#it's actually a very small number of people responding like this but the irony is not lost on me

[emeryleewho]

Me: It's good to approach critiquing text based on what's actually in the text and not just assumptions based on what you thought it should've said.

People in the comments: Okay, but I'm pretty sure what you actually mean is that you don't think we should critique media at all and also that anyone who doesn't follow your exact ways of doing things should die, so fuck you.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Literary Terms & Devices

Literary devices and terms - are the techniques and elements that writers use to create narrative literature, poetry, speeches, or any other form of writing.

Anadiplosis - a figure of speech in which a word or group of words located at the end of one clause or sentence is repeated at or near the beginning of the following clause or sentence. This line from the novelist Henry James is an example of anadiplosis: "Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task."

Bildungsroman - a genre of novel that shows a young protagonist's journey from childhood to adulthood (or immaturity to maturity), with a focus on the trials and misfortunes that affect the character's growth.

Chiasmus - a figure of speech in which the grammar of one phrase is inverted in the following phrase, such that two key concepts from the original phrase reappear in the second phrase in inverted order. The sentence "She has all my love; my heart belongs to her," is an example of chiasmus.

Diacope - a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is repeated with a small number of intervening words. The first line of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," is an example of diacope.

Epizeuxis - a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is repeated in immediate succession, with no intervening words. In the play Hamlet, when Hamlet responds to a question about what he's reading by saying "Words, words, words," that's an example of epizeuxis.

Foreshadowing - a literary device in which authors hint at plot developments that don't actually occur until later in the story. Foreshadowing can be achieved directly or indirectly, by making explicit statements or leaving subtle clues about what will happen later in the text. The Russian author Anton Chekhov summarized foreshadowing when he wrote, "If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off." The description of the gun on the wall, in other words, should foreshadow its later use.

Hubris - excessive pride or overconfidence, which drives a person to overstep limits in a way that leads to their downfall. In Greek mythology, the legend of Icarus involves an iconic case of hubris: Icarus is given artificial wings made of wax and feathers so that he can fly (a superhuman feat), but he ignores his father's warnings and flies too close to the sun, melting his wings and drowning in the ocean.

Irony - a literary device or event in which how things seem to be is in fact very different from how they actually are. If this seems like a loose definition, don't worry—it is. Irony is a broad term that encompasses three different types of irony, each with their own specific definition: verbal irony, dramatic irony, and situational irony. Most of the time when people use the word irony, they're actually referring to one of these specific types of irony.

Juxtaposition - occurs when an author places two things side by side as a way of highlighting their differences. Ideas, images, characters, and actions are all things that can be juxtaposed with one another. For example, it's a common plot device in fairy tales such as Cinderella to juxtapose the good-natured main character with a cruel step-sibling. The differences between the characters, as well as their close relation to one another, serve to highlight the main character's good qualities.

Kenning - a figure of speech in which two words are combined in order to form a poetic expression that refers to a person or a thing. For example, "whale-road" is a kenning for the sea. Kennings are most commonly found in Old Norse and Old English poetry.

Litotes - a figure of speech and a form of understatement in which a sentiment is expressed ironically by negating its contrary. For example, saying "It's not the best weather today" during a hurricane would be an example of litotes, implying through ironic understatement that the weather is, in fact, horrible.

Metonymy - a type of figurative language in which an object or concept is referred to not by its own name, but instead by the name of something closely associated with it. For example, in "Wall Street prefers lower taxes," the New York City street that was the original home of the New York Stock Exchange stands in for (or is a "metonym" for) the entire American financial industry.

Narrative - an account of connected events. Two writers describing the same set of events might craft very different narratives, depending on how they use different narrative elements, such as tone or point of view. For example, an account of the American Civil War written from the perspective of a white slaveowner would make for a very different narrative than if it were written from the perspective of a historian, or a former slave.

Onomatopoeia - a figure of speech in which words evoke the actual sound of the thing they refer to or describe. The “boom” of a firework exploding, the “tick tock” of a clock, and the “ding dong” of a doorbell are all examples of onomatopoeia.

Polyptoton - a figure of speech that involves the repetition of words derived from the same root (such as "blood" and "bleed"). For instance, the question, "Who shall watch the watchmen?" is an example of polyptoton because it includes both "watch" and "watchmen."

Quatrain - a four-line stanza of poetry. It can be a single four-line stanza, meaning that it is a stand-alone poem of four lines, or it can be a four-line stanza that makes up part of a longer poem.

Red herring - a piece of information in a story that distracts readers from an important truth, or leads them to mistakenly expect a particular outcome. Most often, the term red herring is used to refer to a "false clue"—a piece of evidence that misleads readers to believe that a crime (or other action) was committed by someone other than the actual culprit.

Sibilance - a figure of speech in which a hissing sound is created within a group of words through the repetition of "s" sounds. An example of sibilance is: "Sadly, Sam sold seven venomous serpents to Sally and Cyrus in San Francisco."

Theme - a universal idea, lesson, or message explored throughout a work of literature. One key characteristic of literary themes is their universality, which is to say that themes are ideas that not only apply to the specific characters and events of a book or play, but also express broader truths about human experience that readers can apply to their own lives. For instance, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath (about a family of tenant farmers who are displaced from their land in Oklahoma) is a book whose themes might be said to include the inhumanity of capitalism, as well as the vitality and necessity of family and friendship.

Understatement - a figure of speech in which something is expressed less strongly than would be expected, or in which something is presented as being smaller, worse, or lesser than it really is. Typically, understatement is used to call attention to the very quality it pretends to downplay. For instance, if you had just eaten the most delicious meal of your life and licked the plate clean, you might jokingly tell the chef that "It was edible," making use of understatement to humorously express how much you appreciated the meal.

Verbal irony - occurs when the literal meaning of what someone says is different from—and often opposite to—what they actually mean. When there's a hurricane raging outside and someone remarks "what lovely weather we're having," this is an example of verbal irony.

Zeugma - a figure of speech in which one "governing" word or phrase modifies two distinct parts of a sentence. Often, the governing word will mean something different when applied to each part, as in the sentence, "He took his coat and his vacation." The verb "to take" makes sense with and governs both "coat" and "vacation," but is appropriate to each in a different way.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[noelle-holi-gay]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

heyyyy I was tagged by @snarky-wallflower for this thingy, and I don't typically do stuff like this but what the heck! This one looks fun, and I need a small break from finals.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Sixty-six! Nice round satanic number.

2. What’s your total word count?

Uhhh... 1,164,238. I think I broke a million back with Dream Come True. Wild stuff! Guess that's what happens when you do this nonstop for like four years.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Deltarune these days, obviously, but I also had a wonderful time in the Splatoon and DuckTales fandoms, as well as Miraculous Ladybug, My Little Pony, and a ton of smaller ones here and there.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Dare to Dream (Deltarune): A fun little Susie x Noelle romcom that takes place in a divergent chapter 2 timeline where Susie kisseed Noelle on the Ferris Wheel. Also the first fic in my mega-series Dream Come True, a 300,000 word epic that really kind of went off the rails. But don't worry about that! It's just a funny little romcom! Come closer!

F@#!, Marry, or Kill (Miraculous Ladybug): I am so mad that this is up here. This fic sucks. I wrote it when I was fourteen (hence my reluctance to say "fuck" in the title) and it's just the main characters of the show getting caught up in a game of Fuck-Marry-Kill that involves their own superhero identites, but nobody else knows that. It's a good way to leverage the dramatic irony of Miraculous Ladybug, I guess, but I hate that this was my most-kudoed fic for so long. I wrote it over SEVEN years ago. The only reason it got so popular is because back in 2016, the Miraculous Ladybug fandom was a sea of piranhas starved by the seemingly endless will-they won't-they of the show, ravenous for whatever scraps they could get their grimy little teeth on. Perfect example of why popularity doesn't always equate with quality.

People Write Fanfiction About Me? (Miraculous Ladybug): This one is actually good, even if it's also incredibly old. Basically, Marinette finds online RPF of her and her superhero partner that was obviously written by her superhero partner, and they get into a whole meta fanfiction war, and it gets worse from there. I like this one a lot even if it's in an outdated style: I think it's a good take on the identity reveal genre for the ML fandom.

Stealing Kisses (Deltarune): Not much to say on this one! It's a direct continuation of Dare to Dream, still part of the Dream Come True series, though it functions more as a drama than a straight romcom, which is only one of many tone shifts that this series eventually takes. It also contains Locker Biting Challenge (if you know you know), which I think is, to date, one of the funniest bits of situational comedy I've ever written, so it gets special notes for that.

Crossing the Streams (DuckTales): And this is my most popular DuckTales fic, to round out the set! It's a low-stakes / no-magic AU, where instead of going on daring adventures, the DuckTales kids stream FPS video games online, and are, like, famous streamers. I think its popularity was artificially boosted just a tad due to being in-progress when the series finale dropped, but I think it holds up! I had some good fun playing with identity, fame, and hidden relationships.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I--sometimes! Just not very often... Look, if someone asks me a question, or if I have something to actually say in response, or if the comment is particularly touching, I'll reply, but I'm just really bad at taking compliments! It feels very awkward to me to reply to every comment when I would basically just be going "Thanks so much, I'm glad you liked it!" ten times in a row. That's the only reason (<-Definitely doesn't have anxiety)

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't tend to do unhappy endings. Cold Case for sure, if it were finished, lmao. Although--I guess you could argue Stealing Kisses has a very angsty ending, though it isn't actually an ending since it's just a sequel-bait cliffhanger. But yeah, I'm going to cheat a little and say Cold Case. It should be finished soon, anyway! Hopefully!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's hard to say considering the amount of romcoms I've written, but I think I'd actually have to go with the final mainline entry in my Splatoon series, Operation 24, which was The Wedding. It ends on a really sweet and poignant rooftop scene that I think is particularly uplifting, even compared to the endings of my other long-form romance fics.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Very rarely. I've gotten my share of transphobic comments -- welcome to the Internet! -- but thankfully they've been few and far between. I just delete them when they show up.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes, I have; no, you can't see it :p

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have written at least two crossover fics, so yes! I wouldn't exactly call it my genre, though. They're a little too niche and I like attention.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Oh boy. Yes, twice; the first was my Fuck Marry Kill fic for miraculous ladybug, which was ripped off and horribly butchered into a terrible version of the story by someone who IMMEDIATELY abandoned it to Orphan Account. Which is wild to me.

But the real creme of the crop was some kid on WattPad who copied large portions of my Operation 24 series, and then changed small and seemingly arbitrary details throughout to be more...train-centric? Like, all the characters would have strange and OOC dialog about trains in the middle of the romance. And then after a few chapters of that it did a total left-hand veer into a Thomas the Tank Engine / Harry Potter crossover that was utterly wild to behold. This whole saga is probably one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me in my life and I'm honestly more bewildered than mad about it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Wow, wouldn't that be cool! But no, along with getting a podfic this is one of those big fic-writer experiences that has elude me thusfar.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! I don't really know how to co-write outside of RP, and I haven't ever really done RP. I'm not opposed to the concept of co-writing, but I think it's sort of difficult to make work with my writing style.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

While I'd love to give the PR-friendly answer of Suselle, I think it's gotta go to Miraculous Ladybug's Love Square. That show has haunted me for seven years and is showing no sign of stopping, and the fuckery it does with its main relationship is some utterly unrivaled Shakespearian nonsense. The way the fandom has built around the relationship is also very interesting, especially the way the fanfic scene has shifted as the show develops and its audience grows up.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

If I want to finish a WIP, I will finish that WIP. The only ones that don't get finished are the ones I don't want to finish. This is the power of believing in yourself!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialog for sure--always has been--and also just, like, grammar? I do words good, as they say. I like to think I have a pretty well-rounded writing skillset at this point, though.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely descriptive stuff like setting the scene. I have to really work to make sure my scenes are embodied in physical reality, and sometimes I just forget to describe new locations. It's just a fairly boring part of writing for me, so I don't like doing it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I took six years of Spanish and have forgotten all of it, so this is unlikely at best. Spanish also uses em dashes instead of quotation marks to denote speaker changes, and while that is very linguistically interesting, it is also very confusing to me, specifically.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Uhhh... the first fandom I published was Miraculous Ladybug, but I think the first fandom I wrote for was My Little Pony. My MLP stuff is on a different site, and also pretty freaking bad, but it was my first large-scale fic and it really helped me develop my skills and voice.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Easy: Dream Come True. That was a monumental journey to go on, and seeing my readerbase follow along as that story morphed and twisted and just kept going and going was such a unique and satisfying experience as a writer. It truly feels unreplicable.

I'm not going to tag anyone because I am a coward, and get horribly anxious at the prospect of @ing people. But if you see this and you wanna do it, use me as an excuse! Say I atted you! Live freely!

Okay good bye. I must return to my endless studies...

[depressing-debbie]

A Latte For Erwin Pt 3

Summary: Erwin and Levi wait out the storm together, 1.7k words

Here I am with yet ANOTHER chapter :)

This is like SO different from what I usually write, I’m a teensy bit worried but I’m trying to remind myself that you can’t get better at writing without just getting started and allowing yourself to produce some shitty writing at first, so uhh yeah on that note, enjoy

Part 1   Part 2

Levi set the stack of papers down on a coffee table, flicking on a lamp, and Erwin was finally able to get a good look at the house. Even from their few interactions so far, he could tell that the house was so very fitting for Levi. It was somewhat small, barely decorated yet very cozy, and impeccably clean. There wasn’t a single item that seemed out of place, and the few decorations that could be seen were sophisticated and neat: clearly, he put care into his home.

“Sorry, I know it’s a bit of a mess. I was planning on taking my day off to clean the carpets, they’re filthy.” Levi frowned as they walked towards the kitchen, and Erwin had to hold in a laugh.

“Levi, this is the opposite of messy, it’s completely- wait, you were going to deep clean your house on your day off?” Erwin stared in a sort of impressed shock, and Levi shot him a look of confusion.

“... yes? I already said, the carpets are filthy, and I never have the time to clean them properly. Except for a day like today.” They reached the kitchen, and Levi gestured for Erwin to sit at the small wooden table in the corner. He then began opening cabinets and gathering what Erwin quickly assumed were coffee ingredients. Fitting.

“I suppose that’s fair. I just can’t imagine it being very relaxing.” Levi rolled his eyes in response.

“I’d rather relax once I know my house is taken care of. Besides, what else would you suggest I do with a day off?”

Erwin smiled slightly. “I mean, I had a nice evening planned out for the two of us before I knew your coworker was messing with us. Doesn’t that sound like more fun than cleaning?” Levi froze for a moment, thankful to be facing the wall so Erwin couldn’t see the slight panic in his expression.

“I don’t know, when’s the last time you cleaned carpets? Kind of hard to beat.” Erwin laughed at the sarcasm and Levi relaxed a bit, finishing up with the drinks and sitting down at the table. Erwin accepted the cup and went to take a sip, but he noticed something off. It didn’t quite smell like coffee, more like-

“Tea?” Erwin looked up at Levi in surprise, and once again, Levi stared blankly back. 

“Do you not like tea?”

“No, no, I do! I guess I just figured you would make coffee at home, considering you have such skills with coffee.” 

Levi felt his face burning once again and lifted the cup to cover it. “I don’t really like coffee. I like tea.” Erwin leaned back in his chair and flashed a confused grin.

“You- you don’t like coffee? You work at a coffee shop!” 

“I know, I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to drink it.” Levi caught himself smiling, partially at the irony being pointed, but also at Erwin’s expression of awe. Against his will, he noticed the beginnings of butterflies in his stomach, and quickly shoved the feeling away. 

Erwin finally took a sip of the tea, and his eyes went wide, making Levi laugh quietly. “THAT’S AMAZING, LEVI. How do you manage to be this good at making coffee AND tea?”

“I’m glad you like it.” Levi’s eyes wandered away and he stared out the window, unsure of why he couldn’t make eye contact. He cleared his throat and hastily redirected the conversation. “The weather doesn’t seem to be clearing up at all.”

“You’re right. I guess I won’t need to cancel the reservations I made for tonight, they wouldn’t be open in a storm like this anyway.” Both men fell silent, reminded of the awkward situation. “Levi, I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, but I think I should at least ask. Were you planning on calling? Should I find new reservations for another day? Because if not, then that’s fine, not a problem at all, but, you know, it’s better to know, and I just want to clear it up-” Erwin started out calmly, but it quickly became a nervous ramble, one which Levi had to note was endearing.

Levi sighed and composed himself before responding. “If I’m being honest, Erwin, no. I wasn’t going to call.” He saw the embarrassed expression on Erwin’s face and quickly elaborated. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to!” It came out a bit louder than he had meant, and he blushed. “I just mean... well, that’s not me. That’s not my role, it never really has been, and that’s fine with me.” Erwin watched as Levi shrunk into his chair, unused to having actual discussions with anyone but Hange.

“What role? I don’t understand.”

“You know, I’m just a coffee guy. I make coffee, and I clean my house, and I try to stop Hange from letting the shop explode. That’s me, that’s what I do. I don’t do... this.” Levi gestured in between the two of them, and Erwin did his best to connect the dots.

“I see. So, you’re saying... you don’t date?”

“I don’t date.” Levi crossed his arms in front of him and did his best to maintain his unbothered expression, but screaming internally for allowing himself to share personal information with essentially a stranger.

“But, you want to? I mean, you wanted to call me?” 

“It’s complicated... but, yes. I just can’t.” This time it was Erwin who rolled his eyes, and Levi was taken aback.

“I’m sorry, Levi, but that’s bullshit. I like you! I think you’re a really interesting person, and I would love to get to know you. And from what I’m hearing, it sounds like you feel the same way. So if there really is something stopping you here, then of course I respect that. But don’t limit yourself for no reason.”

At this point, Levi could no longer control the redness crawling across his face, but he finally forced himself to look up and make eye contact. Erwin’s expression was genuine and concerned, and Levi hated to admit how comforting it was.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. You’re right, I know! I just don’t know where to go from here.”

Erwin grinned. “Well, luckily, that I can help you with. Levi. Do you want to go on a date with me?” Levi didn’t even bother concealing his smile this time.

“Yes. Yes, I would like that.” He glanced out the window, and his face fell a bit. “If this weather ever clears up, that is.” Erwin shrugged, still smiling.

“I don’t think that’s an issue. I mean, we went for a walk together, we’re sitting in your kitchen having tea... why can’t we consider this our first date?” Levi really thought about it for a moment, and agreed.

“We should do something. You know, like watch a movie or something, that’s what people do on dates, right?” Levi asked, and Erwin tried not to laugh. “What? What’s so funny?” He grinned, blushing.

“You really don’t date, do you?” Erwin gave in and laughed, and Levi shot him a look of fake hurt, still smiling.

“We already knew that, jerk. You didn’t answer the question, what do people do on dates?” 

“Whatever they want! Here, do you have any puzzles? We could do a puzzle.” This time it was Levi’s turn to hold in a laugh, trying not to spit out his tea.

“A puzzle? Alright, old man. Or is this just part of the Sophisticated Professor thing?” He teased. 

“Oh, I’m old? Do you want to count the number of antique lamps in here?” Erwin teased right back, and Levi gave in. 

“Alright, alright, that’s fair. I do have some puzzles, actually. Hange got them for me last year, said I needed a new hobby. Apparently they don’t think coffee should be someone’s entire personality.” Levi went into the adjacent room and rummaged around in the cabinet.

“Oh yeah, and how’d that new hobby go?” 

He returned with two puzzle boxes, both still wrapped in plastic. “I decided to stick with the coffee afterall.” Levi was just about to sit down when his phone rang, back with the pile of paperwork by the door, so he set down the puzzles and went after it. 

He snorted when he saw Hange’s name as the caller. Of all people to interrupt, of course it was them.

“What do you need Hange?” 

“Geez Levi, you don’t have to be so aggressive, I just wanted to make sure you got home alright. I feel bad, tricking you guys like that, it was a dirty move, I just couldn’t watch you miss out on an opportunity, and I know you wouldn’t have gotten in contact if I didn’t take initiative, so I just decided-” Levi was getting restless listening to them ramble.

“Stop, you don’t need to explain, listen, it’s fine.” 

“Really? Because I figured you’d be pissed! I know how serious you are about your privacy and not wanting to talk to other people, and I know I messed up-”

“HANGE. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad, but you don’t have to explain, not right now. I have to go.”

“Oh... oh? Go where? Are you still planning to clean the carpets? I’ll come over after we close and help, it’s the least I can do, do you think we could close early? I could be there in an hour-”

“No, no, don’t come here.” Levi could feel Hange’s intrigue, especially since he’d never stopped them from coming to visit him randomly before. It would probably be easier to just come clean... “I mean, unless you want to interrupt and ruin my first date. Goodbye, Hange.” Levi hung up just as he heard them start to freak out. He would have to deal with that later, but as he hurried back to Erwin in the kitchen, he couldn’t care less. 

First date... sounded nice.

[enigma-im]

Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

Rating: Teen Relationship: Space Orc x F!Human Warnings: angst, avoidance, emotional constipation, repression, fluff, space orc

Word Count: 3812

insecurities are like another person in a relationship, whispering in the other’s ears till something happens.

-----------------------

Soulmates are something to rejoice over. Which is understandable, it's the person who is perfect for you. How could anything go wrong? It's your other half, your partner in crime, your true paring. Everyone believed it was a simple affair, you meet and then happily ever after. It was the basics until we found out there was life outside of earth, then things got a bit more complicated. New cultures to take into account along with physiology.

Things aren't as straight forward after that.

When I was a kid I use to fantasize about my soulmate. Would they be tall, short, fat, skinny? What kind of music do they like, and will they also eat their sandwiches without the crust? I adored the idea of having a new best friend to hang with. As I got older the idea never really left, morphing more into adult-type thinking. It isn't till I could translate my mark did I begin to have doubts.

It was an off chance that I happened to see the language my soulmate spoke, a weird situation really. I was fumbling about online and I saw it, just a new article that had a picture of the written language. It as scraggly and difficult to read, like a doctor's handwriting. With further research, I found exactly what species my mate was likely to be.

Orc.

I was excited at the time, I figured it out. My mate was to be an Orc, large creature with mostly human parts. To better prepare I did some more digging, looking up anything I could that wasn't video game lore. It was all so new and surprising. I had a direction now, an image to apply to my fantasies.

Since then I have studied extensively on Orc culture. Learning the ins and outs of how they live, socialize, idolize, and talk. It was all so engaging and rich in lore. It felt like I was getting to know my mate already.

The more I researched I soon had an inching doubt. It started off small, basic insecurities. As I read about their courting did I really give it some thought.

Orcs value strength in their culture. A strong mate is heavily sought after. If a soulmate wasn't of great value then they are known to cast them aside. The idea puts lead in my stomach. I'm not strong, or large like their women. I'm tall but I fit more in the string bean category more than anything. I could never be what a typical orc would want.

As I spiraled in these thoughts one thing became clear. I will not be putting myself through that humiliation. I can't stand the thought of being viewed so lowly by someone who is supposed to be my perfect match. To be laughed at by them or be a dirty secret will kill me inside. I can't be an embarrassment, I refuse.

Thereafter I ignored my mark, keeping occupied in school and work. A little while later it became easy to avoid thoughts about him. It was like I never had a soulmate.

It wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be.

After college I jump into my career, climbing the corporate ladder quickly. It's easy enough when you are married to your work. That even the thought of free time brings anxiety and stress. After a few years, I am exactly where I want to be. Traveling the world meeting new important people.

I have been everywhere and met every type of person. Orcs being one of those types of people. When I first saw one the excitement peaked its head, only for a moment. Then anxiety took over. What if it's him? The orc said his first words to me and the sigh of relief and disappointment was alarming. A few more introduction after that and the rising emotions settled. It was back to normal after that. Pretending that 'special' someone didn't exist.

Years passed and nothing happened. I didn't meet him or even get a trail. My soul felt numb, everything felt numb. It's hardly noticeable after so long, just a hole I've dealt with. I tried dating to fill the void but no one wants to date outside their partner. Anyone who does has lost their loved one already, wanting to also fill the void. Once they find out mine is still out there they break off quickly. So I focus on my career, it's all I have.

In my early 30s, I'm working in Germany. A lovely place but I always preferred the isles of Scotland, specifically Skye. At the embassy passing around some documents, I bump shoulders with an imposing figure. He is quite tall and buff, the poster child of orcs if I've ever seen one. He twists around, apologizing for the shoulder check.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Shouldn't have had my focus too far in the clouds while walking a crowded room," he smiles curtly.

I stare blank face at him, all primary functions failing. I can hear- feel- my heart beating against my chest. Everything is cold, my fingers numb but tingly. My vision tunnels and my brain just screams one thing. Run.

Rudely I turn and quickly walk away, giving no further reaction or words to my mat- to the stranger. I don't have a direction as I make it out the nearest door. I close it swiftly behind me, leaning against it. Sliding down to the floor I ball up. Pressing my knees to my chest and begin crying. Years of repression and closeting emotions are now boiling over. The sadness I ignored, convincing myself that they do not exist, is all on the surface.

I hiccup, stubbornly wiping away tears on the floor of a bathroom. All I can think is,

Fuck.

-----------------------

I have to say I've gotten good at not only avoiding emotions but people too. A week and a half of only catching glimpses of the orc. Which is a lot of glimpses, he is out and about often. It helps I'm stuck in my office for the time, only leaving for lunch. Still, he is always around when I'm out.

After I can pretend I've forgotten about him does he show up in my office. Knocking on my door a little after lunch. Too focused on work I don't hear him come in. I look up from my desk and choke.

"Hello again," he smiles," I have a folder for you, Reggie asked if I could bring it by."

"uh," I stare. My fingers grip the pen roughly, my fist almost shaking with the tension. The only thought running through my head now is, 'don't say anything'. If I talk then he will know. Then he will reject me. Then I can't go on pretending.

"You alright," he flicks the folder against his chest," didn't mean to startle you or anything. I know orcs can be kind of intimidating." I almost snort at the irony of that statement. Very intimidating indeed.

Instead of answering I hold out my hand for the folder, my other still white gripping the pen. He quickly crosses the room, handing me the folder before walking back to the door. With a curt wave, he is gone.

Once the door clicks into place I take in a greedy breath, slamming my head into my crossed arms. I groan, mumbling into my fist. My brain is muddled and my heart conflicted. I yearn to follow him but I also crave to leave back to the states. But one thought is resting quietly in the back of my head.

