room he couldn't keep his eyes off of. Tony smirked knowingly, deciding he'd allow Steve to ignore him just this once.

•••

Y/n had this in the bag.

Thanks to Sam she had a wide range of pick up lines to try out and she planned to use the right one with each.

The first person she recognized in the crowd was T'Challa and she made her way to him slyly, his gaze falling on her as the crowd parted. "Ah, Ms. Y/n. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He questioned, a bit of mistrust in his eyes when he recognized the smirk on her face.

"Just seeing how my favorite pussy cat is." Y/n replied with an innocent shrug. He squinted suspecting her ulterior motives. He'd been to enough of Tony's parties to know that she along with Nat and Wanda usually had some kind of game and while he was entertained by it he also knew he needed to maintain decency being a King.

"He is very happy you're here to make things interesting. He was just telling me about how boring this party was. Also he was telling me he should ask you when you're going to bring Peter to Wakanda, that boy won't get off my back." Shuri spoke up, stepping closer to the pair with a pleased smirk. T'Challa didn't seem to share her amusement but knew most of what she had said was true.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I have to be in Wakanda next week, I'll see if he's free to tag along." Y/n replied, turning her gaze to the spider boy. He still seemed to follow Tony around like a lost puppy but Y/n hoped maybe their field trip to Wakanda would break him out of his shell.

"Would it be wishful thinking if I hoped your visit to our kingdom is the only reason for your presence now?" T'Challa questioned. Shuri and Y/n laughed answering his question. There was another game going on. "What's the challenge now? Let me guess, I should be expecting Ms. Romanoff and Ms. Maximoff next?"

"More than likely. But there's a twist this time." Y/n explained, noticing the bit of curiosity in his eye as she sipped her drink. "If you like my pick up line, you have to give me a kiss."

Shuri giggled next to them excited to hear whatever line Y/n had planned. The young princess was always up for some mischief especially if her brother was the victim and this was what made her adore Y/n so much.

"And what if I don't?"

"I'll just have to try again, I suppose. You know how persistent I am." Y/n winked. T'Challa shook his head, catching sight of Wanda across the room having already collected her kiss from Thor. With a silent sigh, he turned back to Y/n figuring he'd best not hold her up any longer.

"Fine." Y/n smiled, locking eyes with Shuri for a moment before turning back to T'Challa. She stepped forward, the soft click of her heels sending a chill down his spine as she put a hand on his upper arm. Her lips curved into a smile and he braced himself for the line that seemed to bring her so much pride.

"Meow you doin'?" Y/n smirked, her voice smooth as velvet as her eyes stared into his. Laughter erupted from his sister and he turned to her as Y/n burst out into her own fit of giggles.

"I don't get it." T'Challa told them, dumbly trying to use the little bit of context he was given to understand the joke.

"Oh, brother! As soon as we return home we are watching Friends! Now give her a kiss so that she may have a chance at winning!" Shuri spoke through laughs. T'Challa shook his head but lifted Y/n's hand nonetheless and placed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"I feel cheated." He grumbled but the laughter from both girls was enough to take his mind off the pick up line that went straight over his head.

"Pleasure doing business with you, King T'Challa." Y/n curtsied before turning away to find her next victim, leaving T'Challa and Shuri with entertained smiles.

Next on her list was Bruce Banner, the most lost out of all of the men who had experienced the game. The first time they decided to target just one person, he had been the focus and while he enjoyed Nat's kiss, Y/n and Wanda following in the act seemed to put him in a daze for a week.

"You got T'Challa right off that bat? Sometimes I hate how good you are at this." Nat's voice cut into Y/n's thoughts as the two stood together surveying Bruce.

"There's nothing to it, my friend. Give a line, get a kiss. It's science. Did you already get Clint?" Y/n questioned, trying to see where she was at as far as the competition went.

Nat shook her head softly, glancing over at the other men they'd still needed to kiss. "No. He's not here. He says he wants us to take his retirement seriously so until then he won't be at the parties, I guess." She explained and Y/n nodded quietly. One less guy to convince, she reasoned.

"You know I'll never get used to his transformation thing." Y/n commented, gesturing toward Bruce with a nod. Nat followed her gaze, leaning into Y/n to see past the crowd of people in front of her.

"Yeah, me either." She replied. Y/n's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she glanced at Nat through the corner of her eye but ultimately decided it wasn't something she really desired to question further.

"You better save your best pick up line for Steve." Nat warned, the smile on her lips all too knowing for Y/n's liking. Her mouth ran dry and the familiar rush upon hearing his name coursed through her making her face burn.

"For the last time, I'm not into-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Too bad though. He's been watching you ever since the game started." Nat whispered, turning Y/n's head in his direction with a poke to her chin.

The red on Y/n's face grew darker at the sight of Steve looking back at her, his eyes locking with hers over the rim on his glass. A soft shade of pink settled on his cheeks to match her own and his gaze faltered before returning to the man he'd been talking to.

"Save the best for last." Nat teased softly as Y/n turned back to her. She tried to brush off Nat's words as she stalked off toward Bruce but she couldn't get the image of Steve out of her mind.

Had he ever looked at her like that before? Was she losing her mind?

A long sigh escaped her as she tried desperately to focus on racking her brain for any science puns she had.

"Y/n! Hey, long time no see!" He cheered, pulling her into a side hug. The laughter that bubbled out of her chest was involuntary as she practically disappeared under his good arm.

