#its bad enough my face isn’t symmetrical

[nerdiel-has-no-braincells]

How is it that when other girls wear makeup and put on their glasses they look absolutely gorgeous, but when I do it, I go from beautiful to rolling a NAT 1? 😭

[emmynemm]

rather be swimming with you (than drowning in a crowded room)

finnick odair x fem!reader

Summary: You can’t dance. A certain sea green-eyed boy is determined to change that.

Word count: 945 words

A/n: This is the first fic I've ever written, I'm so so sorry if it's ooc or really bad!! This entire thing is purely self indulgent <//3 don’t be too mean English isn’t my first language and I’ll cry about it😕

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The stars here never shone as bright as they did in the districts.

The logical explanation for it would be just how much the capitol loved lighting, unnecessarily so, to anyone with eyes, it just brought out how ridiculous they looked with their fake whiskers and pulled back faces, but deep down in your heart, there’s a little voice telling you that the reason the stars were barely visible tonight, was because everything beautiful had the awfully restrictive options of hiding under a veil or slowly dying out.

And that’s also precisely how you end up in some sort of hedge maze, aimlessly wandering until the fifth firework show of the night signals the capitolites final hurrah’s of the night. If the escort had picked any other paper slip all those weeks ago, maybe you would’ve been wandering through the forest in your backyard, taking in the smell of pine as you try to spot owls hiding in the trees, or a deer exploring its surroundings.

Instead, you were here.

Here, where ‘natural’ was too ‘unruly’ and ‘uncontrollable’. Here, where the only flora visible was made to look entirely pristine and symmetrical, just as fake as the citizens. In the midst of your brooding of what could’ve been, however, you find yourself in your favourite area of the venue, a lone fountain, hidden away in the middle of the maze, beauty for those that seek it out. It was a serene corner of life, in the midst of a hailstorm. You sit down on the marble ledge taking in the silent contrast of this and the world waiting outside.

Of course, the silence is interrupted in minutes, when the hedges begin to bristle and out comes a boy, with the messiest blond hair, champagne flute in hand, chest bare, and his lower half covered in scales and fishing nets for an outfit. Finnick’s stylists were never the most original pick of the litter. Then again, they didn’t have to, it’s not like capitolites were waiting to see the designers work, and they weren’t hiding the fact, either.

He strolls over, stubborn to maintain his charmer act, and sits down right beside you with a short huff, and simply asks, “You had the misfortune of meeting Clovis, yet?” even the mention of his name makes you want to groan. He was the definition of pushy. “Came here to get away from his line of sight, actually.” you scoff.

“Oh, really?” he flashes a smile, “He must’ve been so excited to ask you for a dance, too…” he muses dramatically. “Would’ve picked the wrong person, either way. Can’t dance for the life of me.” you confess, to the boy’s surprise.

“There’s no way that’s true, not buying it for a second.” and you shrug, “Well, believe it. Never learned.” He laughs, suddenly standing up and holding a hand out expectantly,

“No way,” you scoff, unable to hide the smile creeping up at the gesture. “You can’t tell me you’ve never learned to dance and expect me to let it go. Come on, I don’t bite.” You can’t believe you’re actually agreeing to it, but you’re already up on your feet, pulled up by the boy. The music coming from the venue wasn’t as overbearing in between the hedges as it was in the middle of the crowd, just loud enough for Finnick to catch onto the tempo, “Stand on my shoes.” The statement catches you off guard, “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll teach you the steps.” So, you indulge, tip toeing on his shoes with your own, your hand locked with his, the other on his shoulder, while his slides to the small of your back, as he starts moving, “All you’re really supposed to do is take a step back, step to the left, bring your right foot to the left.” He demonstrates, before he starts moving you along, repeating the steps in a circle.

“See? You’re a natural,” Finnick remarks, flashing you a more genuine version of the smiles he flaunts at these types of parties, “Probably because I’m doing nothing but standing on your shoes.”

“Okay, fair… your turn to lead,” And so the two of you proceed to dance around the marble water fountain, laughing like the children you should’ve gotten to be a little while longer each time you accidentally step on his foot. His presence is warm, making every misstep you’d usually find yourself feeling embarrassed over, into something that makes the two of you forget everything happening outside of the margins of the hedge maze you two occupy for just a little while.

The fifth firework show of the night sounds, something like a beckoning call for you two to fall back into your capitol façades and make a good final impression for the night. But just to make sure the most vivid memory of the party isn’t the fake smiles you’re cursed to share with ridiculously dressed capitolites for the rest of the night, his eyes linger on your lips, thumb brushing over your lower lip, before he looks back up, giving you a clear out. You don’t pull away, nodding instead, and he pulls you in for a kiss that the both of you seem to linger on for just a little too long. And for a split second, you get to share a moment the capitol isn’t invited to peer into and dissect. Somehow, the stars were shining a little brighter than usual in the capitol tonight.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

A very special thank you to @imsogonesposts and @cr3stawrites for taking the time to look at my early drafts for this☹️☹️💗💗

[freelafan4life545]

Finished chapter 2 of my fic "The Stepford Cruise"

Read chapter 1 before reading this

@a-love-that-transcends-all @ladybender @capt-t-leela

Enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Perfect Couple

The sun shone brightly over the gleaming decks of the Stepford Dream, its artificial perfection almost unsettling. While Fry and Leela were excited for their first full day aboard, not everyone was as enthusiastic. Bender, Amy, and Zoidberg had spent the night side-eyeing the overly cheerful guests and their oddly mechanical manners.

Something wasn’t right.

Bender puffed on his cigar as he leaned against the rail, watching the other passengers with a skeptical glare. "I don’t trust these squares," he muttered. "They’re all too happy. No arguments, no fights—just creepy smiles and cookie-cutter politeness. Where’s the dysfunction? Where’s the sin?"

Amy nodded, arms crossed. "Yeah, and what’s up with the way the couples act? The women are all... like, super submissive. And the men are just—ugh." She gestured toward a group of husbands dressed in identical sweater vests and slacks, each puffing on a cigar and laughing in that same rehearsed way. Meanwhile, their wives sat silently nearby, their perfectly styled hair unmoving, their eyes vacant.

Zoidberg, nervously twiddling his claws, gulped. "I don’t like this! It’s like they all read the same creepy relationship handbook! Look at that couple over there—she just asked permission to speak!"

Sure enough, a woman in a floral dress timidly leaned toward her husband. "Darling, may I contribute to this conversation?" she asked sweetly.

The husband chuckled and patted her hand as if she were a child. "Oh, sweetheart, you know the men do the talking. But you can fetch us some refreshments!"

The woman smiled—a hollow, robotic kind of smile—before standing and walking off.

Amy shuddered. "Okay, that is freaky. We need to figure out what’s going on here."

Bender smirked. "Glad you finally caught up, Meatbag. And I know just the way to get some answers—by breaking in somewhere we don’t belong!"

Zoidberg gasped. "Oh! I love breaking in where I don’t belong!"

Amy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. But let’s at least be smart about it."

Meanwhile, the Professor and Hermes sat at a small table near the ship’s grand ballroom, watching the passengers with growing unease.

"Something’s not right," Hermes muttered. "The way these people act... it’s unnatural."

the Professor adjusted his glasses and squinted at a nearby couple. The wife was pouring her husband a drink, moving with eerie precision. But then, just for a second, she froze.

Like a glitch in a computer program.

Hermes nudged the Professor. "Did you see that?"

The woman twitched, her hands momentarily stuck mid-motion. Then, with a small click, she reset and continued as if nothing had happened.

Farnsworth’s face darkened. "Oh my, yes. I’ve seen this kind of behavior before… in my old robotics experiments! These people—these couples—they’re acting programmed!"

Before Hermes could respond, the husband of the woman turned toward them. His head tilted ever so slightly, his grin too perfect, too symmetrical.

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

Hermes gulped. "No, no problem!" He grabbed the Professor's arm. "Professor, we need to find Fry and Leela. Now."

Meanwhile (again), Fry and Leela sat inside the lavish ballroom, attending what was called the Stepford Dream Couple’s Association. The cruise director, a tall man with slicked-back hair and an unsettlingly perfect smile, stood at the podium.

"Welcome, dear guests! You are all here because you seek perfection in love. And here at the Stepford Dream, we believe in strong, traditional relationships. Men, you lead. Women, you follow."

Fry frowned. "Wait, hold on. That sounds kinda... bad."

The man ignored him and continued. "A proper couple understands roles. Men, you must guide your women. And women, you must obey your men. After all, isn’t that what true love is all about?"

Around them, the audience clapped in polite, synchronized unison.

Leela’s eye twitched. "Okay, what did we just walk into?"

Fry shifted uncomfortably as the men around him nodded approvingly. A man sitting next to him leaned in conspiratorially. "Women, huh? Always thinking they’re equal," he said with a knowing chuckle. "You must have it rough, buddy. I mean, your woman has only one eye. That must be a nightmare!"

Fry’s face darkened. "Excuse me? No one makes fun of my girlfriend's one eye! But Bender!"

Another man added, "Yeah, and she’s so outspoken. I bet she doesn’t even let you make decisions! What kind of man lets a woman act like that?"

Leela grabbed Fry’s arm before he could jump out of his seat. "Okay, that’s it, we’re leaving."

They stood, but before they could reach the door, the cruise director clapped his hands. Instantly, two attendants blocked their path.

"Now, now," the director said, his voice smooth as oil. "You two need help embracing our way of life. It’s a simple fix, really."

Leela narrowed her eye. "I dare you to try."

Before either of them could react, the attendants lunged forward. Something sharp jabbed into their arms, and a cold sensation spread through their veins.

Fry gasped, feeling the warmth drain from his body. "W-What was that?"

"Just some medicine," the director assured them, his smile never wavering. "It helps couples like you see the truth. The way things should be."

Leela’s vision blurred. "No… no, Fry… don’t let them—"

Her voice faded as she collapsed into Fry’s arms. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to fight the drowsiness overtaking him. But the last thing he saw before everything went dark was the director’s perfect, unwavering smile.

To be continued…

(A/N Welp, looks like Fry and Leela are going through something that will be explained soon. Stay tuned for chapter 3 in a hour or 2)

💜🧡

[allegedlyanandroid]

Hello! For the fic prompts! Can I got a 900Gavin A/B/O fic about alpha!RK900 who try to bite Omega!Gavin scent glands when they first meet because RK900 didn't have a social program but have only a primal instinct program? Could pls keep it fluff and light,plssss? 🥺 I read too many dark fics but if it couldn't then it ok too.

I took some artistic liberties with this one and made Gavin a bounty hunter for the sole purpose that I couldn’t figure out a good reason as to why Fowler would assign them as partners if Nines tried to take a bite out of him on first meeting.  I mean... who can blame him though? Gavin is a snacc. Did I think to much into it? Yes, definitely. Either way, I hope you like it @therainnight, fingers crossed that it has an okay ratio of fluff in it <3

There’s nothing to suggest he’s being followed, no out-of-the-ordinary sounds, no footsteps, no nothing. Doesn’t matter. Gavin has always had good instincts and right now they’re telling him that something, or someone, is stalking him. Glancing as far behind himself as he can through his peripheral vision means he catches the glimpse of movement before it’s too late. Gavin whirls around just as he’s pushed backwards against a tree and the impact is enough to knock the breath from his lungs.  

A forearm keeps him pressed against it while he stares uncomprehending at razor-sharp teeth set in a half-finished face.

‘Oh, hell no,’ is what comes to mind and it’s through pure instinctive reaction that he manages to get a hand up between them and shove it as far into the android’s mouth as he can ‒ quick enough to keep it from sinking its teeth into the glands in his neck. He’d rather lose a few fingers than be bond-mated on first meeting like some omega bride in the twentieth century. His other hand is still free so he ignores the glowing eyes peering into his soul, and the curious gnawing over the digits he unceremoniously shoved in the android’s mouth, in order to find the glowing circle in the middle of its chest. Digging his fingers into the minute crack the thirium pump regulator slides into his hand with a muted hiss, strangely warm and disgustingly slick with thirium.  

The android yelps, scrambling backwards, and releases Gavin’s saliva-slick hand as it falls down in a crouch. It stares desperately at the cylinder held aloft in the air. It jolts forward when Gavin squeezes it between claw-tipped fingers until it threatens to bend under the strain and render it useless, eyes are wide and sorrowful, the glow in them sapping away with every passing second. Gavin nearly feels bad for it.

“Why are you following me?!” he demands to know, pushing the thought aside.

It doesn’t answer, shifting in place as it continues to stare at him.

“You can have this back if you tell me.” Half-truths. The android merely curls in on itself, pressing the palm of its hand against its own throat. It mouths something but the dark plating making up the lower part of his face makes it impossible to see what. Then it clicks. “You can’t talk?”  

It nods.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the droid looks anything but finished. Gavin can see parts of its biocomponents pulsing a subdued red behind clear panelling mixed in with sleek metal in a colour so dark it’s nearly void. The upper part of its face has synthskin, including his upper lip, but everything below is made of the same black material. Its ears nearly blend into the raven hair on its head and Gavin can’t find it in himself to be angry at it. Clearly, it’s a lost ‒ and potentially broken ‒ thing. Not unlike himself.

Gavin tosses the regulator in the android’s direction and marches on. He has a job to do after all and tracking only gets harder the longer he dawdles. Almost immediately the feeling returns and he groans out loud. The time-limit forces him to keep moving regardless of his silent companion. His target already has a two-day head start and the moment Weiss crosses the border into Canada Gavin can’t do jack-shit to him. He jerks the rifle higher on his back and continues to follow the scent of old blood laid into the earth. Evidently the bastard isn’t worried about being followed so much as setting a fast pace despite his injuries. 

When night begins to fall, the shadows lengthening around him, Gavin reluctantly sets up camp. There’s maybe another two days before he catches up and seeing as they’re about a three day’s march from the border he’ll be cutting it close.  

The area he finds is partly protected from the elements and close to a stream of trickling water. “I know you’re there,” he calls while rummaging around his supplies to find kindling. There’s a rustle of the underbrush to his left and the hulking mess of an android appears at the edge of camp. It looks hesitant, almost skittish, where it stands. It makes little sense given how bulky the ‘droid is and how aggressive it behaved earlier. Clearly it should be able to hold its own going off design alone. Gavin returns to ignoring it after a last wary glance and swears beneath his breath when the wood won’t catch flame.

The android shifts into his line of sight and approaches slowly, like one would a vicious or scared animal. It stops again and gestures to the attempted fire, tilting its head in question. Gavin sighs. “Sure, why not,” he shrugs. “‘s not like you can do a worse job.” 

Despite the less-than-friendly tone, the android visibly perks up. Gavin watches as it rearranges the collected wood with meticulous focus before stripping one of its fingers of plating and snapping off a few wires. The resulting electric sparks is what it uses to light the kindling. The fire slowly spreads over bark and wood until they’re engulfed by flames, cracking and popping in the still evening. Satisfied, it prods at the still-sparking wires with a finger, completely transfixed by the reds, oranges and yellows found in the flickering fire. 

Gavin offers a crooked grin in thanks. “Wonders of technology. You need any help with that?”

The android shakes its head no, poking the wires back in place, before clicking the plating back where it belongs. It looks to be smiling slightly as it reluctantly gathers itself up to leave.

Gavin stops it with a hand on its wrist.  

“You can stay.”

It’s basic human decency Gavin tells himself when he watches the android shuffle closer to the flames, hands outstretched as if to absorb its warmth. With the light’s help he can just about make out the serial-number etched into its chassis right over its thirium pump. “RK900, “ Gavin reads, “-that’s not one I’ve heard of before.” The droid turns to him and holds up one finger, turning it afterwards to point at himself. Gavin hums. “One of a kind then. I can relate to that.”

The android slides closer, looking up with a soft “go-on” like gesture that Gavin is helpless to resist.

-

He wakes up the next morning feeling as if everything has tilted slightly to the left and groggily gets himself ready for the day, rolling up his sleeping bag and kicking dirt over the fire’s embers, while RK stares at him with intrigue. They begin the trek not long after with Gavin wolfing down a protein bar in lieu of breakfast. RK frowns at him then, his brows furrowed severely, but it quickly turns to confusion when Gavin sticks his tongue out at him and picks up the pace. While they walk, he contemplates when in the previous evening he began referring to RK as “he” instead of “it”. There’s no doubt that the android is alive, for lack of a better term, animated and interested and latching onto every word of Gavin’s tales the way he used to do himself when he was younger and less jaded.

Gavin, lost in thought, doesn’t notice RK disappearing for a moment. His return is difficult to miss though since he presents him with a perfectly symmetrical trientalis europaea, its yellow core surrounded by seven white petals. A stark contrast to the black hands cupping it; delicate fragility resting in palms simply not made for such sweet blossoms. There’s excitement radiating off him, nestled in his glowing eyes, which doubles when Gavin asks: “Is that for me?”

The nod is quick as RK moves his hands an inch closer. Gavin takes it with a soft “thank you.” He looks at it for a moment longer and then takes his notebook from his inner pocket to place the flower there, snapping it shut and tying it with twine to really press flat. RK preens, turning his gaze bashfully to the forest floor, while Gavin pretends his cheeks aren’t flushed red.

-

When at last it comes time to make camp Gavin is pleased with their progress. “The scent of blood is more prominent. Even if he’s on scent blockers I can pick up smoke from the campfire. We’re getting close.”

His statement prompts an explanation about the reason he’s in the woods to begin with. The concern he shows upon hearing of Gavin’s chosen field of work is quickly dismissed with a: “I managed to bring you down, didn’t I?” which RK’s lips twitch at. He settles even closer to Gavin today, surreptitiously scenting the air between them, until Gavin asks him about it point-blank.

‘You smell nice,’ RK writes out on a torn-out page in Gavin’s book. ‘It’s what drew me in.’

“I smell like fuck-all while on blockers.”  

‘Leather, coffee, something sweet like honey.’ It takes a moment before RK writes the next part: ‘You’re an omega.’

Gavin is still reeling when the last part of the sentence hits him like a punch to the gut. He takes his blockers near religiously, there’s no way RK should be able to‒  

...but then the air around him floods with hints of metal and ozone. He’d smelled it before, when RK first came at him, but it had been absent since.  

An alpha.

As soon as the scent envelops him it lessens again. ‘It’s hard to concentrate, to control myself, unless I turn that part of my programming off. Although, it means I have to get in close to smell anything.’

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that, to any of it, so he remains quiet even if he doesn’t move away to allow RK to take in his scent as he pleases.

-

The weather dips dangerously in the late night and Gavin wakes up shivering. “Fuck, dammit,” he curses. Maybe he should keep moving. Catch the fucker earlier and finally get away from here. ‘Terrible plan,’ Gavin reminds himself as another shiver wracks through his body. Weiss is an alpha and as much as Gavin loathes to admit it, they are stronger than him. His strength is his speed and precision, dancing out of people’s range until they tire, or using his omega status as a lure. The last one wouldn’t help him here and the former only works if he’s well-rested and alert.

