#next step is commissioning some art.

[threadbaresweater]

All the Arlin lore I could scrounge up (for now):

When we first move in together, we live in a little single wide trailer on a massive plot of land in the middle of nowhere at the end of a long dirt road. There's meadowgrass and trees and wildflowers everywhere, some horses and a dairy cow and chickens. We make/hunt a lot of our own food and live a very simple, off the grid kind of life. Sometimes I'll go with him on his work trips, sometimes he'll take a break and we'll stock up the old winnebago, load up the dogs, and go driving somewhere on our own. We've seen all of the lower 48 states, but the west is our favorite. He always brings something back for me when he's gone for a few days. There are trinkets all over the house that I have to rotate out now and then. As much as I love his thoughtfulness, he's also very much a packrat and it would break his heart if I ever got rid of anything he bought for me. A lot of our furniture is vintage or hand-me down stuff. We rarely wear shoes. Arthur cuts the grass on his riding lawnmower in cutoff jean shorts and his hat with a marlboro hanging from his lips. We love having friends over for weekend long get-togethers (think swimming in the pond, barbecues, beer, and lots of cheap lawn chairs). He teaches me to shoot a gun, I teach him to play his favorite tunes on the piano. It's a comfortable, intrinsically happy existence that brings me SO much comfort.

And then we begin to build our family. We wait about 3 years, then we talk about me going off the pill. I'm pregnant within the first month.

Our first baby's name is Beatrice, after his mother. She has bright blue eyes like her father and a fiery temperament from day one. Arthur can't believe his eyes when he holds her for the first time. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance to live a "normal" life, let alone start a family with someone who found him worthy and loveable enough to marry and settle down with. Beatrice is meant to be an only child, but the moment he meets her and experiences firsthand what it's like to be a father, he wants more. Not to mention, he loves to see his woman barefoot and pregnant, swollen and waddling around with his child cooking in her belly. Rumor has it he also likes the idea of getting her pregnant just for the act itself, but that's between him and his wife.

So then, we have Charles, a calm and peaceful little boy with big hazel eyes and a sweet disposition. Less than a year later there's Margaret and Mason, the twins, and two years after that, Jenny is born. Strong, handsome, smart children. They have mama's heart and daddy's resourcefulness. Arthur is a stern but loving father. Teaches them about respect and hard work, but also how to have fun when the day is done. Together, we teach them about love and teamwork and what family and loyalty to a cause really means.Years pass, and life is happy and full– total balls to the wall insane sometimes, but a ton of fun. We're well into our 40's when the last child- Leah- is born. She is tiny and fragile. Our miracle baby, against all odds.

On his most lonely nights when the need for each other is mighty strong, he'll video call from the bunk, but not before making sure all the windows are covered and he's tucked away from any prying eyes at the truck stop. When he does come home I make him go straight to the shower and I'll put his clothes on a heavy duty washer cycle while the kids are running feral through the backyard. We sit down to a family dinner and end the night with a little bonfire and smores in the backyard, and after the kids pass out he shows me just how much he missed me. He sleeps like a rock- well past noon the next day. and then he's on the road again the next day before the sun comes up.

@pastelle-rabbit and @wifesuguru tagging you because you asked 😘

[cherry-pop-elf]

Made this a while back for a friend. So if yall want something like this 🥺 my com’s are open. Just saying…..

Pin Up Boy under the cut 😘

[pr0cyon-lotor]

AU where instead of Shen Yuan being obsessed with Luo Binghe, he's instead obsessed with the scum villain himself. I mean we all know Bingge is Very Not Good Person™ but you know who else a Very Not Good Person™? Say it with me: Shen Jiu

Like just imagine a timeline where Shen Yuan is writing paragraph after paragraph about how Shen Qingqiu might actually be a good person but Airplane is wasting his potential. The other commenters are saying he's delusional because he abused the protagonist and as all these TERRIBLE allegations towards him. So he's a clear cut villain.

But Shen Yuan is defending his fav with the vigor of a devout worshipper. He's constantly siting parts that are obvious plot holes and how they could give much needed context to Shen Qingqiu's character.

Other people are demanding for worst things to happen to Shen Qingqiu to spite him. Airplane caves. Shen Yuan actively commissions art and fics where Shen Qingqiu is happy. People tell him "Shen Qingqiu won't fuck you bro"

Shen Yuan isn't interested in that. He's a freaky little man with freaky little likes. He'd gladly take Shen Qingqiu's cold glares and even volunteer to have tea poured on him.

When he finishes PIDW, he's been outraged that Shen Qingqiu was killed off a while back. He's even more outraged that Shen Qingqiu wasn't given any mention at the end.

Now, imagine with me that he gets transmigrated into some NPC, literally Unimportant Character No°5. Probably as the head disciple for drama reasons. And as soon as Shen Jiu is brought in, scruffy and hissing as he is. He immediately hugging his thighs and saying he'll be peak lord for sure.