He looks good in those pants.

-----------------------

This idiot is now making it damn hard to avoid him. It's like he has made it his mission to get me to talk. Intercepting my way to my office in the mornings, meeting me at lunch, or delivering things to my office. He is determined, I'll give him that.

I'm almost running out of excuses. It's hard to make excuses without talking. I'm almost convinced he thinks I'm mute. Which would have been a grand way out if it wasn't for my coworkers plotting against me. As I talk with them they try to bring him into the conversation, promptly shutting me up.

I learn at some point his name is Garson. When I first heard I actually blushed, like a school girl! It was just his name and he didn't even say it. I will never understand the inner workings of soulmates but Garson always makes my controlled emotions run rapid.

As I sit in my office, absentmindedly writing my door opens. I don't look up, lost in thought for the hundredth time today.

"Hey," that deep -sexy- voice says. I sigh, shoulders slumping. I glance ahead, annoyed, and flustered. Garson waves shyly, holding up another folder. At this point, he has become my special delivery man. "From Vanya," he sets the file down," she asked I bring it on account of her bum leg. I told her it would be a bad idea to play soccer with her teens." his tense chuckle makes my heart throb. I want to ease his anxiety, but I can't. I just shrug, still writing.

He sighs, walking back out the door. The click echoed around the room and I find myself slamming my head on the desk again.

"Fuck," I groan, pounding my fist on the folder.

As I remind myself for the hundredth time why I'm doing this I notice my notes. I shift the paper and grimace at what I wrote.

Garson. Garson. Garson.

-----------------------

I can't fucking take it! He is more determined than I am stubborn. Watching him find more excuses to come to my office is almost impressive in its own right. He has upgraded from delivery boy to a food service. At some point he has found out my favorite snacks and drinks.

He interrupts me at the door, handing me a coffee while ranting about his night. As I ignore him, feeling like the biggest idjit, other coworkers join in. the number of dirty looks I get doesn't outweigh the appreciation I have for them talking to him. I feel like complete garbage when I don't respond to him, letting him look like a fool talking to someone who clearly doesn't want to talk. Thank the kindness of others.

Around lunch he pops in for a chat, offering a spot next to him in the cafeteria. I shake my head, pretending to be too busy to interact with him. Every time he offers and I decline he leaves so dejected. It's so heartbreaking to see him like that.

Day after day he tries his damndest to make friends with me. I cannot fathom this type of devotion to someone he doesn't know. I'm almost tempted to think he knows but its impossible. He is just too friendly for his own good.

Some coworkers have cornered me to ask what is up, some more confrontational than others. Some are casual in their attempts, asking simply why I'm so mean to the orc. Others are personally offended for him, being passive-aggressive to the point that I ask them to take his attention off me if they are so angry. Some do, which I'm grateful for. But he isn't swayed so easily.

I sit in my office, alone, contemplating my choices. I can't keep dealing with this. The heartbreak I feel rejecting him is as bad as him rejecting me. I'm doing what I was afraid of him doing, worse is he doesn't even know.

I have to leave.

-----------------------

It was weak, I'll admit that. Asking for a transfer was probably the easiest way out. I know I should just talk to him, let him have a choice in this, but I can't. he is a sweet guy, everyone knows that, but he is still an orc. He deserves someone strong and proud as his kind is. It's impossible for me to be that.

As I wallow on my last week of work I clean up my drawers to distract myself. I sort through some papers when the door bangs open. The knob slams against the wall, bouncing away towards that alluring figure. Garson walks in, grabbing the door and closing it behind him. His sneer is alarming, along with his clenched fist.

"You're leaving," he shouts," are you kidding me?" he walks closer to the desk, turning to pace the length of the room. " I tried, I thought maybe it's because I'm an orc and you were scared of me. I understand that, humans are super sensitive that way. But no! I was nice, patient, and doing everything I could to be nonthreatening. Yet that didn't help did it? It seems like nothing was going to fix that. So my question should really be why is my soulmate running from me?" I gasp, gawking at him. He stops his pacing, glaring down at me with crossed arms. He shrugs," well? Why are you running from me?"

I can't answer, shocked and startled by this admission. He doesn't allow me the time to stew on the question. He shoots forwards, slamming his hands on the desk. I jump.

"Why are you running from me," he chokes on a sob," It's been killing me to give you time. To watch you every day and not be able to hold you. If you want to leave, then fine. I won't stop you. I just want to know where I went wrong, what did I do? What could I have done? Was I always going to be not enough for you? Well?"

I bolt up at his words," I was scared! I was fucking scared, ok?" we both startle at my outburst. His self-deprecating look mixed with his attempt at a sneer melt off his face. I sigh, "I didn't want to be rejected, I couldn't handle that kind of pain." I drop my head in defeat.

Garson ducks down onto his knees, catching my eyes. "Why did you assume I would reject you," he asks.

"because you’re an orc and I'm not," I answer.

He scoffs," and you're a human and I'm not. Do you really see that as being a huge problem?"

"Yes," I slap the desk," of course it's going to be a problem. I'm not strong or proud, I'm weak and antisocial. I cry every time I watch sad dog movies. I can't lift more than half my body weight. I also don't have anything worthy for you. I'm an ordinary human while you are part of a devoted species. I am not worthy."

Garson just stares after my outburst. He looks between my eyes then gives me a once over. He huffs, standing straight. He combs his fingers through his long hair, turning away with a laugh.

"You have to be kidding me," he laughs again. His chuckles turn into full-blown laughter till he is lounging against the door.

"What's so funny," I snap. His laughs trail off as he watches me. When he doesn't answer, I sit, arms crossed and lip sneered.

"Sorry," he looks to his feet," it's just ironic."

"Yea, how so?"

I watch him straighten from the wall and casually flop into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Everything is quiet as he collects his thoughts. I faintly hear the sound of shuffling outside my door. No doubt some people heard the shouting.

"When I first found out what species my soulmate was I was excited. I had a direction now, I felt closer to you. I was so excited I told everyone I could. People of my clan held their tongues at my joy, only giving pitiful looks but no words. I never noticed it. It's when my parents sat me down to explain did I get it," he shifts in his chair," 'humans are scared of us' my mom said. 'they are weak' my dad said. I became torn between the fear of hurting you and the fear of you not wanting me because you'd think I'd hurt you.

"When I finally read what your words said I let their words alter me. instead of rejecting the idea of you I sent out to change. I got jobs that interacted with humans and kept myself small. I'm not a threat, I never was. I took every chance to chat with humans, to get used to them. It was all in preparation for you. I was- am- scared of you." he meets my eyes, his so full of fear. My heart patters, the view of vulnerability shaking me to the core.

"y-you were scared of me," I point to myself. The idea is laughable. "So we are a bunch of idiots too worried about each other's feelings to just ask straight out what we actually felt. That is funny," I chuckle. I huff, sitting back in my seat.

The awkward silence should be stifling but we are captured in our thoughts. It's amazing in its irony that he was also the one scared. I feel relieved and foolish all at once.

"so," he bounces his fingers on his thigh," what now?" I shift in my seat, also curious about our direction.

"depends," I nibble on my lip," do you want me despite everything?" the question lingers in the air for me. The answer I've dreaded my entire life. The choice that decides my happiness.

"Despite everything," he ponders," you ignore me for weeks, avoiding any interaction. Not talking to me less you wish to reveal yourself, and requesting a transfer. Despite all that, despite the ignorance and stubbornness, I want you." the satisfaction that flows through me is startling. My hand shakes from the previous fear and now incomparable joy.

"I never thought I would hear those words," I sigh," thank fuck."

He stands from his chair, walking over the side of my desk. "So you want me too? Despite everything," he crouches down. I grab at his face, finally allowing myself the chance to admire his handsome face. His long tusk and pierced lip. His dark green eyes and even darker green skin. He is so beautiful.

I answer him by leaning forward and capturing his lips. Pressing fiercely against him, showing him my cyclone of emotions. He returns it in full, shedding his insecurities to just hold me.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against him.

"it's ok, I'm sorry too," he kisses me again. He cards his fingers through my hair, petting down its length. I don't want to leave this moment, it filling the hole that sat too long in my heart. Though one question makes me part.

"How did you know," I ask. He traces his nose over mine with a hum.

"How did I know what," he asks.

"How did you know I was your soulmate, I didn’t say anything," I clarify. Garson answers by leaning down to my neck and taking a large inhale.

"Fresh baked cookies and honey milk," he kisses my cheek," only my soulmate can smell so good."

I laugh," you can smell your soulmate?"

"of course, all orcs can. Do humans not have this," he leans back. I shake my head, taking the time to lean in and smell him.

"pine tree and blueberries," I ponder," no, pine tree and strawberries."

"pine tree and fruit?"

"I guess so," I shrug, grinning like an idiot. He smiles with me, leaning back in for another heart stopping kiss.

-----------------------

After the week is over I transfer back to the states. The distance is aching, the void opening as he isn't there to fix it. I call him every night, regretting more than anything signing those papers. I belong right next to Garson in Germany. Though I can see now that I deserve to deal with the repercussions of my actions. Still, it sucks.

A month in I feel as empty as I did before he showed up. The daily calls help but seeing him would be better. My work suffers as a result, to the point that I consider taking vacation time to visit him.

Soon enough I do just that, putting in a week-long vacation request. I forgo telling Garson of my visit, wanting to surprise him. It's exciting to be able to this with someone. I always watch couples on tv surprising each other like this. It's nice to feel so normal.

The night before my flight I start packing. As I collect my clothes I hear a knock at the door. Tossing the items down I go over and answer. I throw open the door expecting some salesman but I'm greeted to a hulking figure.

"Garson!" I jump him with a hug. I pepper his face with kisses, too caught up in the growing affection.

"Hey, nice to see you too," he laughs, holding me close. He walks in, shutting the door behind himself as he goes into my living room. He sets us both on the couch, leaning down for a kiss.

"What are you doing here," I ask surprised.

"What, can't come visit my mate?"

"Oh shush, you know that's not what I meant. I'm asking because I was just getting ready to visit," I point towards my room," I'm in the middle of packing actually."

"really," he strokes my thigh," I guess great minds think alike."

"I guess they do," I smile. Having him here is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I underestimated his importance until now.

We can't help but make up for lost time, making out like a bunch of teenagers on the couch till we make it to the bedroom. Pushing the luggage and clothes off the bed we make love for the first time. When he first pushes in it's like a puzzle finally coming together. I can't believe I was going to deny myself this, even with the chance of denial this is too great of a reward.

We lay in bed, me resting against his broad chest and him petting my head. We bask in the afterglow and silence, overjoyed with each other's company.

"I got some news," he mumbles, breaking the quiet. I hum, nuzzling into his chest. "I got transferred here," he answers.

I snap straight, looking down at him, "You're going to work with me?"

"yea," he smiles," it's exciting, I've never been to the states before."

"really? It's not much but now that you’re here perhaps it is," I cup his jaw, stealing a kiss while my excitement is hot.

"you flirt," he teases," I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," I mumble against his lips.

We fall asleep that night, curious but excited about our future.

I'm glad things worked out despite our ignorance. How could anyone deny their mate?

----------------------- 

I just.... I just love orcs so much. soulmate stories ain’t so bad either.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[monstersandmaw]

Male alien x nb human (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's the winner of the 'which monster to write next' poll (at least it was at the time I started writing it). It’s been on early release for Patreon folks for about a week now, and I was supposed to post it here yesterday, but I forgot. I hope you enjoy it!

Lex is non binary, and if they lived on Earth at the moment, would most likely be assigned male at birth. Tarann (alien) is male, an assassin, and didn’t have what we might view as a normal childhood by any standards. As such, there is an awful lot he does know, and a lot that he's completely unfamiliar with...

Content: fluff, the tiniest pinch of angst, plus mention of genetic modification and sterilisation, 'creation' of genetic 'super-soldiers', nsfw, tentacle cocks (plural) Wordcount: 8000

The dull, steady voice of his ship’s computer informed him that faster-than-light travel would not be viable with all systems in their current state of blaster-riddled repair.

He cursed.

It then informed him that actually, since barely sticking the landing in a crumbling red-stone canyon, Tarann would be lucky to take off again at all.

He let out a long string of curses, even switching languages a couple of times.

“That was creative. I even detected some Tch’larian in there,” Menot, the androgynous computer, commented. “Been a while since I’ve heard you use your native tongue, Tarann…”

“Go fuck yourself with a Savaranian spiked tuber,” he grumbled, to which the computer had no qualms responding that if they were not a mere collection of unfathomably complicated code - which he had had no hand whatsoever in creating, they sarcastically pointed out - they might consider the directive.

Tarann simply shook his head in frustration and used the lower of his two sets of arms to smash the bulkhead open by the button on the wall, and stalked through the smashed-up ship towards his cramped sleeping quarters. The Spark was hardly a ship built for comfort. She was utilitarian; designed for quick escapes and aerial combat, and short-range sorties. She’d been his home for over a year now, and he’d be lucky if he ever got her to limp into the upper atmosphere of this backwater planet, let alone space. An unhealthy layer of fine red dust was already clinging to her wings and the intakes would likely need some extensive work before he could get her air-worthy again.

Mounting stress made the old implant scar in the side of his neck throb and he trailed his three-fingered hand along it, his skin currently a neutral, dull grey. Barefooted, as nearly all Tch’larians preferred due to particular shape of their three-toed feet, with one additional thumb-like digit that didn’t quite meet the ground when they stood, he padded silently along the metal floors of the ship and began to check and clean his weapons back in his quarters. The familiar monotony of clicking, sliding metal, and the smell of gun lubricant always soothed him.

“Think,” he hissed at himself.

Menot’s voice sounded over the system twenty minutes later and said, “Incoming transmission from the Agency. Would you like me to play it for you?”

He closed his four yellow eyes and inhaled steadily. Reluctantly, he growled, “Yes.”

“Agent Triskelion,” the familiar voice of his handler rumbled. “We understand that your ship took heavy damage in a dogfight after completing your last contract.”

“That’s a fucking understatement,” he snarled but he didn’t interrupt the message further.

“While it was unrelated to the contract on the Red Flame, your unplanned skirmish with Invaranian Rebels did attract attention and we have intelligence to suggest that they might have attempted to trace you following your escape. You are ordered to keep a low profile and your open contracts have been reassigned to other agents until we can be certain that the Red Flame is no longer looking for you.”

The metal of his blaster creaked under his grip and he relaxed before he damaged it, taking another deep breath. He hadn’t had a contract reassigned since he’d first joined the Agency all those years ago. The humiliation of it forced his skin to change from the dusty grey to a vibrant blue, dotted with teal. Feeling like a teenager again, he forced his skin back to its neutral grey and set the blaster aside, reflexively checking the safety before it put it down.

Back at the bridge, though it was barely large enough for him to squeeze around the seat, he snarled, “Menot, record this and prepare to send it to HQ.”

“Very good.”

“Agent Triskelion, acknowledging receipt of transmission and instructions to lie low. Currently grounded in a canyon twenty clicks north west of a small mining town on a planet that’s so fucking tiny it doesn’t even have an official name.” Tarann steady himself and added, “But I’ll get Menot to send coordinates with this transmission. Ship’s pretty beaten up and I’ll probably need extraction at some point. I doubt this place has the parts I need, but I can look. I’m going to head into the town at sunrise and I’ll take Menot with me. And I’ll keep a low profile.”

“As low a profile as one of the galaxy’s finest killers possibly can,” Menot added, and Tarann cursed whoever had coded sarcasm into their system.

“Exactly,” he said. “A stranger rocking up out of nowhere in a town that tiny is hardly going to pass unremarked, but I’ll adapt.” He snorted a little at the irony of that, knowing that his rather unique genetic melange was designed for camouflage. Not for him was the messy application of paints and disguises, though he couldn’t actually change his bone structure beyond accelerated healing. “So yeah, for the love of all you hold dear, please don’t just forget about me here. End recording. Menot, send it to HQ.”

With that, he slumped into the pilot’s seat for a moment and sighed. Menot helpfully informed him that dawn was three hours away, and he told them to shut everything down save for the essentials and maintain a vigilant watch while he attempted to get some sleep.

“I’ll wake you if anything needs your attention,” Menot promised.

With the sun high in the sky, Tarann stalked across the dusty plain that formed a ring around the town. In fact, it was much larger than they’d initially thought, and Menot quietly informed him in his hidden earpiece that the town appeared to go down into the earth, perhaps following the original mine shafts.

“Puts a new meaning on going to ground for a while,” he snorted.

He was relieved as he passed through dirty, dusty, narrow streets, to note all sorts of lifeforms here - some familiar and many not. With limited biodiversity, he might have stood out like a sore thumb, but the place seemed stuffed to the brim with hopeless outcasts from all over the system. There were even some humans here, which surprised him. The temperature was hot and arid, not ideal for the creatures he’d only had brief dealings with. Earth was seen as a backwater, with the emphasis on the water. It was the kind of place people went to retire to, and that was… about it. Enterprising humans had left centuries ago and gone to the newly terraformed planets like Mars - if they still wanted to remain in their solar system - and many more had joined up with the Federation and scattered all over the known galaxies.

When he passed a bipedal, slender human male, he asked Menot to give him a run-down on the species. “Both surprisingly easy and surprisingly difficult to kill, can be self-destructively curious and reckless, capable of making leaps of logic insurmountable to many species while being unfathomably illogical at other times…”

“Baffling,” he murmured. “Sounds like Agent Luna,” he said with a fond smile.

The legendary assassin had assessed him upon arrival at the Agency for unarmed combat, and somehow despite looking so… breakable, had had him on his back in two seconds flat. She’d also been the one to give him his field name, Triskelion, given that a decent number of things in his body, except his two hearts and four eyes, seemed to come in threes - three fingers, three toes, three lungs… The only trio of anatomical parts she hadn’t seen first hand was, well… elsewhere.

The fact that Luna was a fraction of his size and weight hadn’t seemed to matter at all in combat training, and he’d been very wary (and more than a bit in awe) of her since she’d returned from a mission with an injury that even the best surgeons at the Agency had said would kill her. Six months later, she was back in the field. He shuddered. Humans were like Anthariacs, once you thought you had a lock on their size and shape, they could simply morph into something else. Or perhaps they weren’t anything like that at all.

Unsettled, he shuddered again and nearly crashed straight into a small vendor’s stall in the narrow alley.

He heard the scraping voice say something, at which the ear piece translated, “Watch it!”

Shrugging off the encounter, he moved through the streets until he came to what looked like a bar with a noticeboard outside. Most of the listings were mundane requests and adverts for various services, and the rewards were in a currency he’d never heard of.

It took him a month on the planet to earn enough cash to stop having to make the twenty click trek out to the Spark every night to sleep. He would have slept in a doorway in the town had he not witnessed on his very first evening what happened to people who were caught unprepared and exposed. The sight of the slender wings being yanked off a tiny creature with a scream powerful enough to rupture eardrums had stuck with him and he’d risked the local wildlife - largely dirty great lizards - and gritty wind-storms on a daily basis to avoid that.

His handler at The Agency kept contact to an absolute minimum, except to update him periodically on the investigation that the Red Flame was still conducting and to tell him to stay holed up there. Boxed in with nothing to do, Tarann became irritable and jumpy. It wasn’t that he was itching for the next kill - he didn’t do his job for that - but the constant vigilance and insecurity of taking short, messy, shitty jobs here and there was waring him down, so when some jackass in the bar made a comment about that ‘four-eyed hill varanus over there’, he snapped. He’d encountered a hill varanus on one of his long treks back to where the Spark was still stashed out of sight in the canyon, and the enormous lizard had been curled up beside a large boulder, minding its own business until it decided to make Tarann’s sensitive inner calf its business with a maw full of teeth coated in thick poisonous saliva.

He’d been hallucinating by the time he’d managed to get back to the Spark - miraculously without dropping off the ledge and plummeting to the bottom of the canyon - and his body had been rippling through every colour in the known universe, and maybe even a few more, before he’d finally stuck a huge needle full of universal antidote into his left heart. It had taken him a whole day to recover enough to leave the ship.

Being compared to a hill varanus then - yes, his skin had the same gnarled texture as a number of reptiles found all over the galaxy, and yes, his saliva was also poisonous to a huge number of species - had suddenly broken all his carefully constructed control and he’d lunged at the large, slug-like creature, all four hands going around the thinnest point of its neck and squeezing until its eyes bulged.

“Oi!” a relatively high-pitched shout went up from behind the bar and a moment later a short blast of sound shot through the room and everyone cringed. The high-frequency noise made his insides crawl and he let go of the offending creature and staggered back a pace, toes splaying to try and steady himself. His skin flushed a sickly green before he could stop it.

Tarann turned his head and saw that the sound had emanated from a small, hand-held speaker which had been plonked down onto the surface of the bar. Behind it, wielding control of the button on the top of the speaker was - and he could have sworn that he felt his right heart lurch a little in his chest at the sight of them - a human. They had a blaster in their left hand and looked prepared to use it, if not necessarily formally trained. Their stance was pretty shoddy, but the distance of only a few spans between them more than made up for that. If the human fired, Tarann would die for sure.

“No fighting in my bar,” they said, voice stern and steady. “You got an issue with someone, you take it waaaay outside, am I clear?”

Both Tarann and the slug-thing nodded and he decided he needed another drink.

Approaching the human while they still held the weapon was probably not a wise move, but when he leaned his lower arms on the counter, his upper pair hanging loose and relaxed at his sides, Tarann saw a smile on their lips. “You must be new,” they grinned amicably, reaching below the counter to stash the blaster and pulling out a glass in its place. They then turned behind them to fill it up. “Haven’t seen any Tch’larians in here for a long time.”

He liked the way the human almost got the click at the start of the word but not quite. Some humans were known for their incredible mimicry skills, but this one clearly wasn’t as proficient. He also had no idea how to address a human after they’d just threatened his life, so he settled for a curt nod.

“And you’re about as chatty as the last one. Whatever that bit of pond slime over there -” they gestured with a bottle of distilled alcohol at the creature who’d insulted him “- said to you, just ignore them. They’re… a regular in here, but they don’t have many friends, if you catch my drift.”

“I wonder why,” he said flatly.

“It speaks!” the human chuckled. “And you’re fluent in sarcasm as well as Federation Common. Here, on the house.” And a small glass was shunted his way, sloshing with a clear, ruby red liquid. “You’ll like it. It’s a kind of brandy made with a fruit that grows in the mines. At least, the last Tch’larian I knew liked it. I could be grossly stereotyping an entire race based on one data point. Still, free booze…?”

“You talk a lot,” he said before sipping it. It burned his neon blue tongue pleasantly and then left a sweet aroma in his mouth that went up into his nasal cavity, leaving him with the impression he might breathe fire if he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah, well, you don’t, so… one of us has to balance the equation.” After a beat they added, “I’m Lex.” They held out their hand over the bar counter and Tarann vaguely remembered something about touch not being a taboo for humans. Not that it was taboo for Tch’larians either, but with so many people mingling under the Federation’s relatively peaceful protection in the past few centuries, it was still easy to offend someone inadvertently.

He noted the strength in the human’s hand as he slid his own three fingers into the grasp, and smiled at how smooth their skin was. Their hair was cut short at one side and had been left to flop a little longer at the top of their head, and he’d always wondered what a human’s hair would feel like beneath the pads of his sensitive fingers. Agent Luna hadn’t exactly been the type to let him try. He’d known that Agent Luna was female, but he had no idea what this human went by, and he was unfamiliar with human naming conventions, so that gave him no clue either.

Eventually he realised that he hadn’t told them his name, and murmured, “Tarann.” It seemed fairly safe out here, and most of the people who might want revenge on him for his line of work knew him as Triskelion anyway.

“Where are you staying?” Lex asked as they got back to work, keeping their head turned towards him a little so that he could still talk to them while they polished glasses and took orders from the odd patron.

“Out of town,” he said.

Lex paused halfway through pouring a bottle of something frothy and blue into a glass the size of a small bucket. “There’s nothing out of town…”

“My ship’s out there. Dead in the water, as it were,” he offered, taking another sip of his brandy. “This is excellent, by the way…”

His compliment was met with a grin, but the gesture quickly faded. “You’re not seriously sleeping in your dead ship out in the hills, are you?” they asked.

“Why would that be a problem?”

“You’re lucky the scavengers haven’t found you and stripped your ship - and you - bare…”

He tilted his head and blinked his four golden eyes at them. “I haven’t seen any sign of anyone out there except me. And the odd varanus…”

Lex winced dramatically. “Nasty fuckers those…”

Tarann nodded, rolling his right ankle. “Indeed.”

After a pause, Lex looked like they were about to say something, but the crash of glass on the other side of the room stopped them. “Shit, not those two again,” they hissed, and Tarann looked around just as a fight broke out for real this time.

They grabbed the blaster he’d seen before and the little speaker that emitted the unpleasant noise, and strode off around the bar, ignoring him completely where he sat. He had eased his lean, muscular frame onto a bar stool to take the weight off his frankly rather bruised and sore feet. The unpleasant sound seemed to do nothing for these two as they scrapped - all arms and teeth and roars, and even when Lex shot a quick, low-energy blast into the stone floor beside one of their feet, they didn’t break it up.

He should stay out of it. The human had guts, for sure, but the two creatures that were fighting were large and aggressive, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. A stray flail of the tip of one of their tails caught Lex in the face and they staggered back, yelling and spitting curses.

Making his mind up, he slid off the stool and approached the brawling patrons. Grabbing the nearest one by the scruff of their reptilian neck, he yanked hard and backed towards the doors of the bar, clearly catching them completely by surprise. Top thugs never expected to be bested by anyone, and it gave him a good few minutes of stunned compliance. Tossing them out onto the street with a snarl of his own seemed to sober that one up a mite, and a second later the other creature was booted out of the door with another curse, leaving Lex framed in the open doorway, blaster raised, face slightly bruised and utterly thunderous.

Something happened then in Tarann’s body that he was not expecting. A sharp, unfamiliar pang of arousal shot down his spine and fanned out through his entire nervous system. He shivered, a low-frequency rumble escaping him without permission. There was something about seeing a creature that should have been vulnerable in this situation - could have been crushed - standing there with a bruised face and blazing eyes, staring down two enormous beings three times their size, that made him hot all over. It was like mating season, or at least, his vague recollection of it from a brief talk at the Facility to explain that none of them would ever experience any of that because they had essentially had it edited out of their DNA. He’d escaped the Facility and joined the Agency and had never experienced the slightest tinge of lust since a brief flare in his teens. He bit those memories down and looked back at Lex.