RK is just now stoking the fire. It helps, a bit, but Gavin is still feeling numb; fingers and toes hurting when he attempts to stretch them out.  

“Hey, RK. C’mere a second.”

The android obeys without question, crouching down next to where Gavin has struggled into a sitting position. He places his hands against RK’s bare chassis to test his theory. There’s a low thrumming vibration beneath his fingertips and the metal is surprisingly warm to the touch. RK moves to clasp Gavin’s hands between his own and slowly rubs over them, keeping them covered while his chassis suddenly generates more heat.  

Once they’re an appropriate temperature again RK moves to sit behind him. Gavin watches him, a question etched clearly into his eyes, but RK merely lays down, waiting and watching. Glacially slowly Gavin joins him on the ground and the android smiles shyly before turning his back on him. Gavin mirrors him once more, shuffling until they lie back to back, and both the warmth from the fire and RK enveloping him is a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

-

The morning after is filled with glances out of the corner of his eye, with the urge to hold RK’s stupid hand, and he wonders when he became so starved of touch, of someone showing the slightest bit of kindness to him, that two days are enough to want to pull RK down by his hair and kiss him senseless.  

-

They catch up to Weiss a short few hours later and Gavin presses the rifle into RK’s hands as a safety precaution before throwing himself into the fight. It’s quick and dirty with Gavin using every trick in the book to gain the upper hand while dancing around the wildly thrown punches. Grinning through the rush of adrenaline Gavin eventually stops toying with the man and brings him down with a few precise kicks and punches. He locks handcuffs around Weiss’ wrists, arms behind his back, while Weiss shouts abuse and obscenities at him. Gavin pays it no mind, explaining with a sick sense of satisfaction that the cuffs aren’t coming off without a DNA signature from his friend and that running would mean a slow death for him left out in the elements. “Truth be told, I don’t care whether or not you’re still breathing when I bring in proof of your capture. I can afford to lose the difference in compensation.”

Weiss falls limp at that while Gavin slowly rises to his feet. When he looks up, remembering they’re not alone, RK is standing still as a statue. He stalks over, bearing a striking resemblance to a predator approaching prey, and presses right up into Gavin’s personal space to shove his nose into his neck and inhale. A rumbling noise is caught in his throat, a growl that has Gavin’s knees weakening slightly, as sharp teeth graze over his throat. Ozone and metal. Wicked claws not present before gripping his jaw tightly.

He reaches up to stick his thumb in RK’s mouth, pressing it down on his tongue with narrowed eyes. RK pricks it with his fangs and laps at the drop of blood with his tongue, all the while keeping eye contact. It makes Gavin squirm, just a little bit, and he’s thankful the heat suppressors keep him from getting wet or the walk back would be uncomfortable to say the least. With a graze of his teeth, RK loosens his hold and puts distance between them again, eyes dark and wanting.

-

Weiss tries to run about two thirds of the way back and Gavin sighs as he readies his reclaimed rifle. Turns out he never has to use it. RK’s head snaps up and he tracks the man’s erratic patterns for a second before giving chase. He’s practically a blur of movement and Gavin watches, transfixed, as he takes Weiss down in one graceful leap. The lack of being able to catch himself smacks Weiss’ head hard against the ground. RK doesn’t seem to care about the man’s dazed state as he drags him back to Gavin, his claws buried deep into the sides of his neck, hand cupping the back of it. He tosses him at Gavin’s feet and offers a razor-sharp grin, nudging the guy with the tip of his foot.  

Gavin gives him a light kiss on the cheek for his help and can almost imagine the tail wagging behind him with excitement at the gesture of affection.

-

What doesn’t fit the crumbling infrastructure in the slums or the dingy office he rents for cheap is the well-kept lady in smart business attire standing next to him behind the desk.  

Maurice Gacy, the guy they usually make business with, is a weasel of a man. His thin greasy hair and slimy smile fits his role of lowlife criminal perfectly. His side hustle of collecting bounties for the Guild is the only reason Gavin interacts with him, puts up with his leering and comments. Trust only extends so far between them but... all in all he gives the money owed and he keeps his mouth shut when talking to the cops which is all that really matters in the end.

RK tenses behind him, something Gavin senses in the clicking of his machinery, and Gavin frowns at the broad smile beginning to stretch over her face. “You found it,” she says lightly, walking in a measured pace while Gacy warily trails behind, heels clicking across the linoleum.

Gavin takes a step forward to meet her and bares his teeth in a snarl. “Back off.”

She nods sagely, uncaring for his hostility and lengthening canines. “Yes, of course. Money first. Always the same with you lot, isn’t it?” The node she produces from her fitted jacket flares to life and he stares, heart stuttering in his chest, at the very familiar face displayed.

WANTED  

RK900, MODEL NUMBER #313 248 317 - 87

REWARD: 1.000.000 $

HIGHLY VOLATILE AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS

PREFERABLE IF IT REMAINS OPERABLE UPON COLLECTION

Metal and ozone laced with a bitter tinge resembling fear.  

A flower stuck between yellowing pages.  

Viscous saliva and thirium dripping from his hands.

Whatever RK’s crime can Gavin truly bear to have more of his blood on them when it’s sure to stain them always? The thought is on the forefront of his mind when RK walks up to stand by his side, resignation already home in eyes and slowly sapping them of light, and in that moment, Gavin has his answer.

His arm shoots out to block RK from moving further and slowly raises his chin in defiance. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

They’re all staring at him, RK with a mix of wonder and trepidation, so Gavin sets his jaw and forces calm into his voice. “You can fuck right off with that shit, he’s not the reason we’re here.” With a nod to Tina, she steps forward and shoves Weiss at Gacy. Thankfully he’s too much of a coward to pick a fight and transfers the agreed upon money to her before whisking Weiss away towards the back. Tina raises an eyebrow at him, bumping their shoulder together lightly as she walks out the door, and Gavin has never been as thankful to have her as he is right now when the unmistakable sound of an engine rumbling to life filters in from outside. “Come on, we’re done here.”

It’ll start a shitstorm, that’s for damn sure, but with RK leaning forward to peer out the front window as they tear through the streets, Gavin can’t find it in himself to care.  

[tamakissimp]

senario- selfhate comfort

request: @uhhh-i-like-yaoi​ : Hihiiiii! I loved your last comfort post! Could I have the same bois comforting a female reader who is crying because she doesn’t feel pretty? Tysm!

a/n: ahhh yes. I love writing comfort pieces. I added in some other boys because I ✨felt like it✨

warnings: body issues, insecurity, lack of self confidence

BAKUGOU:

wordcount: 544

The image in the mirror is almost mocking you. The way your own body seems to taunt your mind and pull you into its darkest corners is scary. Scratch that, it's terrifying. You know that the healthy thing to do is to look away. But you can't. Your eyes are fixated on all your flaws. You're so busy with pulling yourself apart from that you don't notice the tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

People often talked about how Bakugou was out of your league. You knew that being with someone as handsome as him you quickly learn that, and most of the times their harmful words don't phase you. But maybe you are a little bit more tired today. Maybe you're feeling a bit more down. You don't know what it is, but those mean words seem to get past your defence and straight into your heart today.

You clasp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound of your crying. Even now, with shaking shoulder and blurry vision, all you can think about is how ugly you like while crying. "Idiot!".

Normally you would whisp your head around at the gruff voice but not today. "Are you there?" Bakugou asks. A set of knocks on your door follows. Normally you would welcome him with open arms but not today. What if he saw you like this? He would think you're weak. Weak. Pathetic. Ugly. Awful. Disgusting.

Another sob wrecks through your body. Bakugou's body stiffens at the sound. His blood runs cold. Without a second thought, he rips the door open. The sight of you, standing in front of the mirror while sobbing makes his heart ache. "Teddybear?". His voice is softer.

You hold your arms open for him. He takes the note and walks over to you before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. He pets your hair as you sobs seem to get worst. Bakugou mumbles sweet nothings in your ear. All you can do is cling onto him. "What's going on, teddy bear?" he asks.

it takes you a moment before you can reply. Every time you open your mouth to speak another sob wrecks through your body. "I'm ugly," you finally manage to speak. You can feel Bakugou shake his head against your shoulder.

"I-I'm ugly and disgusting and you shouldn't b-be with me," you say. You expect Bakugou to agree with you. You expect him to pull away from you, laugh at you before walking out of your room. But he doesn't.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his grip becoming even tighter as he nuzzles into your neck. "No," he says. You want to disagree but he beats you to speak. "You're pretty. Gorgeous even. And I don't say that to everyone, idiot. You're too good for me.".

"I'll show you," Bakugou says. "I'll show you how pretty you are. I'll teach you how to love yourself....Idiot.". You smile softly. His heart does summersaults as he feels you smile against his shoulder. You nod.

"Okay," you mumble. "Okay. T-teach me how to l-love myself.".

SHOTO:

wordcount: 506

You hate yourself for feeling so down. You hate yourself for not being able to be there for Shouto. You know he needs you. He has more reasons to be self-conscious. Though his face looks like it's sculpted by the gods, the scar that taints his skin is one of his most prominent features.

"Are you alright?" Shouto's calm voice asks. You nod your head. Wrong. You feel bad for lying to him but you don't want to burden him with your problems. Shouto nods. On the outside, he looks fine but he is beating himself up mentally.

He has noticed your distance and he can only fear for the worse. Maybe his biggest fear is becoming reality. That you're planning on breaking up with him, that you're done with dealing with someone as broken as him.

All Shouto does is wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as you both lay in his bed. You stiffen under his touch. The feeling of his hands running up and down your skin only makes you more self-conscious. Shouto's brows furrow at your action.

"Spit it out," he says. You don't know what it is about his voice, but all of a sudden your eyes fill up with tears. Shouto remains silent until he feels something wet hitting his shirt. He looks down at you only to find you silently crying. He immediately pulls you tighter against him.

"I'm sorry,” you say in between silent sobs. "Fuck, I'm sorry.". Shouto shakes his head as he sits up a bit straighter. He rocks the two of you slightly in an attempt to comfort you.

He's still socially awkward but you're teaching him how to deal with emotions, which includes how to comfort someone. He uses your tips as he searches his mind for anything he did that might upset you. He rubs his hands up and down your back, strokes your hair while sushing you softly.

"Do you...want to break up with me?". His voice cracks at the end of the sentences. He can't imagine a world without but he would rather break up than be in an unhappy relationship. Relief washes through him as you shake your head.  

"No, never," you say. You stay silent for a moment. It's best to just rip the bandaid off quickly. "I'm ugly.". The moment the words leave your lips, violent sobs wreck through your body. Shouto stays quiet which you take as he agrees with you.

You pry yourself out of his arms and beeline towards the door. Shouto stops you, though. His hand wraps around your wrist before he spins you around, pulling you into his chest. You fight against him but to no avail.

"Never, ever, say that again," he says. His voice isn't cold like it normally is. "You're beautiful. Inside and out. I know you won't believe me but please do.". All you do is nod against his chest as you run a hand through his two coloured hair. "Please believe me,".

TOKOYAMI:

wordcount: 360

You and Fumikage often talk about your insecurities. Being with someone who's quirk affects their body as much as Fumikage's quirk does, conversations like that start easily. Normally, the two of you will lay on his bed, limbs intertwined while venting out your feelings. So this time is no exception.

Dark shadow lays on the feet end of the bed, his cold fingers running up and down your calves while Fumikage's warm arms encircle your body. Your fingers run over his feathers. You have no clue what he does to them but they always feel like satin between your fingers. "I'm ugly," you blurt out.

The comforting circles Fumikage was once rubbing on your skin now stop. Dark shadows grip on your calves tightens a little. Sure, these sort of thoughts aren't weird to be shared but that didn't make them any easier to hear. "How come?". 

You shrug. You push your face even further against his chest prompting him to resume rubbing your skin. "Look at my face. Look at my body. I'm ugly," you say. It hurts Fumikage how easily you say those words.

In his eyes, you're an angel. Everything you do is a gift from the gods. Yet you have no problem with tearing yourself down. Though he can't judge since he has the same habits. "You are not," he says. You take a deep breath while waiting for him to continue.

"You're beautiful," Fumikage says. "While my words might not affect you now, I do hope that you can one day see yourself through my eyes. I hope that you will see how beautiful you are, my love.". A soft smile spreads against your lips. 

Dark shadow removes its hands from your calf and nuzzles his cheek against it instead. "You talk like an old man.". Even though your tone is happy, Fumikage can sense the sadness laced through it. 

"You love how I talk," he says. You nod. You lean up and press a hast kiss against his beak. Behind his feathers, a blush warms his cheeks. 

"Thank you," you say. "I hope one day you see how handsome you are too, birdman.".

KIRISHIMA:

wordcount: 787

Normally, you didn't feel like this. Being in a relationship with Kirishima meant that he became your personal hypeman. He took any opportunity he got to compliment you and boost your confidence. Lately, however, the UA has been dishing out heaps of homework and training got more intense. This left little time for you two to spend together. You didn't mind, of course not. You support Kirishima's dream of becoming a hero and you knew it would be like this eventually. You just haven't gotten used to it.

For the umpteenth time this week, you find yourself standing in front of your mirror. A rational person would walk away from the mirror. You aren't a rational person though. Instead, you try on every piece of clothing you own that is even remotely tight fitting. Seeing how the fabric clings to your body, extenuating every lump, dent and curve.

You sigh as you run your hands over your body. Feeling your thighs, arms, stomach. All disgust you to a degree you didn't know was possible. A voice in the back of your head is screaming all your imperfections at you. Your face isn't symmetrical enough. Your stomach isn't flat enough. Your collarbones aren't prominent enough. Everything is wrong.

Tears well up in your eyes as you keep hyper-focusing on every flaw. You want to stop, god you do. To smash the mirror to pieces and spit on it. But you can't. Instead, you can only think about Kirishima's friends.

They're kind, sweet, helpful, hero's in training. The only thing bad about them is how perfect you are. It's hard to not compare yourself to them when they're all models. Momo has legs for days, Bakugou has muscles that you could never have, Iida is as smart as they come, Mina can make every outfit look good, Denki has enough charisma for ten people.

Sobs slowly wreck trough your body. You clasp a hand over your mouth. You stare at your own face in the mirror. Red eyes, wobbling chin, swollen cheeks. Even your crying has flaws.

"Pebble," you hear a voice behind your call. Your blood runs cold as you wipe around. You were too busy with pulling yourself apart that you didn't notice Kirishima entering your room. His eyes are drooping and his smile slowly falling. he holds a small bag in his hand. You can see the feet of a teddy bear and your favourite snacks sticking out of it. A surprise date, how sweet.

You shake your head as you make grabby hands towards him. Kirishima drops the bag and runs over to you, pulling you tightly against him. Your sobs grow tenfold now that you're in his arms. He pushes you as he softly pats your hair. "Let it all out, baby," he whispers.

His strong arms envelop you like a blanket. His cinnamony scent brings you comfort. You always thought he smelt like chai tea. After you told him that, he started drinking chai more. You smile at the memory. Your smile drops, however, once you feel his hands travelling over your body.

"Please talk to me," he says. "What's going on?". Kirishima's heart is breaking. Seeing you in this state makes him rack through his mind to find anything he could have done wrong.

"I'm ugly," you croak out before another sob wrecks through you. He stiffens. He curses at himself for not noticing your insecurities sooner. Normally, he was there to brighten your mood and build your confidence up. Normally. But he hasn't seen you as much as normally.

You push yourself further into his chest, hoping to disappear. "I'm ugly, and- and I'm gross," you say. "And I don't k-know why you're with me. B-Because you're handsome a-and kind and sweet and I-I'm none of that. You s-should just break-".

"No," he says sternly. He doesn't let you finish that sentence. He doesn't want you to. "No, I won't. Don't ever think I will.". Kirishima pulls you off him slightly so that he can look into your eyes. He cups your cheeks while brushing away your tears with his thumbs.

You sniffle but melt into his touch. "You aren't ugly, okay? Say it for me. Come on, say it," he urges you. You nod.

"I'm not-I'm not ugly," you say softly. He nods before puling your to him again and places a kiss on your crone. "I'm not ugly," you say again before silent sobs shake your shoulders.

"I'm just going to have to show you, yeah, pebble?" Kirishima says. You nod against him. Your hand travels up and laces through his hair. Even now, when you're crying your eyes out, you're still trying to comfort him. "I'll show you.".

TAMAKI:

wordcount: 774

Tamaki is invisible. It's something he learned to do over the years and now he can't stop doing it. Hiding in the shadows, his presence unknown to people. People tend to look over him and that's the way he likes it. Being in the big three, however, makes him seen. It makes him stand out like a sore thumb and his shyness draws ever more attention towards him.

Due to this, your relationship has become quite known around the school. And with that people tend to talk about you, gossip about you. You tuned it out most of the time. But when people gossip about you, it's hard not to listen to it.

"I mean, yeah, Tamaki is a total cutie," you hear some girl say. You don't even bother looking at her. You just try extra hard to focus on the homework your working on.

"Right?" her friend chimes in. "I don't know why he's with Y/n. Probably out of pitty. He's sweet like that.".

No. Don't listen to them. Tamaki loves you, you know that. He tells you that every day. He might not be physically affectionate but-

"I don't know. Y/n is just kind of...ugly?". Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. Fucking fuck. "I didn't think they would ever be with someone.".

With that, you stand up. You don't even bother taking your stuff along with you. You doubt that anyone would be interested in stealing your homework or stationary. You can't even look at the gossiping students as you walk past them. Just get to your dorm, that's the plan. If you walk fast you can be there on less than three minutes.

You keep your gaze down as you fight back the tears. You can't cry in the hallways. That weird and ugly. "Bunny?". You lookup. Tamaki is standing at the end of the hallway, next to Mirio. He waves shyly at you. His goofy smile drops as he sees your pained expression. You strud over to him.

Are you breaking up with him? Did he do something wrong? Did you finally realize how much of a useless ball of shyness he is? His thoughts are running wild and worse case scenarios are popping up in his head.

His mind stops when your arms wrap around him. You two never hug in public. It's too scary for Tamaki, too stressful. But now that he feels your shoulders shake and your breath hitch all he can do is pull yours against him. Your hand travels up and plays with his hair while his arms wrap tightly around your middle.

"Am I ugly?" you ask, breaking the silence. Tamaki shakes his head against you, his hair tickling your neck. "’Cuz it feels like it.". His heartbreaks. You're always there to comfort him, to help him when he's on the brink of a panic attack. Now he has to be there for you.

"No, b-bunny," he says softly. His voice soothes you in a way you didn't imagine it would. "You're so p-pretty.". His words are few but you don't care. You know it's already bold that you come to him like this in public. Normally, you would only cling onto him in the comfort of his own dorm.