Please follow me into this suspicious alleyway as I continue to explain my vision fueled by sleep deprivation.

So now imagine your Shen Jiu. You're a former street rat and demonic cultivator, you aren't expecting to be liked or respected. You're expecting it, you've come to terms with it a long time ago. What you weren't expecting was for this random ass guy you have to call da-shixiong is immediately insane about you.

He met you first day, literally saw you bite a guy, and immediately started spouting out how you'll be the next peak lord and the absolute envy of Cang Qiong Mountain. You conclude he's missing a few screws because he said it in the most disgustingly sincere way.

You try to continue on with your life, trying to beat him and he looks almost... Excited about you beating him. So he's an M, you think to yourself. But then you see someone trying to beat him or you on something, and this guy immediately gets aggressive. Okay so he's just weird with you.

You continue to deal with him. He's weird but also weirdly respectful. He leaves if you tell him to leave. He defends you like it's his very birth right. He's always there to tend to you as if you were a god. He doesn't touch you and only sits around like a dog waiting for a command.

You eventually get strong enough to beat him, and this absolute buffoon is over the moon about it, already spouting about your supposed success again.

When you actually become peak lord, it isn't surprising. Your hype man has been saying it since day one, he was expecting it for some reason. He continues to spout out nonsense about how he just knew you were going to do it.

So what now? You obviously desire him carnally. What is the next step?

Okay so I know this wouldn't fix them. Almost without question this would make they both worse. But, hear me out, it would be funny. (Especially since just know Shen Yuan's entire inner monologue would be him saying he's just being a good friend as if he isn't being the gayest man in the sect and Shang Qinghua is there. That's an accomplishment to outgay the author)

[artistotel]

RAFFLE FOR SIRAJ EXTENDED AGAIN, UNTIL 15.09.

hello everyone! i was going to end this raffle two days ago, but:

we have a really good momentum and ive had a few people say theyre sad it ended before they got to participate because they saw the post too late!

i will be away and travelling next week so i wouldnt be able to calculate everything and choose the winner until 15.09. anyway. so instead of this being dead times, lets put them to good use!

as a reminder, here is the post detailing everything:

and along with comics, you can win a commission from me of any type!

all you have to do is donate to sirajs gfm and send me the screenshot of the proof of your donation.

the entry ticket is $5 CAD, $10 is two tickets, and so on.

please, lets give this the final push it needs before it ends! its a price of one coffee, and you can win some cool art! think about donating some spare change - in all gofundmes so far, small donations really stepped up and helped reach the goal. please, let that be case for siraj too. here is his blog if you want to hear his updates from gaza. @siraj2024

^^^THE GOFUNDME

[rosemaeridream]

hate is no better than love. | (M)

Mature content (18+)

fashion-designer!aeri x photographer!fem reader

warnings: inevitable hate fuck?, strap, bottom!aeri, top!reader, a little bit of roughhousing from both sides, intense back scratching, nude/pornographic photography, do they actaully hate each other or is the sexual tension too much???

A/N: whoever asked for this BEFORE armageddon i'm so sorry lmfao + this hasn't been beta'd mistakes will be present

word count: 4.6k

Uchinaga Aeri is not a woman you love.

She’s rich. She’s popular. She’s arrogant. She’s manipulative. She has a fucking smirk soldered onto her lips at all points of time. It’s infuriating. 

Wholly.

Completely. 

Utterly.

It makes perfect sense why Aeri isn’t your kind of person. She’s everything you’re not–both the bad and the good. 

And yet, God be damned, she’s always nearby. 

It’s not like you’re trying to seek her out. She’s studying fashion (or something you couldn’t be bothered to figure out) while you’re doing some arts degree. It didn’t matter, just as long as you weren’t in the same course.

And yet, God be fucking damned, she’s always nearby.

You’re on your way to the station, and she’s giggling with her friends behind you, somehow loud enough to pierce through the noise-cancellation of your headphones. 

You’re studying outside one of your lecture halls, waiting for your next class, and she’s checking her appearance in the window’s reflection thirty steps away.

You’re on a fucking walk at the beach, kilometres away from the university, and damned Uchinaga Aeri is there, laying back in a chair, sunglasses shielding her eyes and only clad in a bikini.

You could easily not love Aeri. Not loving just meant not caring. But when you see the woman four out of seven days a week when you have no reason or wish to; resentment stews in your gut.

Especially now, as she’s sitting down in front of you – with that stupid fucking perpetual smirk and an undescribably huge iced coffee – and closing the lid of your laptop mid-keystroke.

“What?” You break the silence between you, not at all happy that she’s here and seizing your precious study time. And you know she can tell; she’s even enjoying your irritation – it’s evident in how she rests her jawbone on her fist while lazily swirling the straw in her coffee.

“I heard from a certain somebody that you take photos.” She preens under your gaze and leans in a fraction like she’s telling you a secret. It comes off haughty; she thinks she’s better than you, and you have no idea why she’s doing it.