"It's nice to see you too, Bruce. How's the arm?" Y/n questioned gesturing to the cast that seemed to be permanent on the larger than life limb. Bruce offered a tentative shrug, looking down at it.

"Tony and I aren't sure if it's ever going to heal. He's been looking at the possibility of getting a prosthetic but I don't really mind it. We beat Thanos, that's all that really matters to me." He replied. Y/n smiled kindly at him, putting her hand on the cast as her fingers trailed Steve's signature. She couldn't help the racing of her heart when she realized he'd signed right below her own.

"So, Nat tells me you guys are doing another game. Why do you guys do that anyways? Don't you get embarrassed?" He asked, genuinely interested. Whatever Nat had told him seemed to make him more aware and Y/n found herself open to his questions.

"I don't know. I trust everyone on the team so kissing them isn't a big deal. If anything I think it makes us more open to one another. Not to mention half of us are touch starved and probably need a kiss every so often." She laughed thinking back to her poor Bucky.

Bruce laughed too, "Well, maybe next party you'll find a way to get everyone to play. That'll be a sight." He chuckled imagining everyone competing against one another in some intimate game. Y/n nodded perhaps taking the suggestion maybe a bit too seriously.

"Maybe...I've gotta win this game first though. I'm sure you know the rules." She raised a playful brow and crossed her arms. He nodded remembering Nat's line with a loving smile. "Good. Let's see."

Her hand rose to her chin, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as she thought. Bruce watched with a entertained smile as her eyes lit up before looking back at him.

"Hey, baby. If you were an enzyme I'd be a DNA synthase so I could unzip your genes." She nudged Bruce's side making him laugh.

"That was the worst." He chuckled and Y/n laughed as well, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, but you laughed so..." He nodded wrapping his free arm around her shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, the most accessible spot from his outrageous height.

"I'm gonna remember that one." Bruce told her, his head bobbing unconsciously as he already began practicing the line in his head. Y/n bowed proudly before disappearing into the crowd once more.

"Who's next?" She mumbled to herself, running her hands along her dress, absentmindedly flatting the bunching in the fabric. The dress had been her favorite, hugging her perfectly as many of the tailored clothes Pepper sent her did. But this one was different.

This one was blue. But not just any blue. It was the same dark navy Steve wore on every mission. A color she found herself buying more often, whether it be on a folder or on a dress. She was almost attracted to it as much as she was to Steve and while it seemed a little silly, it made her happy knowing she could express her hidden feelings through little things such as that. She truly was head over heels but she could never tell him that. She could never risk the rejection she feared she'd be met with if she dared make a move.

So she loved him from afar.

•••

"Oh no. Not pick up lines." Tony groaned next to Steve, his eyes nearly disappearing into the back of his head as he rolled them. Sam chuckled, nodding his head.

"It's true. Everyone is going to get hit on in the most undesired way possible tonight." He grinned, his lips still buzzing from the kisses he'd recieved.

"Yeah, you have bird brain here to thank for that." Bucky grumbled from Steve's left. Sam frowned, glaring at the semi stable hundred year old man.

"That's not what you said when you kissed Y/n." He retorted.

Steve tried to fight the jealousy that boiled in his gut but Bucky had already noticed the frown that reached his best friend's face.

"Only because I want her to win. She's my friend." Bucky explained, hoping his emphasize on 'friend' would put Steve at ease but the super soldier would never truly be at ease unless he had her in his arms.

He'd lost so much over the years including her and now that he had it all back-had her back, it felt wrong that they weren't together like he hoped. But he couldn't just tell her. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if he lost her in a way that no infinity stones could reverse?

"Personally I'm rooting for Wanda. That girl's smile would make you wanna kiss her. Not to mention her mind control stuff." Sam argued, using his hand to mimick Wanda's powers.

"Is this going to happen at every party?" Fury remarked from behind them making them turn to him, some with annoyed glances.

"You're not allowed to say anything about this, 'Mr. Off-Limits'." Sam proclaimed, feeling a tad responsible for keeping Fury out of the games. Especially after what happened last time.

"I won't be forced to partake in childish games like that. Y/n had it coming." Fury explained, any remorse he might've felt long gone.

Steve crossed his arms, his shirt tightening around his arms as he tried to bite his tongue. "You nearly broke her arm." He suddenly spoke up. Sam's suggestive smirk made him regret it instantly but thankfully Sam chose not to say anything.

"Gotta admit. Her resolve is pretty firm. It's actually pretty hot." Sam wiggled a brow at Steve. The poor blonde wanted to curl up and die in shame but Sam wasn't wrong.

Perhaps it was her determination and strong will that had attracted him. They were characteristics he was known for as Captain America but yet somehow her will was more powerful than his own.

It was one of the many things that he had loved her for. And one of the things that kept him going during the five years without her.

"Ugh. Can we please not talk about my niece like this?" Tony groaned, hating the idea of them sexualizing the girl he'd practically raised since she was a teen. Steve agreed, unsure how much longer he'd be able to stand them talking about her.

"Ooo, look. She's onto Thor now." Peter piped up pointing a finger toward Y/n as she made her way to the golden haired god. Yet the warning glare he received from Tony was enough to make him quiet again and he silently sunk back into the crowd behind them.

"I've got too many kids."

•••

"Thor!" Y/n cheered. Upon hearing his name, the Asgardian turned returning her smile with a brilliant grin. The flask in his hand was opened yet there was no flush to his face signaling he was either only mildly buzzed or close to it.