While he says little, he does comfort you. His touch ground you. The way his strong arms encircle you and warm you up. You press your nose into his neck. His hair feels silky smooth between your fingers. "I'm not," you say.

You feel awful for dropping your feelings onto him like this but you don't know what else to do. Tamaki is the person you go to for comfort, for love. "Who m-made you feel l-like this?" he asks.

You just shake your head as another sob wrecks to you. You muffle the sound by pressing into him. To bystanders, it just looks like a longlasting hug and not like your crying your eyes out.

Tamaki already knows the answer. He would be lying to say that he didn't hear the rumours as well. He hates it. Not just the attention but the bad things being said about you. That you're only with him because he's in the big three. That you aren't pretty enough for him, strong enough for him. He hears them all.

"W-wanna go... to...um..y-your room?" Tamaki asks. You nod. He places a kiss onto your forehead. Your heart warms up at the bold move. You swift so that one of his arms is now swung over your shoulder while the other is holding your hand. You hum softly at the comforting touch. "I-I think that...you're pretty," Tamaki says.

SHINSO:

wordcount: 435

While Shinso tends to be grumpy to others, he never is to you. He treats you with an unknown kindness. He touches you like your made of glass. And you do the same with him. You lean into his touch. You aren't afraid to answer his questions and you never saw him as a villain.

Due to your close bond, you two share your insecurities. It's normal for one of you to barge into the others dorm and just rant out their feelings. Which is how you find yourself here, walking through the halls with pathetic desperation. You don't even bother knocking once you reach Shinso's room. You just rip the door open.

Shinso can immediately tell that you're feeling down. Maybe it's the way your drag your feet more. Maybe it's the way you don't give him a 'hey nice to see you again' kiss. Or maybe it's the fat tears dripping down your cheeks. "I'm gonna talk," you say.

Shinso just nods. He pushes his chair away from his desk. You get the hint and walk over to him, plopping into his lap. His fingers immediately start rubbing circles on your arms.

"I'm ugly," you say. Shinso's heart stops for a second. This was going to be painful for him to hear. "I'm ugly and disgusting. And I-I'm sick of pretending I'm not. Y-You always say I'm p-pretty but I know y-you're lying. I'm not. And-And that's okay.".

You drop your head to let it rest against Shino's shoulder. He just shakes his head. He waits a minute for you to speak again and when you don't he does.

"You aren't ugly, kitty cat," Shinso says. You smile at the pet name. "You're as pretty as they come. Fuck everyone who tells you you're not. Fuck. Them.".

"You're out of my league," you say. Shinso shakes his head. One of his hands moves up to pet your head softly.

"Bullshit. I'm a fucking piece of shit villi-" he says. You lay a finger of his mouth to stop the word from being said. You lift your head and look at him. Even though your crying and your vision is blurry, you cup his face.

You shake your head. "Don't," you say. "Don't so that.". Shinso leans into your touch. It's selfish to treasure your touch in a situation like this but he can't help himself.

"Then you can't say that you're ugly," he says. You close your eyes before leaning your forehead against his. He feels you nod against him. A soft smile spreads over his normally stoic lips.

"Deal," you whisper out.

[unreasonablebehaviour]

Pls take this random assortment of dsmp “hcs” (which is actually just me rambling out my ass but we love to see it//)

—————

- Sam just like gets really fuccn energetic in a thunderstorm... like just hyperactive but also like v strong..... also immune to electrocution :)

- He’s also like all creepers are, shit terrified of cats which is v funny considering he’s sorta friends with ant

- Even funnier if u want to take the ‘canon’ fact of ant being a whole ass 20 feet tall

- Speaking of ant and this absolutely isn’t a hc but I just find it very funny that people draw humanoid versions of all of the non human characters EXCEPT for ant who I have only ever seen drawn as a cat ghgh

- Bads skin colour is deadass vantablack like if he holds his hand in front of his face it just seemingly vanishes and you can’t pick out where his hand ends and face begins

- I want him to look terrifying.... like absolutely massive a complete unit of a man, sharp ass teeth, sharp spikes and horns, sharp claws, white glowing eyes........... but he’s just like “owo” at all times ghgh

- Skeppy has chronic pain from the diamonds growing inside his body and out of his skin... sometimes he ramps up how cheerful he is to try and hide how much pain he’s in that day

- Ranboo’s body is longer on his enderman side and so he physically can’t stand up straight unless his shorter leg is on a slope

- He’s half silverfish... mainly cause I think that’s funny like hehe both those and endermen are linked to the end/stronghold and can break blocks

- This does also mean he joins bad and skeppy in the ‘help I am v spiky’ club tho

- Also also like absolutely none of his clothes fit cause his limbs are so disproportionately long so rip his ankles in the tundra I guess

- Shortza supremacy

- Sapnap... blaze boy..... I want him to steam when he angy...... v warm to the touch and all of the dteam lay on top of him when it’s cold lmao

- George is like some weird ass mushroom man.... like he looks completely human for the most part but he’s not he just never tells anyone cause he has the mentality of ‘well no one ever asked?’ Or ‘it didn’t seem important’

- When he’s in danger the surrounding plants try to help him (like lmao there’s a war goin on? Nah just take a nap and miss out so you won’t get hurt :) )

- Imagine how much funnier the lmanberg saga would be if schlatt just looked like his profile icon rather than his mc skin.... just cute tiny sheep man in a sweater... I think it’d be like that one gif of the teddy bear slamming its head onto the table to acquire angy eyebrows

- Dreams has symmetrical white patches down the front of skin... kinda like vitiligo but not? Like deadass pure white

- I also kinda just imagine him having creepy solid black eyes ghgh (haha it’s cause he’s possessed)

- He’s immortal and kinda just snapped tbh like half the reason his actions are so manipulative, selfish and drastic are both because he’s so desperate to have control over things in his life and because low-key he kinda hopes that people will find a way to kill him off or get rid of the thing possessing him (I just want a happy ending :( make him not evil pls my poor heart can’t take a non happy for everyone ending//)

- Puffy is fluffy :) I will not elaborate further

- Revived people have creepy blacked out maybe kinda glowing eyes.... paler skin.... scars and phantom pains from their injuries....

- Phil just deadass found Wilbur hiding inside a fridge and took him home with him... wil just assumed the fridge was his mom and Phil found it too funny to correct him

- Tubbo is a moobloom hybrid and all the bees love him ok 💛

- I think it would be funny if dream just deadass can’t see shit through his mask rap considering all the feats he has done

- Phil is v old and ‘wise’ but is also fairly detached from reality as a result cause he can’t really remember what earlier parts of his life were like to understand how other people act

- I also think it’d be hilarious if he ironically had like 0 life skills... cooking? He’s shit at it. Sleep schedule? Never heard of it. Taxes? Isn’t that a state?

- The floors in the tundra trios homes are constantly being ruined by techno having hooves and Phil and maybe ranboo having claws... like u no how u can like dent and scrape a wooden floor with heels? Kinda like that

- Speaking of those three I also think it’d be very funny if they all collectively became useless or started fighting in the presence of a gold block cause like 👀 ‘oo gold/hehe shiny/hold block’ mentality

- Quackity can shapeshift.... but he’s like a ditto and always has the :] face.... mmm also maybe keeps any scars he has

- His ability to control this decreases the more he dies

- So like u could he talking to him and just suddenly he looks like someone else or like a weird mishmash of people and just hasn’t noticed lmao totally not freaky at all

- Literally non of the tundra trio are equipped for the weather like u have someone from the hot af nether, bird man who’d realistically be prone to hypothermia and someone who’s allergic to water like lmao why do yall live here what is wrong with you

- I want niki to just be very exasperated by this fact

- I want her to bake goods for her friends... tailored to their tastes.... cheer up food :)

- Also i forget when she changed her skin but I think it’d be very funny if she dyed her hair pink as an intimidation factor to tommy cause she knows he dislikes techno

- Puffy ily but I do not trust you with Tommy after the disaster that was bbh and skeppys relationship counselling

- The concept of the totems being foolish’s children is very funny to me like just the implication that he just leaves his kids in random chests for people to steal and that when they witness someone die they just explode with revive energy or something like w h a t

- Ghostbur either isn’t actually Wilbur and is just some entity pretending to be him hence the ‘poor memory’ OR him and limbo Wilbur are two halves of one entity

- I just find it v sus that he’s the only ghost that’s ever shown up... and regularly at that

- mmm tubbo hard of hearing.... relies on reading lips the best he can when to help clarify what people are saying but he can hear people well enough if they raise their voice quite loud

- cursed hc but what if ash and Zachary were somehow michael decendants and they like porkums cause he’s either originally a family friend or he just reminds them of stuff

- Ok half of these aren’t even hcs anymore and is just me rambling but who let Karl be in charge of the time travel he has such strong himbo energy

- That being said villain Karl when 👀//

- Why is tubbo like one of the smartest most accomplished people on the sever... he’s like 17..... like my man has been president, developed a new form of fast travel, has a family, developed a nuclear weapons program by himself, launched a man into space, developed a whole town and more .... like who let him have this much power he can barely read//

- I think it’d be funny if techno was just really bad at strategy games..... like ok technically he’s not bad at them but like he just spends 4 days analysing every last minute detail every round to optimise his chances of winning//

- I feel like people don’t give Jack enough credit for the fact he cheated death using nothing but spite

[heuristicallyinclined]

Of Disks Lost and Cullings Interrupted

5.1k | Rating T for referenced gore and language

Summary: An unfortunate encounter somehow manages to not go quite as bad as it should have.

This is one of the self-indulgent drabbles I wrote last year for me and @theartisticapparition’s fantrolls meeting for the first time and how much of an absolute mess it would be. Enjoy.   

It has three fucking months since you ordered that hexagonal disk and you still don't have a shipping notification for it.

You stare at the screen of your palm husk. It’s a single point of brightness in the store room you slipped off to while some other ship was docking. For supplies or inspection, you don’t know and you don’t care. All you care about it the fact that no one is going to notice a single rusty slipping away for all of two minutes to fuck around on a personal device and see if maybe something went to spam. Which you are looking at now. And apparently set to delete messages after thirty nights, so if it did go to spam, it was long gone now.

“Sh!t,” you quietly exhale.

It’s objectively not even a good movie, just something dumb and cheesy that you can use to break up an evening. But it's no longer even about that. You just want the garbage that you ordered because you fucking ordered it and paid for it using some of your very limited funds. Grunt work means grunt pay and you have to at least be olive to even be allowed to complain in the first place, so your bronze ass just isn't going to cut it.

It doesn't make sense for you to not have gotten anything. Like at least a, "sorry king, your package is delayed," thing should have happened. You work in this shit, you receive and ship and log and deliver until your pan feels numb and it’s just your body moving through the motions. You have been mentally trying to work out how to even fuck up bad enough that this kind of delay would even happen because even for a rusty, who expects very little, this is still a bit much. You’re drawing a complete blank.

The movement of a shadow catches your eye, snapping you out of your thoughts. It slowly shortens from its exaggerated length to a more proportional one as the figure draws closer, straight towards you. You don’t recognize the silhouette’s lean frame, horns or hair which seemingly fanned out to symmetrical points. You definitely didn’t hear them enter or move through the storage bay.

Swallowing, you turn.

You see his color before you notice anything else about him. Your blood runs cold as you immediately straighten to attention.

Violet.

Seeing sea dwellers through screens and on posters did not prepare you for the real thing. You had never seen one in person before and definitely had never had one slowly making his way closer to you. Everything about him was sharp. His fins, his claws, his teeth, they all came to a clearly defined point. His grin was especially sharp. Almost sharp enough to distract you from whatever the hell his spear thingy that he casually held over his shoulder like it weighed nothing was.  

“S!r.” You address him, bowing your head slightly. “!s there anyth!ng ! can do for you?”

His smile widens when you acknowledge him. His golden bracelets jingle lightly against each other as he brings a hand to his chin, seeming to genuinely consider your question.

Oh goddamn it. This is going to take longer than two minutes.

“) is there anyfin you can do for me? (,” he repeats coolly. He pensively looks off to the side as he continues to move towards you. ") oh I don't know. i just wanted to sea what was back here ("

He walks just behind you and you stiffen. You can feel his eyes lingering on you.  

"!t's mostly crates here s!r. Noth!ng too !nterest!ng"

Faster than you can register it, the hand not gripping his weapon quickly grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him. The points of his manicured claws dig into you. You keep your balance as best you can, but stumble a bit.

”) now, now. you're here too (,” he smiles at you cloyingly.

And just like that, he corrects your stance, getting way too into your personal space in the process. His grin remains shallow and doesn’t meet his eyes. It just isn't warm enough to distract from how cold his touch leaves you and in that moment, you have a realization.

So, you’re probably fucked.

He holds you for longer than is comfortable in what you’re guessing is a touchy little power play, before continuing to move past you, looking up and down the racks that surrounded you two. They were nearly as high as the ceilings and he was doing a pretty decent job of acting like he actually gives a shit about what's on the shelves. He moves by each of them methodically, occasionally picking something up like he was shopping before putting each back neatly into its place.

At least the crew coming in after to replace you isn’t going to have to reorganize anything after washing you off of the walls.

He keeps going and you know he doesn’t genuinely care about whatever soaps and meal packets are back here. You don’t either, not really. He isn't even going through the whole store room, just the area around you. It is almost like he i-.

Oh.  

He’s circling you.

Is this a fish joke? You feel like this is a fish joke he’s making for himself. Or is he just adding another layer to his touchy murder dude bit?

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts before you can really try to work out what his angle on this is. You really hope he didn’t notice you starting to zone out there for a bit.

“) it all just seems rather dull (,” he draws listlessly.

“Wh!ch part?”

He glances back at you. His smile begins to falter.

“Wh!ch part s!r?” You correct quickly.

He chuckles and turns his body to face you.

“) the whole thing (” He gestures away from himself, at your general surroundings. “) i mean here you are, trapped on a run down ship, doing menial tasks for the rest of your unfortunate life. truly, i don’t know how you can stand to be here. i mean, I’d rather die than work in a place like this (,” he looks at you intensely, his pupils seemed much more narrow now that they were completely focused on you. “) what about you? (”

Ah. Yeah. You see what he did there, but he isn’t exactly providing you with any revelations about your life and you don’t exactly think boredom is what’s going to cull you.

“! see !t more l!ke a flavor d!sk.”

Your response stops him and he looks at you strangely.

“Even when !ts bad !ts good," you elaborate.

His gaze becomes harsher for a moment, and then it’s gone.

“) that is a rather crude way of looking at it, i seappose(.”

Alright. No mentally stable person seriously uses the word “suppose” out loud. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to beef it. The spear thing would be involved. It would be really fucking weird if he carried it here just to not use it, but he seems extra enough that you would not put him bringing a long a prop past him.

He notices you looking at it and smirks at you.

") so (,” he recovers and ambles towards you, focusing his full attention on you again. His weapon no longer was resting against his shoulder. He held it against the ground and casually leaned against it like it wasn’t one of the most threatening tools of questionable identity and mass murder you had ever seen. “) what are you doing back here with all of these very uninteresting crates? (”

“! just thought ! forgot someth!ng !n here and stopped by to check. S!r”

“) without telling anyone? (”

“Yes, s!r.”

He chuckles, all too pleased, “) whale, that was a poor decision on your part. there is just so much here that if anything happened to you (,” he lowers his voice, like he was graciously letting you in on a joke, “) who knows how long it would take anyone to find out (.”

A beat of silences passes. You swallow, You know he feels the tension. He looks too excited not to.

“!, uh, maybe should have told someone ! where ! was go!ng !n case someth!ng happened.”

“) i agree (.” He straightens and picks up his weapon, spinning it with ease before he points it at you and slowly starts to bring the to your neck. “) unfortunately for you (,” he starts, “) no one knows you're here (.”

Even as you move your arms, he makes no move to stop you. He grins wider, more manic, looking excited at the idea of you actually trying to fight back.

Ha.

Sucks to be him because there is no fucking way that the last thing you do before you get culled is putting in some more effort to make this more enjoyable for the extra dude culling you.

Because if this guy's going to cull you, you're at least going to be the one making a request and try to have some fun here while you can. Because what is he going to do about it? You’re getting culled anyways, might as well, right?

The ridiculousness of it all makes you grin as you shrug at him. "Well, sh!t. Alr!ght."

This acceptance gives him pause as he tilts his head slightly, considering you. A crease forms between his brows and he tightens his grip on his weapon. ") w-"

You cut him off. You’re going to die so you think you get to be rude. Him being mad about it won’t really be your problem for long anyways.

"Can ! d!e !n a cool way though?"

") i-" he starts to lower his weapon, which you now think is a harpoon. Maybe? You don't know man. You don’t know anything about fish shit and you’re understanding less by the second.

You continue looking at him with the same resigned optimism that carried you through most of the bullshit you did. It got you this far. Which, granted, is probably getting culled by a bored sea dweller, but there are probably worse ways to go.

") wait (,” he says.

"Yeah?"

It isn't exactly like you're going anywhere. You know what to do with fear, being a rusty, you learn that shit real quick. But the look he is giving you now just makes you uncomfortable.

"What's up my guy?"

") aren't you going to fight back or somefin? ("

"Uh." You glance around the room full of mostly crates and his eyes follow yours as you search before you focus back on him, confused. "L!ke w!th a weapon?"

") yes? (" His smile tightens, seeming incredulous that you even asked.  

"Why would anyone g!ve me a weapon? ! mean, there m!ght be a broom somewhere. Actually wa!t, ! th!nk that got broken last w!pe. !t wasn't even me th!s t!me," you add with a side smile.  

He doesn't seem to know how to respond. Neither do you, so you do what you normally do when you don't know how to react.

You keep talking.

"! did troll karate for a l!ttle b!t when ! was f!ve, but !t was k!nda lame so ! stopped going. Does that uh,” you hazard, “w!ll that work for th!s?"

") no (." He narrows his eyes at you. ") plus, I know fish judo(."

Your jaw drops.

"What the fuck. F!sh judo !s real?"

") of course fish judo is reel (." He quickly spits, looking offended by your ignorance. ") do land dwellers just think that you can fight the same way underwater? ("

"! mean !'ve l!terally never thought about !t."

") i'm not surfrised ( ."

"Okay, but ! feel l!ke !f a land dweller !s !n a pos!t!on where they need to know f!sh judo, !t means they're going to lose at f!sh judo."

") i mean, i guess? (," he replies, baffled before quickly refocusing on you again. His sharp thing is pointed back at your throat as he slips back into his previous cool demeanor.

“) you do reelize the danger you’re in right? (”

Your eyes dart down to his weapon and then at him, now being the one confused.

“Um, yeah?”

Was the whole mood he had going on not an intentional thing on his part?

He stares at you. So you go on, listing things on your fingers as you go, trying not to focus on his questionable object with definite pointiness.