“Thanks,” they grinned as the two brawlers separated and headed off in opposite directions down the street, yelling curses over their shoulders in their various languages. “How’d you feel about another brandy?”

He nodded and followed them back inside, watching the way their legs moved - their legs hinged forwards at the knee, which was intoxicatingly the opposite way to his own, their hips swaying rather alluringly.

“Listen,” Lex said as Tarann closed his fingers around his second glass of fiery brandy that evening. “If you’d like somewhere to stay, I’ve got a job opening here for a bouncer. The last girl I had got into trouble with some bounty hunter and had to scarper, but it comes with the offer of a room, use of the kitchen out the back, and a steady pay. It’s not great, but if I get tips, I’ll share them with you.”

Tarann blinked. “You can’t be serious…”

“Why not?” Lex shrugged, refilling a container with a viscous, silvery sauce that crackled softly as it sank into the jar.

Barely suppressing a shudder at the offending liquid, he made a mental note to avoid that at all costs, whatever the fuck it was supposed to be or go with.

Lex caught him staring sidelong at the fluid and laughed. “One of a small number of things on the menu that I wouldn’t recommend to anyone except a hazmat droid, or an Efulgari bombardier -” they added nodding across the room to where a frankly enormous creature sat waiting patiently, presumably for the bucket of viscous gloop in Lex’s hands. “Now, do you have to get back to your ship tonight, or do you want to stay here and think it over? You can let me know what you decide in the morning.”

He scowled softly; wary and distrustful. “You’d just let me stay?”

Lex shrugged again. “You’ve already earned your keep for tonight,” they grinned, revealing hopelessly small teeth. How could they hope to defend themselves with those? His own, by comparison, were two rows of viciously pointed fangs that could rip open the jugular of most of the known species that didn’t have exoskeletons, and even some that did.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll think it over.”

Lex left him in peace after that for an hour or so, but when the patrons began to trickle out into the night, they returned to him and asked, “Want to head up to your room?”

He nodded silently, and followed Lex through a door behind the bar and upstairs.

“That’s my room,” Lex said, nodding at a door with peeling teal paint which stood ajar on his right. “And this is yours. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable and I kept it pretty clean. There might be just a little bit of dust…”

Again, Tarann just nodded his understanding and set his small pack down gently beside the bed. The room was indeed humble, but that wasn’t an issue. He didn’t have many belongings anyway; just Menot in their portable device and some clothes and local coin. “It’s fine,” he said, turning round to find Lex leaning against the door frame in a way that spoke of casual trust and again made his skin flush hot. Embarrassed, he looked away, but Lex didn’t seem to mind, or perhaps they didn’t notice.

“Kitchen is downstairs - it’s the only other door than the one that leads to the bar. You can’t miss it. Help yourself. See you tomorrow, I guess?” they smiled, running a hand through their hair and messing it all up in a way that did nothing to help the rising temperature of his skin or the syncopated lurching of his twin hearts in his chest.

With a final nod from Tarann, Lex left him for the night.

He heard them closing up about an hour later, and then caught the steady tread of their footsteps on the metal stairs, the squeak and click of their door, the sound of clothes hitting the floor, and, another few moments later, the gush of hot water. In the corner of his own room was a sink, so he splashed the dust and grime off his face and decided to ask about a shower in the morning.

The rhythm of his life for the next few weeks was considerably easier than the first had been. Menot kept him abreast of activity both regarding his ship - nothing, mercifully - and the Agency. After three weeks working for Lex, the two had become the very thing he had always shied away from. Assassins don’t form attachments; they don’t form friends. Do the job, get out cleanly, and move on. That was how he lived, and yet, the regular ebb and flow of patrons - most of them familiar by now, a few of them new - and the easy manner of the ballsy human who ran the place lulled him quietly into a new life.

He constantly tried to remind himself that it was a borrowed life; a cover, almost. This cosy existence with its easy repartee between them and the comfort of a soft bed and regular meals was not his to keep, and he would have to shrug it off the moment that he was given the all-clear.

One evening, seemingly at random, Lex closed up early.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked as Lex politely shooed the last drunken creature out of the door and locked it behind her six scuttling legs. “What’s going on?” His natural instincts set him suddenly on edge all over again, perhaps because he’d grown so complacent of late. He didn’t like changes to patterns. It had taken him a little while to relax into this one, and even then, he didn’t exactly ease up on the vigilance.

Lex grinned at him like they’d won some kind of cash-prize, hands balled into fists at their hips, and announced, “It’s my birthday.”

He frowned. “What… What does that mean? You’re… You’re giving birth?” He looked at Lex’ body and couldn’t see any indication that they were carrying some form of offspring.

Lex gave a huge snort and bent nearly double laughing.

“Apparently not,” Tarann mumbled. “Apologies.”

“No,” Lex waved, straightening up again. “I’m sorry, it’s… that just… caught me off guard. No, I’m not giving birth to anything today or ever. It’s…” and then they fell quiet, almost sad, and said, “You really don’t know what a birthday is?”

He shook his head, feeling unsettled.

“Huh,” they mused. “Well, simply put, it’s a celebration of the day I was born. Back on Earth, we celebrate them roughly every 365 days because that’s one complete orbital cycle of our planet around our Sun. Roughly. Give or take a decimal point or two…”

They stared at him and he grew even more uncomfortable. Birthdays were not something celebrated at the Facility where he’d been… raised. The old scar in his neck where their implant had been throbbed and his skin changed colour quietly from grey to a dark blue.

Lex took a step closer and placed their fingertips on his upper forearm. It wasn’t the first time Lex had touched him, but it was the first touch like that; gentle, careful, concerned. “What does that mean?” Lex asked softly.

Tarann wanted to run, but instead he forced himself to ask, “What does what mean?”

“That colour change? I’ve worked out a few already. You go a kind of bright blue when you’re super embarrassed, but I’ve not seen you turn that colour before…”

“You noticed,” he said with a half-smirk, revealing all his dangerous teeth behind his thin lips.

Lex twitched a shoulder but didn’t let go of his arm. “It’s hard not to notice you,” they said voice shifting lower in pitch. “I love watching your skin change. You know, it reminds me of these old antique lamps back on Earth… they’re called ‘lava lamps’ but they’re not actually made of lava. It’s wax or something. Anyway, when you turn them on, they get hot, and the wax inside floats to the top of the liquid in a blob, and when it cools down a bit, it sinks down again. They’re super old and rare now, but some of them change colour slowly, and it’s kind of hypnotic. I remember going to a museum and staring at one for ages. It’s like that with your skin.”

They circled their thumb over a small area of his arm and he shuddered.

“I think it’s beautiful…” And then Lex’ skin flushed and he caught the way their pulse throbbed in their neck, the veins and arteries so close to the surface as to be impractically vulnerable, but they didn’t seem to want to protect it with armour.  “Anyway,” they blurted, releasing him so quickly that he actually swayed a bit at the loss of contact, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. What was I saying?”

“It’s your birthday,” he croaked after a pause.

“Yeah, so, uh… I figured maybe we could do something? There’s an Earth recipe involving pasta that I’ve finally managed to get all the ingredients for and I wanna make it. You game?”

“Game?”

“You want to help me?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Lex deflated a little. “You can take the night off if you’d rather.”

“No,” he said firmly. It never hurt to add to his knowledge.

“Ok then,” they smiled, and he caught the way their shoulders dropped a little, the muscles relaxing again. He’d answered correctly.

In fact, the meal ended up tasting alright. Human food seemed strange to him, and perhaps a little bland, but after the protein blocks he’d been raised on, anything tasted alright compared to those. What really made his evening was Lex’ obvious enjoyment. Their eyes were sparkling and alive, like jewels, and they laughed a lot.

They also made some significant inroads into the fiery brandy afterwards, and ended up slumped against Tarann’s left shoulders, smiling softly and running their fingertips over the slight, flattened bumps in his skin along his forearms.

“I can’t believe you have four arms,” they said, their voice slurred and their eyes vague.

Tarann, who wasn’t drunk, shifted slightly and jostled them. They snuggled up again immediately in a new position which forced him to put both his arms around their shoulders as they lay against this chest this time, and giggled. “Why not?” he asked, because he wasn’t sure what else to ask. They were beautiful and strong and tough at work in the bar and during the day, but he got to see a different side before and after work. The fatigue, the loneliness, the gentle-heartedness was never on show for the patrons of their scruffy, homely bar, but for him, they showed all that and more. Now, unwinding even further as the alcohol took effect, Lex became even more talkative than usual, which was saying something.

“Because you’ve got four!” they exclaimed, as if it was blindingly obvious. “And four eyes. I like your eyes. They’re like crocodile eyes.”

Tarann had no idea what a crocodile was and wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not.

“And you said you’ve got two hearts?”

“Mmm,” he nodded, feeling brave and bringing his lower hand to rest quietly on Lex’s stomach as it rose and fell. Their body was warmer than his and he liked the tingling that ran across his skin at the touch.

Lex fell surprisingly silent for a while, their fingertips still trailing idle lines along his skin, until they looked up into his face from their slouched position - now with their head in his lap - and asked, “What did you do before you came here?”

Faced with the utterly open honesty in those deep eyes, he found himself suddenly unwilling to lie or even bend the truth. “I was a contract killer. I am still a contract killer. I’m just… lying low for a while.”

Lex blinked. “That explains it,” they muttered, eyes turning back to his arms.

They hadn’t even flinched at the revelation, which set a different prickling running across his nerves. “Explains what?”

“The way you watch people. You don’t see people though, do you. You see soft bits and armoured bits, dangerous bits and weak bits. You see exits from a room and weapons where there shouldn’t be any…”

Inhaling softly, he nodded. “Yes. Does that bother you?”

They shook their head. “No. But it makes me sad.”

“Why?”

“Because you… you haven’t really lived… have you?”

“I don’t understand.”

Lex lurched to sit upright then, dislodging Tarann’s hands from their stomach and swivelling to face him, their eyes now blazing with intensity. “You don’t think I’ve noticed the way you react when I touch you?”

The leap from ‘not living’ to ‘reaction to being touched’ was too great a one for him to follow and he narrowed his golden eyes in confusion.

Lex’s face softened and they climbed awkwardly into his lap, swaying slightly. The sudden, warm weight of their body so close to his own stole his breath for a moment and he felt his skin change from grey to acid blue to a dull pink and finally back to grey in the space of a few heartbeats. “See?” they murmured, rolling their hips invitingly and smiling as a low-frequency mating rumble left him before he had realised what he was doing. “You come alive beneath that touch…”

“I…” he began but stopped when he realised he had no idea what he was going to say. It was perfectly true. He did feel utterly different when Lex was touching him. “I’ve never… There’s never been any need.”

“What do you mean?” they asked, placing their hands on his chest, one over each thudding heart.

Tarann became almost painfully aware of his rasping breathing, the way his body was heating up, the stuttering rhythm of his hearts, the tingling in his groin that he’d never bothered to explore, even alone… “I was created to become a weapon. I was incubated and hatched in a facility which created weapons. They sterilised us before we were even born.”

Lex did look shocked at that. “Fuck… that’s… that’s so heartless… But even so, I can’t have kids, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to get my dick wet from time to time…”

Tarann, again, didn’t understand. Lex was speaking Federation Common, but the nuances that the human put into their words were frequently lost on him.

Seeing his confusion, Lex laughed, rolled their hips again, and this time Tarann noticed something a little different at the front of their pants, a hardness that hadn’t been there - or hadn’t been as prominent - a few minutes earlier. “I still like to have sex,” they grinned.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to have sex though,” they went on. “I’m just saying, it’s ok to let someone close. And to enjoy that. However you want to.”

“Oh.”

Lex laughed and tipped their head back a little, looking free and relaxed again now that Tarann’s confusion had been cleared up. Being unsteady with alcohol, however, they kept tipping back until Tarann was forced to grab them with both sets of hands to stop them toppling off; one pair around the waist and another around the arms.

“Steady,” he smiled. “I think maybe you should have some water. And head up to bed.”

“You’re probably right. I had a good birthday though,” they added, gently peeling the three fingers of Tarann’s lower right hand off their waist and bringing it up to their lips. The gesture they left there Tarann knew was called a kiss. Humans weren’t unique among lifeforms in nuzzling intimate parts of their anatomy against the other’s, but the strangeness of it for his species held an instant fascination. How could their lips be so soft? How could he never have done that? How could he never have wanted to share this kind of experience with anyone before?

And before he could stop it, his skin flushed a deep maroon all over like a drop of ink on wet paper, splotched here and there with dark purple. He knew what that meant for his species, and the sight of his own skin changing to the colours of an individual receptive to mating made him freeze.

“Well,” Lex chortled amusedly. Apparently they knew what it meant as well.

“No,” he said immediately, though he wasn’t quite sure what it was he was rejecting.

With a knowing but slightly melancholic smile, Lex clambered out of his lap and stood up. “Night, Tarann,” they said as they walked away. Their hands brushed against the door frame as they left the bar, and he stared at the spot where their fingers graced the woodwork even as their footsteps vanished up the stairs.

His skin did not change back that night, no matter how much he willed it to change. Half an hour later, as he lay in his bed, the sounds of Lex pleasuring themselves reached his acutely sensitive ears. The tiny, muffled moans and grunts that left their body set his skin aflame all over again. He moved one hand cautiously, experimentally down his torso to the slit where, to his astonishment, he was slick and sensitive. He gasped at the touch, and the three delicate, tentacle-like cocks which normally never left the sheath began to unfurl almost curiously into his hand.

Ordinarily, this might have repulsed him, but the sound of Lex gasping and the slick sounds that accompanied the moans, made the tentacles of his genitalia coil demandingly around his fingers. He knew almost nothing about his own species’ reproductive habits because he knew he would never need them. ‘You will never be a breeder,’ they had said when he’d hit sexual maturity - the first time he’d even bothered to explore his body, and, until that night, the last - and that had been that.

Sparks of pleasure shot through his whole body and he began to croon, the sound deep in his throat, rumbling and vibrating like an idling engine, filling the room. He couldn’t stop it. Balling his fingers into a fist, he felt his three pale cocks coil around it instinctively, and he began to kneed exploratively at the inside of the flower-shape they made around his hand, a thin, extremely sensitive membrane stretching between them from the root to about a third of the way down. The pleasure that that elicited made his back arch of the bed and his toes scrunched up the sheets as he lifted his hips too, pressing harder at the centre of the three smooth, increasingly slick tentacles.

Forcing himself to focus back on the sounds of Lex as they apparently approached their climax, he felt a wall of heat building in him. Something was approaching, and he let it sweep over him until the three tentacles surrounding his balled-up fist pulsed, gripping his hand tight as a vice, and warm fluid spurted from their centre over his clenched fingers in a series of messy gushes. His vision went white, his body went rigid, and his mind went completely blank.

Tarann floated in a blissful haze for a long time before he could even bring himself to move, his cocks too sensitive, his hand covered in sticky, slick release, but eventually his cocks retreated back into the sheath in his lower abdomen and he felt able to sit up. His hand was a mess, his lower body too, and when he tried to stand, his muscles felt shaky and weak, as though he’d run the training simulation at the facility for an entire day without breaks.

With his skin so sensitive that it was hard to fall asleep that night. Lex must have finished during his own orgasm because he never heard another noise from their room that night. Shame curled in to replace the pleasure as he realised that he’d eavesdropped on something that was private and not meant for his hearing, and in the morning, he could barely look Lex in the eye as he entered the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Lex, however, smiled warmly. The effects of the alcohol the previous night seemed only to have made their voice drop a little and their reactions were groggy and slower. “I think I'm going to keep the bar closed today,” they announced as they poured themselves a hot drink. “You’re not hungover at all, are you?”

“No,” he replied. “It takes more than that to get me drunk, let alone hungover.” ‘Hungover’ was a term he’d only learned since working for Lex.

“So…” Lex asked a little while later as they cooked breakfast for the two of them the hob. “If you’re only here to lie low for a while, do you know how long you’ll actually be here?”

“No.” Apparently Lex hadn’t been so drunk that they didn’t remember their conversation last night. He paused and added, “But the last transmission the Agency sent me indicated that the people who were looking into the disturbance after my last contract were no longer investigating.”

“So… not long then.”

“Probably.”

Lex poked at the pan with a wooden spatula and sighed.

“Why do you ask?”

He could see the way Lex’s jaw worked from side to side for a moment and recognised it as one of their tells. They were upset. “You think you’ll miss me when you leave?”

“Of course I will,” he said. “You’ve been extremely generous to me when I did nothing to earn it.”

“Right.”

Tarann knew he’d said the wrong thing immediately, but none of his intense training had prepared him for this kind of situation. He backtracked through the conversation, searching for something he could have said differently, something he could have handled better. Lost, he asked falteringly, “Will… you miss me? Is that what this is about?”

Lex nodded without turning around. “Yeah,” they said, voice cracking slightly. They cleared their throat and poked at breakfast again. It smelled ready but they didn’t seem ready to turn around.

Tarann stepped closer, his feet silent on the stone floor, and placed his hands boldly on Lex’ hips. The human immediately eased and leaned back, resting their weight against his body, though their head barely came midway up his chest. Taking the opportunity at last and sensing it would be welcome, Tarann brought his hand up and stroked his fingers gingerly through Lex’ hair. It was every bit as soft as he’d thought it would be, and he watched his skin change colour beneath the strands as they brushed over his fingers. Lex moaned quietly.

When he lowered his hand and Lex saw the maroon fading back to grey, they smiled and turned around, switching the hob off as they did. They put their own hands on his chest and he ached suddenly to have nothing separating them; to remove his close-fitting space-suit top and Lex’ loose-fitting shirt. As Lex slid one palm tentatively up to his neck, he felt the touch in a wave of heat and closed his eyes. His fingers tightened on Lex’ hips and Lex moaned softly.

“I want you,” Lex murmured. “I thought about you last night.”

Tarann opened his eyes a crack and blinked softly. “I heard you,” he admitted.

“Yeah?” Lex laughed, looking part bashful and part turned on. “What did you do when you heard me?”

“I…” he flushed neon blue and stepped back, ashamed.

“Hey,” they breathed, chasing after him. “It’s alright. It’s… really hot that you did that while thinking about me.”

“You don’t mind?”

They shook their head. “If you wanted to try together…”

That mating call thundered through him and he lowered his forehead, bringing it to touch Lex’.

“That a yes?”

“What about breakfast?”

“I overcooked it all already,” they laughed. “It’s ruined.”

Grabbing his hand, they tugged him out of the kitchen and back upstairs to their room.

They shed their clothes in a tangle, and once again Tarann was left staggered and enchanted by the human’s body. This time it was the sheer vulnerability of it. He could also see their arousal plainly - there was no sheath to tease - and something about that made his own sheath throb so hard he let out another mating croon.

“Fuck, that sound is so hot,” Lex gasped, lying back on the bed and tugging him down atop them. “Look at you,” they added, running their fingers down his heaving chest and playing with his sheath as he collapsed atop them. “I’ve always found Tch’larians attractive, but you… the way you move, the way you shudder when I touch you, the way you fucking croon like that…” He did it again - entirely involuntarily - as Lex crooked two fingers and delved carefully into his sheath, catching the inner walls of his three cocks inside and making them unfurl even quicker than they had last night.

They wrapped around Lex’ fingers and Lex moaned. “I want those on my cock… please…” they gasped, and Tarann felt like he might die if he didn’t do as Lex asked. His body was so tight all over, his skin flushing from dusky pink to dark magenta with every deep, sonorous groan that escaped him.

With one leg on each side of Lex’ thighs, he lowered his hips down until they were touching, and his cocks immediately curled around Lex’ own hard cock, covering it in weeping, slick fluid. Lex let out a string of curses and flung their head back into the bed beneath them, rutting their hips up into Tarann’s grip. The pressure of the tip of their cock against the point where the three cocks joined inside him made him growl with pleasure, his maw full of teeth opening, his saliva starting to fill his mouth, bright blue tongue lashing behind them.

“You know…?” Lex panted, thrusting up into the wet heat of the grip that his tentacle cocks had around theirs.

“Know what?” he snarled back, shaking from the effort of holding himself upright over Lex.

Lex reached up to his face with a fingertip and trailed it around his drooling mouth before putting it in his own and sucking. The sight of it sent Tarann into a fury of lust for some reason, and only then did he recall that his saliva was poisonous to many species. Before he could warn Lex, the human grinned and their eyes went wide, pupils blown until their irises were a mere whisper of colour. Apparently he wasn't poisonous to humans. Quite the contrary if the way Lex fucked upwards into his body and filled him with sparking pleasure with each thrust was anything to go by.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Lex hissed, and Tarann felt his cocks contract around the hard length inside him.

He didn’t have the breath or the words to agree.

“I’m… I -” Lex cried out, and suddenly heat flooded the inside of Tarann’s sheath and he felt his own cocks clench and pulse rhythmically around Lex’ cock as he came too. He drew every drop from Lex that they had inside them as his own orgasm rolled through him and left him mute, panting, and thrumming all over.

“Fuck that was intense,” Lex chuckled some while later, when Tarann’s cocks had finally let go of their own softening cock. “Are you ok?”

“Mmm,” he rumbled from his new position, slumped on the bed beside Lex, his trio of cocks lying limply across his torso, splayed out and spent and utterly sensitive.

Lex sat up, heedless that their own body was covered in their combined release, and trailed their fingers down Tarann’s torso towards his still pulsing sheath. “Can I?” they asked.

Tarann didn’t reply but he responded with a shrug. He had no idea what Lex intended, but he trusted them. What Lex did was to lean forwards and take one of his cocks into his mouth and suck on it gently. Tarann’s whole body lurched and he bellowed at the sheer volume of the sensation as it thundered in his head and under his skin all over again.

“Too much?” Lex laughed.

“No?” he gasped, trying to steady his spinning head and suddenly racing hearts. “No. Definitely not too much. Just…”

“Intense?” Lex supplied.

“Do it again?”

Lex did.

—

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[whathebash]

date:  february 3-5, 2021

tl;dr:  bash finds out who’s blackmailing him, as well as some information about his parents’ murder.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 3:  BASH’S DORM ROOM

THE RESULTS FROM OPHELIA’S INVESTIGATION HAD COME BACK LAST MONDAY.  bash had been dreading it for weeks, and the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. after all, he had been the one to ask her to look into who had been sending him the blackmail messages, after mary had referred ophelia to him. he had immediately felt RELIEF when she had told him it would take about a week to get the results, but that feeling hadn’t lasted long. what do you plan to do after everything is out ?   ophelia had asked him, to which bash hadn’t known how to respond. it’s a question that would continue to haunt him for the entire week, the only thing he could think of before going to bed every night. he didn’t know what he was going to do with the information -- go to president sutton ?   approach the person ?   get revenge ?   it would all come down to whoever the person is, bash reasoned with himself.

bootcamp was on its very last week when ophelia had texted him to say she had located the person, and it took hearing those words for bash to realize that he wasn’t yet ready to find out. everybody knows that the final week of bootcamp is the most important, so why would he do something to potentially ruin his final scores ?   no, it made far more sense to wait until the whole thing was over. he had arranged for ophelia to put all the information she found in an envelope, handing it to him before practice  ( and him making her promise not to tell anyone about this, because he didn’t want mary knowing the results were in yet ) .  his focus wasn’t at its best knowing the information was at the tips of his fingers, but bash found that for once, the fear of the unknown wasn’t as scary as whatever could be in that envelope. he’s been used to the feeling of looking over his shoulder, not knowing who was watching him, so what was one more week ? 

there’s no excuse as to why he didn’t open the envelope as soon as bootcamp was over ;   in reality, bash was just afraid. he hadn’t wanted to do it on his weekend of rest, and then he didn’t want to do it on his first day of classes, and before he knew it the envelope was staring him down on his bed, as he packed his things for a weekend trip to washington dc. he could argue that he shouldn’t ruin the trip with bad news, but… if he doesn’t read it now, when will he ever ?   he had made ophelia and mary go through the trouble of finding this, and when it came down to it, it was time.

bash uses the rare opportunity of having the dorm to himself to take a seat on his bed, taking the envelope in his hands. he sits like that for a few minutes, doing nothing but turning it over in his fingers, waiting for them to finally get the courage to break it open. when they do, his hands shake as he brings the papers up to eye level, reading them slowly. there’s a few pages with what bash can only consider proof, but there’s far too much encryption jargon for him to make sense of it. but on a small piece of paper, ophelia's made it far too easy for him, putting out the name and underlining it thrice :    JULIAN EATON.

 the papers drop from his hand, scattering all over the floor. bash doesn’t bother to pick them up.

at first he assumes it must be some kind of mistake. maybe ophelia had tracked it to his room, and just guessed him out of all his other roommates who it could’ve been ?   who are his roommates again ?   surely it has to be one of them. julian and him are FRIENDS ;   they go to the gym together, they hung out in berlin together, they studied together for their mutual class last semester. they’re not the closest friends, but he’s always been a solid presence during bash’s time at gallagher. bash’s problems this year had been a little too hard to talk about with just anyone, but he could’ve confided in julian, knowing the kind of guy he is. he trusts him. bash had visited him in the infirmary when he had gotten into his car accident.

bash had visited him in the infirmary when he had gotten into his car accident. not long after that, he had received the text message from his blackmailer, telling him that it was going to stop. that has to be a coincidence… right ? 

worried that his roommates may come in any minute, bash gets up from his bed and picks up the papers one by one. adrenaline is pumping through his veins and bash doesn’t know what to do with it right now. maybe he should’ve opened the envelope with mary or hazel, someone who could ground him, because right now bash doesn’t know what to do with himself. he’s not an aggressive man, but right now he feels the need to PUNCH something, or maybe go for a run, one that’ll get him far away enough from gallagher and his problems that he doesn’t have to deal with them. he doesn’t even register that he’s ripped the papers in his hands until he’s holding nothing but confetti, which he shoves into the nearest garbage. 