"Lady Y/n. I was beginning to wonder when you'd come around. I do cherish our time together." Thor's smile was kind and radiant but she couldn't help but think there was still one smile that could outshine even that of a god's.

"Oh, you know I'd never miss a kiss from you." Y/n returned the charm, allowing his arm to come around her waist, resting at a comfortable distance from her hips. Thor had been the most accepting of their games and never seemed to go through the confusion that the rest did. Or maybe that was just her.

"I was just telling Valkyrie of your little games. She finds them truly amusing. Perhaps I'll convince you to accept her into the tournament." Thor explained, gesturing the hand holding his flask toward Valkyrie.

"Well, it's not exactly a tournament, just a little fun to keep things interesting. You're welcome to join if you're up for it." Y/n smiled, offering a small nod of acceptance toward the warrior woman.

"A competition among women where men are the victims? Sounds like my kind of crowd." Valkyrie replied, an excited smile landing on her lips as the two woman shared a look of mutual approval.

"Wonderful." Thor praised, the joy in his tone seeming to radiate off of him, infecting Y/n with each passing second she was in his grasp. "Now Lady Wanda spoke of this night's challenge. I believe you have a suggestive comment in which to lift me yes?" He spoke, looking down at Y/n as she began to giggle uncontrollably.

"Yes, Thor. In return for the pick up line, I get a kiss. But only if you enjoy it." She recited the rules earning a heartfelt smile from him in return.

"If it is spoken by you I'm bound to enjoy it." He told her earnestly. There was something in the way he would speak that made a girl's knees weak and while Y/n was able to withstand it better than most, she wondered if he was striving for that reaction from her.

Y/n shook her head at him, giving him a half-hearted glare as she looked up at him. "Alright, here it goes." She warned him, taking his attentive gaze as a confirmation to continue.

"Hey, gorgeous. Was your father a thief? Cause someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes." Before Y/n could even offer a wink or a smirk, thunderous laughter sounded from the man beside her, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

A flush of pink bloomed on her face, slightly embarrassed under the eyes of so many, especially Steve, yet she wasn't able to dwell on it for long as she was swept up into the air. Ever the enthusiast, Thor had excitedly boosted her into the air and spun her before allowing her feet to reach the ground again, a little unsteadily from how fast he'd acted.

"You've certainly lifted me, Lady Y/n." Thor told her, bringing her smile back as she regained her balance. "Are you ready for your kiss now?" He inquired, his hand resting comfortably on her waist as he insured she was still willing to welcome a kiss.

With a small nod she leaned up accepting his lips in a teasing yet modest kiss not unlike the one they'd shared before. They pulled away a moment later, smiling at each other as Thor's hand easily slipped away from her waist.

"I'm afraid I must send you off in order for you to return victorious." Thor said, a hint of reluctance in his tone yet in a taunting way similar to friendly banter.

"And that I shall. I'm the best, you know." Y/n declared. Valkyrie laughed beside her, lifting her own glass toward Y/n in a sort of cheers.

"For now. We'll see next time who's the best." Y/n clinked her empty glass with Valkyrie's nodding respectfully as she made a note to get more champagne.

"May the best woman win." Y/n smirked, oblivious to the eyes on her as she walked off toward the bar.

Part Two

[ryosei-hime]

An Unconventional Date

Sallie May comes to Imp City and takes Loona out on her first date. Warning for violence and mentions of intention of violence specifically towards trans imps. Also available on AO3.

Loona showed up to meet Sallie May outside the club she’d suggested, but didn’t see her anywhere. She had her phone out, trying to text her but all her texts went unread. She scanned the crowd of patrons waiting to get in, looking for any sign of the wrath imp, but no luck. Then her ears pricked up and swiveled like satellite dishes. 

A whistle just low enough to be covered by the noisy crowd sounded, only other Hellhounds responding to it in confusion. Loona turned and followed it to the alley next to the club where Sallie May stood. 

“Hey, girl.” 

God, how did she look cool hiding behind a fuckin’ dumpster? 

“I tried to text you, but..”

“Girl, you don’t bring yer phone on a date like this. You might as well be wearin’ a trackin’ device.” 

Uh oh. Loona hadn’t realized she was going on a date with a conspiracy nut. She should have known there had to be something wrong with her. 

“Uh...do you care if the phone companies know you’re gay or…?” 

Sallie May laughed. 

“Hell, no. We ain’t goin’ in there. I got more excitin’ plans for tonight. Gotta throw off Mildred and your Pa.” 

“He’s not my pa,” Loona deadpanned.

Besides, Blitz didn’t even know she was out with Sallie May at all. That was a fight she’d save for later when he found out through Millie apparently. 

“Fair enough. Come on, let's find somewhere to hide that phone of yers.” 

Loona clutched her phone to her chest and put her ears back. 

“Somewhere safe,” Sallie May amended. “It’s not welded to yer hand, is it?” 

Sallie May searched out a public locker at a bus station to drop Loona’s phone off in. It took a few tries to actually let go of it, but Sallie May was very convincing. She gave her one of those cool smiles and slipped up beside her, sliding her side against Loona’s as she did so, head back as their eyes met. The phone dropped from her hand with a clatter and Sallie May slammed the door shut, locking it. 

“Where are we going and why can’t I have my phone?” Loona demanded as she followed her out of the bus station. 

Her arms were crossed as she became keenly aware that she didn’t really know what to do with her hands without her phone. Sallie May stopped and put her hand on a hip. 