“So you got the whole class!c stalk and lurk th!ng so you could follow me somewhere ! would be alone where no one can hear me scream. !t’s pretty standard,” you emphasize.

You can’t read his expression.

“There was the whole slow dramat!c enter, nefar!ous d!alogue, and, uh," you glance down, "harpoon?”

“) harpoon (,” he repeats.

“That’s what ! thought !t was, but ! felt !t would be we!rd to ask.”

His mouth opens slightly and his fins flare out more, now openly seething.

“) do you know what i could do to you? ("

A lull drags on.

"Et!vor."

") what (."

"My name !s Et!vor." You continue, "! thought you were draw!ng out the you th!ng because !t's l!ke. We are a good b!t into th!s whole th!ng and !t's kinda awkward to ask for names now, so ! am just, you know, putt!ng !t out there."

He blinks. "I don't give a fuck about your name Etivor."

He still used it though.

Taking a very deep breath, he resumes. “) i am going to take immense pleasure in cutting your tongue out and slowly flaying you alive (”

He moves closer to you, slowly, predatory, circling you again. One of his icy hands brushes by your arm in a mockery of comfort as he continues to muse more to himself than you.

“) maybe I’ll slice off each of your joints, starting at the ends and slowly work my way to eventually gutting you. perhaps I’ll simply behead you. although, i think you’ve said enough to have earned far worse, don’t you think? (”

His face being this close to you is definitely starting to put you on edge more than what he is saying. But what’s really bothering you most of all is that one of those sounds a bit too familiar.

“Wa!t. That second on-”

“) you don’t get to fucking choose which one,” he hisses at you as his claws start to dig in to you.

“! wasn’t done. Damn.”

You’re honestly surprised he hasn’t just stabbed you from sheer frustration. It’s kinda funny. It would be way more funny if he wasn't going to cull you though, but you’ll take what you can get.

“!sn’t that second one from that one comedy with troll Tob!hn Bhelle?”

“) you’ve sean that? (” He raises his brows. “) no. i added a little twist with the gutting at the end instead of letting them bleed out (.” Almost hesitantly he asks, “) did you like it? because i thought they were trying too hard where they ha-.”

He catches himself and raises his weapon at you again, “) STOP. This is NOT what is taking place right now (.”

You narrow your eyes. He's the one who kept talking.

“Then !t !s from that mov!e. You can’t just say, no !t’s not and then be l!ke,” you motion with your hands, “but w!th a tw!st! You l!fted !t.”

He bemusedly stares at you.

“) are you purposefully trying to infuriate me? was your egg dropped? do you not understand what happens when you piss off royalty? (” He snidely adds, “) i am going to get so much satisfaction out of flaying you (.”

He is literally the one holding the weapon, and holding you hostage, and also did physically hold you a few times. What the fuck does he think you’re trying to get out of this?

“! have never purposefully done anyth!ng !n my ent!re l!fe dude. ! am not about to start mak!ng an effort just when !’m about to get culled,” you respond, surprisingly defensively.

Wait, this has gotten off of the fucking rails and you don’t know where you guys actually stand.

“You are going to cull me r!ght?”

“) well, uh. yeah (.” He’s tense and glances around the room, taken off guard by your question.

"Cool." You nod at him. Worth a try you guess.

His harpoon is less looking like a weapon to be used against you and more like a barrier to keep you away from him. Silence again draws on and he stares at you expectantly. You glance around. His frown gets deeper and he looks more frustrated as time goes on. You have no idea what he is waiting for.

You never thought being culled would be this fucking awkward. Guess the torture’s already started.

") aren't you going to plead for your life? (" he demands, bringing his harpoon closer as he does so.

You’ve never been great on the spot. You try to muster something decent up.

“Uh, don’t cull me?” You said it as lamely as you felt.

He looks at you blankly. “) are you getting off on this? (”

“Dude. No. Gross.” Your face twists. “!t’s just like. !’ve never pleaded for my l!fe before. !t !sn’t sh!t you really get to pract!ce and ! feel l!ke !t won’t actually matter since !’m getting culled anyways. So. Yeah.” You slowly nod to yourself before looking up at him.

He is still waiting. Goddamn it. You sigh.

“No. Please don’t cull me. !’ll do anyth!ng.”

While that covers all your bases, it came out a lot drier than you thought but you’re too over this shit to feel any kind of way about it.

"!s there any chance plead!ng would even work?"

His disappointment was broken by a sharp laugh, ") of course not (."

“Then what do you even want from me?” you ask, getting kinda exasperated at his apparent high standards and prereqs for the randos he culls. Like it is one thing to play some kind of sadistic game with your prey, that’s normal, whatever, but it is a whole other thing to get weird about them not being good at it.

"Why ask unless y-. Oh." Your face falls as you get bitch slapped with the realization of what is really happening here. "Oh fuck."

You step back.

Your fear has apparently slam dunked him right back in his comfort zone because his grin is back full throttle and wider and sharper than ever like he was making up for lost time. ") you finally understand the weight of the seatuation you're in? ("

He slinks towards you and you feel the edge of the blade graze your neck.

"Yep," avoid his gaze and swallow.

You were going to get culled in the weirdest way possible.

“) and what is that? (,” he asks lowly, getting right the fuck back into your personal space. His smile almost splits his face and you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Th!s !s l!ke. A th!ng. W!th you."

He lowers his harpoon again, looking completely done. “) what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean? (” You half expect him to throw it across the room or through your torso.

You can’t stop yourself from speaking now that you're actually nervous and stressed and he is yelling and also way too close to your person and his harpoon isn’t doing either of you any favors.

“You had the whole k!nda fl!rty touchy th!ng going on and then you got really p!ssy when ! d!dn’t f!ght back. And you also got super d!sappo!nted w!th my sh!tty plead!ng l!ke you were really look!ng forward to !t or someth!ng.”

“) i’m disappointed because this is the least satisfying cull of my life! (,” he hisses.

You visibly cringe at the word “satisfying” and take another step back from him. There is some fear there but mostly you’re just really fucking uncomfortable. Troll Jesus Christ this dude is into some shit and you are not playing into it.

He also takes a step back too, now into a defensive stance. ") what? it doesn't look like that! ("

You suck in air in through your teeth and are looking anywhere but at him as you reply, "!t k!nda looks l!ke that."

") oh my cod ("

He just slumps down, his harpoon clattering in front of him. His mouth is in a straight line and his head rests between his hands. You stand there, unsure for a moment, before slowly lowering yourself a decent distance away from him. You honestly thought that getting culled would be less uncomfortable than it was being here while he has whatever the fuck it is he has going on going on or at least uncomfortable in a different way.  

You continue trying to avoid looking at him. It’s kinda expected that a highblood was going to cull you at some point. That was just how it tended to go for rusties, but you could not have guessed this, and now just kinda want to get this whole getting murdered thing over with.

You try to give him a moment, glancing around the room, mentally taking inventory of everything there twice. The awkward silence is weighty and the longer it stretches on, the worse you are feeling about this whole fucking ordeal.

“Would cull!ng me help you uh, not be l!ke th!s?”

He gives you a dirty look.

You sigh, "!t's not l!ke anyone gets to th!nk that for long, !f !t helps.”

“) if it helps? ( ” He spat each word, getting louder as he went on. He whipped his head at you, indignantly, “) this is your fault! ("

"What?"

") getting culled is so fucking basic. how did you fuck that up? ("

You stare at him, trying to figure out how the fuck to even respond.

Slowly, in what might be one of the last things you do in your existence, you serve this royal what you are assuming is the stalest tea of his life in the form of the lukewarm take, “you know, be!ng bad at dy!ng !s a good th!ng actually.”

These are real words. These are real words that you are saying to the guy who was leaning way too hard into the thirsty part of bloodthirsty.

You continue. "L!ke you don’t get to pract!ce th!s. ! mean, do ! look l!ke someone who has been culled before? Because ! haven’t. Have you?" You add.

He looks like he is about to have a conniption or the sea dweller equivalent. Can sea dwellers have conniptions? Because this guy is about to have a big one.

") you did not just seariously just ask me if i've ever been culled before. that is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked me! (," he practically shrieks.

"Well you're acting like ! should just know th!s sh!t. We have the exact same amount of exper!ence gett!ng culled!"

“) whale i’ve never encountered any TROLL who is so miserable that they just accept getting culled from the fucking get go (.”

“!’m not m!serable! !’m real!st!c! ! don’t have a weapon, ! can’t fight for sh!t, f!sh judo !s apparently fuck!ng real, and plead!ng does noth!ng. !’m gonna end up at the same place no matter what ! do so why drag !t out? L!ke, come on.”

You slump against the wall, exhausted from this whole interaction. “!t wasn’t great, but ! don’t see much of a po!nt !n gett!ng so worked up about sh!t ! can’t control. ! just wanted to go out !n a cool way s!nce noth!ng ever fuck!ng happens here. The reason ! was even back here !n the f!rst place was to see !f ! had an update on a stup!d hexagonal d!sk ! ordered three months ago. But that sh!t !s apparently !n the vo!d," you gripe.

You pull out your palm husk and check again. Jack shit. You groan.

You’re surprised to hear him chuckle.

“) sucks to be you (.”

“Yeah." You shake your head. "And then a few seconds after ! found out, some guy showed up to cull me.”

He actually laughs. This is so fucking ridiculous so maybe that’s why you are too.

“) it’s a lot more fun to be doing the culling (.” He eyes you again and you don’t want to crawl out of your flesh this time, and you feel like that’s a real development here. “) you seam like you’d lose a fight (.”

An accurate assessment.

“Yeah. Troll karate didn’t do sh!t for me.” A beat passes. “Drones actually burnt !t down l!ke two w!pes after ! qu!t.”

He snickers and a moment passes.

“) one month for a disk? that is fucking bullshit (.”

“Three.”

“) fuck (," he raises his brows. Moderate inconvenience seems to repulse him more than anything you've said tonight. ") that sucks, i get my shit next night with cullazon prime (.”

"N!ce. !'d probably try that if ! had more than twenty seven whole caegars."

Broke bitch disorder also seems to do it for him in the humor department and the two of you continue chilling in silence. Less uncomfortable this time. You almost feel bad for thinking he was a sadistic creep.

He breaks the silence. “) give me your palm husk (."

“What?”

“) i don’t repeat myself (," he replies tersely, holding his hand out to you.

What the hell.

You type your code in and pass it to him. He glances at the massive crack on the center of your screen with disgust. He looks at you and shakes his head before he starts typing.

He didn't ask, but still, you answer. “! cracked !t do!ng a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e.”

He doesn't look up. ") you can't do a kickflip on a dollie (."

"Not w!thout a cost."

He spares you a side glance. ") why the fuck would you even do that? ("

"Because !t !s bor!ng as sh!t out here and there !s much better to do !n the ma!lblock."

He hums noncommittally.

"Were you just spaced?"

") and what if I was?(," he asks, a touch defensive.

"Noth!ng. ! was just wonder!ng !f !t sucks th!s bad at your level too?"

") of course not (," he snaps. ") do you genuinely believe anyone could be doing worse than you? ("

"Well yeah." You tap your sign. "But not by much."

He huffs and rolls his eyes before he looks out for a moment.

") i'm abshellutely krilling it out here (,” he states resolutely before continuing, “) but taking orders is a reel pain (.”

He sullenly joins you in leaning back against the wall.

Damn, This might just be the first time he's ever had anyone above him. Well, above him and specifically giving him orders you mean, judging by the way he is basically pouting over it. Everyone loses agency when they ascend. Guess it just sucks more when you have more to lose, not that you’d really know.

"!t doesn’t get better, but you do get used to !t," you say, not looking at him.

He glances at you, frowning deeper before exhaling.

You keep not looking at him when you ask, "So. Are you go!ng to cull me?"

") no. there is no salvaging that. you completely ruined it (." He replies bitterly while returning your palm husk.

The cullazon app has been downloaded and opened to an account page. You raise an eyebrow at him.

He announces, “) okay etivor, i shared my cullazon prime with you. you’re still going to be a sorry excuse for a troll, but you might get enough out of it that culling you acshelly becomes entertaining (.”

This is a joke. This has to be a joke.

“Thanks, but there !s l!terally no way for me to pay you back for anyth!ng ! buy on th!s.”

“) do i look like i need your fucking charity? (” he sneers.

He is actually serious about this. He looks too pissed not to be.

“Nope, you’re way too bl!nged out for that,” you grin. This dude is wild. “What’s your number?”

He looks at you suspiciously.

“!s th!s really where you’re gonna draw the l!ne? You gave me access to your Cullazon, but won’t g!ve me your number? Ser!ously?”

He doesn’t ask this time. He just swipes it out of your hands.

“) i am ievahn mordax, probably the best thing that has and will ever grace your miserable fucking life and i will brutally cull you if you mention any of this ever happened to anyone (.”

He hands it back, but still holds onto it. “) i’ve made myself clear? (”

“Yeah,” you nod and he finally lets go. This is way better than a shipping notification. 

Oh. 

You check the time.

"Fuck!" You leap to your feet and he quickly grabs his harpoon.

") what? (" he shouts.

"! was supposed to be here for l!ke a m!nute to check on the d!sk." You look at your palm husk again. It has been way more than a minute and you have the feeling someone definitely noticed by now. You completely forgot about having some work work to do considering you thought you were going to die. "Sh!t." You look at him again. "Do you have anywhere to be?"

") what? (" He squints.

“! mean you just had some free t!me and you seem bored and apparently don’t believe ! can do a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e. ! have to defend my good name. You get !t.”

“) what good name? (” he snickers. “) and if i did, why the fuck would i want to spend anymore time with you? (”

“Because you can’t make fun of my Cullazon orders !f my boss culls me for tard!ness. You be!ng around means she can’t say sh!t.”

He seems to consider, “) a compelling argument. and i do get to watch you maim yourself in the dumbest way possible which is a definite bonus (.”

You grin as you start walking. “Or have your pan be blown when you see what trollk!nd can really do when there is l!terally noth!ng else to do. !’m push!ng l!m!ts here !evahn.”

“) you’re pushing your luck (.” He leans his harpoon against himself as he follows.

“Maybe.” Quickly, you face him and add. “But ser!ously, be cool. !f my boss f!nds out about any of th!s, she w!ll absolutely cull me.”

“) she can’t cull you (,” he huffs. “) i already called dibs on that (.”

You grin returns.

“Damn. !’ll let her know.”

[voidofwords]

hopelessly devoted

here’s a short wlw story i wrote! ngl i came up with everything, including the characters, as i went, but i ended up pretty happy with it!

Her grin is so bright when she looks at me. “Syd,” she says, beaming. “You won’t believe it!”

He said yes. I smile at her and tell the sinking feeling in my stomach to fuck off. “What?” I ask, with as much excitement as I can muster. 

Jasmine turns her phone screen towards me so I can see the messages between her and Brandon, but she’s waving the phone around excitedly and it’s impossible to even get a glimpse of what the messages say. Fortunately for me, and I would like my sarcasm here to be noted, she is kind enough to also tell me the news herself:

“He said yes!” She squeals, grabbing me by the arm and shaking my whole body. “Brandon said yes to go on a date with me! I’m going on a date with Brandon.”

For a moment, my brain is so fixated on the fact that Jasmine is touching my arm, it forgets how to do anything else. But I manage to kick it back into action and plaster on my most convincing I’m-so-happy-for-you-and-not-at-all-screaming-inside smile. “Jas, that’s great! That’s amazing!”

She nods eagerly, her deep brown eyes looking into mine. “You have to help me prepare for the date. I don’t even know what to wear!”

That actually makes me grin for real. “Come on, Jas, we both know you have way better style than me.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “Shut up, I love your whole, like, tomboy thing. Your style is amazing. But I just meant I want you there for emotional support.”

“Oh. Right.” Did Jasmine just tell me she loves my style? I am fighting so fucking hard to keep my brain from going into overdrive. I try to smile, but I think it’s more of a grimace. “Of course I’ll be there,” I tell her. “That’s what friends are for.” 

-

I don’t want to move. I don't want to get up. The alarm on my phone went off five minutes ago to let me know it was time to go to Jasmine’s house, but I think I might just lie here forever. What’s the point? She probably won’t even care if I come. She’ll be too fixated on her date with Brandon later to even notice if I’m there or not. 

Brandon is popular and has abs and is apparently super hot and charming - I don’t get it, but sure - and I’m just Syd, the tragic gay idiot, in love with my best friend. If this was a movie, Jasmine would be the main character. Of course she would. And I’d be the edgy queer-coded friend who’s mostly there for comic relief and emotional support. My life is a fucking joke. 

Because I might as well give the merciless gods watching my tragedy unfold something to laugh about, and because I’d be an asshole if I stood up my best friend right before her big date, I get up. There’s no point wallowing in my self-pity any more than necessary. 

Jasmine’s arms are around me the second she opens the door. It’s a signature Jasmine hug, tight and squeezy and enthusiastic, the kind that leaves me out of breath for more than one reason. 

“Syd! I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.” She takes a step back and looks at me with her puppy-like eyes and I ask myself how the hell I’m going to get through today.

I shoot her what I hope looks like an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But I’m here!” I take in her worn-in sweatpants and oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirt. She still looks fucking amazing - this girl could literally wear anything and still look like a goddess - but I highly doubt this is what she’s planning on wearing for her date with Brandon. 

“I take it you haven’t found out what to wear yet,” I say. “Or is the date more of a Disney-themed pyjama party?” 

That makes her laugh. “No you silly goose! Brandon is taking me to dinner, and then to see a movie.” She takes my hand, and I freeze up as she pulls me inside the house and toward her room. “I need your input on what to wear.”

“You’d probably be better off without it, you know.” I smile as I imagine Brandon’s face if Jasmine showed up to their date in my battered jeans and too-big flannel. But I quickly chase the image away, because the thought of Jasmine wearing my clothes is too much to handle right now. 

Jasmine picks up two dresses from her bed and holds them both out to me. “Which one do you like the best?”

I have seen her in both of them before, but they’re usually what she wears around her older conservative family members, not when she is out having fun. Both of them are very modest, while still being pretty. 

“What happened to the other ones?” I ask, because I know her favourite dress is either the sleeveless floral one or the cute flowy one. 

Jasmine shrugs and smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Brandon texted me saying he doesn’t want me wearing anything too revealing, since we’ll be out in public.” 

What the fuck. “Brandon is telling you what to wear?” 

“No. He’s just giving me some pointers on what not to wear!”

I stare at Jasmine, who is still smiling like she actually thinks this is fine. “Jasmine, that’s still shitty behavior. He doesn’t have the right to do that!” 

She shrugs again. “It’s fine. I don’t mind! It narrows down my choices, and you know it’s hard for me to decide what to wear. Besides, I like these dresses too!” 

“Jas.” I sigh. “Are you sure you wanna go out with this guy?”