there’s a million questions moving around his head at once, all far too fast and fragmented for him to even begin to unpack them. there’s only one that’s the most important anyway, one that bash has been thinking about since the end of june, when he had received his first text message from an unknown number on his twenty-third birthday :   WHY ?   he’s not the type to think very highly of himself, but bash KNOWS he hadn’t done anything to julian eaton to warrant this kind of behavior… right ?   is there something he could’ve done differently to make this not happen ?   

how did julian know about his past anyway ?   he’s not a encryption student in the slightest, so bash doubts that julian himself had been able to get his information from the school’s system. was someone working with him ?   how many people knew about this ?   anger and confusion had been expected feelings to come out of this, but the humiliation he feels now is new and unexpected. wiping the corners of his eyes that have begun to spring tears, he forces himself to take a deep breath, and then a second. 

his phone vibrates loudly on his pillow, making him jump. despite receiving a text from the blackmailer  ( julian ?   he still doesn’t know whether to believe it or not )   about how bash would never hear from them again, every text he receives still warrants the same reaction. what was he supposed to do, believe in the kindness of the person who made him steal from one of his roommates and stop talking to all his friends ?   but the text is actually from dimitri, asking if they could meet this weekend while bash is in dc.�� i have something you’ll want to see. 

over the summer, bash had found out that dimitri’s father had been the hitman hired to kill his parents, and he had tasked his friend to find out who had hired him. the last thing bash wants right now is another secret to deal with, but he texts dimitri back anyway. right now the prospect of getting out of witness protection and being allowed to leave gallagher -- a place that had once felt like a safe space for bash -- sounds really nice.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2021:  WASHINGTON DC BAR

IT’S NICE TO SEE DIMITRI AGAIN. bash doesn’t realize how much he’s missed him and alec at gallagher until he gets the chance to spend time with them again. tomorrow he’ll see alec, and he almost wishes it could’ve been the three of them together again, but bash is smart enough to know that his time with dimitri isn’t a completely social call. it’s been two days after finding out the truth about his blackmailer and bash still feels in a daze, not completely accepting it yet. so it’s hard to make small talk about his time at gallagher currently, focusing on bootcamp scores and telling dimitri about his spring semester classes, as well as asking his older friend all he can about his new job. if dimitri notices his uneasy state, he doesn’t ask about it.

when the conversation finally stalls, dimitri takes out a manilla envelope and slides it across the table to him.   “ i don’t know how helpful this is. i tried doing further digging, but couldn’t find very much on them, ”   dimitri admits. 

bash shakes his head, taking the folder and tucking it in his backpack. “ whatever it is, it’s more than we originally had. thank you again for doing this, seriously. this… i needed this. ”

there’s some trace of understanding in dimitri’s eyes that makes bash look away, but out of his peripherals he sees dimitri nod.   “ just be careful. ”   bash doesn’t know what specifically he should be careful about -- and he doubts dimitri himself knows either -- but he gives a small nod in agreement. 

bash doesn’t wait until he’s back in his hotel room to open the folder. reading it on the metro probably isn’t the most secure space, but he’s learned his lesson about holding onto bad information. sliding the papers out of the folder, the first thing he sees makes his breath catch in his throat :   side-by-side mugshots of his parents. it’s not until now that he realizes he hasn’t seen a picture of his parents in over a year, before arriving to gallagher, not long after their death in general. bash has never seen their mugshots before -- he didn’t even know they had them -- but after finding out about julian, bash finds that he’s not even surprised at this revelation. he stares at the pictures longer than necessary, only pulling himself out of the trance when he feels the train come to a stop. bash holds the papers to his chest while people get on and off, and once it’s moving again, he quickly flips the page and resumes his search.

the papers are dimitri’s father’s log of his mission, bash quickly realizes. his parent’s assassination. there are details far too gruesome for a son’s eyes, but he reads them all anyway, until his tears blur his vision too much. pushing them away, bash scans the rest of the pages, looking for the key to the entire investigation. who hired aleksander orlov ? 

and then there it is, at the bottom of the last page, though it’s a name so foreign to bash he doesn’t even notice it at first. he had been expecting the name of a person, an enemy of his parents perhaps, but instead there’s only the name of an entire institution :   THE CALEDONIA INSTITUTE.

[artificialqueens]

The kind of love you don't believe in (Jan x Jackie) - Pinkgrapefruit

[7337 words]

Jackie takes a deep breath and slams her empty glass on the table triumphantly.

“I’m going to make you believe in love.” She says with such conviction it’s impossible not to believe her. Her eyes twinkle. Jan wonders if this might be easier than either of them think.

“Okay.”

[ divorce lawyer/wedding planner au ]

A/N - i love this fic so much that i’ve tried to prolong it several times to no avail. it’s based off a Tumblr prompt me and jazz saw and ran with and honestly i’d make her a coauthor but she wouldn’t be impressed so instead it’s dedicated to her in the hopes that she’ll actually accept that for all her hard work and amazing comments while writing this. couldn’t have done it without her. i hope you fall as in love with it as i am.

*

Jan picks at the edges of her french-tipped manicure. It’s peeling. She stares at it for a second, examining the way the shiny polish reflects the sunlight filtering through the half-closed blinds. If she’s got her timings right, Bob will barrel through her office door in a minute or two and tell her to go home. Or to eat something. Or to do both which is the most probable outcome and Jan’s always been good at finding the most probable outcomes.

She’s a lawyer. It’s her job.

She’d started in family court and it was fun. There was a joy to bringing a child back home to their parents or filing adoptions and the kids’ faces would make Jan light up. She’d appealed for name changes and gender assignments and she was good, no one questioned that. One corner of her office had a neon rainbow sign and a comfy armchair and some books and some toys and it was usually occupied by a little kid who shouldn’t have to spend their afternoon in a lawyers office. But if she could look up from some paperwork to see a calm little kid - she could be calm and happy.

Then she started taking divorce claims.

And she’s a little less vibrant.

(The world feels a little less magical when your job is to help people split their lives in two.)

The problem is, she’s good. She’s really good. She hasn’t lost a divorce case and she gets a name for them. She gets recommended divorce cases until she only has a couple of gay kids and adoptions and custody agreements a month. Trixie takes the rest - nice, warm, motherly Trixie who makes everyone a cup of tea and asks them about their day and wears pastel pinks and yellows. Jan’s not bitter, she’s just jaded. She turns up to work in her charcoal pantsuits and her red heels, makes her coffee in her matte black mug, spends the day in her office with the door closed and leaves in silence. She’s happy, she’s just not what she used to be.

She tried to explain as much in the kitchenette the firm shares. There are only four of them; herself, Katya, Trixie and Bob - the boss lady. Bob does corporate, Katya does criminal, Trixie does the pro bono work and most of the kids’ stuff and Jan slogs away on divorces.

“I want to do something that feels meaningful,” she whined, pulling her turtleneck over her mouth as Bob pointed at the crossword question she couldn’t answer.

“Accumulation,” Katya said with a mouthful of apple that she crunched next to Jan’s ear, taking pleasure in the way the blonde scrunched her face up.

“Doesn’t fit the clue. It says impatience.” Bob reminded her, underlining it with her finger just to make a point.

“Anticipation,” Trixie yelled from the counter where she’d perched with her tea. “Jan use it in a sentence!”

“I anticipate going home.” Jan moaned to a cackle from the pink-clad woman. She stood, checking her turtleneck in the microwave door before leaving the kitchenette with a sigh.

So she’s waiting for Bob to come in and tell her to go home. It’s the middle of summer but it’s nearing seven and it’s a Friday. She’s got the weekend off for a wedding. She’d rather be in small claims court if she’s honest.

The idea of love becomes infinitely less appealing when you are surrounded by its decay at every turn. She’d rather just go home to her cat who she knows will always love her and cannot file a legal document saying it’s got irreconcilable differences and wants the house but none of the furniture.

No, Marceline would never.

*

Jackie opens the shop at six a.m. because she likes the feeling of the streets in the early morning. The sun is already up because it’s the middle of summer but the city still feels barren. It’s so quiet, she can hear her own heart among the calls of the birds. She enters ‘End Of The Aisle Weddings’ with a peppy smile and relaxed confidence and zero caffeine - saving that for her two p.m. pick me up when she and Rock can discuss their clientele over leftover wedding cake and hot drinks served in novelty mugs. It’s her favourite time of the day after opening.

She checks her planner almost immediately, plays her seventeen-ish voicemails while crossing things off the list and tacking on extra items that brides have found in a frenzy. She has one wedding coming up that should be fantastic but is also draining her more than usual with the number of requests the bride has. She gets about three calls a day making amendments and she’s more than happy to agree to them because most of the time she’s just a little drunk on the idea of being in love.

She calls the florist, the caterers and the photographer before Rock will be out of bed, skidding around the backroom’s slick floors in just her socks as she rearranges goodie bags and vases and table decorations organised by date.

Sometimes, she leans on the sage-green wooden table they use for meetings and looks through engagement photoshoots, planning her own. She imagines her hair in pin curls as her fiance dips her - probably in a field.

With their cat.

And some fairy lights.

She’s spent a lot of time hoping and dreaming and praying for her future wife to just walk through the door like they do in the romcoms she’s been born and raised on. She wants her ‘You’ve got Mail’ moment - a book with a rose in it and a woman she thought she hated but also loved. She wants someone to convince her to fall in love. She wants big moments and small gestures and the sweet warmth she sees in so many couples but she’s alone. It’s a cruel irony.

She hadn’t planned to be a wedding planner. She studies interior design and marketing at uni - interning at a wedding planner and never really leaving. She thought she’d do corporate, or events. Turns out, she’s pretty happy where she ended up.

Just a little lonely. Ever so slightly. Sometimes.

She brews another cup of chai and inhales the scent of cardamom pods, watching the business people on their ways to work through the big glass front windows - rain spattering on them like tiny droplets of light.

*

Jackie plans good weddings. She knows it’s not particularly objective but she knows she’s good at her job. By this point in the planning, she’s known the couple for close to a year so she’s pretty comfortable just to chill at the reception. She puts out fires where she’s needed in her white shirt and tailored black trousers - it’s typical attire for her - a black blazer hung on a hook somewhere, waiting for her exit. She’s comfortable, mobile and most importantly, she has pockets.

She knows she plans a good wedding which is why she’s just a little surprised to see (an objectively gorgeous) blonde woman sat at the bar, holding a tumbler of scotch. She’s in an off-the-shoulder yellow dress but somehow the summery look feels a little off-kilter when faced with her expression. It’s like it doesn’t fit her even though it fits her perfectly (objectively of course).

She scowls at the scotch before taking another sip and Jackie decides to approach as even though she’s terminally delightful she is not someone who enjoys the conga and it’s coming dangerously close.

She sidles up to the blonde girl, ordering a ‘sex on the beach’ with a smile to the bartender who she’s known for years. Jaida just winks, sliding over the drink and walking as far away as she can.

Jackie just sips her drink and watches for a minute or so until the girl flips her curls over her shoulder and stares her dead in the eyes. Her eyes are blue. A soul-piercing blue. But they look lost.

“Jan,” she announces, nonchalantly and Jackie has to blink a few times before she realises that the girl - Jan - is saying her name. She gives a frankly stupid little wave before she replies, voice full of amusement at her own stupidity.

“I’m Jackie. It’s lovely to meet you Jan,” she smiles, sipping her drink through the tiny straw Jaida always gives her after she spilt a particularly colourful cosmo down her old favourite shirt.

Jan nods towards her drink, “ Sex on the beach? All I’m getting from this wedding is a handshake in the garden.” She almost manages to maintain her slightly stormy demeanour but she cracks at the last second, blinding white teeth sparkling as Jackie has to hold onto the bar to stop herself falling off her chair in laughter.

“Not a wedding person?” Jackie asks, once she’s settled herself again and Jan tilts her head like she’s wondering why Jackie is bothering.

“I’m alone drinking expensive scotch at a bar,” Jan responds dryly. “I’m a divorce lawyer, I’m not exactly primed for this sort of thing. There is too much hope in this gazebo.”

Jackie feels the twinge of a smile at her cheeks and forces herself to look down for a second. “Fair enough, how do you know Rose and Nicky?”

Jan waves Jaida down and slips a tenner across the counter in exchange for another tumbler. She takes a long sniff and then a sip before she responds. “Rose - Rosé as we’ve called her ever since she chugged a bottle in uni - she was in my Law program - or at least the social work modules.” Jackie hums in approval and also a sort of understanding. She’s very good at putting the pieces together.

“You never planned to do divorces huh?” She asks but this time Jan’s the one to avert her gaze, staring ahead at the bottles of alcohol as Jackie rolls up the sleeves of her shirt  - it’s a warm day and the gazebo holding the bar and the dancefloor isn’t particularly well vented, she’ll bring it up with the company when she gets back to the office.

“Damn Sherlock.” Jan chuckles when she finally comes up with her response, tugging her dress back off the shoulders from where it’s risen up to. “No, I’m trained for family court - name changes, adoptions, custody - the sort of thing with happy children and good, fulfilling life changes. I’m just naturally good at homewrecking.”

“It’s not homewrecking if they ask for it,” Jackie points out, tilting her glass in a way that makes her look a little bit drunker than she is but then again she’s been on the champagne since ten when Rose forced a glass into her hand and the caterers are so well trained they just top you up.

She stands up, wobbling a bit on her heels and the uneven grass. “Wait,” she mutters, Jan placing a guiding hand on her lower back for stability. “You don’t believe in love do you?” It makes Jan snort in a very unladylike way but Jackie is deadly serious. “I’m a wedding planner. I love love. But you don’t.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in it,” Jan sighs dejectedly, helping Jackie back onto her stool and ordering her another drink, handing out tenners like they’re coins. “I just think it’s underwhelming and disappointing and never ends well. Women will disappoint me. My cat won’t.”

“You’ve never sounded gayer.” Jackie deadpans.

They look at each other inquisitively. Eyes drifting, searching.

“Only one of us wore a suit to a wedding.” Jan points out and they both burst into raucous laughter that makes the conga line (somehow still going) look at them a little strangely.

Jackie takes a deep breath and slams her empty glass on the table triumphantly.

“I’m going to make you believe in love.” She says with such conviction it’s impossible not to believe her. Her eyes twinkle. Jan wonders if this might be easier than either of them think.

“Okay.”

*

19:14

Janet are you busy?

19:18

Why.

19:21

I’m taking you to Karaoke.

*

Jan is pleasantly surprised to see Jackie in a mini dress but she’s also not mad about it. The dress is emerald green, hits just above her mid-thigh and is dangerously strappy and the heels Jackie paired with it make her legs look impossibly long. Jan also dressed up - but her purple mini dress feels more normal - less of a statement.

“Janet!” Jackie shouts from the entrance, clearly already tipsy even though it’s barely gone half-nine. She’s waving rather frantically and it takes willpower for Jan to move towards it instead of away but she reaches the girl who is warm and happy and she feels the stress in her shoulders melt away.

“Hi Jackie,” she sighs begrudgingly, holding the door for the brunette who practically skips into the bar that isn’t that empty. It’s a friday night. She should have expected it.

Jackie spins on her heels when they get inside and she gives Jan a once over with her eyes. “You’re not allowed whisky,” she decides after a little thought and Jan just stands there a little shellshocked as Jackie orders their drinks, winking at the bartender to get them quicker.

When she comes back to the high table Jan picked for them, she’s holding a glass of red wine and something that smells fruity which she sets in front of the blonde. Jan looks at it in disgust.

“What is that?” She asks, hoping she will like the answer.

“Pomegranate Mojito,” Jackie responds, looking smug and not at all phased by Jan’s death glare. “Drink up,” She says in a faux high-pitched tone and Jan mocks her as she sips the unnervingly pink drink.

She makes a face which makes Jackie almost spit out the wine she’d been drinking.

After about half an hour of watching drunk girls from the city university sing Taylor Swift off-key, Jackie decides they’re going to go up.

“I’m picking the song.” She demands and Jan raises an eyebrow, bemused.

“Okay Princess,” she responds because her drink is full again and it clearly had more alcohol than she’d been expecting. She’s a little disappointed that her whisky tolerance didn’t carry over into her weird cocktail tolerance - standing and immediately wishing she’d been sat down again.

Jackie once again leaves and returns smug, pushing the mojito towards Jan in a motion for the woman to down it which she does so dutifully - feeling it slide down immediately - smoother than the vodka shots she’d do in law school but still not quite her favourite scotch.

Bring it fucking on.

The first notes of ‘Nobody But You’ by Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani play and all Jan feels is regret.

She should never have let Jackie on her Spotify. That was a secret.

She is, however, pleasantly surprised to hear Jackie nail Blake Shelton.

*

15:07

Janet, I need to make name cards are you busy?

15:12

Fuck no.

Wait sorry, frick no.

15:20

Jannnnnnnn pleaseeeeee

15:34

I can leave at 5. Meet at yours?

15:35

You know where the key is if you beat me there

*

Jan does not beat her there - it would be impossible - she’s a lawyer who hasn’t left the office before six since she was twenty-two and Jackie owns a wedding planning business that despite having a very cute shop - half resides in her living room anyway. They may both be twenty-eight but they are very different.

Jackie does, however, open the door with a mug of coffee already brewed and a dot of ink on her otherwise bare cheek. It’s all Jan can do not to lick her finger and wipe it away, finding it endearing how the girl’s organised behaviour could turn chaotic on a moment’s notice.

She enters the apartment and relishes in how homey it feels. Her own isn’t as lived in as it should be after five years but Jackie’s is warm and painted in a sage green tone that highlights the light wood floors. She sees the brunette little set up on the rug and feels glad that she keeps a change of clothes in her office as she’s much better equipped to sit cross-legged on the floor in a sweater and some leggings rather than her usual pantsuit.

The coffee is just how she likes it, warm and sweeter than anyone should know about.

Her hair is still in a low bun so she removes one of the hair ties and lets it fall down her back in a wavy low pony, pulling the bits by her ears out so she feels less like she just came from an office and more like she belongs. The apartment always makes her feel this urge to become comfortable and she spends so much of her time uncomfortable she refuses to fight it.

Jackie just smiles as she watches the blonde adjust - it’s like watching a snake shed its skin and even now she looks a little less like the corporate robot she sometimes meets for coffee and a little more like the woman who fell asleep on the couch during ‘Ten Things I Hate About You’ with her mouth open. It’s cute.

They get to work on the cards pretty quickly or at least they try to. Jackie makes her write on a piece of notepaper before she lets her near the nice pens but they both realise rather quickly that her handwriting is chicken scratch.

“I do a lot of paperwork and I have to write fast to keep up with all the yelling,” she whines as she is relegated to writing little notes for the kids at this particular wedding. “How do you even know how to do this?” She asks, gesturing to the fountain pen and the fancy hand-lettered place cards scattered across the patterned rug.

Jackie sighs as some ink blobs at the end of an otherwise perfectly good name card and throws it into the discard pile with a huff. “My calligrapher fell through one time so I figured I could make extra money by doing them myself.” She admits. “Plus it is fun to use colourful pens.” Jan quirks an eyebrow at the mention of the colourful pens, scanning the rug indiscreetly for anything that isn’t black ink.

Jackie chuckles at her indiscretion and stands up, going to the cupboard by the kettle and, instead of pulling out tea or biscuits like one would usually keep next to a kettle, puls out a caddy of brightly coloured pens. She points vaguely to one. “That one’s purple and glittery.

“Purple and glittery?” Jan repeats back with childlike awe that makes Jackie snort indecently with laughter. Jan scowls. “I’m a lawyer, Jaqueline. My special occasion pen is a red biro,” she rebukes with a huff.

“Gimme that,” Jackie makes a grabby hand towards the pen Jan is now clutching and the woman mocks pulling it closer before handing it over. Jackie scribbles it on one of the discarded cards to check it still works and then takes a fresh new one and writes ‘Janet the Boss-Ass Lawyer’ on it in curly handwriting that makes Jan blush. She then fills the edges with hearts and hands it to Jan with a soft smile.

Jan holds it close to her heart before looking at it with tenderness. She examines it in the light of the industrial lamps Jackie has but she decides that’s not enough so she skitters into Jackie’s west-facing bedroom and lets the glitter sparkle in the golden hour sunshine. Jackie’s always three steps ahead of her so she follows slowly and patiently, listening to the soft mutters of the happy blonde who hugs her ferociously once they’re both looking at the sunset.

“Thank you,” she whispers, half holding her breath and Jackie smiles.

“You deserve to always be as happy as you are with that pen.” She tells her, dead serious and Jan nods slowly.

Jackie did not mean for her to take the pen.

*

12:41

Janet do you have my purple pen?

12:52

I know it’s your lunch break Jan.

13:24

I’m just concerned for the safety of the glitter pen.

*

“Even her handwriting is romantic, that fucking bitch,” Jan laments as she fills out the crossword.

“Ire,” Katya mutters, pointing to three boxes going downwards and Jan puts her hand out for a high five, pleased when Katya agrees. The word is neatly put in in purple, glittery ink and it brings a little something to her day - one could venture to call it joy but Jan’s never been that sort of person.

Katya’s only just come out of the storage cupboard she entered seven minutes ago and if Jan is right with her timings, Trixie will exit in a few minutes looking dishevelled and still with a hint of red lipstick on the outer corner of her mouth. She will eat an apple while sitting on the counter and be absolutely no use to Jan’s crossword.

Jan decides she is done with them for the day and leaves them to their own devices as she slinks back to her office. She places the pen down carefully in the holder full of only back biros because she likes to know where it is and pulls the notecard out of her briefcase just to look at it. Again. She would hesitate to call this emotion joy.

The notecard grounds her mind enough to sort herself out for the last adoption case of the month and Jan lets her mouth twitch into a smile when she thinks of the kid she’ll be fighting for. He is small, sweet and tenacious and reminds her of Jackie in a way she did not expect.

When he runs into her office, he makes a beeline for her desk and she ruffles his hair in a form of greeting. He has been there a few times before so he is comfortable and he collects the puzzle book from her magazine rack and peruses her pens to fill it in before retreating to the armchair in the back. He picks the purple one and she cannot blame him. She would too.

She settles the papers rather quickly getting everything ready for the court date set in a week and a half. All they need is for a judge to stamp them and the boy can go home secure. She relishes in the opportunity to provide that for him and she texts Jackie about how hopeful she is. Jackie responds with a pen emoji and Jan chuckles at her through the phone.

15:12

The pen is safe Jacqueline.

15:15

That’s all I wanted to know Janet.

15:23

Is this our first fight?

15:25

Are you already planning the divorce?

15:27

That was low.

15:30

I’m not sorry. Get back to work pen thief.

*

10:20

Are you using the mug?

10:24

It’s an abomination.

10:26

You didn’t answer my question

*

Jackie makes mugs for all her clients. It’s a personal hobby, decorating them with ‘Mrs and Mrs’ or whatever titles. Sometimes it’s a wedding hashtag. Sometimes it’s for a stubborn lawyer who needs a little more sunshine in her life.

She thinks of it as a joke and it is… to begin with. Then she’s on her iPad making mockups on procreate and it just sort of happens.

It’s a big mug - one of those that carry more coffee than you need with room for whipped cream (there should always be room for whipped cream, says the lactose intolerant wedding planner). It’s a white base with small, bright rainbows that says ‘Girl, you’re testi-fine’ in a graphic nineties font and it makes Jackie want to screech every time she sees it (she keeps it on display for this exact reason because nothing brings more joy than catching it in the corner of her eye during a dull moment).

She wraps it up pretty in silver paper and places it into a nondescript cardboard box for delivery. They meet at a coffee shop one morning when Jan is bored and Jackie has a lull in weddings and she hands it over with a devilish grin that makes Jan squint at her to read between the lines. The lines are not obvious.

Jan does not screech. She stares for a very very long time and then, she lets out a very slow controlled breath. And then she loses it. She cackles loudly and the patrons of the cafe look at the two lesbians in the corner with bemused faces and Jackie doesn’t care because this mug is one of the greatest decisions she’s ever made.

Jan takes it back to the office and fills it with hot coffee - three sugars and almond milk and just sits with it for a second. She almost wants people to see it but it’s so awful she will never admit to it. When Katya walks in, however, she is not angry. The blonde takes one look at the garish print and cheerful message and has to cling to the countertop for support - the mug staring at her until she can breathe again.

“That is the best mug I have ever seen and I demand one.” Katya decides and Jan texts Jackie under the table who immediately responds with a selfie of herself with a plain mug and the caption ‘I am plotting.’

Jackie plots exquisitely and makes three more lawyer-y mugs.

Jan is oddly proud.

*

20:32

Jacks.

Are you busy?

I want you to meet my cat.

*

“That is the single gayest message I have ever received,” Jackie announces, stepping into the house from the rain and shaking her umbrella out of the door decisively. Jan is already there with a novelty mug with the slogan ‘gay and can do maths’ printed across it, filled with hot chocolate and too much whipped cream and Jackie takes it readily - soaking up the heat of the house to replace some the early winter climate stole from her.

She sinks onto Jan’s expensive but still plush couch and pulls a blanket over herself like this is a usual occurrence. For all the times Jan has been at hers, Jackie has never ventured into the lawyer’s place and yet despite the blondes complaints about how barren it is - Jackie feels at home.

The walls are a little bare, the colours a little dark and the floor is cold even with the fire lit but she still feels cosy under her blanket, mug held just below her chin. Jan sets her own mug of green tea on the sideboard before she exits the open-plan kitchen-living room, on a mission to find her cat. When she returns she is holding a perfectly happy beige and coffee coloured long-haired cat who snuggles into the blonde’s chest with a purr. She nuzzles her nose into it, a blush spreading across her cheek as she notices Jackie stare.

“Jaqueline, this is Marceline,” she says as she carefully holds out the cat who is perfectly happy to be held. Jackie cradles her carefully.

“Hi Marceline,” she coos and Jan smiles softly as she brushes the light cat hairs off her flannel.

Jackie holds the ragdoll cat with one hand and boops her nose with the other, giggling as she pulls her face back, mewling slightly.

“Oh, what’s Jackie doing to you,” Jan coos in a voice Jackie would usually reserve for babies. “What’s the matter, baby girl?” Jackie just watches as the cat is removed from her arms and burrows back into Jan’s chest as she slides back into the sofa with her. Jackie rests her chin on Jan’s shoulder, peering at the clearly attention-spoiled cat.

“You’re a helicopter parent,” she jibes sweetly and Jan very carefully elbows her.