“You work for a killin’ business, right?” 

“Uh yeah.” 

Loona didn’t know what that had to do with anything. 

“But that Pa of yers-” 

Loona shot her a look. 

“Yer boss, from what I hear, don’t let you do much of the killin.” 

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s a waste of them pearly whites if you ask me,” Sallie May said with a wink. “So, tonight, I’m lettin’ you do the killin’ and I’ll hide the bodies.” 

“Dude, really?” 

“Oh, yeah, baby. I gotta see what you can do.”

Loona’s tail started wagging as she trailed after Sallie May, excitement actually showing on her face. Maybe she should have asked more questions about who they were killing and why, but honestly, who gave a fuck? She let the wrath imp lead her through the party district and into a seedier part of the city. Blitz would flip if he knew she was here. 

“Here’s the plan. I got a meetin’ set up with these fuckers. Don’t worry bout why. All you gotta do is stand next to me and look good.” 

Was this a date or did Sallie May just ask her out to play the part of a Hellhound guard? 

“When I do this..” Loona’s ire at that possibility vanished when a finger slid up the back of her thigh lightly. “You let loose.” 

“Let loose?” 

“Yeah, baby, just let loose. Rip 'em up. Get primal.” 

“Uh...okay. Sure.” 

Loona stood next to Sallie May at the door, trying her best to look tough which really just looked like her normal aloof stance with a slight snarl. They were let in by a somewhat taller imp, closer to Blitz’s height. He glanced around them on either side before leading them into the dark building. Loona wouldn’t admit to it but she started feeling a little uncomfortable. This was shady as fuck. What the hell was Sallie May getting them into? 

They were taken into a room where another six imps waited, milling about around a table where a much larger demon sat. Loona couldn’t identify what he was, but he loomed over the others, wrapped in robes and a cloak. She could only make out two pairs of shining red eyes in the hood. Shit, what was this, some kinda mafia? 

Sallie May stopped at the end of the table, looking no less her aloof self in the presence of this mob. She put a hand on her hip and looked the mysterious demon up and down. 

“Hey big boy. Nice to meet ya.” 

“You’re not as tall as I expected,” the booming voice responded.

“Don’tchya worry about that, baby. For what I lack in height, I make up for in feistiness, ain’t that right, bitch?” 

Loona stiffened as Sallie May slapped her ass.

“Uh. Yeah.” 

The mysterious figure laughed. 

“She’s here as part of the audition, I presume.” 

“Oh, yeah. How’m I supposed to show ya the goods if I ain’t got nothing to use em on?” 

Loona looked confused for a moment before Sallie May put a hand on her back and pushed her to the table. Loona froze as Sallie May’s hands ran down her sides and cupped her ass. Okay what the hell? Felt nice and all, but what the - Oh and now she was….pretending to grind against her? Loona blushed as all eyes in the room turned to them. 

Sallie May bent over her briefly, hand slipping down between her legs. Loona shivered as her finger slid up her thigh. Oh, right, the sign. As soon as Sallie May felt her tense, she leapt over Loona and straight at the mysterious demon, a knife drawn from her shorts while he was distracted by the show. Loona turned her attention on the smaller imps and they scattered as she ripped into the throat of the nearest one. 

By the time they were done the room was littered with bodies and Loona was staring at Sallie May as she returned to the body of the big demon. She kicked it repeatedly and gave it a few more stabs. 

“So, uh, before we clean up. What the hell?” Loona demanded. 

“Sex traffickin ring,” Sallie May spit on the body. “They target a very specific population.” 

She pointed to her horns with a raised eyebrow. Took Loona a moment longer than she liked to get the hint. 

“Oh. Damn. What the fuck?” 

“Right? They say it’s auditions fer porn, but once they get ya in, ya don’t come out. I had to expand my killin’ territory anyways, so I might as well take out some trash while I’m at it.” 

“Yeah, Fuck those assholes. But you could have warned me. Shit.” 

Sallie May grinned at her wickedly. 

“Where’s the fun in that?”  

She sidled up to her and put a finger to her chin, turning those cool eyes on her. 

“Ya mad?” 

Loona scoffed but then couldn’t help but smile. Something about that faux innocence on Sallie May’s face amused her. She blushed and looked off to the side, hands shoved into pockets.

“No. Just. Warn me next time. Damn.” 

“Good. Cause we got three more of their meetups to take out. And we gotta do it fast. Grab a body.” 

Loona watched the wrath imp as she dragged the much larger demon to the center of the room. Damn, she was cool. She wiped some blood from her muzzle before hurrying to help her. She’d never been on a date before, but she was pretty sure this was the coolest one she’d ever have. 

[rosebloodcat]

Toonkind Storyline Idea

Not too long ago, I got an interesting idea for a DnD storyline thanks to some interesting spells I found in the Player’s Handbook. I’ve also been listening to the Toonkind DnD recordings as well. So, as one would expect, the two have been slowly melding together into (what I think) is a fun/interesting story that could be played.

The only awkward thing about it is that I’m not actually in the Toonkind Discord (I’ve got my eye out for the next invite link and I’m praying I’ll be online and aware enough to join in then), so I can’t really share the idea and see if anyone would be up for it. This awkwardness is only increased by the fact that a character I want to see/use for it is one that isn’t mine.

Because of that, this idea has just been festering in the back of my head for several days now and I just- Need to talk about it now.