Jasmine laughs, as if in disbelief. “What? Of course I do! It’s Brandon.” 

“I just…” I’m definitely overstepping here, but I can’t stop myself. “I don’t get what you see in him.” 

“Oh, well, you know. He’s handsome and funny and… popular and…” She trails off for a second before looking up at me. For once she isn’t smiling. “I just like him, okay? I’m sorry your standards are so impossibly high. I’ve never even seen you express interest in a guy!” 

Is she kidding me right now? “I don’t…” Now it’s my turn to be speechless. 

Jasmine sighs, like she is giving up on me, and picks up one of the dresses again. “I’ll just go with this one.”

I’m worried she will change in front of me like we did when we were younger, but she goes to the bathroom to change. Thank fuck; there’s only so much I can handle in one day. 

When she comes back out, her brilliant smile is back. Her eyes look a little red, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s because she has been crying. I open my mouth to say something but before I can, she spins around to show off her dress. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s nice.” It is nice, of course it is, that’s not the problem. The problem is, it isn’t the kind of thing I know Jasmine likes to wear. But this time, I don’t say anything.

She grabs a box of her nicest makeup stuff and sits on the bed. “Will you help me with my makeup?”

“You want my help with your makeup?” I let out a laugh. “Jas.” I know how to do makeup decently, but I never wear it, so I don’t have anything close to the kind of practice she has. 

“Syd.” She laughs too. “It’ll be fun! Just like old times!”

That is true. When we were kids, Jasmine used to “borrow” her mom’s makeup, and we would take turns making each other look “beautiful”. It was a disaster, but the best kind. 

“Alright,” I say. “But I hope Brandon won’t be upset when you show up to the date with lipstick smeared across your face like a clown.” 

I sit down on the bed with her and help her pick out what I think would look good with her dress. 

It goes smoothly, until I have to do her eyeliner.

“This is a bit tricky,” I say, moving closer. “Please don’t be mad if I do a bad job.”

“I’m sure you’re doing a great job, Syd.” She smiles with her eyes still closed. 

“Stop talking, I’m trying to concentrate.” 

By some miracle, I manage to make it look good and symmetrical. I’m actually kind of proud of myself. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

But I’m not prepared for when she actually does, and I realize how little space there suddenly is between us. 

Our faces are so close I can smell her minty breath. Her eyes are locked with mine, and I have officially forgotten how to breathe. I think time might have stopped, just for us. And then, she fucking looks at my lips. There’s no mistaking it. She is looking right at my lips, with her own slightly parted. 

And that’s when I make the stupid, idiotic, wonderful mistake of kissing her. Fucking hell, it may be a mistake but it’s the best one I’ve ever made. Her lips are so, so soft. Holy shit. Is this how I die? Am I actually going to die kissing Jasmine? I think I’m okay with that. I think that is how I want to go. 

But before I even have time to register what a bad idea this is, she breaks the kiss and moves away from me on the bed. She is staring at me with a mix of shock and betrayal. Well, shit. She reaches up to touch her lips, like she can’t quite believe they were actually touching mine just a moment before. “Why would you do that?” she whispers, her brown eyes as puppy-like as ever. Though this time, it’s more like a puppy that has been kicked by its owner. 

“I… I don’t know,” I choke out. “Fuck. Jasmine-”

She shakes her head and stands up abruptly. “I have to go.” Her voice is shaky. “My date is waiting.” 

-

Fuck this shit. Fuck the universe and fuck Brandon and most of all, fuck me and my lack of impulse control.

I have successfully ruined everything. Yay. Not only have i completely screwed up my relationship with my only real friend, I have also probably ruined her date with the guy she likes.

At this point, all I can do about it is go outside and touch some grass. There is an old park in our neighborhood that no one visits anymore, and it’s the perfect place if you want to be alone with your misery and self-loathing. I guess you could say I come here often. 

I sit down against the trunk of a tree and look up at the sky. It’s cloudy, but the kind of cloudy where the clouds look like bunnies and hearts and shit. I guess looking at clouds is a better use of my time than replaying the events of today over and over and hating myself more with every passing second. 

I don’t even know how much time passes but suddenly, I feel another person close to me. I start, convinced I’m about to be murdered or kidnapped, but when I turn, I see Jasmine. 

She sits down next to me and offers me a shaky smile. This time she definitely has been crying. She kinda still is. 

I don’t know whether I should say something, so I just sit there and look at her. She looks down at her own hands, and doesn’t speak for a long time. I’m about to open my own cursed mouth, when she finally speaks. 

“I’m so sorry, Syd.”

I stare at her, my brain not computing. “You’re sorry? What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

“I was a total… a total dingus earlier!” If I didn’t feel so fucked right now, I would have smiled at Jasmine’s adorable inability to swear, maybe even gently teased her about it. But I don’t. I sit quietly as she continues: “I have been for years, haven’t I? Completely clueless.”

“What?” I don’t know what she is on about, but if she means clueless about my embarrassing crush on her, then yes, she has been. I can’t blame her, though. I mean, I did try to hide it, and for good reason. 

“I left the date with Brandon early.”

I feel like an ass for it, but I’m happy to hear that. Not because I’m naive enough to think it means anything for me, but because Brandon is such a punchable fucking idiot, and definitely not good enough for Jasmine. “Oh,” is what I say. “Did you not have a good time?”

She finally looks at me. “I left because of you, Syd.” 

Fuck. “Jasmine, I’m so fucking sorry. I never should’ve-”

“Stop,” she says, and I do. “I left because I realized you were right. I don’t like Brandon.” She lets out a shaky laugh. Her eyes are brimming with tears. “It probably shouldn’t have taken you kissing me to realize it, but… Yeah, well, I’m an idiot.”

My heart and brain seem to have made a collective decision to stop functioning. I stare at her, not sure if any of this is really happening. Maybe I’m misinterpreting what she is saying. Yeah, that seems like the only logical-

My half-panicked thoughts are cut off by Jasmine leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. She is still teary-eyed, but she is also smiling softly as she moves close enough that our shoulders are touching. “I don’t think I even like guys at all,” she whispers. “And… well. I’m pretty sure I like you. A lot.”

She is looking at me expectantly, but I am stunned into silence. My brain short-circuited long ago and left me useless and unable to do anything other than stare at her in disbelief. 

“Syd.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Please say something, I am freaking out over here!”

“Shit. Yeah. Sorry.” I shake my head, slowly kicking myself back into action. “I like you a lot too. But I probably made that pretty obvious earlier, didn’t I?” I chuckle nervously, meeting her eyes. My heart is still going haywire, has been since she fucking kissed me. I don’t think I’ve fully processed that yet. “Sorry, this is… a lot.”

Jasmine grins. “Yeah, tell me about it. Twelve hours ago I thought I was the straightest person ever and that I liked Brandon? And now it turns out I’ve been a lesbian the whole time! God, that feels weird to say, but… Also like such a relief? Like part of me has known for way longer.” 

I almost don’t have the courage to do it, but I reach out and take her hand. Our fingers interlock. When she puts her head on my shoulder, I almost start to tense up, out of habit I guess, but I tell myself to relax. 

The moment feels so precious, so uniquely ours, that I’m afraid I’ll ruin it if I speak. So I close my eyes and savour the way Jasmine’s soft body is pressed against mine, and I pray that this moment never ends. 

[thronesofshadows]

We Are All Right Here || Deirdre & Evelyn

TIMING: Before Evelyn’s Birthday (early April) LOCATION: Deirdre and Morgan’s home PARTIES: @deathduty and @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: Deirdre and Evelyn have a complicated discussion of love and loss. CONTENT: Discussions of grief

Deirdre sat still, swirling blood-red wine as peered over at Evelyn through the glass. Symmetrical features, a face that would’ve made millions just by looking pretty as easily as it did upwelling wine, skewed and tiny in the reflection of glass. She looked like a leprechaun, all of her stunning height gone away in tiny glass. Deirdre laughed. “This wine tastes like shit.” Deirdre threw her hands up, meaning no offense. She had invited Evelyn over, after all. And she had asked Evelyn to bring wine—good wine, as she put it over the phone. It wasn’t very hostly of her to complain, but the wine was weird. She set the glass down and uncrossed her legs. “I know you’re the expert, but are you sure this is the good wine? It tastes like something died in it….which normally I would be into but…” She looked up and grinned at her friend. “Well, you’re probably tired of talking about wine and it’s been so long since we’ve gotten together like this...why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your life?” 

Given how fond she was of Deirdre, Evelyn was ashamed that she hadn’t spent more time with the other woman recently. She didn’t even have a truly good excuse - which made her feel bad. Not a feeling that she had found herself at all familiar with until more recently. “Some wine is more of an acquired taste.” Evelyn shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “I shall endeavor to find something better next time.”  She matched Deirdre’s grin. Relaxed just slightly in her chair, though the urge to hold herself in perfect posture managed to come through even around those that she genuinely found herself most relaxed around. “It has been too long, and I offer my apologies for that. We need to do this more often, I think.” At Deirdre’s question, her mind flashed to Miriam for a moment, but that still felt like too much to share. Avoiding talking about personal details of her life was certainly something that had proven to let her down before, but there were still far too many times when the words got caught in her throat. “I had to get my windows replaced some months back, and so I did some other redesigning within my home. A good friend got me a piano for the holidays and so I have begun to think I might need to properly take up piano again. How about yourself?” Evelyn pushed the glass of wine to the side, letting her gaze rest on her friend.

Deirdre ran her tongue along her lips, tasting the last drops of a bitter red wine, with notes of…well, Deirdre wasn’t the one with the discerning tastes, as much as she liked to think she could tell the difference between twelve dollar wine and thousand dollar wine. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a sommelier. There goes that dream.” She sighed and placed her glass down, crossing her legs. As Evelyn spoke though, Deirdre’s lips twitched, and an eyebrow raised in question. A town like White Crest, a woman like Evelyn, she had to be up to better things than replacing windows (no doubt Regan’s fault) and practicing her piano. Not that Deirdre wasn’t happy to hear these things—it truly had been such a long time—but her standards for news were a little high. “That’s it?” She uncrossed her legs, leaning in. “You mean to tell me, in all this time, all you’ve done is some redecorating and piano practice? Really?” Deirdre leaned back, casually gesturing a hand in the air. “You must be hiding the juicy secrets from me. But what’s said during wine night, stays in wine night.” The banshee reached for her glass again, taking a sip. “For example, I’ve been up to—“ Deirdre grimaced; she wasn’t about to tell anyone she was going to therapy, and couples therapy at that. But if she expected to hear the juicy bits of Evelyn’s life, perhaps she ought to offer her own. “—Morgan and I are going to couples therapy.” She raised her glass and downed the rest of the contents. “Now you.” 

“You do just fine, Deirdre,” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “If you wish, I can always teach you more about discerning different types of wine from one another.” She set her glass on the table, watching the redness of the wine settle against the crystal clear glass. “Besides, I never set out to do what I now do, so perhaps you could be an expert someday. If you wish. If not, you do have me around for as long as you wish, and I am happy to find wines that best suit you.” She was more than alright to move beyond discussing wine - she had no specific qualms with the discussion at hand, but she liked to think that her and Deirdre’s friendship extended beyond that. On a good day, when she cared to think of herself as someone who could have friends, she liked to think that it extended far beyond that. “Well, both of those are rather important. I have not played the piano in a number of years, and it feels rejuvenating to return to it.” She held her tongue lightly between her teeth. “I respect that, but besides being not human, I do not think I have had many juicy secrets, not truly.” Her mind flashed to Miriam, and she fiddled with the necklace, running her thumb carefully against the stones. She blinked a few times - almost, bizarrely, reflexively - at Deirdre’s next comment. “I hope it is helpful.” Her father hadn’t thought that was a good thing, and she’d come to realize that maybe as a child it wouldn’t have been, in her case. It wasn’t like a human therapist would understand. “I…” she dropped her hand from the necklace. “Seem to have found someone who I care for rather beyond what I imagined I could. This is the second time this has happened in a year, and though it is beautiful, I am unsure of exactly how to …” she trailed off, “well, how to come to terms with that, given how I have seen myself for so long.”

Deirdre played with the idea in her head, but thought it was just a little too late. She had no one left to impress with wine knowledge—Evelyn seemed to like her just fine and… Deirdre reached to fill her glass again, taking long, big sips. “I think it’s been a good thing,” she responded, finding her reflection in dark, maroon depths more interesting to stare at. Morgan was happier, and the two of them, happier together, and for that alone she would call the venture into therapy a victory. Yet, something about it still left a bitter taste in her mouth. A relic of old prejudices, perhaps. Or the wine. She was delighted, then, that Evelyn found something happier to confess. “Really?” Deirdre lifted her head up, a wide smile offered. “Like….like you did Melanie?” Deirdre delight at the news betrayed her. After all, she was a romantic, and forever optimistic to notions of love ever since Morgan, who was infinitely better than any fantasy, because she wasn’t one and yet, still was. “Evelyn…” she paused, setting her glass aside again. “....how is it that you see yourself? You’ve found two relationships in one year, granted one ended poorly but...if anything, wouldn’t that mean you’re a woman with a loving heart? And Melanie…” Deirdre trailed off, unsure how to approach the dead girlfriend topic. “....well, how is it you see yourself? Caring for someone is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” 

“I think it can be, though I know that - well, that therapy of any sort would not have been something my father would have wanted for me.” She admitted, for something of a first time. It was something that she’d not even thought about much, simply because it just was. That was not what her family did. Lord Robert did not believe in it, much like he did not believe in education surrounded by other children. Revealing too much of oneself, especially emotionally, was not something that would do any of them any good. So Evelyn believed it herself, well enough. She wasn’t supposed to cry too much if she got hurt, and she wasn’t supposed to be overly excited, unless it was at an event and the situation demanded it. Even then, pleasant smiles and a grin flashed here and there were far more preferable. “I -” she ran her tongue over her teeth, switching it to press against the roof of her mouth. “Perhaps. It may well be something in that direction…” she let her voice trail off. “I see myself as someone for whom relationships and romance do not necessarily mix with. I have been shut away for much of my life, and strong emotions do not go well with me, always. Relationships beget such things, and I find that all to be overwhelming. I think I can love - I think I have not really been able to, much before.” She glanced down at her wine as Deirdre brought up Melanie again. “I want to care, but what if I do it all wrong? I locked my dolls away when I became angered with them, even though I was supposed to care for them and treat them well - and you cannot do that with a person - not literally, at least. Furthermore - what if they do not care back? My father - well, parents are supposed to love you and he does, but he does not care for me. Do I make any sense?”

“Your father is a prick.” Deirdre said plainly, leaning back into her seat. She gestured, lips parted, as if to follow up with ‘what? He is’. Something more unspoken about the way humans can be, the things they don’t understand. And parents, more concerned with rules and proprietary than the people their children are. As Evelyn continued, Deirdre sat up, shifting to the edge of her couch, then down its length to Evelyn’s side. She had been locked away once, instead of a sprawling mansion she was given an old countryside, with greenery for days. She had thought emotions below her, beyond her, made for other, weaker people. Until she cried, when her great-great-grandmother died. When she moved here and fell in love, with a human, and the way they can be, and the things they don’t understand. And it flickered through her mind, about a dozen times, if all she was capable of was care in the image of her mother; cruelty dressed like love. She and Evelyn had led different lives, but some pains were shared, it seemed. “You make perfect sense,” she whispered, hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Will you let me tell you how I see you?” 

Deirdre drew in breath, pulling her hand off Evelyn to reach down and pick a cat hair off her immaculate friend. She held it up between them, one of Niamh’s hairs, and thought it was funny; as much as she cleaned, one still managed to find its way on to Evelyn. “You have several relationships already.” She flicked the hair to the floor. “Friends, colleagues, the sexual tension you share with an exclamation mark….and you care for them too. You have offered my more kindness as a friend than I know how to thank. And it’s strange to hear you say you’re worried that you might do it all wrong, when you’ve been doing it so well for so long.” Of course Deirdre knew romantic relationships were a little different. Of course she understood that fear, specifically. And so, she drew in another breath and continued. “I see you as a woman of considerable strength; it takes some to be someone who accepts the tide of the world as you do. I could spill wine over your clothes, to no anger, and that has never struck me as coldness, but care. You know what there is to value and what there isn’t; what might you feel if you spilt wine over my attire? Wouldn’t you offer to buy me new clothes? Emotions don’t need to be loud, nor care as garish. Emotions are always strong, even when they’re quiet. To me, Evelyn, you have always been a woman of considerable intelligence, for yourself and the world around you. An ambitious woman, and a prudent one. Most of all, a friend who has cared for me, and Morgan, better than you think you have, I feel.” 

She paused, finding Evelyn’s hand to clasp in hers. Her fingers were cold, and Evelyn’s warm, but she knew the blonde wouldn’t mind—and never, for a lack of care. “Okay, so maybe I think you’re too prudent, sometimes,” Deirdre laughed. “But I think being worried about all this is a good sign, to start. You do care, and you do care well, and I know the last few times you’ve cared for someone went...well there was that failed relationship, and Melanie���.” Deirdre trailed off, looking at Evelyn. “Do those feel like failures, to you? Are you worried they might happen again?” 

Evelyn only bit her lip at Deirdre’s remark. He does love me, she wanted to emphasize again, but she could hear what Melanie had said to that, and what she very well imagined Deirdre might also say. Yes, but he is still a jerk. So she just gave Deirdre a small shrug. There was no use arguing with her on several fronts - for one, Deirdre was steadfast in her beliefs (and they were beliefs that Evelyn did, at least in this case, believe as well, even if she didn’t always choose to vocalize them quite as bluntly or as often as her friend did) - and for two, she did not see much point in arguing, especially if it were about something like this. They’d both been shut away - even if she didn’t know as much about Deirdre as she found herself wanting to know. She did know that they’d both lived somewhat secret lives for their childhoods, though, even if Deirdre’s was surrounded by others who understood her far more than Evelyn’s father or nannies ever had. Which meant something, and Evelyn knew Deirdre knew that - that even though she had been surrounded by so much, her childhood had also been greatly lacking in other ways.

She nodded at Deirdre’s request, watching as her friend picked a cat hair off of her. Ironic, given the actual animal’s distaste for her, but something oddly, wonderfully normal. Evelyn watched Deirdre carefully as she spoke. At the exclamation mark comment she raised an eyebrow, though her expression showed nothing but one of quiet amusement. “You are under no obligation to thank me - I - well, I just have behaved as though I ought to.” Which was, quite possibly, in a properly kind way, no matter how odd that was to process. She’d never thought of herself as a rude child, but she also knew that rumors about her being icy had to have come from somewhere, and so she’d not especially thought of herself as kind, unless a situation called for it. Unless it won her some particular favor or granted her access to either knowledge or material items that she craved. Yet she took in Deirdre’s words. Maybe I can be, she mused, silently. “Of course I would. I would purchase something new for you, but in the interim I would loan you anything in my closet so that you did not have to wear stained clothing.” She sucked in her lower lip for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say to Deirdre’s words - incredibly kind, and yet still startling - to have someone in her life as valuable as Deirdre was. Who didn’t disregard her because of how she saw the world, or how she didn’t prefer to make a big show of things. Who didn’t judge her for her upbringing. “You deserve everything I have been able to offer you - I think that in certain circumstances, I only wish that I could have offered you more.”