“You would be the worst helicopter parent,” Jan rebukes but instead of laughing, Jackie gulps and leans back a little bit. Jan puts Marceline down so she can face the brunette. “Hey, what did I say?” She asks, confused.

“Sorry,” Jackie mutters under her breath, “I’ve just always hoped I wouldn’t be my mum if I became a parent.” Jan gets it. Well, she doesn’t really get it but she places her warm, fur-covered hand on Jackie’s bare forearm and leans towards her slightly.

“You would be a fantastic parent Jackie.” She tells her sincerely. “I swear.”

Jackie smiles again and Jan thinks she would do anything for that smile.

*

06:21

Jackie I think I’m sick.

06:23

Temperature?

06:24

Fucking hot.

06:25

I can’t trust you at home by yourself can I?

Screw it I’m coming to pick you up. Wear clothes.

*

Jackie looks at the girl asleep in her passenger seat with a soft but worried smile. She doesn’t look awful - pale and a bit peaky but it’s probably just a fever she tells herself as they drive to the shop. She’s planning to set her up in the back corner on a pile of cushions and blankets scavenged from both of their apartments. Ideally, she’d stay at home with her but winter weddings are just as popular as summer weddings so she’s got a fair few to work on today and she can’t do it from home. Or Jan’s.

She has to wake Jan up when they get there and it pains her a little bit to do so, head lolled against the condensated window - it can’t be comfortable. She rubs a gloved hand up and down Jan’s arm to try and rouse her and she comes around easily but looking sleepy.

“I feel like shit,” she mutters and it makes Jackie laugh because of course, Jan doesn’t become sweeter when she’s sick.

They eventually get her situated with a half-gallon water bottle and a hefty amount of blankets and Jackie will admit it’s adorable to see her cocooned as Jackie sits at the work table with flower arrangements splayed out around her.

It’s just past eleven when Jan rouses from her nap and she squints until her eyes adjust to the relatively bright shop lights.

“What are you doing?” She questions, straining her neck to see what Jackie’s working on. Jackie raises an eyebrow and takes the portfolio over to her, pulling one of the many blankets over her legs and placing a hand on Jan’s forehead as a gauge of illness.

“So,” Jackie starts, flicking open the leather portfolio to the relevant page. “Someone wants a coastal wedding in winter.” She winces in disagreement and Jan lets her head fall onto Jackie’s shoulder.

“Well, love is a beach,” She quips and Jackie rolls her eyes.

“You’re lucky I wouldn’t hit a sick person,” she retorts.

“How do you do this job?” Jan whines after watching Jackie highlight things for ten minutes straight. Admittedly Jan also highlights things but it’s usually in an ugly neon yellow and not pastel blue.

“What do you mean? It’s plan-tastic,” Jackie jokes and Jan looks like she would stab her if she could move her body. “Do you want soup?” She asks trying to change the subject before Jan actually murders her.

“Yes,” Jan harrumphs but she does smile.

While Jackie is making the soup (or warming it up out of the can) Jan flicks through one of the albums Jackie keeps at the back of the shop and finds herself smiling at some of the pictures. She finds the album from Nicky and Rose’s wedding and comes across a picture of her and Jackie at the bar. She’s smiling - they both are. It’s cute.

“She has a heart!” Jackie exclaims when she comes back to the blonde looking at wedding photos and Jan scowls like a petulant child, only taking the soup when Jackie tells her she’ll take it back to the kitchenette and Jan realises she’s not sure she can use her legs at the moment. It’s good soup. It’s good company.

Jackie drives her home at the end of the day, tucking her into bed with a cold compress and when Jan wakes up the next morning she finds the brunette on the couch under ‘her’ blanket with an empty mug of hot chocolate on the sideboard and Marceline curled up by her cheek.

She presses a kiss to her temple and curls up on the other end of the couch with a glass of water, flicking through the channels on the TV until she finds a rerun of Sleepless in Seattle which she watches with the volume on low and subtitles on to let Jackie sleep a little longer.

*

15:34

Jackie?

Are you free tomorrow?

It’s a saturday?

Like 6-12

15:45

Should I ask?

15:47

City LGBT Gala

It’ll be nice I swear

It’s just Trixie’s bringing a date

15:48

Are you asking me on a date Janet?

15:50

Would you say yes?

*

Jan picks Jackie up at six. She stands under the porch of Jackie’s apartment building pressing the buzzer and wondering why you host an LGBT Gala in the middle of January. She leans on the dry wall and watches the spitting rain hit the pavement, grateful for the long black umbrella she’s brought.

She’s in a black blazer with fitted black trousers that end just above the ankles making her short legs look much longer. Under the blazer is a silk camisole in a champagne colour and she’s wearing nude Louboutins to tie it all together. Her long blonde hair is down and she examines herself in the glass door just to reaffirm she looks good. She feels good - better than ever really and as she waits for Jackie she’s pretty sure she knows why.

The Persian is in a floor-length gold dress that fits her just right, her brown hair curled and tumbling down her back.  It all just works and Jan feels like a lucky, lucky woman to be escorting her - she tells her as much.

“God Jackie,” she tells her, eyes wide and honest. “You look… damn.”

Jackie smiles shyly, blushing like she doesn’t believe a word she’s being told. “You don’t scrub up too bad yourself,” She quips back, making a motion for Jan to twirl which the blonde does immediately. “Those trousers are good for your ass.” She doesn’t mean to say it (she does). “Are you sure this isn’t too much?” She gestures to herself this time and Jan shakes her head.

“God no Jacks, you’re gorgeous,” she tells her emphatically and Jackie touches her chin gently in a joking manner to close her gaping mouth. Jan puts up the umbrella and thanks the height of the heels because she’s the almost the same height as Jackie in heels. There’s usually only an inch or two difference but now there’s less than half an inch and she feels powerful.

She helps Jackie into the car and then runs around to clamber in herself - grateful for the taxi.

“So what are we doing?” Jackie asks, nervousness hinting in her voice. She’s playing with the edge of her skirt and Jan takes the hand firmly.

“It should be fun,” she tells her, playing with the ring on Jackie’s thumb. “Me and Trixie are there for our work with trans kids - she’s bringing Katya, you’ll like her. She’s insane but she also does criminal law so it’s to be expected. There’ll be dinner, some activists will do speeches, there’s a queer prom aspect too so we’ll greet some kids and have a chat - you’ll love that. Then we dance and drink heavily.” She takes a deep breath mostly for comedy because Jackie still seems tense and the brunette cracks a smile.

“It sounds fun Janet,” she says, calmer now, intertwining their fingers properly and squeezing.

Jan has to let go of Jackie’s hand to put the umbrella up and they link arms again as they walk into the foyer of the grand looking hotel hosting the gala. They meet Trixie and Katya in the glamorous round-room, Trixie dressed in a rose-pink gown and Katya in a burgundy suit similar to Jans. Jan was right, Katya is insane but she is wonderful and Jackie ends up seated between herself and Jan at the dinner (Jan offered to sit next to the flamboyant charity manager so that Jackie would feel more comfortable and she’s very happy she took the offer).

The first course is Flank steak flatbread with roasted tomato, cilantro, roasted garlic and black cumin mayo. It’s decadent and stupidly delicious and Jackie asks Jan if she can get her the number of the catering company which Jan gladly agrees to, hand on Jackie’s lower back through the opening in the chair. It’s meant as comfort but Katya winks at them both several times and Jackie just blushes until Trixie calls her down. The other people on the table talk to Trixie about her work with LGBT youth and Jackie has to place a hand on Jan’s arm until Trixie points out it’s Jan’s work too and the blonde calms the fuck down. Cocktails are delivered to the table and Jan does not scoff at the fruity beverage. Jackie calls it progress.

For the main, Jan chooses a roasted lamb leg with thyme sauce, ratatouille vegetables and sauté potatoes while Jackie goes for the mixed grill with oriental rice and seasonal vegetables. At some point, Jackie ends up with all Jan’s veg and Jan ends up with half of Jackie’s rice but neither can distinguish when it happened. Nothing much interesting happens in the main course. So far no one has asked why Jackie is here which is a relief to her and no one has openly insulted Jan or said anything particularly incendiary so she feels safe in her peace of mind.

Dessert is cheesecake with berries and it is precisely when Jackie decides she needs to be brought to all future gala events. She whispers this into Jan’s ear and the blonde snorts into a raspberry. Katya watches them both and it makes the brunette feel like she’s done something wrong even when she and Trixie have a perfectly lovely and definitely hypothetical conversation about wedding flowers for people who like pink and red. Jackie assures them that she could do it easily and makes sure to hand over a business card she’s been keeping in the back of her phone for years. As a wedding planner specialising in queer events, she’d figured this could be a good chance for promotion. The whole table ends up discussing Jackie’s business by the coffee and truffles portion of the dinner and Jan just leans back with a proud smile as Jackie hands another business card to the over-eager charity director who wants a ceremony for himself and his longtime boyfriend.

The speeches are good but dull and she drinks her cocktail and then part of Katya’s in waiting for it to be over.

The meeting of the little gay kids in their suits and their dresses and their pronoun pins though is everything Jackie had hoped it would be and more and it makes her heart so happy to watch a teenage non-binary couple slow-dance to Billie Holiday.

Jan hits it off with a six-year-old called Milo who asks her if Jackie is a princess to which Jan replies “yes, she’s the princess of Persia,” and Jackie wants to cry. She takes a photo on her phone of them hugging and texts it straight to Jan because it’s precious.

Somehow, in all the madness, they end up slow-dancing. It’s not really the right song for it and Jackie doesn’t want to get makeup on Jan’s blazer no matter how many times Jan says it’s okay but it’s warm and comfortable and Jackie wonders why she’s spent the better part of eight months not being in Jan’s arms.

They end up on the very edge of the dancefloor because Jackie decides she needs to take her shoes off (she doesn’t) and suddenly it feels more real because Jan is towering above her and she feels like she’s in the rom-com she’s always wanted.

“Jan,” she whispers because the moment feels too important to speak aloud in, “do you believe in love?” She sounds so innocent and she’s looking up at Jan with her brown eyes so fragile that Jan pulls her even closer - the hand on her lower back warm and firm.

“I think we all have a capacity for love,” she muses as they sway out of time with the music. “It’s very human of us. But yes, I believe in love.” Jackie nods slowly, processing what’s being said.

She places her head on Jan’s chest and feels the woman’s shallow breaths in the rise and fall of her chest. She removes her head and looks into the blonde’s ocean blue eyes with a sigh, dropping the hand she’s been holding and wrapping both arms loosely around Jan’s neck.

“Do you know why I believe in love?” Jan asks suddenly. But it’s not sudden, not really, it’s built on layers and layers of coffee dates and mugs and purple glitter pens. Her eyes flick from Jackie’s brown ones down to her lips and back up a couple of times before she answers herself, watching the way Jackie looks completely at ease in her arms.

“You,” she mumbles.

And then they’re kissing and it’s soft but it’s passionate and it tells Jackie everything she needs to know about the way she makes Jan feel. It doesn’t last long, Jackie pulling away before they can scar any small children, but the look in Jan’s eyes is as pure and loving as Jackie has ever seen.

“You did it, Jaqueline,” Jan mutters into her ear, pulling her closer still until they are essentially hugging while moving in a slow circle. “You fucking did it.”

Jackie giggles and presses a kiss to Jan’s nose, having to rise up on her toes to do so, “you planning the divorce yet?” She jokes and Jan rolls her eyes playfully.

“Not a fucking chance.”

*

15:37

What wine did you want again baby?

15:40

Just pick up that red we always get

If you’re late for our own damn engagement party Janet I’m divorcing you.

15:45

I’m on my way babe. I have the wine. Calm down.

*

They’re calling it an engagement party but really it’s their closest friends sitting in their living room petting Marceline and drinking wine. They’re celebrating something everyone knew was coming and eating tortilla chips while they do it.

“Welcome to the engage-Jan-t party!” Jan announces to Jackie, Nicky, Rose and Bob as she walks through the door only five minutes early. They’re very lucky most of the group is usually late and Jackie only reminds her of that by raising both eyebrows at the pun and swiftly opening the wine to try and pretend she’s not stressed.

“What have we got?” Jan asks softly, pressing a chaste kiss to her fiance’s cheek as she peruses the alcohol selection. Nicky turns around on the sofa and winks.

“I’ve brought some rosé,” she jokes and Rose hits her before asking for a glass of wine to take the edge of her wife’s stupidity. Bob calls them all dykes before heading to the bathroom to ask her partner when they’ll get here.

Katya and (a very pregnant) Trixie are the last to show up, Rock and Bob’s partner Jinkx turning up only a few minutes earlier.

“Rosé?” Nicky offers Jinkx and they smirk before shaking their head.

“If it’s your wife, no thank you,” they joke and Jan high fives them with a grin.

They end up spending the evening on Jan’s extortionately large couch eating nachos and questioning how Jackie managed to get Jan to fall in love with her.

Jackie smiles coyly and tilts her head, bumping Jan’s shoulder with her own.

“It all started at a wedding…”

[nobody-wants-ice-cream]

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 4, Man on the Moon.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add, that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. To be honest, I am seeing a lot of the things I’m pointing out for the first time because I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. 

Man on the Moon

Tom Hopper’s workout routine. -1

What was Luther holding in his hand? A lighter? A toy? I can’t tell. It’s weird that they put something there at all. +1

Klaus knocked down the wall between his and Vanya’s rooms. That was the one thing in the house that said Vanya ever lived there and he destroyed it. +2

However, Klaus’s room looks really, really cool. Set designers, you win this one. -1

The bike. I have questions about that bike. When did Luther get it? Or did it belong to all the children? Sinning because no way Reggie would buy Luther a bike. Or give one to the children. +1

The shot following Luther directly gave me a bit of motion sickness. +1

Netflix subtitles have Reginald saying “Attention, Master Luther” when it is clearly Pogo. +1

“Mission alert” +1

Everyone else is gone! Luther has no backup. Reggie is a dick to Luther. +1

I know I should have mentioned this in the last episode, but Reggie put five young children in leather catsuits. Potentially six, but we never see Five in one. And he still makes Luther wear it as an adult! +6

Luther never leaves the house and keeps going on missions for Reggie because of a sense of responsibility. I can understand that. -1

However, Reggie was the one who fostered that in Luther. He made Luther think that he was responsible for saving the city, when in reality that’s up to law enforcement officers. +3

Why didn’t Luther go to a real hospital? Did Reggie take him home? How did Luther end up back in the Academy after that mission? +1

Was Luther dead? Reggie feels for his pulse and says “dammit”. Did the ape serum bring him back to life? +1

How long was Luther on that table? We see him with a beard in episode one, but it isn’t as crazy as this one. Also, does Luther bleach his hair now, or what? I am confused by Luther now being a brunette with impressive facial hair. +1

Tom Hopper nails ‘dawning horror and shock at now being an ape’. -1

Pop goes the weasel. +1

Who wound that box and placed it there? And why? The only other people there are Reggie, Grace, and Pogo. No way they did something so cruel and juvenile after permanently disfiguring him. +1

The umbrella the monkey-in-the-box suddenly has the title when it didn’t earlier. +1

“There’s something you have to see”. Yes Allison, continue to be vague. I’m sure Luther will appreciate it. Why not “I think the assassins killed Mom. Come take a look.” Is it because that would have been too logical? +1

Luther is still calling her “Grace”. +1

“Poor Diego. I mean this is gonna be so hard on him”. Choke on that irony, everyone. +1

 “I don’t wanna discuss it”. This family. Allison said the same thing about Claire moments before telling Luther everything. Parallels. +1

Vanya spent the night at Leonard’s house. Sigh. +1

“For one day I’ll think you’ll be fine”. What makes you think that, Leonard? +1

Vanya takes one sip of her coffee and never touches it again. Leonard doesn’t even drink his. What is the point of the damn coffee? +1

“When I was a kid I felt like I had to apologize for even breathing.” Reggie is a dick. +7

“I don’t think my Dad ever forgave me for being born” foreshadowing patricide. +1

Vanya and Leonard talk in front of the Icarus Theatre. Comics fans, you know why that’s significant. +1

Helen doesn’t acknowledge Vanya’s greeting like a normal human being. +1

People are already tuning, Vanya! Get your ass in the theatre so you can do the same! +1

Leonard is stupidly charming. I hate that he’s sort of likable, but it makes sense for what they’re using him for. +1

The kidnapping of Klaus Hargreeves. +4

Klaus is too kinky to tourture. -1

Where is that blood on his chest coming from? +1

Ten hours of tourture! Fuck you show for making Klaus go though that. +10

 “He’s a freak like his brother”. Which one? You met Luther and Diego. And they presumably know Five through the Commission. But which one is the freak into kinky shit? Diego? +1

“Remember Trinidad”. Noodle incident. (if you don’t know what that is google Noodle incident TV Tropes)+1

This motel has a surprising amount of towels in the bathroom. Some of the nicer places I’ve stayed don’t have that many. +1

Patch lives in house 204. “2” and “4”. Hmmm. +1

Does Diego show up on Patch’s doorstep being emo often? +1

Why is she still thinking about the 1938 fingerprint? We know that it’s plausible because of Five, but the police department should have thrown that out. It doesn’t make any sense and fingerprints can be alike. +1

She mentions the 30s cold case and Diego starts to look up in recognition. Even if he doesn’t know about the Commission or the Apocalypse, he does know about Five’s ability to time travel. He even mentions “The Boy”. Diego thinks that it was Five based on the fingerprint and his examination of the two crime scenes. -1

“For once, just try things my way”. Foreshadowing. +1

Diego hasn’t bothered to clean up the blood on his face from last night. Weirdo. +1

Allison is already forming a plan to kick Leonard’s ass the moment she sees his silhouette. Good. -1

Also, not the first time the audience has seen Leonard creeping around. Remember when he stole the journal? +1

Allison takes him down easy. Character moment showing that her superhero training hasn’t left her. Also, Allison is a badass. -1

Allison sees right through Leonard. This scene is excellent. -1

Lance has a really cute dog. -1

After seeing the shady deal while tailing Meritech, Five decides to tail Lance instead of just watching the building. Good job, Five. -1

How do you bill insurance companies for fake things? You need an insurance ID or SSN to have a patient. Where does Lance get these fake numbers from? +1

Why are eyeballs such a hot commodity? +1

“Names and numbers and I need it NOW” Five is scary. -1

Five jumped into the seatbelt. Did his powers secure it for him? +1

Five has a really organized desk. I wish I could read what he labeled the binders. +1

Luther decided to search Five’s room for clues. Pogo would be excellent at cinema sins. +1

For all we make fun of Diego’s stupid outfit, just remember, comics Diego has an even stupider one. This is the stupidity turned down. +1

The labels are now upside down on the binders when they were right side up in the last shot. +1

Either Five was a really good artist, or Reggie let Five have a poster above his bed that didn’t feature the academy. No explanation is given. +1

Five’s wallpaper depicts a boy pulling a mannequin in a wagon. -1

Luther punches a hole in Five’s wardrobe. This is never mentioned again. +1 

“When you watch those nature shows does it turn you on?” Diego is a dick. +1

If you look really closely, you can see something that looks suspiciously like the ending to Apocalypse suite in Five’s room as a piece of art taped to the wall. I checked with the comics. It looks very, very similar. -1

There are two cylindrical things on the wall. One on Five’s wall and one we can see through the doorway on the wall across from Five’s room. What is it? Nightlight? Loudspeaker? Alarm? +1

Ben Hargreeves enters the chat. -1

“Stay calm, Klaus” stay calm. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha spent over 10 hours beating the crap out of Klaus but they didn’t think of the training manual, something Cha Cha clearly has memorized, until now. +1

When did they grab his coat? Klaus was wearing nothing but a towel. Did Hazel decide to grab it on a whim? +1

“Asthma medication”. Klaus is still coherent enough to come up with an okay lie after 10 hours of tourture. +1

“Amputee hookers”. Nice call back to the comics. -1

Hazel and Cha Cha don’t hear Klaus say “not until they're high as kites” when responding to Ben. +1

“Klaus, be strong”. Ben’s facial expression was really weird with this line. +1

Klaus cracks after 10 hours of tourture while going through withdrawal. Impressive. -1

The multi-screen effects look really cool. -1

Watching Hazel and Cha Cha burn down Meritech while high as kites amuses me. -1

Watching this later while knowing that Meritech doesn’t really matter means that I don’t really care about this building. I wish there was something to make this more interesting instead of just making the eye a red herring. Leonard hasn’t lost an eye yet, so it doesn’t matter. +1

What were Hazel and Cha Cha dancing to in universe? Was this song playing on the radio or something?? +1

Luther goes through the door that’s too small for him because he’s Number One and Diego goes through the door that would actually accommodate Luther’s size. +1

Vanya’s book should be way more beat up than that if it survived the literal apocalypse with Five for 45 years. The ink looks too fresh, too. Unless this is another, newer copy of Extra Ordinary? Sin for confusion. +1

Five got way too close to that explosion. Five survives this without injury. +1

We see him lying amongst the shrapnel for crying out loud! +1

Gossip magazines. “We’re doing fine!” +1

Tween Hit is still a popular magazine seventeen years later. -1

“Vanya, she’s gone” is the vaguest wording ever. +1

However, Vanya understands this. Sin on the writers. +1

“It was those psychopaths last night” weird delivery. Allison’s tone is off. +1

Does Vanya not have any students other than Leonard? She’s perfectly free on some random afternoon so she can have a drink with Allison. +1

Hazel and Cha Cha coming down from their high. -1

Cha Cha hates doughnuts. +1

Reginald Hargreeves put his eight year old son in what amounted to a tourture chamber so he would stop being afraid. Reggie is a dick. +8

Why is Ben stuck in the closet with Klaus? +1

The cleaning lady (her name is Claudia, according to a card she leaves) has one of her ears uncovered. She totally would have been able to hear him. +1

Callback to the screw Hazel threw away to remind the audience that it’s important. -1

Ben’s whiny bullshit. Now is not the time, asshole. +2

We know why the dog ear is important, but why would Patch? At this point it’s a random piece of fabric that might look like something she saw on surveillance footage (Cha Cha’s mask). Point is, that could be something from Meritech and not necessarily urgent. +1

Patch gets the message intended for Five about Klaus. When Diego thinks that the missing brother is Five and that’s who he meant when he was talking to her. Choke on that irony and miscommunication. +1

This show is shot like a comic book and I love it. -1

“That’s what you do when you’re 17” in this specific circumstance, yes. In others, not so much. You don’t have to leave when you’re 17. +1

Luther calls out Diego for not being a real grown up while also not being a real grown up himself. +1

Diego asks “You ever even been with a girl”. Diego is a dick. +1

“We’re orphans again, dude”. When were you ever orphans? Sin for the writers for writing this or to Reggie for making them believe that they were regular orphans he adopted legitimately instead of buying. +1

“Do you ever stop talking. Wow that was easy.” I wheezed.-1

Five is drunk in the library with Dolores with equations scribbled all over the place. No one stopped him when he started writing on the walls in sharpie. +1

Five has two bottles of hard liquor with him. +2

 “Drunk as a skunk” +1

The comedic timing of Five’s hand letting go of the bottle. -1

“Jerk off on your Mr. Snuggles teddy bear”. First of all, eww. Second of all, yeah, Vanya these are all valid points she’s making. You just met this dude! +1

“But sometimes men are unredeemable shits” yeah. Sin for men and for the fact that Vanya doesn’t know this. +1

“Yay sisters” -1

What are Allison and Vanya drinking? Seriously, what are their drinks of choice? It looks like Vanya has something like a gin and tonic or a vodka soda and Allison has a rum and coke, but I can’t really tell. This is a sin until I know for sure. +1

That is a lot of extra blood on Klaus with no explanation. +1

Draw Ben like one of your French girls, Klaus. -1

“Is your brother here now.” “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific on that” -1

Ben’s wink. -1

Reggie is a dick to his adopted children. +7

Torturing a literal child and calling it training. +4

Reggie, you dramatic bitch. +1

Warrants exist for a reason, Patch. +1

Also, Patch decides to follow Diego’s shitty advice without any backup. +1

Drunk Five being carried bridal style by Luther. Aidan Gallagher being carried bridal style by Tom Hopper. -1

“I’m going through puberty. Twice.” Sucks to be you. +2

You had two bottles, Five. And you somehow didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. +2

Diego’s face. -1

Aidan Gallagher doesn’t play drunk very well. To be fair, he’s never been drunk (or at least I hope he hasn’t), but it’s still a sin. +1

“You know I hate code names”, okay Spaceboy. +1

“I’m the four frickin horsemen” or Gabriel’s horn. -1

“You haven’t been this sober since you were a teenager, since you decided to keep the ghosts at bay”. I hate the delivery on this last line, but to be fair to Justin Min, it was a shitty line in the first place. Sin for delivery and for the writers. Also, gee Ben, I thought he was just doing drugs to be contrary. +2

Zoya Popova is so underrated. I love her. -1

Ben’s lil smile. -1

Vanya’s apartment is so warm and nice with all the lights on, but this is the only time we get to see it that way. When she is on good terms with Allison. Lighting cues. -1

Allison, you’re too tall to fit in Vanya’s sweatpants. They’d be sweat capris. +1

Have I mentioned how much I love Allison’s jacket in this episode yet? Because I really like it. -1

Creepy flowers are creepy. +1

“She knows it was a misunderstanding”  Allison’s face all but says. “Do I?”. Emmy Raver-Lampman rules. -1

Also, Vanya speaks for Allison. +1

This is where they decide to show just how much of a creep Leonard is. Well done, show. -1

Leonard is a creepy, manipulative little bastard. +1

Sin off for the gory sfx makeup in this episode. The ghosts look brutal! -1

Syd the tow truck driver is back. Too bad he’s dead. +1

The dead cheerleader is disturbing. +1

This episode sort of confirms the headcanon that Klaus can speak/understand many languages. -1

The gore on Klaus keeps changing. +1

The switch in camera angles shows the shift in point of views, hence why the ghosts disappear. Clever. -1

Ben voice: Nicely done. -1

Patch waited a pretty long time. How long was the walk from the library to thy gym? +1

Chair scoot. Klaus is smart. -1

Klaus gives himself a concussion. Sinning because he had to give himself more trauma to escape from touture. +1

Claudia gives Patch the key to the room without question and then runs.+1

Klaus is coherent enough to think to hide in the vent. Klaus is a smart cookie. -1

The death of Detective Eudora Patch. +1

The Klaus theme -1

Kenny’s mom appearance! Her hat and jacket have matching flowers that also match her pants. Cute. -1

Klaus’s wink. -1

Kenny’s mom definitely saw a lot more of Klaus than what was already on display. +1

Time traveling briefcase! -1

Kenny’s mom looks for Klaus under the seat. What??? +1

Diego gives Dolores a chair. How nice of him. -1

Diego’s Prime 8s poster. If you know, you know. -1

Aidan Gallager sucks at pretending to sleep. +1

“You throw another one of those goddamn knives at me, I’m pressing charges”. I love Al. -1

It was a half hour walk from the library to the gym. Patch waited a really long time. +1

Now you remember Klaus after you found Five, who wasn’t really in any danger. +1

The little pat Luther gives Dolores. -1

Diego takes his gloves off. It’s like he wants to get framed. +1

This scene is really emotional and made me cry the first time I saw it. +1

David Castaneda is a really good actor. -1

The fridging of Detective Eudora Patch. +100

Overall Review:

This episode starts off on a really high note. I follow Tom Hopper on Instagram. He’s really fit. There is no denying that. I also appreciated the way he played Luther this episode. The scene where Luther realizes what his body looks like was heartbreaking to watch and really well acted. 