Like, the fear of possible embarrassment is being replaced by the pure need to talk about this. It’ll probably just sit in my posts/notes forever and not get used, but I want to have it down and out there. (Keeping hopes/expectations low on that front.) I mean, what are the chances that, even if I At’d the players here on Tumblr, they would actually read through the idea? Or want to talk with me about it? Pretty low as far as I can tell.

So honestly, there’s nothing actually stopping me from just rambling into the aether about this. Might as well go for it.

Anyways, let’s get into the meat of this.

I’ll start off by telling people that I had been curious about spells to revive/bring back the dead because I was curious about how many there actually were. 

Unsurprisingly, I found four spells that involved reviving/bringing back the dead.

Surprisingly, though, only three of those spells were necromancy spells! (Revivify, Resurrection, and True Resurrection.)

The Fourth spell was called Reincarnate and was a transmutation spell used/learnable by Druids. (If you’re curious about it, you can check out the exact details here! https://www.dndbeyond.com/spells/reincarnate )

A quick summary of it goes like this: If someone has been dead for less than 10 days, you can touch them (or a piece of them) and create a new body for that person and call their soul to it. The spell causes their race/subrace to change, and the new one can be decided by the DM or via Dice Roll. All their abilities and memories stay the same, but their racial stats/abilities are exchanged for ones matching their new race/subrace.

And I thought, “What if this spell (or a variant of it) was used on a character that died in one of the Toonkind games?”

(Also, I realize I should mention this before continuing, Spoiler Warning for anyone who’s never listened to the Taffy Train Saga and the Coup De Blues games? This involves characters from those.)

I can’t think of too many toonkind characters who are actually Dead-Dead, but I do have one that I have a little bit of a soft spot for. One who was killed in the very same game he was introduced in.

Victor Tim, the (very dead) accountant for Dodo Studios.

(Who has been played by both @modmad and @snailcomicz and I’m not sure which of them he actually belongs to, so I guess he just goes to both for now. I know he was presented as a tool/not very liked character, but I just found him weirdly charming. I can’t explain it if I tried.)

Thus, the seed of an idea was planted in my brain.

What if Victor Tim was brought back from the dead by someone using a variation of this spell? Either as someone experimenting with magic or something. Heck, it could even be done with a machine instead of a spellcaster. (I’m not opposed to the “Illegal or at least Unethical Science” route for a villain. Seeing if they can expand the limit for how soon the spell can be used.)

I mean, considering the chaos brought by Dora Z Scale after the Taffy Train, would it really be so crazy to say that someone took advantage of it?

Someone could have noticed Dora robbing graveyards, seeing that the reports on it were few and far between, and decided to piggyback off her and snatch up remains in her wake. Get some free test subjects that didn’t need to sign waivers whilst everyone was focused on the Engineer and later Dora drama in the papers. Of course, they could have also been a bit more careful and waited until after Dora was captured/arrested before starting their experiments. To give more time for people to forget about them (if they had been spotted during that time) and let their focus be taken up by the former actress instead.

And it probably took a while before they got around to Vic, likely from how little they had of him due to Dora drinking a large portion of him. The Perp probably took their time refining their materials/process since they didn’t want to lose what little they had of him.

All things considered, the extra grave robber probably wasn’t noticed for a long time thanks to the sorting that needed to be done with Dora’s undead army. After figuring out who came from where and sending them back to their proper graves, I’m sure the police were very surprised to find that there were still a number of graves that remained empty.

That lovely little problem was probably kept buried to prevent the public from panicking/getting the police in even more trouble. Especially if The Engineer or Mrs. Tim found out that Vic’s remains were among those missing.

(Not to mention the field day the press would have about it. Like that one, very intrepid young reporter. The one with the dog, you know who.)

I’d say that Vic, when brought back, is still a toonkind but probably a different subrace. (Maybe a Frankenalie? Or a Warne? Unless Mod or Snail see this and think of something that would be more fun/interesting.)

He also probably has no idea what’s going on. Just that he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be dead but somehow he’s not and he’s stuck somewhere he doesn’t recognize and are both his eyes facing forward? And “Oh no this is bad. I’m pretty sure there is a bad thing happening and I’m alone with no help, oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Because definitely not-okay, illegal/unethical experiments tend to mean the “Subjects” are basically captives/prisoners of the person responsible and need to either be rescued or find a way to escape.

Both routes could go in fun/interesting directions.

Cause, on one hand, there’s the possibility of getting the info out and having Engie pulling/being part of a rescue mission, or at least someone from the studio/Taffy Train may want to check it out. (I mean, who fakes being a dead guy? That’s weird enough that someone would want to look into it.)

On the other hand, there’s also the fun of Vic managing to bust out with the help of other victims in the same situation. Which could actually be a cool set of stories/games to be played. (I’d- I’d actually love to make a character to play that out if I’m being completely honest here. I may have one slowly being drafted out in my head as I type this.)

There’s also the potential hitch of Vic having to try and convince people/prove that he really is Victor Tim, the guy who was murdered by Dora Z Scale. Or that Vic’s note/message really was from him. Even more so if Vic’s talking to people who actually knew him before. (Powerful potential Angst and feels right there if they don’t believe him. Or it could be really funny, depending on how it’s played.)

There are also some fun shenanigans that could happen too. Mostly from Vic trying to figure out how his new race/abilities work. Like (if he was a warne)  accidentally using Expeditious Retreat and yeeting himself into a wall. Or (if he was a frankenalie) getting into a heated argument with an animal via Speak With Animals but not knowing it.