She let Deirdre take her hand, and Evelyn found that the coldness of Deirdre’s hand was almost comforting, in a way. Miriam was cold too, and Evelyn found far too often that she preferred that, that it had practically become normal for her. “Yes, well, I shall not disagree with you on that. I am well-aware I can be.” She gave Deirdre’s hand a small, light squeeze. “I feel as though something must be wrong with me, perhaps, to have such things happen. I am worried, too. Not afraid, I do not think - though I am unsure of how I would feel fear myself, given what I am, but I am worried that in caring for someone deeply, I will only bring about sorrow to the both of us and this person - she does not deserve that. I do not want to hurt her, ever.”

The thought that Evelyn could be anything other than kind was laughable to Deirdre. It must have felt like propriety in Evelyn’s mind, but Deirdre knew enough of the world to know how to tell kindness apart. “You are kind, my friend,” she emphasized, wishing she could grab Evelyn’s words out of the air and point to them. “And you have nothing more you should offer me. Except doing this with me more often. I miss wine nights.” She laughed gently, wondering if she could transfer some of her ease to Evelyn. Wondering just how much pain was hidden away, how much she had been taught to hide. And could it fix everything now that there were people who cared? Who would listen? Pay attention? Care? Deirdre played with the thoughts in her head, finding the answers blank. After all, she couldn’t answer them even for herself. “A mara can’t be afraid?” Deirdre smiled, “well I guess I don’t expect you to be afraid of giant spiders or showing up to school with no pants on, but I’ll agree to call it worried. You’re worried.” Semantics didn’t matter in the end, anyway. “You’re right, she doesn’t deserve that hurt,” Deirdre leaned back, “and neither do you. You don’t deserve to lose anyone, not ever. Not now, not then, not tomorrow. But you don’t cause the sorrow around you, Evelyn. And most of all–“ Deirdre looked around; the wine glasses, the little bones on displays, the table Ariana carved, Lydia’s vase. “–it’s inevitable. Hurting people around you, being hurt. People are clumsy, rash, insensitive, emotional and distant. You hurt people without meaning to, you are kind to people without meaning to. Perhaps it is no comfort to know that it just happens but….it does just happen.” Her and Morgan were in therapy, for one thing. For all she didn’t mean to hurt her, she had. And for all Morgan didn’t mean to hurt her, she had too. Deirdre figured it was the way intertwining lives worked; some love, some pain, some adjustment. 

Deirdre turned back to Evelyn, offering out her arms. “How do you feel about hugs, friend?” She stayed that way, grinning, until she was met with her answer. “What I’ve learned is, the best you can do is….just that. The best you can do. When you love, you love as you know best, and you learn better, and then you do better. But you learn. And you might just do something one day that hurts her, she might do something like that to you, maybe some sorrow out of your control happens...and at the end, all you can do is decide to move forward. If a relationship is what you want, then some pain is inevitable as you grow and learn and fit your lives together. But it’s worth it, I think. And it’s not your fault. You’ve cared for me, and have only brought me joy. And no matter what happens with this mystery woman, I will be your friend, Evelyn. I will be here. And I will care for you too, just like you have for me. And perhaps that isn’t comfort, and it certainly isn’t advice, but I do care for you, and I suspect I always might.” 

“I can be. If I wish.” Evelyn shifted her body again, unsure of how to completely respond to Deirdre’s words. Because she wasn’t - she hadn’t always been kind but perhaps there was something to be said about how kindness could be intrinsic, or that she could still be kind even if she suffered through moments of unkindness. Though that sounded too philosophical - or, if she were to admit it, very much like something Arthur might have said to her at one point or another at Cambridge. Her stomach turned at the thought - though she knew he was happy, it was someone else who had left. Left her. Someone else who she could go to for anything in the world. She took another sip of her wine, holding it in her mouth for a few moments before swallowing. “Yes. Of course we can. I would love to spend more time with you.” She kept her posture still mostly stiff, though relaxed just slightly. Despite knowing that Deirdre understood (perhaps better than most, save for Miriam) about how she’d been raised. Emotions were useless, and when you were told that enough times, it became easier to shutter that away. Easier than admitting to it, because she’d learned long ago that when she cried after tripping, her father found it more annoying than anything else. All it earned her was a quick, cold kiss on her forehead. He loved her, but he’d never been good at showing that, and she knew that his love for her was conditional to a degree, and that perhaps she would have earned greater favor had she been human. “I do not think that I have the normal capacity for fear? I have never felt properly scared in my life, I do not think. From all I have read about, and experienced through my feeds, I think I understand, but I do not think I feel that way.” She scrunched her nose. “I - yes, perhaps I am.” She listened, wide-eyed to Deirdre’s words. You don’t cause the sorrow around you. “It feels as though I do, sometimes. That something in me causes this, because I do not think that this would happen were I…” human, better than I am, “different.” She blinked a few times at Deirdre’s words. It was still strange, having a friend who cared for her as much as Deirdre did. “It does, I suppose - and I do have such gratitude for all the kind words you offer me. You can be quite kind yourself, you know.”

She didn’t know how she felt about hugs. As a child, she’d only been hugged a few times by her father and though she’d been hugged by her nannies, being touched by people had always been odd to her, though in a quick moment she let herself be welcomed into Deirdre’s embrace. Evelyn shut her eyes for a moment, just staying there. It felt nice - to be embraced by someone she considered one of her closest friends. “You know, you truly are quite wise.” She grinned. “I - I just do not want to hurt her. I doubt she could ever hurt me, but - well, I just do not wish to ever cause her discomfort.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Relationships are complicated. I - I just want to love her for as long as I can, I think.” She broke apart from Deirdre’s embrace for a moment. “I will be here for you, for as long as I am able. No matter what.” Her hand found Deirdre’s - chillier than her own, but once again comforting - she had, after all, found that she preferred that - so much so that she’d taken to running her hands under cold water at work when she missed Miriam enough - even when they were only apart for a few hours. “I suspect I might always care for you too, you know. Or, you know, my far shorter lifespan’s version of always.” She glanced down at her hands again. “I just do not know what I would do if I lost someone again the way I did Melanie.”

“Different…” Deirdre repeated with a frown. What did Evelyn mean? If she were human? If she weren’t part human? If she was a brunette? Deirdre shook her head. No, she knew what Evelyn meant. “I think that about myself all the time…” If she were better, someone else, more fae, less fae, blonde. “If only I were some better woman…” Her eyes drifted; her house was silent. The cats gave Evelyn a wide distance, and Morgan was not home. “I don’t really have the answer to that question, but I do know I like you just as you are.” She turned back to her friend, “and who’s to say if being someone else would change anything? All I really know is I would hate it if you were someone else, I promise that. I like you this way. I like Evelyn, half-Mara, blonde, daughter of a viscount and a ballet dancer. Sitting on my couch drinking my wine. My friend, Evelyn.” Deirdre grinned, straightening up. Compliments to her kindness were often poorly received but it felt special from Evelyn, it felt true. And if anyone knew how strange it was to be called kind, it would be her. “Only to the people who matter,” she leaned in and took her hug, “only to the good ones, anyway.” 

It was true that Deirdre didn’t have many close friends. One sat in an urn and one was her girlfriend. But her friendship with Evelyn was not precious because of its scarcity in her life. “You really love her, huh? I think that’s all that matters in the end.” She squeezed Evelyn’s hand back. “No one knows what they would do. Grief is never something you desire, and can only prepare for so much. And as much as I wish I could promise nothing will happen to your mystery lover, I can promise to be your friend, regardless. I won’t promise it because that would be bad for me but I could, and I would.” She laughed, clasping her other hand over Evelyn’s. “You could live every day worrying about losing people like you did Melanie. The truth is, Death will always take. But she’s not gone now, and neither are you. And these things are precious. More important than any worry ever will be. You are here, she is alive, you care for her just as she cares for you, and that bottle of wine is not going to drink itself.” 

Her friendship was precious because it was Evelyn. And as was the case with all things that mattered, it was precious because she loved her. 

[mommymooze]

A Lesson in Beekeeping

Claude x reader

Warning: bee sex discussed. Honeybees. Bee Stings. The noble worker bee giving up her life for the hive

  Today is a free day. Free from classes and studying and homework. Everyone needs time to themselves to relax and do what interests them. You’re deep in the woods near the monastery, collecting plants, seeds, flowers and mushrooms. Your restful time alone is interrupted as Claude, your house leader, has found you.

“What’s a little girl like you doing out in the dark spooky woods? You better watch out for big bad wolves!” Claude laughs.

“I’m not Lys. This isn’t frightening.  The higher altitude and specific climate divergence varies greatly from what I am accustomed to, as well as the flora has specific diverse qualities that interest me.”

“No need to go all Linhardt on me.” The dark haired male backpedals.

“New place, new plants.” You translate.

“You’re not going to complain about being called little?” Claude elbows you, digging for a reaction.

You roll your eyes. “My stature is undisputed. 95% of the student body is taller than I am. As time passes, the percentage pullulates.”

“So now what am I going to pick on?” Claude shrugs.

“Your pants, most likely, you’re standing amongst cockleburs.” You grin.

Pulling your notebook out, you scribble something on a page, stuffing a few leaves in the book before you return it to your pocket.

The next day, Professor Byleth makes an announcement to the class. “The kitchen is in need of anyone who is familiar with collecting honey or bees.” She continues to read the note and frowns. “Honeybuns no longer available in the kitchen.” She looks panicked.

Dorothea, recently recruited into the house raises her hand. “Ferdinand is much like a bee, send him!”

You raise your hand. “I will assist.” You do not mind missing the afternoon class for weapons training and maintenance, since you are a mage, it does not interest you.

“I’ll give it a shot.” Claude throws his hat into the ring.

“You guys are creepy, wanting to play with bugs.” Lysithia snipes.

Class ends and everyone heads out for lunch. Byleth thanks you and Claude for saving the honey buns.

You finish lunch quickly and head to the back entrance of the Kitchens. Martha greets you and hands you a few buckets and sharp knives. They don’t really have the beekeeping equipment, the keeper left suddenly due to his mother becoming ill.

“Looks like we’re going to have to improvise.” You groan.

“To be honest, I’ve never done this before. Always willing to learn something new though.” Claude confesses.

You frown at him. “You’re just curious because their stings contain poison.”

Claude looks away.

You run over to the Golden Deer lunch table. “Professor, we’re going to need assistance gathering equipment together. I’m going to leave the buckets and knives here, if anyone can add to it bring it here. Dorothea, do you have any stiff wide brimmed hats? I need 2. Leonie, can you bring some scissors, needles, thread and thick twine string or cord. Going to need about 3-4 meters. Does anyone have any thick extra leather gloves? Especially if you don’t want them back because they are going to get messy. A pair for me and a pair for Claude. We also need 2 white long sleeved shirts. Ignatz, if you have a spare that would be wonderful. Need one for Claude too unless he has one.”

You run off to the marketplace to find some dark black diamond netting with the smallest holes you could find. Back at the dining hall the Deer have done the deed and all needed items are acquired.

You create a beekeepers veil from the hat, stitching the netting around the brim of each hat. Wearing the long sleeved shirt you put the hat on, then tie the hat itself on with it’s ribbons so it won’t fall off when you bend over. Then you tie the string over the veil around your neck so that the string goes under the collar of the shirt. Putting on the gloves, you stuff the cuffs inside then wrap the open end of the gloves shut with gauze, pinning then tying it with more string.  At the bottom of your pants you tie them around your ankles keeping them close over your socks. You take extra string and wrap them around bundles of semi dry weeds you pilfered from the compost pile.

You are ready for the battle of the bees.

“How do you know all this?” Claude asks as you head out around the walls of the monastery. The bees are located around the back by the fruit trees.

“Grew up a farmer. Brothers wrangled the larger animals. I was stuck with smaller ones. Chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits and bees. Need bees to pollenate fruit trees.”

“An expert on the birds and bees. Got it!” Claude grins.

“Have you ever been stung by a honeybee?” You ask him.

“Dunno. I’ve been stung by all kinds of bees. Black ones, yellow and black, black and white.” He shrugs.

“Claude! Just like every four legged animal is not just a horse, every flying insect is not necessarily a bee!!” You chastise him. “Honeybees are mostly non-threatening unless you are invading their home or disturb them while they gather nectar.” You stop at a nearby flowering bush. “This bush has all sorts of insects on it.” You take the sharp knife and point at a few different ones identifying them. Bluebottle fly, paper wasp, hornet, sweat bee, carpenter bee, bumblebee and finally honey bee.

“Most of the stinging insects have a sharp, smooth, pointy stinger, like Felix’s sword. The honeybee has a barb at the end of its stinger. Think of Byleth’s fishhook. The smooth stingers, can sting multiple times each putting a little poison in. Honeybees, when they sting, their barb gets stuck in your skin, and it rips off their stinger. When the stinger rips out, the poison sac comes along with it. The bee then dies, they are literally giving their life protecting their homes. Never use your fingers to grab the stinger to remove it, you are squeezing more poison into you. Scrape it off with the blade of the knife.”

“Good to know.” The archer nods.

“We are headed out to work on the bees. As soon as you notice you have been stung, we move away and make sure it won’t kill you. If it itches or swells a little, that’s normal. If you swell up to 10 times your normal size and stop breathing, you’re allergic.” You warn.

“Understood.” The Deer’s leaderman nods.

  At the middle of the orchards are several different tables and boxes.  You put the knife and bucket on the table. Inside of the boxes, with the front completely open, are what look like upside down baskets. They have a small hole in front that the bees are going in and out of at a fast rate.

“First we need smoke.” You instruct, taking out a bundle of semi dry weeds, lighting the ends with fire magic until most of the ends catch fire, then you blow the fire out. The weeds give off lots of smoke.

You tell Claude to wait by the table. You quickly go in front of a hive and lift it, pulling it out of the boxlike shelf and placing it on the table. You lift the hive pulling it to the edge of the table and let the smoke go into the hive for 30 seconds or so.

“Smoke gives the bees something to do besides chase you. When bees smell smoke, they think there is a fire in the hive. That means they have to grab what they can and get ready to leave. The bees are filling their stomachs as fast as they can and will fly off when the heat is too much.  Another benefit of this is the bees will have a full stomach and are less likely to sting you. The bee has to curl its body to the front of it to sting you, like bending itself into a letter C. That is much harder to do when its gut is full, less likely to sting.”

You look underneath again There are several rows of beeswax combs hanging down with bees crawling all over them many bees face first into cells eating. You squat down low so you can look up into the hive. The white beeswax comb on the outside looks like it is empty, the next section of comb looks like it has some nectar or honey in it, and the one after that looks like it is fat with honey that has been covered over by the bees.

“Ok. This is a skep, we try to get bees to build their hives in them. It is thick rope that is bound together in sort of a bell or upside down pot shape. The bees start at the top and attach wax to the top, then create these combs. The combs are built hexagonal cells on each side at the tiniest bit of an angle, facing up in a wide V shape. That is so they can put nectar in it and fill it almost half way. Once the nectar is in, other bees will evaporate the water from the nectar by fanning their wings. Once enough water is evaporated, it turns the nectar to honey. Once it is the right thickness they fill the cell up completely, then bees cover it with wax to preserve it. Then we steal it.”

You stick the knife between the ropes of the skep. You cut through the beeswax at the top and sides of the third comb from the left until it comes loose in your hands. Gently, so gently, you pull it out from the hive. It has some bees on it, but most of them stay inside the hive.

“Honeycomb is made from wax that the bees shed off their bodies. They chew it until soft and build these perfectly symmetrical 6 sided cells. Notice the bottom of the cells on this side matches with where 3 cells come together on the other side. Makes it super strong. This honey is heavy, at least 15 pounds on this one chunk alone. We only want to take honey, and the honey should be covered by wax.”

You tilt the comb to the right and some liquid runs out of a few cells.

“Too watery. Bees didn’t cover it and won’t until it evaporates more. Whatever spills the bees will collect and put into their hive again.”

There is about 16 centimeters of comb at the bottom where there is nectar not covered or just empty. You cut this from the rest of the honeycomb, placing the capped comb in the bucket.

You take the part that is cut off and hold it to the light.

“Sometimes you can see eggs in the bottom of the combs that do not have nectar in them, those are bees of the future. I am not wasting this. I’m going to melt the wax at the cut and put it back where I took the other part out.

Squatting under the hive, you summon magical flames, melting all along the cut edge of the wax and nectar, sticking it into the space you took the top of it from. Holding it up there you wait a bit for the wax to cool and it sticks. You leave the next couple combs alone, looking at the opposite side. You don’t want to disturb the queen or babies. The bees keep their spare honey to the sides of the nest where the queen is laying eggs. You decide to cut another chunk out. Gently taking it out you bring it to the table. There is capped honey about half way down. Then the honey stops and there is different colored darker stuff in the combs.

“The top is capped honey. Bees make it to feed the babies and feed themselves, especially in winter. Next they gather pollen. They even sort it keeping the types of pollen together. Grass, clover, ash, oak, maple, sunflower, if it has pollen bees take it. Heavy protein in pollen. They sort honey too. You’ll see all kinds of colors. Really light colored honey in the spring. Darker honey in the fall. Anyway, cells lower than that is where the queen lays the eggs. When the eggs hatch they look like larvae, you know, the stuff Teach fishes with. The bees feed the larvae honey and pollen. It grows and fills the cell. Once it is big enough it spins a cocoon, the adult bees cover them with wax. They pupate and turn into adult bees, chewing their way out and going to work in the hive.

You continue working as you harvest more honeycomb and try not to destroy any of the hard work of the bees by putting what comb you can back inside the skeps.

“I gotta know. Tell me about bee sex. Everyone talks about the birds and the bees.” Claude grins.