Speaking of heartbreaking to watch, the fridging of Detective Patch pisses me off. For those who don’t know, “Fridging” is when a female character is hurt or killed in some way in order to move a man’s story/emotional development forward. Considering that Patch’s death is what starts Diego’s character development, I would say that this applies. I am genuinely disappointed in the writers for doing this to Patch. I think it’s been established that I respect Patch. She doesn’t take any shit and she follows her moral compass. That is her real character. She only screws up when it comes to Diego and this is no different. She decided to be reckless like him and paid the ultimate price. However, this is completely out of character. Based on what we’re shown, Patch should have brought up her suspicions to Beeman (the other detective) and went from there. But instead, she had to die. That injustice done to her character is what deserves 100 sins. The show really dropped the ball with this one. 

Moving on, Vanya and Allison have some really good interaction in this episode. I think it’s a little weird how quickly Vanya forgave Allison after the shit she said last episode. Diego and Allison treated Vanya like a fragile object, which is what led her to Leonard. To be fair, Vanya was pretty stupid that last episode when she didn’t run away, but that doesn’t excuse what Diego said and Allison agreed with. Overall, the yay sisters thing was a good, but sus moment. 

Next, Klaus and Ben. Almost everything Ben said in this episode pissed me off. The “that’s the real tourture” speech was awful. For all the fandom loves him, Ben is a prick. However, Ben was also able to keep Klaus calm and encouraged him to control his power over the many, many ghosts in the room. So it’s kind of a wash for me this episode. I hope season 2 explores more of his character and why he would choose to say something so awful while his brother is being literally tortured. 

As for the main plot, Five’s only lead, not that it really matters yet, has been destroyed. Hazel and Cha Cha realize that they’re going to end the world if they complete their mission. And Leonard has finally been revealed to be a creep who wants something to do with Vanya’s pills. On a rewatch, we know why that’s significant, but a first time viewer would be confused in a good way. The show wants the audience to ask: Why? Vanya’s pills have been there for important moments up until this point. And now there are being forcibly taken out of the equation. Why?

Total: 193

Sentence: Getting drunk in the library with your mannequin wife while trying to do math. 

[fanfiction27878]

Blind

Pairing - Harry Hook x Reader

Rating - PG

Warning - None

———Harry POV———

I step out of the limo pushing my hat down so the blinding sun doesn’t get into my eyes. I grip my Hook tighter in my left hand. Uma is quick to climb out after me and Gil practically bounces out last. I look around and all I see is the King, this girl, a dog on a leash held by the girl, and the bright colors of Auradon. King Ben has decided to bring the 3 of us to Auradon even though we kidnapped him not even 2 months ago.

King Ben steps forward towards Uma. He put out his hand that Uma shakes diplomatically. “Thank you for this great opportunity.” Uma says politely. “No problem.” Ben responds with a big smile. “So what no big parades to welcome us?” Uma asks sarcastically. “I can get everyone out here if you want. The band can perform.” Ben says quickly. “She was being sarcastic Ben. You know marked by or given to using irony in order to mock or convey contempt. You should know what it is since you grew up with me.” The girl says with the role of her pale gray eyes.

“This is my younger sister (Y/N).” Ben says introducing everyone. “Please by 3 minutes. We’re twins.” She says with a smile. Ben leans in like he’s telling a secret and whispers in a sad voice. “Shes blind.” This takes me by surprise because although her eyes look like blind peoples they don’t look lifeless and they sparkle with joy as she smiles. (Y/N) leans in much like her brother. “She’s not deaf.” Then she stands upright again laughing at her own joke. I can’t help but smirk.

“Yeah ha ha. Now (Y/N)s going to show you around since she knows this castle better than anyone. Sorry to leave on short notice but I have to be in a meeting 19 minutes ago.” Ben says checking his watch. With a kiss to his sisters cheek he’s off towards the castle. “Hi I’m (Y/N), and this is Beast. He’s a chocolate lab. Don’t worry he doesn’t bite and is very well trained since he’s a service dog.” (Y/N) says taking Beast of his leash. He was at least the size of (Y/N) on two feet.

Beast comes running to me first. He jumps on my chest and licks my face. Good thing I’m so tall or the dog would have definitely made me fall over. Uma and Gil laugh beside me but I ignore them. “Hi Beast.” I say petting him. “You can run with him he’ll follow you.” (Y/N) says turning to me following the sound of my voice. “Ok. Here Gil take these and if you drop my Hook your dead.” I threaten. I give Gil my hook and my coat. “You can take this love.” I say placing my hat on (Y/N)s head. “Why thank you.” She says sarcastically.

I then take of running Beast close on my heels. A few minutes later and Beast has me pinned beneath my paws and me, Gil, and Uma are laughing. “Good job Beast.” (Y/N) says then she whistles and Beast immediately runs to her side. She gives him a small treat in her right hand. She then grabs the leash and puts it on her dog. Beast on whines a little and (Y/N) says, “You can play with Harry later. Right now we need to show them around.”

As (Y/N) was getting Beast ready, I grabbed my Hook, jacket, and plucked my hat off of (Y/N)s head putting it back on mine. “Too bad I liked that hat.” (Y/N) says with a smile. “You can borrow it any time you want, love.” I tell her. “Come on. Lunch should be starting soon and today we have cake.” (Y/M) says with a smile of delight. “I love cake. I mean I don’t really like the lumps.” Gil says happily. “What do you mean lumps?” (Y/N) asks cocking her head in confusion. “The rocks, and dirt, and bugs.” Uma says. “Don’t worry Auradon cake doesn’t have any lumps.” (Y/N) says starting to walk to the castle.

“Where you born blind?” Gil asks while we were walking. “Idiot. You can’t just ask people that.” I tell Gil. “Don’t worry. It’s ok. He’s just curious.” (Y/N) says with a smile. “Remember a few years ago when Maleficent escaped the barrier because she found a weakness. You must have been 8 because me and Ben were. Well she went after the royal family first. Me and Ben were playing in the garden when she showed up. She aimed a spell at Ben but I pushed him aside and I got hit instead. It caused me to fall and my eyes kind of disconnected from my brain. Then they found me and Fairy Godmother strengthens the barrier every year.” (Y/N) says as we walk into the school.

“There’s a girl on the Isle who blind. Freddie Facilier but she uses her friends on the other side to see. Her eyes always glow white and it’s kind of freaky.” Gil continues. “We were thinking of inviting her actually.” (Y/N) adds. “She wouldn’t go. Your better off inviting her little sister Celia.” Uma says. Everyone knows Uma has a soft spot for Celia. “I’ll tell Ben.” (Y/N) says.

“So here’s the cafeteria. The whole schools is here. Over to the right is the lunch line.” She tells us as we walk into a huge room. The whole cafeteria quickly hushes with the arrival of us VKs. “Hey (Y/N).” Evie says blinding up to us. “Hi Evie. We were just going to grab lunch.” (Y/N) says motioning towards us. “Hi guys.” Evie greets us. Gil waves while me and Uma nod. “You want me to help you get lunch.” Evie asks (Y/N). “Yeah if you could.”

“Ok. You guys can sit with us. Bens over there and the other VKs.” Evie says. “Go to Ben.” (Y/N) tells Beast as she takes off his leash. He immediately runs toward Ben and (Y/N) chuckles at the girl screams made by a few princesses when they saw Beast loose. “Let’s go.” (Y/N) says following Evie who’s patched into her arm.

We get on line with Evie telling Gil what all the fruits names were. That and helping (Y/N) get food. I grabbed a few things but I wasn’t really interested until we got to the cake. (Y/N) was right it looked so nice and clean. Of course I then grabbed two pieces. Evie guides (Y/N) to where the other VKs and Ben were sitting.

Evie sat down next to (Y/N) Who was next to me my friends beside me. Gil was sitting next to Ben who was sitting next to the rest of the VKs. Everything was quiet with an awkward atmosphere since we used to be sworn enemies. “Well this food looks delicious.” (Y/N) says trying to diffuse the tension. Then she started to laugh at her own joke. I couldn’t help but smirk at her humor. That was until Uma hit my shoulder giving me the, “Are you serious?” Look. “What it was funny.” I whisper to her in defense she just rolls her eyes before eating her cake.

“This is delicious. Your right (Y/N) there are no lumps.” Gil says happily eating his cake. (Y/N) just laughs. “What are these?” Gil asks holding up a small purple circular fruit. “Those are grapes.” Ben says. Gil then eats it. “I like grapes.” Gil concludes. After lunch that was really just full of (Y/N) and Gil talking about food (Y/N) says she’ll take us to our rooms.

“Ok. Gil and Harry are sharing a room while Uma gets her own.” (Y/N) announces as we walk down a hallway. The hallway is filled with dorms. (Y/N) runs her hand over the numbers as we continue. “Here’s your dorm Uma. And the boys are just 7 doors down.” (Y/N) says holding out a key which Uma gladly takes. “Your luggage should already be in there.” (Y/N) says before we continue to our room.

“Here you go.” (Y/N) says leading us to our dorm. “This is so cool.” Gil says unlocking the door. I walk in and (Y/N) leans on the door frame. “If you really want to see something cool, pull the book on the bookshelf. 2 rows from the top and 3 from the left.” (Y/N) says. I’m closest so I pull the book she says even though I’m confused. That’s when a portion of wall at the end of the room swings open to reveal its really a door.

“Woah!” Gil says in awe. “This secret passage leads directly to Uma’s room. Don’t worry only me and Mrs. Potts known about the secret passages in the school. She showed me them all when I went blind in case I needed to get away.” (Y/N) says with a smile.

She starts walking down the passage her right hand on the wall and we follow. “Shhh! When I open the door scream Uma’s name so we can scare her.” (Y/N) says. That’s when she starts counting down on her fingers. When she puts all of her fingers down she pulls the lever and the wall opens up. “Uma!!!” We all scream at the same time.

Uma who has been reading a book screamed and fell to the floor. “WHAT THE HELL?!?” Uma yells. “Sorry Uma.” (Y/N) says still laughing. As she goes to walk into the room she trips on the uneven floor. I catch her and end up picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder. “Put me down Harry.” (Y/N) says laughing. “How did you know it was me?” I questioned. “You smell like metal and the ocean.” She says easily.

“Metal?” I ask. “I mean yeah you hold a METAL hook everywhere you go.” (Y/N) says. I finally just drop her on Uma’s bed. “How’d you get in here anyway?” Uma questions. “There’s a secret passage connecting our two rooms.” Gil says excitedly.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend (Geralt x Reader, Part 3.)

Series description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part summary: Two witchers in one hall can be a lot. Especially when they are not friends at all and if Jaskier and Dijkstra are present as well. 

A/N: Well, here we go with miss reader being a coronated savage and badass bcs she definitely can kick Geralt's ass in ten seconds precisely and kill Jaskier with one look alone. Her song is kinda maybe New Level by A$AP Ferg I guess?

Tagging:  @osgon-azure​ @davnwillcome @missdictatorme​ @nemodoren​

Word count: 2.2K

Master list: H E R E

It was so boring to stand there and watch these people having... Fun. A big man huffed out ironically, taking another sip of his wine. He already hated all about that convention and may I say, he was there only for half an hour. His friend seemed to be enjoying himself and the ladies if Geralt had to say.

And these clothes. For what on earth he was fucking wearing a robe like this? With a shirt that was ironed? The fuck was going on with Geralt? And on top of that, he was drinking fancy wine in the Vegenbul residence. This whole situation was beyond laughable.

"Ya don't dance, mister Witcher? Are ya the big scary man everyone is telling us about?" - A woman appeared next to him and she was beyond drunk. From what Geralt was able to smell, it was a wonder she was still standing on her feet. All Geralt responded with was a good long hum and a stare into the middle of the dancing crowd.

"Ya not a good company. I wonder what does the bard sees on traveling along with you." - The drunkard told Geralt pretty loudly and stomped a few meters away from him. Geralt thought that maybe, she would fall flat on her smudged and sweaty face, but to his surprise, she walked to another group of guests.

The ball was just boring. Geralt was there only because it was related to business. Otherwise, he wouldn't come. When he watched everyone from the corner of the room, he wondered about his outfit. Yennefer would be happy to see him in the clothes he had on. Naturally, Geralt's attention was drawn when a guest who was running late was being introduced.

No-one dared to come late at events like these. No-one was that rude. Except for two people who were slowly walking the stairs while trumpets were telling everyone that these two have arrived. For a small while, Geralt could see only legs - one of them was limping badly. That was Sigismund. Geralt had personally fucked up that lag, he knew how bad did Dijkstra limped. The other one was female - at least according to the high heels they were wearing and a long robe studded with shiny rocks. After a fairly long observation, the rocks appeared to be diamonds - which was extremely dumb and also extremely expansive.

And when Geralt saw that hair, he didn't even need to see the rest of her face. She was dramatic as always - expansive dress, late arrival, and an emotionless face. He closed his eyes and turned away, knowing she already saw him in that fancy suit.

"Let me introduce lady Y/N of Kaedwen and sir Sigi Reuven of Novigrad as the last guests of this ball." - A man in a uniform said, bowed to these two and left. Geralt was already sick of her. No matter what, Y/N was always acting like a child and a bitch, there were no other words to describe her behavior. There was also nothing that would make Geralt sure that this time, she'll behave like an actual adult.

His eyes shot a quick look at Jaskier. That man, of course, was over his heels for her already. To be honest, there weren't many ladies who were showing their cleavage this blatantly; let alone the dress showing her leg up to her thigh.

Y/N was walking the hall, having elbow entwined with Sigi's, giving a pleasant smile to everyone. If Geralt had to say, you were the most pleasant looking and acting witcher of them all. People would choose you as the nicest, yet they never got to know what's hiding under that mask. It was a killing machine full of small numbers. It was calculating every single move and taking in everything around you.

It was too late to hide already. Dijkstra had seen Geralt and waved at him to join you and young lady Vegelbur. Jaskier almost approached you as well - but just seconds before that, someone tugged his jacket to make him play the lute.

"Geralt." - Was the first word he heard from you. - "What a... A pleasant surprise." - You grinned a bit, taking an elegant cup of wine to at least hold something in your palm. You never drank on events like that since witchers and witchresses got drunk extremely fast. Geralt never drank more than one pint of ale but this time, he was thinking about breaking the rules.

No-one noticed the short pause of disgust when you greeted him. So you two were still on the same page you ended up on the last time you saw each other, that was good to know.

"As always, the pleasure is on my side, Y/N." - Geralt said back as politely as he was capable of. Before you had the chance to say something back, Dijkstra stopped both of you.

"These are the witchers I was able to persuade to take the job, lady Vegelbud. They are the best of the best. I swear on my very own name." - The man pointed at the both of you, making you both grin a bit at lady Vegelbud.

"I've met with sir Geralt a couple of times. He saved my life when the murders in Novigrad were taking place and my gratitude for that is endless." - Lady smiled at the man, bowing to him a bit. Then she turned to you and took in your appearance with her eyes. And let's say, you were a lot to take in.

"As for lady Y/N of Kaedwen, I'm not entirely sure if I've ever heard her name. I can see that you're a witchress, fair lady, but I haven't seen you around here." - Lady Vegelbud tried to smile as nicely as she was capable of. She winked at you, staring the unnerving amount of skin you were showing off.

For an unknown reason, you were eye-catching. It was strange to see a woman who was appearing so thing yet so masculine, so beautiful and dangerously looking. Your golden eyes which were appearing as if they shone... She couldn't look away. Gently, you smiled and winked back at lady Vegelbud.

Yet again, Dijkstra jumped in so you wouldn't say anything back.

"That's because lady Y/N doesn't travel here that much. Mostly, you'd find her on Skellige or Redenia with sir Lambert. But that's how I'm sure that lady Y/N is the right choice to solve your problems." - Dijkstra told her with all of his charms, smiling a bit. You nodded gratefully, pushing your lips together.

"Is that so? So you and sir Geralt know each other from the past, have you met, slaught a monster perhaps?" - Lady Vegelbud asked with a burning passion, awaiting an answer from you. Not from Geralt, not from Dijkstra, but you. There was still the silence where only Jaskier and his band could be heard.

"I know sir Geralt for a long time. We've been raised together on the School of Wolf in my homeland, Kaedwen, but after that, out ways parted. But to answer your question, we did slay some monsters together before sir Geralt here got famous by his party in Blaviken." - You smiled sweetly and even if Geralt did his best to completely ignore you, he had to look at you. You saw Dijskra shifting his position and you knew you had already said too much, so you shut up and smiled even more.

Lady Vegelbud was way too curious. She asked you a million questions - about monsters, about being a witcher and a woman at once, about the dream of having a child which you didn't have... You finally got rid of her shortly after midnight. And that was when you saw Geralt drinking his third ale in the corner of the room. You naturally couldn't let that slip past your attention.

"What a naughty boy you are." - You winked at the man, putting your cup of warm wine aside. - "Look at you drinking the ale as a lemonade. Uh, papa Vesemir would be sooo fucking angry." - You looked around, watching the crowd dancing, talking, drinking, and dancing. They were boring.

"Better making myself drunk than trying to talk to you, eh?" - Geralt finished his third ale and then got into your wine almost immediately. You didn't tell him a word, you just rose your eyebrows.

So you were still on the same page you ended up on all those years ago.

"My approach to the situation will be as follows - we have to get there as quickly as we can, kill the monster, take its head and we need to get back. It's the start of fall now and when we get back, it will already be time to get to Kaer Morhen." - You said sincerely and Geralt nodded immediately.

"You'll be getting back to Kaer Morhen for the winter? Haven't seen you there in years." - Geralt sincerely wondered. While every normal witcher or witchress got there in the winter, you haven't shown up in the last five years. There was no need for witchers in the winter.

Everyone always gathered back in the keep to tell stories, have fun, and to share memories. No-one was hunting in the winter since most of the monsters almost disappeared. Each school always gathered in their keeps as a big family, and School of the Wolf wasn't different - yet you didn't show up for more than ten years. You were always spending the winter in warmer kingdoms than Kaedwen. That year was different. You wanted to tell goodbye to everyone before you'd disappear in the thin air. And this time, you meant to leave the witcher business for good.

"Yes, I feel like I haven't seen my family in years." - You answered with a pinch of irony. And according to swift steps behind your back and Geralt looking all terrified, you knew that soon, your party will have a new member. And it was none other than the man and bard himself, Jaskier. Or as you called him, the jester who was traveling with Geralt.

"I feel like you and I haven't spoken nor dance yet. So to be nice, I decided to join you and my friend, lady, my name’s Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me..." - And that was the exact moment when your fingers caught his jaw in a fast and precise movement. You pushed his cheeks together, making him look like a fish before you slowly looked him in the eyes.

"I don't care." - You said simply, observing him. After looking at Jaskier with disgust, you let his jaw go. - "This is one cute puppy to keep you warm in the cold nights, I tell you, Geralt. Now, gentlemen, excuse me while I’ll join some enlightened company to talk about political bullshit. I expect you to be ready in the morning to look at the maps of attacks and what did the witnesses say." - You bowed so it would still appear somehow decent. When that was said and done, you turned on your heels and left the two men standing alone.

"Jesus, first of all, did she assume you and I having a secret relationship? Secondly, how dare she call me a puppy, and third of all, Geralt, what in the bloody ass is wrong with you?" - Jaskier took the half-empty cup of Geralt’s hand, drinking the rest of the alcoholic drink. Geralt didn't answer, nor cursed or hummed, he just looked at Jaskier, waiting for what Julian had to say.

"What is it with you always picking bloody psychopaths as your romantic interest? First, we had to suffer under Yennefer's reign of terror, then there was this whole bloody thing with Triss Ranuncul, and how gladly I would forget about your fling with Keira Metz?" - Jaskier looked at Geralt offendedly, making the witcher stare him down.

"This woman isn't near being my romantic interest. I'm surprised she hadn't tried killing me yet." - Geralt answered honestly, watching you talk to a local alcohol merchant. You were overreacting a serious lot, but you indeed had something Geralt was painfully lacking - charm.  

"So she’s not taken yet is what my ears hear." - Jaskier whispered with a growing smile, but Geralt punched his shoulder rather harshly to get him out of the trance.

"Don't try your tricks on that woman, I beg you. I don't want to scrape you off the ceiling when she gets pissed. I'm going to bed and you should do the same." - He gave his friend one last piece of advice before he left the room to have a good rest.

[wholesome-revelry]

fic: “Long-Term,” Aziraphale/Crowley, outsider POV | 1.6K, G

(Nominally a sequel to this)

Officiating weddings has got to be one of Dr. Blackwell’s favorite parts of ministry, and although she’s probably not supposed to have preferences, if she looks deep into her jaded lesbian heart with any degree of honesty, queer weddings are by far the best. 

Take, for instance, the couple she’s consulting with this afternoon, for their upcoming October ceremony. Seemingly mismatched in every respect. The plump, fair-haired one looks like a parody of an absent-minded professor, as sketched by someone who didn’t bother to do much actual research; his clothes are so outdated it teeters on costume. He’s wearing a bowtie, and not in that reinvented hipster way. This is a bowtie unacquainted with the cycles of fashion, a bowtie that has never heard the word irony. 

His partner is a rangy, black-clad ginger in snakeskin boots. He has the look of a hungover rocker about him, and would somehow, even without the sunglasses he has fully committed to wearing indoors on a cloudy afternoon. He’s sprawled almost defiantly in his chair and keeps throwing dubious glances around Dr. Blackwell’s office, as though expecting a lightning bolt to strike him down for merely daring to be within spitting distance of a church. 

Everything about his posture screams ‘Extremely complicated feelings about religion ahoy!’

Ex-Catholic, Dr. Blackwell thinks sagely. 

Something funny about their names, too. Their names are--

They’re--

(She knows they both gave her their names, but as she looks at their faces, there is a curiously name-shaped hole where the sounds should go. Every time she approaches the edges of this thought, it ripples and changes shapes, and whispers, ‘Don’t worry now, it’s really of no consequence, is it?’ 

Dr. Blackwell didn’t get a degree in Unitarian Universalist theology by looking away from paradoxes. ‘Curiosity is earthly and holy and wonderful,’ she tries to tell the thought, pushing forward, ‘even to question truly is an answer--’ 

‘Ah yes,’ the thought says after her third attempt, ‘very nice, but in this particular case--’ and the absence where their names should be yawns, stretches, and swallows down all of her related concerns with a shrug.)

She blinks. She watches as Bowtie casually takes Sunglasses’ hand, as Sunglasses responds with a look so gooey and sweet and private that she feels a bit weird for intruding. How, she thinks, the fuck did you two meet?

The only thing they seem to have in common, beyond their feelings for each other, is a certain aura of personal disaster. Still, let she whose outfit doesn’t heavily feature Birkenstocks and cat hair throw the first stone. So to speak. 

“So,” says Dr. Blackwell, “anything in particular I should know first? Any thoughts, or concerns?”

“The hymns,” says Bowtie, “or. Uh. The songs, I suppose?” He coughs. “Any chance we could stick with ones that don’t, you know, prominently feature--?” He pointedly casts his eyes towards the ceiling and almost seems to mutter, “No point in asking for trouble.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, shaking off the flash of weirdness like an errant cobweb. “We have plenty of non-denominational hymns.”

“About what,” Sunglasses says with a slight sneer. “Tax forms? Penguins? Automotive repair?”

Oof. Definitely an ex-Catholic, she thinks. You can smell the baggage from here.

“Mostly about the inherent holiness in doing good, or the beauty of nature?” says Dr. Blackwell. “Sometimes, someone will sort of retrofit a classical melody to Transcendentalist poetry, but those tend not to scan so well, in my opinion.”

Somehow, without any eye contact, Sunglasses manages to give her a wary look.

“You can borrow a hymnal if you’d like,” she continues. “We tend to edit out the G-word anyway. Makes the atheists and the agnostics a bit jumpy, me included.” Bowtie starts.

“You don’t,” says Sunglasses, “believe in--?”

“Not really,” says Dr. Blackwell. “Suppose I’ll allow for the possibility, but in my mind, the existence of some divine Heavenly will is just not as important as other questions. Like ‘How do I do what’s right for the planet and everything on it?’”

“How do I avert the apocalypse,” Sunglasses murmurs.

“Exactly,” she says with a laugh, “although I’d settle for doing something about Brexit.” 

Neither of them laugh, and after an awkward pause, she adds,

“As far as music goes, for the ceremony. If you’ve got a song that really resonates with you, no matter what it is, let me know and we can work that in.”

“No Queen,” says Sunglasses immediately. 

It feels like there should be a story here, but Bowtie only turns to him and says, “What was that band you liked? Velveteen--”

“We’re not playing Velvet Underground at our wedding,” Sunglasses says.

“Same thing goes for readings, too,” says Dr. Blackwell. “If there’s a text that holds special meaning--”

“Hm,” says Bowtie, “yes, about that--” He reaches to his side and heaves an antique leather briefcase onto her desk. “May I?” 

“Of course.”