(“Uh, Vic?” “Wha- Oh! Sorry,  I was caught up talking with this guy-” “Vic, you’re talking to a dog.” “...Oh. Suddenly this makes a lot more sense.”)

But- yeah. That’s my idea for a potential storyline for Toonkind DnD, Victor Tim brought back from the dead but not as a Yupyaen and all the possible chaos that could entail. 

Honestly, I have more thoughts on the story, but it’s one of those things that would probably go better if I was able to talk with others about it.

This will probably sit in my posts for who knows how long and never actually get used/played, but I have said my piece now. Who knows, maybe I’ll use the initial idea in something and just remove Vic from the equation.

(... It would be cool if I actually got to use/play this in Toonkind though.)

[senacal]

Dr. Charles Xavier (Part 3)

Request: Continuation of @saltysebastianstan request.

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem Reader

Prompt: Charles and (Y/N) go out for coffee and (Y/N) has some realizations. 

Part 1 , Part 2

Warnings: Fluff 

Author’s Note: I honestly don’t know how long I want this series to be so bare with me 😬 and Sorry this took so long to get out, I had a little bit of writers block and of course my dear friend, no motivation. 

Requests Are Open!

(Not my gif)

It had been a while since Charles had felt any type of stress, sure he had been anxious recently. Who wouldn’t be anxious talking to a large group of college kids? College students could be blunt, cynical, judgmental, and assholes. Thankfully he hadn’t met many of them, the majority of the college kids who did attend his lectures either kept to themselves or ignored him altogether, it was the best possible scenario. That is until he met (Y/N). When he had stepped onto the stage that afternoon, he hadn’t thought he’d meet someone so invested in his work. While he was trying to place whose voice he was hearing, Charles made sure to answer the questions and fit it into his lecture at the same time. After all, he didn’t want to get caught. Although no one would suspect that he was a telepath, they ha no reason to. 

Somehow he knew the person behind the voice didn’t have any ill intent involving his work. How could they? Their questions were precise and specific to a field of study that couldn’t lead to a point of danger, or Charles had convinced himself that no one would use his knowledge for evil, but that was a fear he liked to ignore. Charles preferred to have a more optimistic outlook towards others because it was much more easing to think the best of someone than constantly worry about getting screwed over. But Charles could have never imagined someone as magnificent as (Y/N). 

(Y/N) was pure in mind and spirit. The benefit of Charles’s gift (other than the obvious) was his ability to sense a person’s intent. (Y/N) had raised good points when she asked why he would trust her, she didn’t know how his powers worked. How could she? She wasn’t a mutant, but that was why Charles wanted to help her. She was actively trying to understand mutants so that she could help them. Her sincerity was one of the reasons he was drawn to her, the others, well, she had an interest in his work. Most girls he spoke with were merely attracted to him because of his looks and accent, he didn’t hold it against them. He might have used those traits to pick up women before, but this time it was different. Not only was (Y/N) persistent that she didn’t like him in any other aspect than a professional relationship, she had an interest in his studies. No one had taken an interest in his work before, at least no one he was interested in dating. 

Of course, that was a moot point in the end because as he reminded himself before, their relationship was purely professional. (Y/N) wasn’t interested in him… But for a moment he could have sworn she was interested. He wished he could peek inside her mind to figure out what she thought of him, but he promised no to invade her privacy and he would keep that promise damn it. He just wished it wasn’t so frustrating. Charles was used to reading people’s minds without hesitation. It was a part of him so it was rather hard to suppress. He made a point to keep out of his friend’s minds, but he didn’t have many friends so it wasn’t too hard to remind himself. Perhaps somewhere down the line (Y/N) could become his friend if not, girlfriend.

“Professional, Charles. Stay professional,” He muttered to himself for what seemed like the hundredth time. He didn’t know what it was about her that made his thoughts keep drifting towards wanting a relationship with her, but she managed to enrapture him. It was quite frustrating, and if he was honest, stressful. That’s why he was standing in front of his full-length mirror trying to tame his hair that refused to cooperate with him. Of all days, it chose now not to stay in position. For fucks sake, he wasn’t asking for much, all he wanted was to groom it like the way he had it last night when (Y/N) seemed to take interest in his hair. That wasn’t too much to ask right? 

Charles huffed when a strand kept popping up. He had hoped not to add too much product because then his hair wouldn’t be as soft, but it looked like he’d have to.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve seen you fuss over your hair as much as you are now. And that’s saying something,” Raven commented. She had her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe of Charles’s bedroom.

“Very funny, Raven,” Charles grumbled. He dragged his comb through his hair one more time. He narrowed his eyes at the offending strand of hair.

“Why don’t you just reapply that hair product thing you use? What is it, Vitals?” Raven shrugged.

“I’m trying not to overdo it,” Charles flattened the strand with his hand, which worked for a second until it sprung back up. “Maybe I’ll just start all over. Nothing is working.” He tossed his comb onto his dresser with a sigh of defeat.

“Here,” Raven approached him. She licked her hand and slid it over the strand.

“Raven!” Charles pushed her hand away, “Don’t be gross!” 

“Don’t be such a baby, it worked!” She defended. 

Charles checked himself in the mirror once more and frowned. It did work, but at the cost of having Raven’s saliva smeared on his hair. “What time is it? I think I’ll just shower again.” He checked his watch.