“There are 3 castes of bees. The queen. The worker. The drone. There is one queen in a hive. She is the only female that mates. She mates for maybe 7-10 days of her life, maybe 12 to 16 times. Spends the rest of her life laying eggs. Her body is the longest/biggest in the hive, her abdomen is quite large, swollen with eggs. It sticks out much farther than her wings. Next are the female workers. That accounts for 90% more or less of the population. They gather the nectar, bring it back, put it in the cells, dehydrate it, make wax, build cells, protect the hive, guard the hive, get rid of the dead, feed the queen, clean the queen, pollenate the flowers, collect the pollen and 100 other jobs. If there is work to be done they do it. They have the stingers that sting to protect the hive. Queens have stingers too, but theirs are smooth. They fight other queens, nothing else. That is why there is only one.“

“We can’t’ forget the drones, the males. They have no stinger. They do no work. They contribute nothing to the hive except for the queens genes. They don’t pollenate. Their only purpose is to go out and find a virgin or recently virgin queen to mate with. They mate while flying in the air. The drones hang out in an area looking for their lady love. Their eyes make up 80% or more of their head, go almost all the way around it. Once they see a queen, they fly after her. She flies high and fast and whoever catches her first gets her. He sticks his male part into her female part. Upon his entry, his part breaks off, and he falls to his death. She goes out again for more. Bees don’t mate with their relatives, each has their own smell. So they spread their genes around. “

“Gah!” Claude slaps his arm. “They got me!”

“Get over there by the wall and sit down!” You order him, quickly finishing what you were doing, then rushing to Claude’s side, away from the bees you take off your hat and veil putting your ear to his chest to listen. His heart sounds pretty normal. Breathing sounds good

“Where is the sting?” You’re looking him over.  

He points to his right upper arm.

“How are you feeling?” You’re watching the spot where he was stung, checking his fingers, his eyes, listening to his breathing.

“Talk to me for a bit. Just talk about anything. If your tongue swells up, that’s a bad sign. Talk so I know you’re okay.” You unbutton his shirt and pull it down over his shoulder to where the sting is.

“Gah! Just mention bee sex and you’re all over me!” He laughs.

The bee must have snuck inside his shirt, got into a small hole somewhere. His arm looks okay, the stinger is still in his arm and his skin is red around the stinger, the spot is about as big as a gold coin and slightly puffed up. Pulling a dagger out of your pocket, you scrape along his arm, flicking the stinger out.

All the while Claude keeps talking, counting trees in rows. Asking if you would be taking his pants off if he was stung in the leg…

“How are you feeling now?” You ask. “And that is why your pants legs are tied at the ankles. To keep them out.”

“Doing fine.” He grins. “The sting hurts a little less now. Not sweaty, not a real good poison. Mostly localized.

You put your ear to his chest again, checking on his breathing and heart rate.

“So how many stings before they really get to you?” The master tactician asks, his mind always working.

“If you are allergic 1, if you  are sensitive maybe 20? If you work with them all of the time? Well I had over 75 in a single day and it just made me a bit nauseous.” You say as you help him put his shirt back together. “Want to do more or call it quits? I don’t want to do this when it starts to get dark.”

You both agree to play it safe. Marking the hives that were harvested, you head to the kitchen dropping off the buckets of honey. There’s a few bees hanging out with the honey comb, but the kitchen can deal with them.

Heading back to the hives you finish cleaning up.

“So what did you bring to put bees in?” You ask.

“What?” Claude feigns innocence.

“Don’t be all innocent with me. You want some of their poison.” You grin. “Give it to me. I’ll get some in it and then show you how to get your poison. Oh, remember, male bees have no stingers right? I think we should prank Lorenz. It’ll give him a heart attack.”

Claude laughs heartily, “And here I thought you were nothing but a bookworm with no sense of humor.”

“I can have fun too!” You whine.

“Great, just come by my room any night you want to discuss more about the birds and the bees, eh?” He grins.

“Now you’re sounding like Sylvain.” You groan.

“Oooh, that was a major insult. I am wounded.” Claude laughs.

                                              ***********************

Yes. I am a beekeeper. I love my bees. I could watch them work for hours. The smell of a beehive on a warm summers day is amazing. 

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝hey, Mr. Villain.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Midoriya Izuku (Villain) ]

「Scenario of Villain Deku with reader who's an information broker. The two met one another in a bar and has a really interesting relationship with one another. The reader sells information to both heroes and villains, completely disregarding their status.」

MIDORIYA IZUKU (VILLAIN)

Sometimes, you weren't sure which side you were on. Was it on the good side or the bad side? But all you knew that things like these were fun. Surely, this line of work isn't something your parents would be proud of. Then again, you could no longer remember their faces after being abandoned by them and sent to an orphanage. You were what people would call an information broker. Selling information was very fun. Not only you could name any price you wanted but you could witness the chaos and conflict that erupts. There were heroes and villains who knew of you but you were always equal to your clients, no matter what side they belong to.

The only reason you were only able to run free was thanks to the heroes and villains who kept your existence a secret from one another. One of your favorite places to trade information was a small bar in the back alley and it was known to very few people. You have befriended the bartender who happened to be the owner. He was a man no older than 40, someone very knowledgable about alcohol. You find yourself sitting by the bar, shrugging off your vest, and stretching your arms. The bar was empty, the seats were unoccupied. The bartender quickly acknowledged your presence and smiled at you.

"Good evening, [Last Name]-san. A long day at work, I suppose?" the man began to prepare your drink while you made yourself comfortable. There was gentle music playing in the background, one that soothed your nerves. A soft sigh left your lips as you rested your elbows onto the table, supporting your head with your left hand.

"You know it. Anyway, you have to hear this, barkeep. There was a car crash today. I was trading information with a mafioso and apparently the information he just traded with me was top secret. Later that day, it's reported that he's hospitalized from the car crash." you said while the bartender gently placed a coaster and a glass filled with some liquid over it.

"Then I was almost killed because my client slipped out the fact that he had passed on the information before being taken away. Well, I managed to escape."

You grabbed hold of the glass and swirled in the contents as the ice clinked against the walls of the cup. A river of clear-golden cider flowing over crystal cubes. The glass was then raised to your lips and you inhaled the scent of your drink. A sip was all it took. The taste is like a hypothetical melted scoop of apple gelato. It's as if you were drinking the juice from ten apples in one gulp—multiplied by alcohol. It has a nice tartness without becoming syrupy sweet. The taste had you humming and sighing in the content. The stress from putting your life on the line was suddenly washed away.

"Almost all critical and classified information in the world is in your hands. Your head's full of them that's more valuable than gold. There must be as many enemies as there are stars in the sky who wish to torture you for information." the bartender was busy wiping glasses as he said this.

"But you seem so happy." he smiled.

"Well, it's because the information seems to be interesting and I look forward to others that might mix things up a bit in this case. Because I have a feeling it's far from over." you chuckled gently.

You always appeared to be an innocent civilian outside your work. You didn't have any friends at all aside from the bartender and probably the very few people you always traded information with. While you drank, you had your phone in your right hand, looking through the news on heroes. They seem to be performing well recently, stopping villain attacks, helping, and protecting civilians. In a way, your job is helping people but its completely different from what heroes normally do.

A plain white long-sleeved top finished off with a black vest, a tie, and black trousers. If he weren't sitting two seats away from you with a drink in hand, you would easily mistake him as a bartender. His face looked a bit young, framed by a short mess of fluffy dark-green hair that sticks up at odd angles. Somehow it looks really fluffy too.  His eyes are large and somewhat circular, their irises the same green color as his hair. He has a set of four symmetrical freckles in diamond formations, one on each cheek. You recognized him as one of the most notorious villain.

"So you're the infamous informant broker?" he spoke first.

"And you're the villain, Deku right?" you asked.

"Oh! Am I that famous?" he perked up.

You chuckled at the sight of his face lighting up in surprise. Sure it probably was him just messing around with you and faking an expression. Deku smiles at you in response and you couldn't help but think that he looked quite attractive despite being a villain. You've heard a lot of rumors about him but honestly, this was your first time seeing him face to face like this. And you couldn't help but think that he's quite attractive. Overall he looks innocent but you've met countless villains before and you could see the crazed look in his eyes. 

"So, you needed something from me? You're quite lucky to run into me in this getup." you said, setting down your drink back onto the coaster.

"Are you implying that this is how you really look?"

Your quirk was a strong one but you never really used it for combat, you often it used to hide your identity and to escape. The name given to your quirk was Illusion. It revolves around the use of illusions, allowing you to create illusions that deceive many people. You can also determine who sees and hears the illusions and who doesn't. When the targets strike the illusions, they will break after a few hits. You often used your quirk to change your appearance and sneak into places, it was easy to deceive cameras and people with a little bit of acting. 

"Perhaps." you shrugged with a coy smile.

Deku was surprisingly a talkative person and a smooth talker. You've had your fair share of guys that flirted and tried to pick you up but none of them actually caught your interest. Most of the time, you would do this for the sake of obtaining information. But with Deku, you were genuinely interested in whatever topics he brought up. It was as if you were talking with one of your old friends. You felt at ease and even thought that lowering your guard wouldn't be a problem at all. Then again, the bar was a quiet place with only you, Deku, and the bartender inside. He was a gentleman through and through, even going as far as to pay for your drinks.

The two of you had an odd relationship. You both flirted with one another often, acting like lovers when you're actually not. However, you couldn't deny that Deku is an attractive person.

You’d always meet Deku in the same bar at the same time. Sometimes he’d pay for your drinks and sometimes you’d pay for his. He was probably one of the very few people that actually meet up with you just to spend some time instead for information. He often went on about his day, talking about how he just got rid of an organization that was using his name, spreading false rumors which caused other organizations to attack them. It was very interesting for you to hear him talk about his thrilling life. As an information broker, you often assisted people who're living a lifestyle where they know they could lose your life at any moment was to be expected. 

It was the kind of lifestyle you can never relate to. Of course, just like any other human, you feared death. You preferred listening to stories of people living that lifestyle you could never imagine yourself in. You actually loved watching from a distance whenever a fight breaks out. It's like watching an action movie for free and thanks to your quirk, you get a front-row seat to it.

"Damn, they’re at it again."

"What's it this time?"

"The port on the north, there was a fight between two organizations and it blew up!" 

You heard people whispering about that while you were walking around town. At that moment, you recalled blurting out that a certain organization was planning on shipping high-quality explosives to Yokohama. The only people you told that to were ones that were really close to you. As you stepped into the bar, you were greeted warmly by the bartender and the music. Your eyes landed on the familiar figure sitting by the counter, casually sipping their drink and looking like he has been here for quite a while.

"That was quite an explosion, Deku-kun!" you exclaimed, skipping over and taking a seat next to the man. He let out a chuckle in return, his posture was relaxed and just by looking at him, he was giving off an innocent vibe.

"Hm? What are you talking about?" he feigned innocence with a smile.

The two of you conversed like usual. It was all over the news that there were theories that Deku was the culprit behind this explosion but the police didn't have enough evidence. On the other hand, you had been observing the whole incident from a very safe place. It was very thrilling, there were quirkless people with weapons and a ton of action. The explosion was one that attracted attention and woke up countless of people. Despite being within a safe distance, the heat from the explosion and the noise managed to deafen your ears. You knew that it was him because you only remembered babbling about it while you were in the bar. What’s more, it wasn’t a fight between two organizations. It was only Deku single-handedly destroying the entire port.

”Maybe I should’ve become a detective instead.” you hummed.

”No way. This job suits you well.” Deku said with an innocent smile, leaning against you.

”With that innocent vibe you give off and your quirk.....And not mention, your irresistible charm and draws in men.” Deku takes hold of your hand and gently strokes the back of your hand with his gloved hand.

“Don’t tell me that you’ve fallen in love with me?” you teased playfully.

”Perhaps I have.” Deku answers within a heartbeat. He sounds pretty serious for once, dropping the playful smirk that he usually has. But that serious look disappeared and was replaced with that usual grin he had. He chuckled and told you that he was just joking. You rolled your eyes in response and watched as he sipped his drink.

"Any man would be lucky to have you as a girlfriend. I know I would be." Deku rested his elbow on the counter, holding his cheek with his hand and looking at you.

"Is that your way of asking me out?" you smiled cheekily at him.

"Not today sweetheart. I will ask you out in a way that will blow your mind." Deku said with a confident smirk. You could only smile at him.

"I look forward to it."

On the next night, instead of heading to the bar, you decided to head elsewhere. The streets were still busy with people crossing the road and cars passing by. However, you took another road that was small and vacant. You were closing in on an abandoned building by the port which was currently used as a storage. As you looked up into the sky, you could see a few heroes flying in the air and making their way to the same destination as you were. You laid low, ensuring that no cameras and people caught you snooping around. 

When you arrived at the abandoned storage building, you could hear a conversation going on while you sneaked into the building, and found the perfect spot to watch everything unfold. This kind of information will really sell well, especially to the news reporters. You kept quiet, holding onto a voice recording tool as you sit atop a bunch of crates, swinging your legs back and forth.

"Villain Deku. On the criminal charges of complicity in 140 murders, 67 cases of extortion, and sundry other crimes. You are under arrest."

"I guess I have finally been caught." Deku raised his hands in defeat. He was out of tricks, even injured from fighting against heroes. He was laying atop of broken crates, blood running down his face and his body ached all over. His wounds weren't that major but if he moved, it was still painful. Not to mention, his pristine white dress shirt was soaked in his own blood.

Deku finds himself closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

"Hey, Deku. Do you want to live?" 

Your familiar voice caused him to open his eyes. He has never felt this relieved to see you here. Seeing you smiling at him made him smile too. His gaze softened into the one that you’re used with, one that was playful and loving.

All of a sudden, the moon emerged from its hiding spot behind the clouds. The moonlight cast a silhouette over your figure and with the help of your quirk, you were well disguised, looking like a completely different person. You stood at the top of a stack of crates and the spot where the moonlight shone onto the building. Using your quirk, you changed your appearance, from your hair to your clothes. Instead of making yourself visible to only Deku, you decided to reveal yourself to everyone. While everyone still has their attention on you, you hopped off the crate and landed on your feet gracefully. The people Deku were fighting against heroes who were looking into the port explosion incident.

"Oh! You came to save me?" Deku's eyes gleam in surprise. 

"I can't have you dying." you stood in front of the villain who was knocked down with debris of the crates scratched up his skin. You paid no heed to the heroes who were telling you to get out of the way and wondering whether you were an accomplice or not. 

"Not when you promised me a date."

"What kind of magic are you gonna show me today?" Deku finds himself smiling at you. He knows the full extent of your quirk and has seen you actually use it before. It was very versatile. You could create a smokescreen and use that chance to escape. Or you could create illusions of soldiers to distract the heroes and escape. Honestly, the things you could do were endless. You pulled out a grenade from your pockets and waved it around.

"Nothing. Just a simple old grenade." you grinned.

You both miraculously escaped despite your half-assed way of escaping. Normally, you always planned everything carefully to avoid people looking for you. However, you just felt like taking a risk today. You took Deku to your apartment to patch him up. This was your very first time actually bringing someone to your apartment and you couldn't believe that Deku was the first-ever person you've brought.

"I feel like I just did something really bad." you muttered to yourself as you gathered the medical supplies you had laid out.

"Would you feel better if I took you out on a romantic date as thanks?"

"Maybe." 

Total: 2595 words Published: 09.09.2020

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ First time writing for villain Deku! Hope you liked it anon! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! How does one write for villain Deku? Our very first time But we hope you enjoyed this, anon! ― author Natsuki

Requests are open! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[simptasia]

Hey! So I was just thinking about how one of the tragedies of lost is how outside of a small sphere on tumblr, jack shephard is written off as a boring stereotypical white male “leader” type character. I just think that’s so sad because Jack really fundamentally...isn’t that, you know, and he’s just got way more going on. Do you have any thoughts on this lol??

oh my gosh, i remember when even back in lost fandom, the idea of liking, LIKING jack shephard was considered ridiculous. absurd. whomst. going back far enough on my blog, i’ve seen myself be Weirdly Defensive

now Hatred for jack tends to be like, annoyance and playful jabbing. at least in my experience since i parade in the chiller sections of the lost fandom

heck, liking jack is way more of a chore than hating him because it makes the parts where he’s Incredibly Frustrating even more painful to watch

but i digress

yeah its funny that. a lot of shows may have a blandy handsome mcstoic face whomst i cant tell what he looks like as their lead, with all the Interesting coming from characters next to him. now, jack is bland but in an endearing way. like he looks and behaves like he enjoys plain milk and saltines. that kinda bland

and jack is. conventionally attractive. all tall, strong and symmetrical. tho his face is interesting enough that i can tell what's going on. big brown eyes, for example. a thing i really really appreciate about jack is that he’s not stoic. think of how INSUFFERABLE his parts of lost would be if he was like -_-

in fact he’s the opposite, jack’s face works like he’s a sim testing out animations before each emotion. he honestly behaves like his actor is on cocaine

i think it’s true that jack’s eps can be boring from time to time... stranger in a strange land sucks so much because it’s not even interesting bad like fire + water, it’s so fucking boring. nobody cares nobody cares the writers don’t even caaaaare. but overall he’s not bad for a protagonist type. i don’t hate him

in fact i’ve grown to love him. for like, a long time now

but actually getting to the point u wrote to me, no, jack isn’t the typical blandy white guy protag hero guy. tho he is bland, and white, and a guy. and The Leader. despite all that, jack feels different. because lost in general subverts character archetypes. jack can’t handle not being in control but he emotionally collapses when he is. jack is a good hearted hero but he isn’t cool (also his voice sounds like a dentist drill which is Not What One Would Expect)

he’s a mess whose been stuffed into an archetype he can’t handle

jack can’t be stoic. he seems like the voice of reason sometimes but it doesn’t always seem so reasonable (i’d say sayid is the true voice of reason). he’s been thrown into The Leader role because he’s a doctor. and he looks the part

and also he’s like a Huge Dork. he has such poor social skills, i LOVE it! listen to him talk, like, ever. but especially to women and he’s like. a weenie! he’s a weenie trapped in the body of a hero... whilst also being a hero, i wanna be clear, jack is at heart a very good person, he’s just also a fuck up. summed up lost there. he can be a condescending asshole sometimes. there are times when he’s an absolute cunt! so i do understand people who don’t like him. if i was watching lost atm, i’d probs be back to being annoyed at him. but lookit him objectively and it’s like “oh fuck, you have problems.... aw <3”

anyways. jack good. jack is also autistic and repressed bi, because it makes so much sense. also also fuck christian shephard, hope that heart attack hurt a lot

[cdyssey]

Q&A

Summary: During bath time one night, Lyra has questions for Mrs. Coulter.

A/N: Lyra and Mrs. Coulter are stuck in my brain rn, so have another drabble.;w;

AO3 Link

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The bathroom is strewn with gentle, golden light by the anbaric strips embedded in the ceiling. Marisa notices that Lyra is fascinated by them in the same way she was fascinated with the mechanics of the elevator lift and the automatic coffee brewer and the air conditioning units, staring at each of these entities with wide discs for eyes.

Because Jordan College had never had such amenities, much preferring to spend its discretionary funds backing fools like Asriel and all his high and mighty plans.

She curses that man for a lot of things.

His presumption.

His recklessness.

His effortless success in a world that has always demanded far more from her.

(They both conceived Lyra, but by God, Marisa was the one society deemed the promiscuous disgrace, the failure of a wife, the failure of a mother.)