Bowtie fiddles with the latch, which clicks open to reveal a mountain of papers: wine-stained cocktail napkins and looseleaf notebook pages, parchment-looking stuff, and everything in between. It’s a veritable avalanche of love poems, as well as quotations from various plays and books, all laboriously hand-copied in the same tidy penmanship.

“Angel,” says Sunglasses slowly. “What is this.”

Pink-cheeked, Bowtie flutters his hands. “Just--some things I’d been setting aside!”

“For how long,” Sunglasses says, leaning forward. He sounds delighted but also deeply confused.

“So sorry,” Bowtie tells Dr. Blackwell, “I really should’ve organized these better! Even a rudimentary system--”

“It’s fine,” she says, blankly. She really hopes it isn’t going to be her job to narrow down the options. There are literally hundreds.

“How long,” Sunglasses repeats.

“You know how long!” hisses Bowtie.

Sunglasses plucks a sheet off the pile, rubs it between his thumb and finger. “They stopped making paper like this in the nineteenth century,” he says, sounding strangely triumphant about it.

Dr. Blackwell furrows her forehead, where a number of facts are colliding uncomfortably inside, like how some of these specimens are clearly very new, some are so old she’d be uncomfortable touching them with her bare hands, and the handwriting on every one of them is identical.

“Oh!” she says with sudden bright clarity. “Are you two vintage paper enthusiasts?”

“Yes,” says Bowtie. “Love it, love the stuff, simply cannot get enough.” And then, to Sunglasses, with a pointed look in Dr. Blackwell’s direction, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Maybe they met at a convention, she thinks. That’s nice.

“How about you pick out your top five first?” she suggests. “Or ten.” She glances down at the mound of text. “Also, we might need to get some volunteer readers for some of these, because my French isn’t exactly up to par. Or my--is that Middle English?”

“Haha, how did that get in there, couldn’t even begin to guess,” Bowtie babbles. He has to brace most of his weight on the briefcase lid to wrench it closed again. Sunglasses watches with interest, chin resting in his hands. “Yes, I will, I will absolutely weed some of these out, not to worry--”

The rest of the conversation is standard, for the most part. It’s going to be a relatively small ceremony, no child ring bearers and thankfully no animal ones either. (They have a whiff of eccentricity that had made Dr. Blackwell nervous one of them might suddenly produce a cat on a leash, insisting it was trained. In her experience, granting your beloved calico or tabby custodianship of the rings was a quick recipe for a ringless, catless wedding.) Only a shared stricken look at the possibility of involving any parents in the proceedings. 

This, sadly, is also quite standard with older queer couples.

“Between you and me,” says Dr. Blackwell, “and I know this isn’t very ministerial of me. But if the people who raised you don’t support what you have together, which is clearly a wonderful and beautiful and life-affirming thing, I say to Hell with ‘em, you know?”

Bowtie chuckles unsteadily. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“How long have you two been together?” she asks.

Bowtie and Sunglasses stare at each other. There is a long beat of silence. This is normally, she thinks, not a very hard question.

“How long have we been together?” says Sunglasses at last. The shades may hide his eyes but every molecule of his being is oriented at his fiance. “Hm?”

“Six thousand--” Bowtie starts, resolute.

“What,” says Dr. Blackwell.

“Days!” Bowtie finishes. “Six thousand days!”

“So,” she does some fast mental math, “about sixteen years, then?”

“Yes,” says Bowtie decisively.

“That’s great,” says Dr. Blackwell. “I’ve been with my wife for almost six years, I hope we’re still this much in love a decade from now.” There’s just something so reassuring about meeting older queer couples, she thinks. Bowtie and Sunglasses must be at least forty. Maybe fifty? 

(It’s odd; they’re clearly solid, clearly sitting in front of her, but every time she tries to clue into any specific detail about either of them, her mind sort of skitters away from it--

Her head hurts.)

“Guessing you want a short service,” she says, rubbing at her forehead. “I’ll just write out a few remarks for you two to look over first, if that’s alright? I can email something to you by the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect!” says Bowtie.

They shake hands. She watches them leave, watches Sunglasses mutter something in Bowtie’s ear that makes him smile on the way out the door.

Pair of oddballs, but in a nice way, she thinks. You can’t always tell, as a minster, which couples are going to make it in the long run, but she hopes this all works out for them. Maybe it will. They’ve already stood the test of time, it seems.

Sixteen years--they’ve been together since early 2000. 

Imagine, she thinks. Just imagine.

[asoftervirge]

Of “Love” & Murder (7/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Logan Oxford: Esteemed Novelist

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Anxiety, Logan being A Nerd, Philosophy Jargon, mentions of a previous Murder, mentions of Poisoning CHAPTER SUMMARY:  Logan tell Patton how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And we’re introduced to Logan! :D This chapter is shorter than the Roman introduction, but it should still bring excitement for people to want to learn how xe died. That’s a weird sentence. lol And yes, xe not he. Logan has had a number of changes with this update and I’m very pleased with them, so I hope everyone else is too. Also, this chapter is PG, so that’s good! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

Patton squeaked and stood up straighter. For some reason, this person gave off a cold and aloof aura. Much different from the warmth and passion that radiated from Roman.

“You— You must be the second of Virgil’s husbands?”

“Spouses,” the second ghost immediately corrected. His lips curled into a slight scowl. It was pretty intimidating to say the least, especially with how tall he seemed to be. “While I do not completely mind being considered his…’husband,’ I would prefer to be called his spouse. Also my pronouns call be he/him, but I would prefer xe/xyr.”

“O-Oh!” Patton blushed, feeling bad he accidentally misgendered another person. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Since this is our first encounter and it was merely an accident, I’ll let it slide.” xe told the confectioner while marching toward him, maintaining a good distance. “However, should we encounter each other again multiple times after this, and you still continue to misuse my pronouns, I can guarantee I will not be so friendly.”

Patton gulped. “Got it.”

Xe held out a hand for him. “Logan Oxford. Esteemed novelist and self-admitted astrophile.”

The confectioner didn’t know what half of those words meant. “U-Uhm,” he shakes Logan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Oxford.”

“Logan, please. No need for formalities.”

He nodded. Now that he thinks about it, Patton has heard the name Logan Oxford before. His cousin Emile brought xem up a couple of times when he talked about therapy (while still keeping patient confidentiality, obviously). He mentioned how xyr essays were really good, but they seemed a little too…stuffy, for his personal tastes (like most scientists/doctors/philosophers/etc).

Now meeting xem for the first time, he can understand why Emile said that.

While Roman had on very bold, fancy colors: reds and whites and golds, Logan was a stark contrast to that. Similar to his own palette but not quite. Xe had on a dark blue dress coat with a white button-up underneath it, along with black suit pants and dark brown dress shoes. A little bit of gold was on his buttons and cuff links, but other than that, the colors xe wore were predominantly dark.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of differences between he and Logan. The novelist had dark eyes while he had baby blue. Logan had straight, gelled black hair while he had strawberry blonde curls. A medium build with a good amount of muscle as opposed to a soft curvy build with a bit of chub. A sharp face as opposed to a rounded one. Square glasses as opposed to rounded lenses.

Regardless, xe were a very clean-looking individual. Perhaps even handsome in xyr own right, much like Virgil was.

“I suppose you’re wanting to warn me about Virgil too?” he asks.

“Is that not why you’re here?” Logan responds. “Or were you just wanting to put your nose into the affairs of a relatively wealthy man?”

Patton pouted. He didn’t have to be rude about it!

“But yes,” the novelist says immediately after. “I am here to also warn you about the dangers of Mr. Virgil Nyx of 613 Rue Morgue.”

“Well take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but my past before Mr. Nyx is easy to discuss,” Logan tells him.

The confectioner nods, listening to him attentively.

“Growing up as a child, my father was a firm believer of knowledge,” Xe began. “He always believed that it was an incomparably valuable, multipurpose tool, instrumental in identifying and solving any of the world’s problems.” Dark blue eyes casted themselves over to the books. “One of the things he used to tell me was, “If you are ever worried about getting hurt, then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon, and our greatest defense.” And so, with that, my ever-growing thirst began.”

Xe went on, “I scoured for any form of knowledge, be that books or even educative television, wherever I could find it, I absorbed it entirely. I read every book from both my father and Ye Ye, every book from the libraries— primary school, the public one, university— etcetera. All of it was not enough for me. I eventually received my Master’s in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Physics, wishing to expand my love of all things intellect and share it with the world.” He turns back to Patton. “Before my graduation, I had published a few theses that were eventually used at other prestigious universities; and afterward, I had written a book or two, which resulted in my rise to celebrity.”

Patton nodded. Then he asked, “Had you known about Virgil before you met him?”

“I was aware of him, yes.” the novelist’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I had heard about the…supposed suicide of Roman Scarlet, famed Broadway actor and beloved performer of the Storytime lounge. I had also heard of his brother’s desire to take Virgil to court without any proof of murderous intent, I believe he was even in contact with a lawyer despite this.”

The confectioner looked at xem in surprise. “Even when he didn’t have evidence, his brother had contact with a lawyer about wanting to see if Virgil could be charged with murder?”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “At first, I read it off as some silly story for revenge, not exactly understanding how that was actually the truth.”

Patton nodded. “So…Did you meet him at a book signing or…?”

Logan didn’t say anything of the longest time. When xe did, it was very vague-sounding. “When I met Virgil…well, let’s just say it was…a strange sense of irony.”

…

If he could, Virgil would have openly spat about how much he did not want to be here. When he became as wealthy as he is, he swore up and down that he would never return to this place, return to the old life he lived before he knew what it was like to have money.

And yet, here he was, walking into a familiar-looking bookstore. The name re-entering his mind like he hadn’t shoved it out oh so many years ago.

Catching his eye was the small clump of beings standing outside its old, paint-chipped door; maybe the line won’t be as long as he thought. However, he quickly (and unfortunately) realized that the clump of people outside stood at the end of a line that snaked through the entire store.

Everyone and their mother apparently wanted to meet Logan Oxford today of all days.

He should’ve expected this, and yet, he didn’t. Idiot.

Actual anxiety slowly began to seize his being as he continued to approach. Everyone seemed to have a book clutched in their hands. Most were the newest release that came just before the holidays, while some seemed to be personally chosen titles by the older audience, and then there were even books of essays that were held and gossiped about by students (or who Virgil assumed to be university students).

By the time the line actually started moving, Virgil felt sweat starting to coat his palms. He let out a noise of annoyance and shoved them into his pockets.

He was not going to let his stupid anxiety ruin this chance for him. He wasn’t!

Walking in, the little jingle of the bell above sounded like the heavy dong of a church one.

Virgil forced himself to look around. This cozy little hellhole remained the same even after almost a decade. (He even forced himself to wonder if the old owner was still here. Probably not. Maybe retired. Or dead.)

The lighting was still bad, but it gave the small interior of the store its warm glow; the carpeting was still old fashioned and had that untraceable smell to it; the chairs scattered about the store were all patchy and worn-down; the wooden tables had scratch marks and random-ass messages that people carved in with pencil; and there were still crazy knickknacks and antiques hanging from the walls or seen from the shelves.

For the widower, this place was a walk-in nightmare, like walking into someone’s grandmother’s house. But for the many customers who come and go daily, it was a little spot of comfort.

Silver-grey eyes eventually found the prize he was looking for.

Logan Oxford sat at a small table with a pen in xyr hand. The writer smiled very thinly up at an admirer as xe handed back their book from across the table.

A thousand little details flooded Virgil’s mind all at once. A full mouth that could be expressive if it wasn’t so clearly behind a reserved wall. A face that was as sharp as Roman’s but it was much more angular. Rich, dark eyes that almost seemed black: dark and mysterious, they looked like they were pulled from the night sky. Slicked back hair that would still be considered neat without all that damn hair gel.

Xe were more than attractive than the widower realized. Perfect for being his next target.

Just before it was his turn, he saw a stand full of Logan’s books, all new and old alike. Making sure no one was looking, he snagged a copy before making his way towards the novelist.

The novelist took the book without even saying anything, not even so much as a polite hello. Xe flipped it open to the first page and started to scribble on the first page with blue ink.

Virgil looked down at the book he grabbed and an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat, but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Mx. Oxford?” he pretended to sound eager. “I know you’ve probably heard this before, but your philosophy essays are so fascinating.”

“You are correct, I have heard it before.” xe said. Dark eyes flashed up at him, a brow quirked and his expression monotone. “Do you have a particular question you’d like to ask me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I do…Do you believe that your field of study has been hindered by the teachings of Aristotle, or are you one of those science-y people who just nod and continuously say he’s right without any substantial proof?”

At that, Logan’s head shot up. “…beg pardon?” Xe were a little stunned by the question being asked of him.

“Do you agree with Aristotle’s teachings, yes or no?” Virgil asked again, a tiny bit amused as he made the novelist react in such a way.

Xe cleared xyr throat, trying to regain some composure. “W-Well,” he stammered. “In the case of Aristotle…the man was usually wrong. A lot. Most of his descriptions of the natural world are some variety of incorrect,” xe tell him. “Looking past his blatant sexism, his understanding of motion and forces is wrong, is astronomy is wrong, a good portion of his biology is busted, and science has in fact suffered for it. For almost 2,000 years to be specific.”

The widower hummed. (Truth be told, he hated philosophy. It was basically a bunch of old guys trying to preach certain ethics and ideologies that would eventually become outdated and criticized.) Nevertheless, he wanted to know what Logan thought about it.

“However,” Logan continued, a glimmer of something sparkling in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the 1800s when the atom was officially declared A Thing, that people began to believe his contemporary, Democritus, as opposed to himself.” Xe snort. “Not to mention, according to Cicero, his prose was apparently a flowing river of gold…when it actually was not. And it was because of him that we not only lost science but also a catastrophic amount of classical literature.”

“So in actuality, his works are basically glorified lecture-notes from his students?” Virgil smirks faintly. “I guess you know now why we should’ve listened to Gorgias instead.”

“Gorgias?” Xe ask, looking at him incredulously. “The man was, excuse my Greek, a pathological pain the ass. He didn’t care for objective truth and stated that everything was a matter of opinion, which was always bendable.”

“Exactly!” Virgil smirks more. “Everything is a construct, therefore we tried and failed. So now all we need to do is to hide under the covers until the sun goes away.” With that, the widower takes his autographed book and begins to leave the store.

“Falsehood!” A screech came from behind him, making him jump. He turns around to see the novelist get up and stride over to him, a sharp look in his eyes. The widower immediately stood straighter. Damn…that glare reminds him of a certain someone that he does not wish to remember right now. “Just because Gorgias was able to obliterate Stephanos of Thebes with straw-man arguments and casual fallacies, does not mean you can, Diogenes the Cynic.”

Virgil blinked. “…Diogenes the Cynic?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Logan says. “A philosopher who believed that all Sophists were liars, the Philosophers were too pretentious, therefore taking immense pleasure in poking fun at their logic.”

The widower pondered thoughtfully. “…yep. That sounds like us just now.” A glint of wicked humor shone in his eyes as Logan just looked done with him. “But in all seriousness, Mx. Oxford. You have to realize that philosophy can be a bit asinine, right?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment before breathing out. “I suppose so,” xe states. “All of the big, complex ideas simply come from those who are fallible and prone to…ridiculousness. For every Plato’s Republic, there is a Diogenes urinating at a banquet table.”

“There you go,” Virgil laughs. “I hope you really didn’t get offended by what I said. I like presenting counterarguments just to see how people react.”

“No harm done. Although I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy socializing with others all that much,” Hard same. “I would like to talk to you more. Maybe about science-based media— or whatever it is you’re a fan of?”

Virgil nodded, smirking internally. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to challenge your claims on what you call cognitive distortions. As someone who has generalized anxiety, I wanna know what your psychology thinks about my over-reactionary mind.”

Logan hummed in interest. “Oh? I look forward to it then, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

“Mr. Nyx.” Named after the Roman Goddess of the Night, the novelist mused. Xe liked it. Xe scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, handing it to Virgil. “Again, thank you very much for coming and I hope to communicate with you again soon.”

“See ya.”

With a finger salute, Virgil left the bookstore with a sigh of relief. He was quite glad that his anxiety didn’t make him look the a fool and that he was out of that atrocious place. He opened the book and saw the fancy penmanship of the novelist.

On the bookmark, was his phone number.

He smirked. Maybe he did succeed after all…

…

Patton listed as Logan finished telling him about xyr first meeting with Virgil. He had to admit, it was rather nice to not listen to any…graphic details about things he didn’t want to know, even if Roman told him in a vague manner.

“So how did you stay close with Virgil?” he asked, remembering the questions he presented Roman. “You gave him your number; did you call each other on the phone? Or did you both kept meeting at the bookstore.”

Logan shook xyrs head. “No. However, I would invite him out for some coffee if I was in the area. And every time we did so, we would always have little discussions that would turn into…not-so-little discussions after a period of time…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

The novelist scowled. “We did not argue, if that is what you’re thinking! We…debated, that’s much more civil.” The confectioner giggled but allowed him to continue. “And, while I’m not a traditionally…emotional person…it was quite nice to have someone debate on certain subjects with me, even if they tended to hiss at me from time to time.”

Despite this slowly becoming a sad tale, Patton giggled again. He won’t lie, Virgil did act like a cat every once in a while. It was actually kinda cute (you know…despite the fact he murdered three people…).

“I would also take him to any conferences or panels that I would be invited to attend or speak at,” xe told him. “He would act as my plus one, if you will. I must admit, even if I could manage them on my own, it was…almost beneficial for me to have him around during those events.” Xe chuckled. “I say this despite the fact that he detested such things, as they tended to prompt his anxiety and cause him to rudely hiss whenever someone— and I quote— “reached his limits with stupid questions.” Not only that, he was not primarily invested in the actual subjects of said discussions and was more interested in the catering they served.”

That caused Patton to actually laugh. That also seems like something that Virgil would do, though he doesn’t blame him at all. In fact, if he were in his shoes, he would be a bit more curious in the food too.

Logan couldn’t help xyr lips from twitching upwards. “I shall confess, there were times where I myself have agreed with his sentiments.”

Unfortunately, the smiles and laughter had to end at some point.

“But what happened afterward?” Patton eventually asked. “What caused everything to go downhill?”

The little twitch of a smile instantly when back to a frown. The confectioner sees xem turn to grab a book that was suddenly on the table (when did that get there anyhow?). It was a very beautiful looking book: dark indigo in color with a title that he couldn’t quite make out, but he could see Logan’s name at the very top. Xe opened the book, flipping it to the very last pages before handing it to Patton.

‘ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS’ Baby blue eyes skimmed through the short paragraphs of text. Logan gave simple but kind words as xe thanked the people who helped xem achieve such a feat, such as his parents and former professors.

Then he followed to where the novelist had pointed a finger at.

“Lastly, I would like to give acknowledgments to my husband, Virgil Nyx.

While we have not known each other long, and have newly become married, but having your support throughout this journey was momentous for someone like me to complete this project. Your harsh and honest (almost too honest) criticisms of my work were what kept me going to make and achieve better than my means. And while I am not an emotional person, nor do I express my emotions often, I quiet enjoyed having your company while I wrote and rewrote my rough and final drafts… And I must thank you for bring me my favorite green teas and jellied biscuits whenever I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for hours on end.

This is the most I have genuinely praised someone so highly (and also a first), but it cannot be helped. I truly hope you see the appreciation and respect I fester for you.”

Patton couldn’t help but tear up. To Logan, they may appear simple, but they were also so beautiful.

“As you’ve read, by the time I had written my last book, Virgil had become my spouse.” Logan says. “We were married in a simple ceremony. Something that was vastly different from Roman’s grandiose nuptials.”

Patton giggled. It was amusing with how Logan was poking fun at Roman from beyond the grave. (In an almost magical way, he could almost hear an indignant noise in his ear).

“But,” Logan’s face grew sad, almost angry. “That did not last long, unfortunately. I had quickly fallen for Virgil’s rouses like the one before me. And, like him, I was met with an unfortunate end.” A deep, almost tired sigh. “To think, someone like him could have been two steps ahead of me in a metaphorical game of chess…I must say, it was truly a checkmate on his end.”

“Him murdering you, you mean?” Patton asked, fearing the answer Logan will give him. Silence. A very familiar silence.

Then, Logan nodded. “Yes. Although, poisoning is the correct terminology this time around.”

[hannah-deserved-better]

The Deep Woods

(Credit to unknown artist on Google for the Drizzt picture)

Summary: Sam, Dean, and their friends are out enjoying the great outdoors. But, as usual for the hunters, their plans for relaxation are foiled when they team up with a group of campers whose numbers are dwindling as something is hunting them in the woods. Together, they must all try to survive a creature, and eventually, they find themselves at an abandoned cabin and forced to survive there as it seems like the laws of reality in this part of the forest aren’t all they seem and creatures who belong to another world seem to be finding their way in.

This is the first chapter of a fic that is a stand-alone ‘lost in the woods’ Supernatural fic which I am turning into a multi-fandom fic. The other fandoms are The Hobbit, Legends of Drizzt, Rurouni Kenshin.

Warnings: blood and gore, graphic violence, horror, survival in the woods, haunted mansion, Jealous Dean

Tropes: Survival in the woods, haunted cabin, enemies to friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, friends lovers

Pairings: Castiel/Hannah/Meg/Sam, Dean/Rowena, Fili/OC, Kili/OC, Kenshin/Kaoru, Sanosuke/Megumi, Drizzt/Ellifain

OCs: Asphodel and Brenna are OCs that I’ve always used back when I wrote for the Hobbit fandom. They are actually original characters from my novel series that I adapted into the Hobbit Verse. I tend to change their backgrounds from story to story but in general, Asphodel is a hobbit, her face claim is Eleanor Tomlinson, and Brenna is a Gnome. The Gnome culture is also an adaption from my novel, they are female dominated people who live in the polar regions and make a living off of whaling, deep-sea fishing, and caribou hunting.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25363057/chapters/61497556

“Who the hell talked me into this!” Dean exclaimed as they hiked through the trail. They were surrounded all around by thick forests, and the smell of pine hung in the air, as did the heat of an August day. 

“It’s good for you, Dean,” Sam called as he led the group of backpack clad hikers. Dean frowned. He was usually the one in charge of things, and he didn’t appreciate his little brother usurping his authority. 

“Not quite the outdoorsy type, are we?” Rowena teased as she trotted alongside the two Winchesters, easily keeping up with the both of them. 

“Look, do you know how many things live in forests?” Dean reminded her. “We’ve hunted lots of them. And whose bright idea was it to go backcountry camping? I mean seriously? We could have at least stayed at a regular campsite. You know, with toilets and food.”

“We brought enough food to last the trip,” Sam reminded his brother as he trekked along, his large backpack secured to his back, and a hiking stick in one hand. “And we have a witch, a demon, and two angels with us and not to mention two seasoned hunters. What could possibly go wrong out here?”

“Damn it, Sammy, you never say ‘what could possibly go wrong’ haven’t you seen pretty much every horror movie in existence?” Dean knew he was being a little overdramatic, but he also knew he had a point. From Wendigos to werewolves, to a plethora of various monsters, they didn’t have a very good track record when it came to being outdoors.

And Dean didn’t miss the way Sam mentioned the other members of their entourage. He groaned internally as he glanced behind him to Castiel trailing behind them, Meg and Hannah on either side of him, chatting softly to one another. 

“Keep up the pace, Fabio!” Dean demanded hotly at them. Castiel glanced up and scowled in response as the three of them started walking a little faster. He doubted Castiel understood the Fabio reference, but ever since Meg and Hannah had returned from the empty, the three of them had been inseparable, and Dean found it just plain annoying.

“Dean, leave Cas alone,” Sam insisted as Dean faced forward again as he walked. “You’ve been acting like a jealous prom date.”

“Am not,” Dean insisted, though his somewhat childish response was a feigned attempt to hide the fact that Sam’s accusation held more than a little truth to it. Dean was jealous. And he’d never admit it to anyone, including himself. Instead, he kept telling himself that Hannah and Meg were up to no good, that just because they’d randomly returned from the dead, shouldn’t mean anything.

Or maybe it was because they’d had Cas to themselves for so very long that Hannah and Meg were unwanted invaders. They’d been living in his bunker with his angel as if Castiel and Sam were both his possessions. It was just supposed to be the three of them. Forever.

“Alright, I think we should-” just as Sam prepared to announce instructions which Dean had hoped would signal a reprieve from this death march they’d been on, a high pitched shriek cut through the sky, causing Dean to nearly jump out of his skin with alarm as he immediately whirled towards the sound, hand instinctively falling to the holster of the gun fastened at his hip. 

“Help, help!” came a frantic voice as a woman suddenly burst from the trees, standing in their path. 

“What is it?” Sam asked as they all stopped and gathered in close. Dean rolled his eyes when he felt Castiel’s presence beside him. 

“My husband, he’s missing! Please!” the frantic woman begged, trembling in fear as she glanced back the way she had come, her blonde hair blowing in the breeze.

“Slow down, dearie,” Rowena said comfortingly, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Now, what are you doing in the woods all by yourself? Don’t you know there are bears?”

“And who knows what else,” Dean muttered to himself. He met Castiel’s gaze, and the angel shot him a scolding scowl. 

“I’m not alone,” the woman stammered. “I’m camping nearby with a bunch of friends. But when I noticed Herb was missing. Oh god, do you think a bear got him?”

“Show us where you’re camping, and maybe we can try and trace your steps,” Sam said calmly. Dean knew Sam was always the type to try to diffuse the tension. Ever an air of calmness. The two of them were quite used to these types of situations, after all. 

The woman took in a deep breath and hesitantly started back for the trees. Sam and Dean slowly fell in line behind her as she led them through the thick, dense forest of towering conifer trees. 

“We were backcountry camping,” the woman began softly. “We go every year. This year, it’s a group of us: me, my husband, our neighbors, and all the kids. Maggie, my youngest, just turned 16, so we all came out here to celebrate. It’s nice to get away from civilization sometimes, you know? Especially with teenagers. We specifically picked a place like this because there are no cell phone towers.”

Dean caught on that the woman was rambling, probably to distract herself from her fears as she kept walking. But he did feel some sympathy for the woman. He was already mentally listing the monsters that could be lurking in the forest. A bear certainly wasn’t on his list; after all, it was never something natural in their line of work.