“That’s why I came up here, it’s 11:30, doesn’t your date start at noon?” Raven sat on Charles’s bed, bouncing in her seat, “Why is your mattress more comfortable than mine?”

“Shit. It’s not a date, but yes. I’ve got to get going, uh,” Charles patted his pockets for his keys.

“They’re on your dresser, genius. How you survive without me, I’ll never know,” Raven stood from her seat and pat Charles cheek as she passed him by, “Don’t forget your notes.” 

Charles grabbed his keys before he grabbed his briefcase. He thankfully had the brain to pack what he needed the night before. Raven might have told him to do it, but that’s not the point. 

Charles rushed to grab his coat, “Okay, Raven. I’ll be back, don’t wait up!” He yelled as he rushed out the door. He checked his watch once more and cursed. If traffic was as horrible as it was the day before, then he’d be a little late. If he could expand his mind and communicate that to (Y/N) he would. He didn’t want to disappoint her so early in their relationship. Professional relationship.

_______________________________________

(Y/N) sat in a booth at the coffee shop she and Charles had agreed to meet at. She glanced at the clock on the wall and tapped the pads of her fingers against the table. He still had another five minutes before he was late, why was she stressing? (Y/N) sighed and picked up her cup of coffee. Maybe it was the caffeine. She shrugged and took another drink anyway. It helped her headache, believe it or not, if only it didn’t worsen her anxiety.

“Would you like anything else?” A waitress asked once again.

Since (Y/N) had been there, which was only ten minutes now, the same waitress kept checking on her. Maybe she thought she was being stood up.

“I’m okay, maybe once my friend gets here. Thank you,” She paused to look at her name-tag, “Mindy,” (Y/N) dismissed with a kind smile. 

“Alright, sugar, just let me know,” Mindy smiled kindly and left her once more.

Maybe this was all crazy. Charles didn’t have to show up. He was a busy man and possibly had other people vying for his help and attention. Why should he show up to help (Y/N)? She was just some college kid he met because some girl wouldn’t leave him alone. They weren’t even supposed to meet. (Y/N) looked up at the clock again. Another three minutes till he’d be late. 

Yeah, who was she kidding? (Y/N) drank the last of her coffee. This was crazy. It was ridiculous. Why would she think anything he said was serious. He had so much better things to do than teach her about mutants and mutations. 

“Sorry, I’m late, love. Traffic was horrendous,” Charles panted. He plopped down in the seat across from her with an apologetic smile.

“You came,” (Y/N) smiled despite herself.

“Of curse I came,” Charles smiled back, he decided then that he’d do all he could to see her smile more often.

“Right, uh, did you want anything? I was just about to order another cup of coffee,” (Y/N) waved her hand hoping to catch Mindy’s attention.

“Uh sure,” Charles set his briefcase next to him.

Once Mindy came to their table, (Y/N) ordered her new cup of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. 

“And for you handsome?” Mindy asked.

“I’ll have the same thing, thank you,” Charles smiled.

“Coming right up,” Mindy winked at (Y/N).

Charles laughed and tapped the table, “In case you’re wondering, she was thinking how lucky you were for having such a handsome date,” He teased.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Don’t know if I should trust your word or not.”

“You can trust me,” Charles chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, “I’m a very trustworthy person.”

“Everyone thinks they’re trustworthy,” (Y/N) quipped. 

“That’s true I suppose, but I know you know that you can trust me.” Charles shrugged.

“What happened to not reading my mind?” (Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t have to read your mind to know that,” Charles grabbed his briefcase and set it on the table, “Now, I brought the notes I thought would interest you more, though I do need to know more about your thesis or the thoughts you had.” Charles opened his case and took out his stacks of notes.

“Okay, where should I begin?” (Y/N) relaxed in her seat. She could talk business; it was easier for her, and her mind would be on her thesis and not how handsome Charles truly was. Mindy had been right because Charles was dressed nicely, but he might dress like that regularly. Plus his hair was combed to perfection, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

“First, why have you taken an interest in my work? Maybe from there, we can figure out your intent.”

“Okay, When I was seven or eight years old, my parents wanted to go to the Fourth of July parade. When we were there, there was this man, I never learned his name. At first, I thought maybe he was drunk or something, but then I noticed he was injured. When I looked away for a second and then looked back at him, it was like he was magically healed. I could have been seeing things, but then someone bumped into him and he had these claws extend from his knuckles,” (Y/N) looked down at the table in thought, “At first it scared me, but then they retracted almost instantly and it was as if they weren’t there anymore. I think someone was looking for him because a group of soldiers came running in. Everyone thought they were a part of the parade, but I could tell there was something different about them. Anyway, the man tried his best to get away unseen. I don’t know what happened to him after that though. I never saw him again,” (Y/N) looked back up at Charles, “I just remember feeling sad because if anyone else had seen him, I knew something bad would have happened to him. Since then, I’ve wanted to find out anything I could so I could help any mutants who need it.”

 Charles nodded, “You’ve come to the right person then,” He shuffled through his notes, “You said you’re majoring in medicine too, correct?” 

Mindy came by with their order, placing napkins down in front of them.

“Thank you, Mindy,” (Y/N) smiled gratefully, “Yeah, my family wasn’t too happy that I wanted to study mutations. They said I was wasting my time,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. 

“Sadly, most people will think studying mutations is a waste. I’ve had the same comments when I was in graduate school,” Charles sipped his coffee and hummed appreciatively. “In a way, the second major you have can benefit you.”