But sometimes, she despises him for sending Lyra to Jordan most of all.

The child’s never had a bed that doesn’t creak before, much less silk pajamas imported from Paris.

(And she knows for a fact that the sweaters Lord Asriel prefers, the cashmere ones with the intricate threading, are not simple wares he’s traded with sherpas in the North.)

(Damn him sideways, and God, forgive her for doing it. She absolutely doesn’t mean to mean it.)

As the clawfoot tub begins to drink its fill, Lyra sits upon the very edge of it, gowned in one of Marisa’s old shirts, kicking her feet against the porcelain as Pan experimentally wades in the water—a tiny, black duckling testing his own buoyancy.

Marisa leans back in her chair, half-skimming the pages of the book she’s reading, when in all reality she’s paying attention to the monkey, who’s paying attention to Lyra. 

He’s always paying attention to Lyra these days.

“Mrs. Coulter?”

“Yes, Lyra?” She immediately splays the book she isn’t reading facedown on her lap. It’s boring anyway—a theoretical treatment of ethics.

“How do anbaric lights work?” The girl asks, her dark eyes flicking upwards to the ceiling again, tracing those amber dusted lines, parallel to each other, symmetrical, and kind of miraculous now that Marisa really thinks about them, surveying them through a child’s eyes.

“Well,” Marisa returns patiently, adopting the same didactic voice of a Scholar, “there are tiny wires running through the strips, and when connected to a source of anbar, the wires emit energy that manifests itself as light.”

Lyra pauses, takes a second to absorb this new information, and just as quickly nods, her dark eyes bright with understanding.

She’s so clever, smart, and intuitive.

Goodness, it makes Marisa proud.

(And it singularly terrifies her, too, that this child’s resemblance to her goes so much further than looks. What if Lyra looks in the mirror one day and puts all the blatant puzzle pieces together, sizing them up, adjoining them? What if she hates Marisa for keeping such a secret? More pressingly still, what if she loves her nonetheless and even still? What if she calls her Mother? Marisa was Mother for only a few short months some twelve years ago, and then, if she was to be anything in the world, if she was to claw and scratch and claim the barest inch of respect from others that she rightfully deserved, then she couldn’t be Mother. She had to be Mrs. Coulter, whatever that entailed: cold seduction, cleverness, passion, intelligence, breathtaking and necessary cruelty.)

“Mrs. Coulter?” Lyra’s voice raises itself into a question again, and Marisa comes back to herself with a frown.

“Yes, Lyra?”

“Ee’nt it kinda crazy to use all this hot water every night?” The tub is now about waist deep, and Pan is an otter, taking laps from end to end as though he can’t get enough of the sensation. “Doesn’t it ever run out?”

Marisa’s heart simply cleaves itself in two.

On the other side of the tub, behind Lyra’s back, the monkey’s tail droops.

She damns Asriel again.

Just for good measure.

“No,” she says softly, shaking her head. “I pay good money in order to ensure that that never happens...”

A pause.

Marisa dares to ask the question she thinks she already knows the answer to.

“... did it ever run out for you? At Jordan, I mean?”

“All the time,” Lyra shrugs immediately, like it’s not that big of a deal. “Especially in the winter when the pipes’d freeze. But my friend Roger, he’d bring me a cuppa hot chocolate to warm me up on those kinda nights, so it wasn’t all too bad.”

The monkey’s face twists itself into a snarl as Marisa plasters on what she knows is a commiserating smile.

She’s angry at Asriel, of course.

And at Jordan College.

At all those useless Scholars.

And a little irritated at the girl, too—even if she doesn’t want to admit it—for bringing up Roger again. Goodness, it’s been two weeks, and that’s all she cares about: Roger. Won’t she move past a useless, little kitchen nobody already?

“Lyra,” Marisa says seriously, raising her voice over the sibilance of the water. “You’ll never run out of hot water while you’re here with me. I can assure you that.”

And just as before, it only takes a second for realization to scrawl itself all over Lyra’s sharply drawn features.

She inhales deeply and nods, a gentle smile crooking one side of her mouth.

“Thank you, Mrs. Coulter.”

“It’s my genuine pleasure...”

The monkey’s fierce expression resolves itself, and he returns to grooming his fur.

When the tub is about halfway full, Marisa pours in some epsom salt and bubble bath, the fragrant perfumes wreathing the air like incense, and Lyra watches her delightedly. Before coming here, she’d never had a bubble bath before, and last night, they’d had so much fun together, making sudsy beards on their faces.

When the tub is truly full, nearly at the brim, sloshing, she flicks the faucet off, and gives Pantalaimon the meaningful nod he knows well by now. With a graceful leap into the air, he metamorphoses from otter to finch in an instant, beating his damp wings until he lands on the floor, head turned away.

Lyra extricates herself from the shirt that’s much too big for her and clambers into the tub, sighing blissfully as the warm water envelops her in its embrace.

“Perfect temperature?” Marisa asks, fond, warm, amused.

“Pitch,” the girl grins as she leans backwards to wet her dark hair.

“Good.”

And Marisa, as she’s done for nearly sixteen straight nights now, can only soak her all in during these quiet moments, simply staring at her daughter when she thinks it’s permissible to look (which is only when Lyra is looking away).

She’s simply making up for lost time, all those four thousand missing nights.

Studying the architecture of her face.

Learning the composition of her heart.

Like she’s a scholastic project that the woman desperately doesn’t want to fail.

(Again.)

“Mrs. Coulter?” Lyra asks after awhile, and there’s a hesitant note in her voice this time, reluctant, unsure, that makes Marisa pause in the middle of gingerly threading conditioner through the child’s hair.

“Yes, Lyra?”

“D’you think we’ll go look for Roger soon? He ee’nt never had a bath like this neither, and I’m... I’m sure he’d like it.”

Oh, how the monkey balks, glaring upwards with baleful, black eyes.

And how Marisa so tenderly, so perfectly smiles, skimming her wet knuckles along the side of Lyra’s damp temple.

“Soon,” she promises between her teeth. “My sources says that they may have a good lead… I’ll talk to them later this week. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

Lyra nods once.

Trusting.

Reassured.

Eyes rich with understanding.

“I reckon so...”

(But because his head is turned away from them, what Mrs. Coulter doesn’t see is that Pantalaimon’s expression remain sad, ancient with worry.)

[justablobfish]

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village. 

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen. 

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them. 

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken. 

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do. 

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back. 

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong. 

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed. 

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well! 

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods. 

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them. 

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further. 

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. 

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends. 

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up. 

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap. 

In front of the hut stands Geralt. 

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman. 

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him. 

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs. 

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea. 

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking? 

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales. 

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face. 

And then he waits. 

For a moment. 

For a minute. 

For ten. 

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all. 

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now. 

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away. 

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again. 

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors! 

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso. 

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow. 

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles. 

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!" 

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow. 

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly. 

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself. 

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery." 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again. 

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does. 

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay! 

He opens the door and steps inside. 

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice. 

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic. 

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous. 

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it. 

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion. 

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice. 

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently. 

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then. 

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready. 

In the door stands Ciri. 

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children. 

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation. 

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!" 

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza. 

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily. 

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side. 

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it." 

 "Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!" 

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?" 

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!" 

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess. 

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle. 

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!" 

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them. 

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?" 

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through. 

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone. 

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress. 

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before. 

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same. 

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-" 

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall. 

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!" 

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?" 

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!" 

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children." 

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago. 

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain. 

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly. 

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object." 

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life. 

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off. 

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly. 

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children. 

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room 

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily. 

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope. 

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively. 

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her. 

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents." 

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?" 

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision. 

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly. 

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist. 

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases. 

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder. 

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?" 

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?" 

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that." 

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back." 

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs. 

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would." 

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?" 

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once." 

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now." 

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously." 

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?" 

[a-completely-normal-writer]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹(i didn't see it the first time you posted it) 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹(i want so many lines) 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Hey,Zofija!  Thanks for sending the ask in! 👀👀 That’s a lot of roses!! I’ll do three lines from each of my WIPs. 

In the Shadow of the Outlands

Line 1

The night the final sorcerer died was a grave one indeed. She held on for as long as she could, knowing that once she breathed her final breath they would be free. She wanted to keep holding on 

But she was so tired. 

Line 2

The house was way bigger inside than it looked from the outside. The walls of it were lined with all kinds of bottles and glasses, each with a hastily written label on them. Various herbs and vegetation littered a table that was pushed up against the far wall of the room. In the middle of the room was a large cauldron sitting over a log fire. A woman was dumping a large vat of what I assume was water into it. She looked up at me and smiled, her large sharp teeth glinting in the light.

“Line” 3

“That damn Charlie. This is the third time this week that woman has asked for a love potion. I feel so bad for that man she’s drugging. Kids these days don’t want to solve their problems the old fashion way, always need to find a quick and easy solution..”

I hum as I move towards the coat rack and grab Sam’s jacket off of it. I start to put it on him, before speaking again.

“You say that is if you’re that much older.”

“Do I have to be old to be wise? Anyways I feel so bad for that man she’s dating… What was his name again? Jayden? Jaylen? Jayson-” Ellara taps her chin as she thinks

“Jaxon.” I pull the hair out of Sam’s jacket after I zip it up, letting the wavy raven locks fall down his back, and stand back up. 

“Jaxon that’s it! That poor man, he’s being drugged out of his mind.” She makes a sound of disapproval and shakes her head as she says this. She moves and dumps the goblin heart into the pot full of liquid. 

“If you feel so bad, stop making them for her.” I grab my shoes from the side of the door and put them back on as I start to make my way out of the front door. 

“And lose a valuable customer and my credibility? Absolutely not! I am a businesswoman and have to make a living.”

“Then stop complaining about it,” I reply matter-of-factly

Specter

Line 1

“Sorry Ma, had to let Pumpkin back in.”  Melanie shuts the screen door behind the cat coming inside. He sprints over toward his filled food and water bowl and begins to devour his breakfast. 

Line 2

“I’m so proud of you, sweet pea. Ever since you were born and we saw the Blessing of Ashara on you, we knew-

“That I was gonna be a ghost-hunter I know Mama.”

“Not just any ghost-hunter, one of the best.”

“Right, how could I forget.” Melanie smiles again, then glances down at her hands. 

Line 3

Sadie tells me to take a seat and Melanie sits down on one of the empty couches and fold her hands on her lap waiting for instructions. She feels people looking at her, most likely in curiosity. The chances of running into a Senser is one in a million, so she couldn’t really blame them for staring. She tries her hardest to ignore their gazes and turns her attention to the handout Sadie handed her when she walked in.

A is for Asteroid

Line 1

A trickle of blood streamed from Alex’s head from where a stray piece of glass had cut him. Alex sat back and looked down at the two girls tucked underneath of him. They were currently shaking like leaves. 

Line 2

He looked around the room. Skylar had gotten up off the ground and was checking over the boy in her hands. Rubbing his head and shushing him as he sobbed into her shoulder.

Line 3

“Turn the radio on.” The sound of Matthews’s voice made Alex turn around. He was visibly anxious, a clear contrast to his normal laid back demeanor.

The Space Exploration Association

Line 1 

She looked at her android partner, Jax. His synthetic skin was fair, short brown hair seated neatly on his head. Not a strand out of place. Freckles were placed symmetrically on his cheeks, with an unnecessary pair of glasses Adhara brought for him seated on his face.

Line 2

Fat chance of that, thought Adhara. The Faicrer galaxy was notorious for its barren worlds. The planets were mostly made of rocks, dust, and volcanoes. The only plants found on those planets were cacti and desert flowers . Finding new life on these planets was extremely rare, which is why S.P.E.X.A designated these planets to rookie explorers.

Line 3

"But if we are on the wrong planet they'll tell us to come back immediately! We won't have anything to show and we'll be the only explorers in history to come back empty-handed." Adhara exclaimed. 

"That isn't true there have been twenty explorers on record who have come back with nothing after an exploration. And coming back empty-handed is better than coming back dead." Jax said bluntly.

I hope these are enough excerpts for you! 

[seafleece]

“beau?”

the voice is staticky in her comms, and she can’t tell if it’s because the speakers are giving out— they’re shit speakers, the fact she’s had them this long is a stupid miracle, stupid on her part, miracle on theirs— or because she just got stabbed.

what’s funny is, she doesn’t think it was supposed to be a fatal blow.

a warning, for sure, but you’re always trained to aim for the head if you’re going for the kill, anywhere else if you’re trying to slow someone down.

that was the point.

(“beau,” dairon says, “i see you have put the cockpit in the stomach.”

“yup,” she says, proud, rocks back on her heels.

“why is that?”

“because no one’s expecting it. you know how standard empire training goes, no one’s expecting a mech to get decapitated and keep fighting.”

“you won’t have a proper vantage point. the head is the intuitive place to pilot from. you don’t move with your stomach first.”

“i’ll learn,” she says. “this is gonna be good, dairon, i know it. you said to show you something new. this is my new. it’ll be opaque, no one’s gonna know where i am.”

“we’ll make this for you, beau,” dairon says, softer. “but what if a stranger wants to pull their punch and you get hurt?”

why would someone who doesn’t know me pull a punch, she doesn’t say, because she knows it’ll make dairon’s eyebrows knit together, and they’ll look at her sadly and ask her something like why don’t you believe people don’t want to hurt you, beauregard?

and she won’t know how to answer, and she’ll say something like isn’t that war? expecting the worst from each other? and dairon will say we are not soldiers, conflicted, like they don’t quite believe it themselves.

they’ll stand there in the same uniform, looking at one another, and get nowhere at all.)

she can still see out the glass beyond the cracks spiderwebbing it— the breached hull light is blinking bright orange, but it’s almost lost now that just about every light is blinking, at different speeds and in different shades, like her cockpit is full of fireflies. the mech in front of her is paused, still in its launching pose, and she wonders if they’ve figured it out, that something’s wrong.

there’s a horrible grinding noise as they retract the trident and she watches, bleak and bleary, as the middlemost prong is pulled back out of her sternum and water starts to flood in from the three holes punched inward.

it’s quiet, for a long moment.

(she cuts the audio cord to her alarms by herself before she takes off that night from zadash.

it takes some work, finding the panel and playing which-wire-won’t-kill-me, but she does it.

“beauregard,” dairon will ask her later, “why is your fuel light silent?”

“oh,” she says, “yeah. i don’t like the noise. it’s bad enough something’s wrong, you know? everything getting loud all at once never helps me think.”

and again, dairon looks at her for a long moment. “maybe,” she says, “alarms can also be to tell other people that you need help.”)

there’s not much light down here, except for the occasional sweep of headlights. she’d peeled off from the fight to go after the mech that seemed to be fleeing, hadn’t told anyone, and knows they can’t see the infinitesimally faint glow of her lights, not when her mech matches the water, won’t see the crumpled form of expositor 008 until it’s too late, symmetrical upper and lower halves splayed where she’s fallen, stupid opaque stomach cockpit full of water and empty of life.

she knows the transmitter’s been pierced through, but she presses the comm button anyway, heart sinking under the ensuing crackle. she doesn’t have long, not long enough for whoever asked to find out where she went and get her out.

water’s climbing her ankles at this point and she fumbles for her belt release, trying not to hyperventilate. the lights start to blink out one by one as their circuits short, and once she’s free of the restraint she leans back in her seat, curls sideways around the wound staining the fabric, spilling dark blood into darker water down below.

jester’s a healer, but she doesn’t know if there’s a med bay in the world that can restart a heart like they’ll need to.

the mech that had tried to flee stays in front of her for too long, head tilted down in an awkward facsimile of remorse. then, its thrusters kick on and it launches itself backward, into the dark, and she is alone.

(she looks over the railing at where 008’s last few plates are being fitted. dairon stands next to her, smile curling traitorously at the corner of her mouth.

it’s strange to see something she’d made realized, strange to think that there are multiple pairs of hands at work, making something for her.

the cockpit is almost invisible, at the junction of all four limbs and painted over the same deep blue as the rest of the mech. it’s a bit bizarre to look at, four perfectly symmetrical limbs, hinged into pairs, with the decoy cockpit the only thing to distinguish the arm pair from the leg pair. the place they all connect is slightly larger than it should be, impossible to fully disguise— it looks like a spider, it looks like something slightly wrong and infinitely dangerous.

“you know, it’s funny,” dairon says. “it always feels like they look like us, you know?”

“yeah,” beau says, and looks to where expositor 007 is a little ways further down the hangar, sleek and four-limbed but stood rigid and hatched open for repairs. in the artificial lights of the station it looks frozen, a stealthy thing finally caught, but beau has seen it move, knows how each piston compresses when dairon lands so they can move silent and fierce. the day they are caught is the day they die, but there is so much that can be done to keep that day from coming.)

what a funny pair they must make, her and 008, crumpled together, slowly blinking out. it’s almost peaceful, watching the shadows shift beyond the cockpit. why indeed, she thinks, would a stranger pull a punch, and is sad she will never learn.

the water rises to her waist, cold and dark, and it’s when she has her eyes closed that everything is bathed in light.

—

the cockpit of the traveler comes close enough that the glass touches, like an indirect kiss, and hazily she can see jester’s panicked face.

she knows what is about to happen, can only watch as the hinge of the traveler’s cockpit pops and everything depressurizes and jester pushes at the glass.

for a single moment as it lifts, jester hovers in front of her in the water, body backlit by the traveler’s high beams, and her hair lifts around her like a dark cloud, like a halo in negative. beau has never believed in god, before, but if divinity exists, she thinks, this is the form it takes.

then, jester is kicking in shards of the cockpit until she has a big enough hole and can pull beau through. she slides her arms helplessly around jester’s waist and allows herself to be dragged.

jester pulls the cockpit closed with a heave and there’s a second as the traveler starts to whirr where beau looks at her, panicked, before the water is jettisoned out through the airlock hatches and the ventilation pumps in the air reserve.

they both take loud, gasping breaths, and now that she’s in air again beau can feel her eyes watering from the pain. she reaches for jester weakly, and jester slumps against her in the pilot seat and sobs.

(“i’m always watching,” she says, head tipped into beau’s collarbone. the air reserve is cold and filtered, and they’re both shaking from it— or, at least beau is, and she hazily remembers that jester doesn’t get cold. jester’s tears are warm on her skin where they fall. “i promise. i’ll always look for you.”

the fight must still be going on, but for them it has ended— she kisses jester in the faint glow of the traveler’s controls, quiet and cold and still, and thinks that maybe she is done being unseen, that maybe it has always been a choice made when the option to be seen was never given.

jester shifts them after a while so she’s in the seat and beau’s in her lap, and takes them back to the surface like that, the traveler carrying them all— himself, reserves depleted, beau and jester, pressed together wet and cold and loving in the pilot’s seat, and expositor 008 dragged like a doll, a beautiful and broken thing— back home.)