“So when did you notice your husband was missing?” Dean asked as he walked along, stepping on twigs as the sunlight got dim the further from the path they went. The creepy, foreboding feeling was beginning to settle into Dean’s mind, and he mentally noted that his shotgun was strapped to his backpack, within easy reach, just in case his trusty pistol wasn’t going to cut it. Not to mention, he was always armed with an angel blade, the demon blade, and a whole array of knives, daggers, and other weapons. 

“This morning,” the woman responded. “He must have gotten up sometime in the night to go to the bathroom. His rifle is still here, and he’s been gone all day.”

“Did you mention your name yet, dearie?” Rowena asked as she made it a point to walk beside the woman. 

“Oh, it’s Leslie,” the woman murmured softly. She appeared to be in her forties or fifties, perhaps, dressed in a pair of shorts and a simple cotton shirt. “Oh, we’re right here.”

The trees parted to reveal a small clearing. In the center was a cluster of tents. Dean counted about a dozen figures as they all glanced in their direction. 

“We found some fellow hikers,” Leslie announces as she rejoined the rest of her party who all stood up to face the newcomers. “They haven’t seen Herb at all.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll try to find him,” Sam announced to all of them. Leslie went through and introduced them. So in addition to Leslie and Herb, they had a daughter named Maggie, a son named Evan. Then there were Tom and Shelly with their son Brayden and son Jess, and lastly, where Kate and Randy with their daughter Stephanie, and daughter Kylie. 

They all reminded Dean of typical suburbanites with their brand name camping equipment, trendy outfits, not all of which seemed particularly appropriate for camping and their well-manicured hair. Dean was sure at least one of them drove a Kia sports utility vehicle. The youngest among them were the two 16-year-old teenagers; the other kids were all in their later teens or early twenties. Many of them donned various insignia of colleges they were attending.

It turns out they all attended the same church together, and the adults all worked in the same office. They all couldn’t be more cookie-cutter, apple pie normal if they tried. Definitely not the type that would likely believe that any of Dean’s usual suspects would be responsible for their husband’s disappearance.

Dean couldn’t help but note the irony of it all. Sam had all but assured them that they wouldn’t run into anything unnatural out here in the wilderness, and yet here they were.

[bluboothalassophile]

The Wife & Ex-Husband

Jason supposed there were a great many ironies in life, because that was part of life, however this, this was true irony as she stood there across from him. There was a sniffer in her hands, that she was cleaning, and her violet eyes were wide with shock as she stared at him. She stole his breath away, even all these years later.

Her long black hair was braided in complicated styles, braids of braids, with a few stray wisps of hair were fluttering around her face. Her eyes were that beautiful dark violet eyes with those thick lashes stared at him with nothing but shock. Plump lips, her upper fuller than the bottom, sharp cheek bones, squared jaw, with an aristocratic nose. The mesh of features and heritage, then with her ivory pale skin. She was beautiful, ethereal even, in all the years without seeing her and she was still the loveliest creature he had ever seen.

It had been about five years since she had left.

Left him nothing but a note, a ring, with the divorce papers and the memories. The best month and a half of his life had been spent with her, after the worst thing that could happen to him did.

Somehow, either by fluke or intention though he was still her medical contact, and visa versa, husband and wife privileges and all and that had given him a link to her. A small, fragile link which he didn’t know how to break or touch, because he couldn’t sign the divorce papers, or file them.

She had given him all the power, and for the first time since she had left all the power in his hands they were staring at each other. With nothing but a bar between them.

“Ah! Raven,” the suave voice called out, and her head ripped away from him as she turned to address the own of the club. Lucifer Morningstar, owner of the club LUX, and the man whom Jason was meeting because of his brother’s bachelor party.

“Uncle!” she smiled in greeting of the man.

“My darling, Maze is out tonight, so might you assist with the bouncer duties and leave the bar to me,” he purred.

“Of course!” she smiled as she set the glass aside, Lucifer hopped over the bar effortlessly, pecked her on the cheek. She walked out from behind the bar, and he could only stare dumbly after her.

“Drink?” the suave voice asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Bourbon,” he said as he twisted around to watch her. She was wearing a skimpy little red number, which showed off her long, curvy legs, strong thighs, highlighting her ass with each step. He could never forget how great her ass and legs looked; he had dreams about them still.

“Here you go,” Lucifer said handing over the sniffer. He took it absently, never taking his eyes off Raven. There was a fight brewing already, and he watched her saunter towards it. “Admiring the view?” the voice asked dryly.

“About to enjoy the show more,” he smiled over his shoulder at Lucifer then.

“Oh?”

“She’s about to break them,” he giddily remembered. He’d had a barfight or two with Raven, she could decimate people, her small size was not to be underestimated. Sure enough, quick as a whip she had two men on their knees and blocking blows from the third as she hit his body hard.

“You seem acquainted with my niece, and how did that come about?” Lucifer asked leaning on the bar as they watched the slaughtering happening. “NOT THE GOOD STUFF!” Lucifer shouted over the music when a bottle was grabbed by one of the men.

“That’s my wife,” Jason announced proudly just as Raven took the bottle and slammed her knee into the man’s groin, dropping him. She smiled as she served the drinks and two burly men appeared to take the groaning heap of idiots off with them.

“HER WHAT!?” Lucifer bellowed as he took a sip of bourbon.

He didn’t get to respond to that as he put his drink aside and walked towards her. She was tiny, still, he noted that she was a good foot shorter than him, and the heels she was wearing didn’t add to her height. Not really. She was slight, like a ballerina, gracefully and classy. She kind of reminded him of Aubrey Hepburn, stunning.

He stopped right before her, and he couldn’t hear the club, or feel the music vibrating through the air, or even hear the people in the crowd. He only stared at her, her beautiful stunned expression.

Last, he had heard of her was the shark attack, two years ago when he had gotten a call from the hospital in Sydney, Australia, saying she was there. He’d gotten there and she was gone, already discharging herself, rejecting pain medication, and only had stitches. He was forever grateful that being her husband had gotten him that information. And he wondered if she knew he was her contact for emergencies; probably not.

“Hey little bird,” he smiled. She was wearing that necklace he had gotten her in New Zealand.

“Hello Jason,” she said softly. She didn’t look away, and he wondered if he could kiss her. Probably a terrible idea, but damnit. He’d missed her, he had honest to God missed her. Which was odd, because he still had her number in his phone. However, in the past five years of his marriage, he didn’t know what to say or do to go about mending the fences with Raven or even reaching out for her. She was always this independent woman, and he knew, from her note, that even if she hadn’t said anything, somehow she had been hurt by him. He didn’t know what he did wrong or where it went wrong; not really, her note was sort of vague, and that’s why he found it hard to think about reaching out.

Five years of thinking though, and he wanted this to change. But he had never known what to do to make that change happen.

Now she was here and he wasn’t wasting the opportunity.

“Can we talk?” he asked her.

“Yes, let me grab a coat, and tell my uncle,” she said. He nodded as he watched her walk by.

~~~*~*~*~~~

She didn’t know what to think, he had walked into her uncle’s club, and until he was standing right before her, she hadn’t even notice him. He looked great; five years had not dimmed his beauty. Jason Todd, ex-husband, was handsome as a fallen angel; a mop of curly black hair with red undertones in it, a lone white streak of hair which was actually natural and not dyed, aquamarine eyes, square jaw, crooked, blunt nose, dash of freckles, highbrow, and squared cheeks. There were a few new nicks and scars around his face she didn’t remember being there, a nick on his lip from when she had split it. His large, broad frame was still all muscle, even in that leather jacket, and button-down shirt, she knew those muscles. The man looked like a beautiful sin, temptation personified, she’d happily sit there like an idiot and stare at him if her uncle hadn’t broken the spell between them.

Good God he looked amazing, and as stunned to see her as she was to see him.

It’d been five years, at least, since she had left him with the divorce papers and that ring, along with a note.

Now she grabbed her coat, shot her uncle and apologetic look and walked after Jason outside of the rowdy atmosphere of LUX.

“I… I didn’t know you were here,” he said awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Not for long,” she dismissed. She had come to LA for her step-brother’s wedding, and staying with her uncle had been a welcomed reprieve from wedding madness. “What about you?” she asked.

Jason Todd, aside from being her ex-husband; was the son of a multibillionaire, and ran a multibillion dollar industry; Wayne Enterprises. And though she knew her ex had a preference for working with his hands, and doing manual labor, he was a very smart man, and in line with his younger brother; Timothy Drake-Wayne; to run the company. Raven kind of kept tabs on her ex through the tabloids; she felt it to be the best connection despite having his number in her phone.

“Brother’s bachelor party tonight, but I’m in town on business and holiday of sorts,” he answered.

“My brother’s getting married too,” Raven chuckled.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he and his partner have turned into bridezillas though, and I’m eternally thankful my uncle is letting me stay with him,” Raven admitted.

“Lucifer Morningstar is your uncle?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Awesome,” he grimaced then. “What have you been up too? Other than getting mauled by a shark?” he asked.

“How’d you know about that!?” she sputtered.

“Hospital contacted me,” he omitted reluctantly.

“Damn it!” she hissed. “I thought I had changed all my papers, and contact info.”

“I have you on my insurance, so I covered it.”

“Well that explains a lot,” she sighed. “I’m sorry about that, I didn’t… I thought I had changed all my papers, and I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Whoa, we’re… we’re still friends, I… I want to know when you get into trouble or need help. And did that hurt?” he asked.

“Well, I bet it’s still annoying to have contact with your ex-wife, and no, it didn’t, not really. See,” she paused under a streetlight as she revealed the crescent scar on her left thigh, it was ragged and deep, and the shark could’ve taken a good chunk of her leg, but she’d been lucky. It was a bite test, and the shark swam off when she’d stabbed it with the diving knife she always carried. Jason had gotten her that knife as a wedding joke gift. “Your knife saved my life, so I owe it to you. Shark bit me, I stabbed it when it was dragging me off my board, Garth saved me, pulled me out of the water and to shore, we got to the hospital and all I needed was stitches. Seventy-three of them, but I was lucky. Shark missed my artery by a millimeter, and I got three teeth out of it,” she informed him. His fingers hesitantly reached over and she tensed as he touched them.

His touch was still electric, she fought of shuddering at his touch or letting her breath hitch, though she felt her heart ramming in her chest painfully. She was acutely aware that the attraction hadn’t died.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

“PT was a bitch,” she informed him as she dropped her dress a bit, he straightened up.

“Still surfing?” he asked.

“Obviously, Garth and I are planning a trip with his wife Dolphin, after the wedding,” she said. He was smiling softly at her as they walked. “

“I… It’s great to see you,” he said.

“I’m surprised, but it’s great to see you too,” she smiled a bit. Honestly she was always happy to see him, it annoyed her; especially when he appeared on the news or tabloids. “I’m glad we’re not like other divorcees who can’t stand each other.”

“About that, why’d you leave?” he asked.

“Seriously?” she blinked.

“Yes.”

“We were drunk when we got married, on a ship, we can’t even remember the actual ceremony or that weekend, but we had the marriage license with witnesses; though I have no idea who Edward Bloomberg or John Constantine are, but they saw us tie the knot. And I… I saw her, Jason,” she admitted. “I saw Donna Troy and you, and I don’t know, it occurred to me that you and I were merely a vacation mix up, like idiots getting hitch in Atlantic City or Vegas, and you and I hadn’t come to a decision and it was time I returned to reality, so I got the papers before you could regret this.”

“And you didn’t think to talk about this?” he asked.

“No, because I had a family emergency and there wasn’t time. I kept meaning to call you, but,” she gestured in frustration.

“Shit happens,” he nodded.

“Exactly. Besides, once I got stateside again and saw who you were, I knew made the right decision. I don’t want you to think we… at least I didn’t, you know, want you for your money.”

“I never thought that,” he pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked.

“I’m poor, compared to you, and I know everyone would think I was a gold digger, so breaking the marriage before lawyers came into it to drag us through hell, and ruin our relationship, over money, didn’t seem fair,” she shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like it’d have worked once we came back to reality.”

“Why not?”

“You love your family and what you do, I remember our talks about that, and I couldn’t do that to you,” she shrugged.

“How’d you know about Donna?” he asked. She stopped, blinking rapidly as she stared at him in the city’s light.

“I saw you kissing in the hotel lobby when I was coming to tell you I needed to go home,” she admitted.

“You…?” he paled rapidly then and looked almost sick.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal, when I got stateside and read about you and her, I knew I made the right call, and I couldn’t be upset about it. There’s a lot of history with you and her, and I was the vacation mistake. It’s okay, I’m not hurt or mad about it,” she lied.

“But that doesn’t explain why you ran off,” he shook his head.

“My mom died, I had used everything I had to get a flight home to say goodbye,” she answered softly. “While I arranged my flight, I got the divorce papers, filled them out, and I left as quickly as I could.”

“I’m sorry about your mom, I didn’t know,” he said softly.

“It’s alright, she’s in a better place now,” she said firmly. She was in a place her father couldn’t hurt her, and she was no longer in pain; that’s all that mattered to her now. Though five years ago that had been a different story.

“What happened to her?”

“My biological father, Lucifer’s half-brother, killed her. The way my dad tells it, and evidence supports this, is mom was walking home, he snatched her, and tortured her, in my mom’s home. My dad came home to her near death, called 9-1-1, and she was in the ICU, I came home. My uncle’s wife, Mazikeen actually killed my dad when he attempted to snatch me,” Raven informed him.

“I… I’d have come,” he said.

“It’s okay, I didn’t want to drag you into my craziness,” she shrugged.

“Rae, that’s,” he sighed as he shook his head. “Marriage is a partnership, and I’d have come because we are friends. You were a friend when I needed it most and had none.”

“I know, and I can honestly say the same for you. But at the time, it never even crossed my mind. Plus I figured you were getting back with Donna at the time, and by the time I got everything sorted out I didn’t even know how to reach out to you,” she admitted.

“I’m here now,” he pointed out.

“You are,” she agreed.

“We should…”

“Raven! There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You have to come save me!” Raven turned in time to see Rose running towards her. Her step-sister caught her waist, skidding around to stand in front of Raven so they were almost nose to nose. “I swear to God if you do not come right now I will kill Joe and Dad!”

“I have to get back to LUX!” she protested.

“Hell no! Luci already agreed you must help!” Rose snapped.

“Rose!” she whined.

“No! Hot guys later! Hi, I’m Rose, Raven’s sister, I’m abducting her now, so give her your number so we can go! Though I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, she’s a prudish virgin still!” Rose said.

“ROSE!” Raven squawked. “I am not a prude or a virgin!” she shrieked.

“Doesn’t matter! Come on!” Rose grabbed her arm and started dragging her towards LUX.

“It was nice seeing you Jason!” Raven shouted as she was dragged away from her ex-husband by her sister. She could barely keep up with Rose as she stumbled after her, she didn’t miss Jason’s bemused, and baffled expression as she was dragged off.

“I swear Kyd and Joe are going to kill me! We need you before we kill them,” Rose said. “He was hot, who was he?”

“He was an old friend Rose,” Raven chuckled as they got to Rose’s 1964 Ford Mustang.

“He knows you’re a total prude and he’s never getting any, right? You’re not leading him on like Garfield,” Rose asked.

“I was never leading Gar on, incase you forgot. He only had me to get to you,” Raven pointed out.

“Besides the point,” Rose dismissed.

“He knows me well enough, Rose.” Raven didn’t inform her sister that Jason Todd had taken her virginity, turned her into a lustful, sex crazed woman; who only wanted him, and if Rose hadn’t interrupted, that Raven was likely going to invite him up to her room, in Lucifer’s hotel, and let him screw her brains out until she couldn’t walk right or talk above a whisper; again. The man had introduced her to sex, no other man she had dated came close to being as enticing to her as Jason had; Jason had set impossibly high standards which she feared no one would be able to fulfill for her and her needs.

“Shame,” Rose decided. “You should let him pop your cherry, before you’re a true spinster.”

“Focus on driving, I don’t want to die in a twisted heap of metal!” she grimaced as she clung to her seat while Rose sped down the street.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason watched his wife getting dragged off by her sister and he realized how little he knew about his wife. She had an uncle, Lucifer Morningstar, who was married to a Mazikeen, her mother had been murdered by her biological father, and she had a stepfather (he was guessing on that one), plus a sister and a brother. He knew her best friend’s name was Garth; remembering her mentioning it a lot when he’d been with her. But he didn’t know much about her life.

It unnerved him.

Her reasons for leaving were justified, and rationalized, her reasons for leaving the divorce papers were reasonable. Hell, she had even promised to change her emergency contact; which unnerved him greatly. Raven had done her best to erase herself from his life, because she understandably thought she was a mistake in his life.

He despised that realization.

“Yo! Jay! Where’d you go?” a voice bellowed, he turned in time to see Dick, Wally, Kyle, and Tim staggering towards him.

“I ran into an old friend,” he answered levelly.

“OOOO! Keeping secrets from us! Spill!” Dick squealed.

“It’s not a secret, it’s none of your business. Also, you’re drunk, time to get back to the hotel before Kori kills us all,” he decided. Calling an Uber he waited, while corralling a drunk Dick and Wally, who had decided they wanted to sing carols to by passers, and Kyle tried to kiss him while he propped up Tim; who was sound asleep now.

Once he had them loaded into the Uber, who was taking them to the hotel to be greeted by Barbara Gordon and Kori And’r, he walked back to LUX. Jason barely made it through the door before he was grabbed by the owner and shoved into an elevator, a small woman appeared, her dark eyes bright with protective fury as the pair glared at him.

“Who the hell are you and what the hell do you mean you’re my niece’s husband!?” Lucifer growled as the elevator doors slid shut.

“My name is Jason Todd,” he started.

“We know that!” the woman snarled.

“I met Raven five years ago in New Zealand, we got drunk, ended up married after a weekend neither of us remember, then shit happened, she came home, and I did, we went our separate ways and I haven’t seen her until today!” he avowed as he tried not to get nervous. The woman, whom he was assuming to be Mazikeen, was glaring at him like she might eviscerate him, while Lucifer looked ready to tear him limb from limb.

“Raven said she had an ex,” Mazikeen growled.

“I haven’t filed the divorce,” he retorted.

“Does she know?” Lucifer demanded.

“I was trying to tell her tonight!” he defended. “Last I heard of her, not from her, of her, was she was in the hospital after a shark attack. By the time I got to Sydney she was gone.”

“So you’re the mysterious benefactor for covering her hospital bill,” Lucifer relaxed a little then.

“I have her covered under my insurance,” he said.

“What do you want with her?” Mazikeen growled.

“Honestly?” he sputtered.

“Excuse us, Mr. Todd, we are protective of our only niece, she’s been through more than most, and her family is just as protective, be glad it was us, and not her father who discovered you, we at least had pertinent questions to ask,” Lucifer quipped as they walked out of the elevator. Jason hesitantly followed after them. Mazikeen continued glaring at him, he saw a knife in her fingers.

“Look, I’m not here to cause problems, and I’m not even here for Raven,” he promised. “I didn’t know she’d be here. When she left, she left a note asking me to give her space, and I have. I didn’t mean to run into her here, though I am happy I did, but I’m here because my brother’s bachelor party was here tonight. No other reason. I didn’t even know she was your niece until tonight.”

“You didn’t discuss that with her when you got married?” Lucifer inquired.

“We were together for a month, and we got married drunk off our asses, and while we talked family, it was vague, like ‘my mom’ or ‘my dad’, we didn’t bring up our lives,” he defended.

“That seems monumentally stupid to me,” Mazikeen growled.

“Probably,” he agreed. Especially after he learned that Raven only learned who he really was after she returned stateside.

“So what are you going to do about this?” Mazikeen demanded. “File the papers finally?” she asked it almost hopeful.

“No, I’m going to try to talk to my wife, and unlike last time, work this out like adults,” he said.

“Seems to me as if she’s handled all of it,” Lucifer stated.

“Well, I didn’t get a say. I came back to an empty hotel room, with a neatly written note, and a stack of divorce papers with the ring resting atop all that. I didn’t get to talk to my wife about a decision which would involve both of us,” he stated. “And for five years, I will admit that I’ve chickened out on contacting her, for many reasons. So now that I’ve talked to her, we will sort this out, like adults,” he decided.

“And if she doesn’t want that?”

“I’m more than happy to step back and let her pursue her happiness elsewhere,” he avowed. “But I want a shot with my wife.”

“You intend to court her?” Lucifer deduced.

“I’d like to try it, properly.”

“You sleep with her and I will castrate you and nail you dick on our doorframe,” Mazikeen warned.

“Look, none of this is your business,” he decided.

“It is though, she’s my niece, I raised her with Mazikeen for four years, I protected her, I raised her, she is more than a niece to me, she is like our daughter,” Lucifer snapped. “And I will investigate this as thoroughly and invasively as I feel fit, seeing as how you are the son of America’s darling playboy. I will not let you harm her!”

Jason just sighed. “Fine, but I get to talk to my wife at my own pace without you butting in. She and I have many things to discuss.”

“Very well, but harm her, and Mazikeen will hide your body so well no one will ever find it.”

Jason just nodded as he walked out of the penthouse, wondering how the hell this happened to him. Also, he needed to text his wife and ask her to coffee so they could discuss the fact they were not exes, and were still legally married. Drunken mistake or not.

[ton-e]

Small idea for later: In the KBG, once agents are born, they're assigned numbers at birth, not names; They're inked into your skin as soon as the first breath puffs, the first beat of heart, little shapes of black trailing down the skin of your spine, each needle jab burning harder than the previous. It's a brand that will never move unless you do.

They're not people, they're products; And that poison spills into their ears and minds early. They're unmade young. They have no family to lean on, friends to be the back of their necks, no soft lips or arms to come home to, but they have a system with a ladder. A ladder shaking with unbalance, In justice, and traps, but a ladder you can climb towards something better than the low misery you've been thrown into.

The numbers are erased once the agent's first mission is completed successfully . That's when you can pick a name of your liking, title yourself in ways no one cares to. That is, if you actually roll with the punches and land on your feet. Amid the foundation of sharp cruelty the KBG was build upon, among the bones and forgotten names sinking in dust, the pillar of ruthless expectations are truly what keeps it indestructible.

The first mission is a crucial milestone, the ray of bright hope shining behind rotten acres. You have your shot of becoming more than a code in an archive, more than a bullet in a barrel, a pair of skilled fingers triggering a gun, or a pair clever eyes and ears for Intel. But if you miss it, even by a melemiter, you won't be seen or remembered as anything less than the brand on your back. Humanity is a privilege, not a right. In here, you fall once, you fall for a lifetime.

The numbers are mostly meaningless; If lady fate has enough pity, it sprinkles some irony on them.

Ivan's back hosts 1878. Katya snorts when she first sees them, a small noise concealed in the tightness of her throat as her fingers trace each line and curve, pleased when the man is devoid of the constant vigilance filling his shoulders. He doesn't recoil from touch, not hers, never hers. "The guy that inked you was either a funny asshole, or a psychic asshole. Why Stalin's birth specifically?"

He shrugs. "I killed him before I could ask."

Masters , primarily, pretends the numbers aren't there; Not to chase some peace of mind, he accepted long ago that he was the unlukcy cat running for mouse scraps in that regard, or to deny the creature he was modeled to be. Damnation is his by right. It's not hiding, but a private terror he selfisly doesnt look to awaken.

If he sees it, it's real, one of the few memories he's allowed to keep. He was build to carry wars, harsh lessons, heavy loss and burning tragedy, but the numbers on his back claw deep at his soul from within. He's too scared they'll steal what he has left of it.

Javi sees them first, when Masters offers one of his shirts as makeshifts bandages for the critical wounds claiming the upper part of his body after the defeat in Los Angeles. He's no less human, even with fire in his soul. For reasons he isn't ready to explain, he feels safe enough to leave his back uncovered.

He doesnt have to question Javi's gaze to know it's a kind one; But by the slight pause in his tone, he can feel the pity, too. "... 1313. Do they have any meaning?"

"... No. They're just... very unlucky, I suppose."

Maxim knows the eyes of the one responsible for making his back a canvas. He knows who pierced 5976 sadistically deep, with intention to scar, break, hurt. Not as fierce as the sting he felt upon discovering they're empty , however.

He remembers them. Somehow, he does.

He remembers every face.

It was curled into a slight smirk, once upon a time, a look of a giant standing tall and mighty above an insect he was about to crush beneath his brutish boot, lips curved in a mocking enjoyment. Nothing like the tear showered mess washing down the blood spilling from the holes in his skull.

" I guess strenght means nothing if it's just a mask, huh?" The man doesn't have the coherency to respond, too preoccupied at digging after the orbits he no longer has, squirming on the dusty floor. Max waits for him to finish, puffing the last part of his cigarette and blows out the smoke in tandem with the man's last pant.

A gurgle potluck of Russian spills, dialect mangled in his panic, letters chopped off at the tips of his tongue. Max snaps his fingers twice to alert him he was to speak, and he halts his hysterics that did little to move the man above him. " Listen, buddy, - Are you listening? I stabbed your eyes, not yours ears, so you should be able to.

I'm feeling nice tonight, so allow me to give you a way out: I've got 9 bullets in my gun right now, and I'm not wasting them on you. I've got bigger beasts to catch. No offense. But here's a deal: I've got a nice little present from you on my back, one that id like to get rid of now. It brings me some terrible memories, you see. You gave me some terrible memories. Now I'm giving you the opportunity to take them back.

So get up. Grab that razor from the table, and make them go away. Then you're free to go! Its that easy, old friend " He pushes cheer into his voice at the end of his flat speech, yanking the man on his feet. He pushes the handle of the barbertool into his trembling hand, and sits on a stool. "Ready when you are. Don't worry about me. As usual as this line is for you, no doubt, this isn't my first time."

'I was born with pain build in,' he thinks bitterly. ' you made sure of that.'

The crosses slicing the spaces of his spine feel thin; Clumsy and shaky, paralling the once upon a time strong cut that dug into his young flesh with expert, clinical confidence. Each slash of skin feels like a chain being snapped off, and he can breathe instead of inhale.

It's his first breath. The man running was about to draw his last.

He watches him go serenely. Whistles a cheery tune with each cock his gun, counting all 10 bullets sitting anxious and awaiting to claim a life.

"I guess I could spare one more." He aims, he shots, he rises.

The man goes down.

Max crosses another name from his list.