“Yeah, I was actually thinking of maybe becoming an obstetrician if the whole mutation study didn’t pan out? I might have a soft spot for babies,” She picked a piece of muffin off and popped it into her mouth.

“You could still do that,” Charles smiled, “I have some great notes on mutant pregnancy, and I’m sure mutants will feel safer with an obstetrician who is accepting of them versus a doctor who won’t understand them.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, “I hadn’t thought of that,” She grabbed the notebook she brought with her and flipped it open, “Okay, so now I know where I’m headed. Time to teach me some new things, professor,” She grinned. She couldn’t remember feeling this excited before. Okay, that was an obvious lie, but still. It was always a great feeling to have.

Charles hadn’t realized how much time had gone by while he was discussing his teachings with (Y/N). Whenever she was confused or had a comment she would speak up so she could get clarification. She was engaged in their discussion which was refreshing especially since no one has ever been this intrigued in what he had to say when it came to Charles’s work. Raven usually spaced out or pressed his nose and said “snooze.” It got annoying really fast, but he supposed Raven thought the same when he talked about his work. 

“Okay, so the potentiality of a human-human couple is slim, but not impossible? What would that mean for me? If we can’t identify that the baby is a mutant, would they be examined by a regular obstetrician?”

“In that case, yes. Unless you were assigned them as your patient there wouldn’t be much for you to do. As you said, there are no tests that will let us know if their child will have the X-gene. It’s best to play it safe in that instance. You can always assist if need be, but for this purpose, we’ll have your thesis focus on identified mutant mothers or fathers. We’ll leave the human couples alone unless specified.” Charles shuffled his papers around so he could continue to keep them in order, but still have access to the next page of notes.

“I hope I’m not being rude by asking, but… your parents, did they have the X-gene?” (Y/N) asked curiously.

“I suppose my father might have, though I couldn’t ask him to verify,” Charles looked up to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, “he passed when I was ten. He didn’t give any indication to him being a mutant though.” He shrugged.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” (Y/N) spoke softly.

“It’s quite alright,  it happened a long time ago,” He ran his hand through his hair, “I do know for sure that my mother didn’t have the X-gene. Perhaps I was just special,” He teased to deflect from the topic of his family. That was something he wasn’t too keen on sharing. Only Raven knew about his family and that was only because she had come into his life while they were both still so young.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “keep telling yourself that Charles,” She smiled slightly but hid it behind her coffee cup. Throughout their talk, Charles would crack jokes as often as he could. It was refreshing and welcomed considering they were working. 

“What about you?” Charles asked.

“Not so special,” (Y/N) shrugged, “Human parents, human friends, human me.”

“That doesn’t mean that you aren’t special,” Charles tenderly said. He knew for a fact that she was special. She presented it in the way she spoke about her interests and how she spoke to others even if she didn’t find them very charming. She tried her best to treat everyone she met with kindness and that in and of itself was the most special thing about her. She didn’t talk down to people and she knew what she wanted. Charles knew that he wanted her but because of her strong morals, that wouldn’t happen. 

“You’re very charming, I bet that comes in handy,” (Y/N) deflected his compliment

“Oh it has its benefits,” Charles agreed. 

Instead of doing more work for (Y/N)‘ s work, she and Charles spoke casually about their lives. It was kind of comforting talking to Charles because things seemed to come easy. They talked about their childhoods and their families. (Y/N) found out how long Raven and Charles had known each other, and Charles found out how long (Y/N) had known her best friend. It was almost surprising how comfortable she felt with Charles. Just the other day she was hesitant to even be his friend, but now that she got to know him and some of his quirks, (Y/N) couldn’t be happier. Charles was funny in a witty way, he was beyond intelligent, he was a gentleman, and there was never a dull conversation with him. It helped that (Y/N) took an interest in his work.

“It’s gotten quite late,” Charles glanced at his watch, “I hope I didn’t keep you from anything?”

“Nah, (F/N) probably would have just dragged me to another party by now,” (Y/N) gathered her things together, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“It’s no problem, really. Perhaps we can meet at my home next time? I’m sure Raven would like to get to know you better. Also, it’d probably be cozier.”

(Y/N) bit her lip in thought. What could be the harm, right? She liked Charles, and after a while, her butt did start to hurt sitting in the booth. “Yeah, that’d be nice actually.”

“Wonderful, I’ll uh- did you need a lift?” He offered, hesitant to leave her alone.

“It’s okay, I don’t live too far, remember?” (Y/N) tried to brush him off. She didn’t want to burden him with anything else. After all, he was helping her with her work.

“You’d get home faster if I gave you a ride,” Charles insisted.

“Alright, I’ll let you drive me home then,” (Y/N) agreed. 

Together they walked out of the coffee shop to Charles’s car. Once again Charles proved to be a gentleman when he opened both the store and car doors for (Y/N).  She thanked him when he was in the car. (Y/N) should have known better than to doubt Charles’s sense of direction and memory. She’d have to remember that he was powerful in his mind. Rather than being afraid of him, it only made him that much more interesting to her. (Y/N) glanced at Charles while he drove. He looked comfortable and confident in his position. (Y/N)’s heart nearly skipped a beat watching him do an everyday activity.

‘I told myself I wouldn’t get wrapped up in his charms,’ She scolded herself.

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @dankpogue @theatreandtessa @peachykeen3502 @food-cures-all @commissioner23 @nerdcc-1701 @bittersweetsarcastocsworld

Message me if you’d like to be added to the taglist ^.^