That’s debatable. But what isn’t debatable is that you do take photos.

“Yeah, what of it?” The jiggling of the ice in her coffee is getting too much, and you’re this close to throwing it against her head and walking out of the cafe. At least you’d get a moment of silence while she sits in shock.

“I have some outfits to model. I want a photographer.”

“Me?” You raise an eyebrow, already put out by the idea of having to take photos of her. Not that it’d be hard. She’s gorgeous, from head to toe, quite literally the definition of photogenic. Maybe that’s the problem — it’s too easy, there isn’t a challenge for you.

“Duh. You have like… good skills or whatever, Park.” Her tone turns bored and she lets go of her straw to check on her metallic-chartreuse acrylics. They’re so long those things would fucking suck to type with. Or fuck with. Or do anything but gouge out the eyes of your enemies with.

“You’ve seen my work? I’m surprised, Uchinaga; I thought you’d only ever care about leather straps and sequins.”

“Mmh. Funny… But no, I appreciate a piece of artwork when I see one.” She examines you from your hair to where your torso ends at the height of the table. Then she lifts her coffee an inch, just enough to wrap her tongue around the straw and sip. It makes an annoyingly loud slurping noise, which is a feat considering the cup is 80% full. 

To say it pisses you off is an understatement.

“I only work for a commission. $100 an hour.”

Aeri’s eyes almost bug out, the slurp stutters and you relish in the noise, pleased that you could break her intrusive behaviour. 

“A hundred. An hour? You’re literally a student.”

“I’m literally a photographer.” The itch to grab your phone and pull up your IG account to name and gloat about how much each photo is worth is immensely strong. But you’re better than Uchinaga. That’s something that she’d do.

You can’t let her win…

And you’re better than her.

“Fuck you, I could take the pictures for free.” Her nails dig into the table and you wouldn’t be surprised if there were chips in the paint when she removes them. Fuck, those things are talons. “And that’d be like wearing a Shein shirt on a runway.” You copy her signature smirk. “Get your head out of your ass, Uchinaga. You want professional quality photos; you pay the professional price.”

“$50 an hour.” And she’s fucking turned to haggling. It’s not surprising – she’s wealthy scum. If this were France in the 1800s, you’d be breaking out the guillotine right about now.

“No thanks.” You grab your phone, shoving your laptop into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Eat shit and die, Coco Chanel.”

You make it 20 steps down the street before you can hear her heels clicking on the footpath behind you. You huff, knowing she isn’t going to call out for you. No, that’s too gaudy for her. Instead, she’ll just menacingly click behind you until she inevitably catches up at a stop light – her irritatingly long legs make her stride feel like she’s an olympian and her persistence can be equated to a bloodhound.

You whirl around, knowing that her perpetual smirk will be present, even when she’s about to grovel for you to take her back. Or something. 

“I’ll pay your stupid commission.” Her tone drawls like she’s bored, but the twitch of her brow is a sure sign of her own irritation. “Tuesday, I’ll DM you the address.” 

Then she turns and strides off without a confirmation.

At the last possible moment, she swishes her hair over her shoulder, sending you a smirk so smug that only one thing is clear.

She wins.

The address she messages you ends up being an old warehouse in a former train shed. The rails are still embedded in the concrete; its steel a dirty grey from wear. There’s a lot of light in here despite the tall corrugated iron walls and high ceiling due to the skylights and high windows. Aeri sits at a makeshift desk on one side of the shed, scribbling away in some kind of notebook as she waits for you. She’s clad in a pink robe and heels – add a sleeping mask and she’d be some kind of Blair Waldorf reincarnate. 

“Uchinaga.” You grumble, finding yourself in the position she was in last week, sitting down across from her and interrupting her work. Instead of a tall iced coffee and a smirk, there’s your short coffee cup and an expectant expression. 

She looks up to you, slight bags under her eyes and a bleary redness to them. Most notably, Aeri’s missing her usual arrogant demeanour. 

“Mmhf.” She immediately goes back to her sketch. “What the shit are you here for, Park?”

It takes you everything you have not to stab her in the eye with her pencil.

“Photos. You commissioned me.”

“It’s not Tuesday. Get the fuck out of my face.” She waves a hand fleetingly like you could float away and leave her in peace if she cared more.

“It’s Tuesday.” You even check your phone, sliding it close enough to her on the table so she can see that you’re not an idiot.

15:05.  Tuesday, 25th June.

And she reads it. 

And she stills.

And it’s quiet.

Then she narrows her eyes.

“Get your shit out then, I’m not paying you more than an hour.” She slides from her stool, stalking over to a rack of clothing. Before you can even move, she lets it drop, pooling around her feet while she flicks through the pieces.

Your mouth dries up and you can’t even move, just staring at the soft sway of her hair and ass as she searches through her clothes. Her irritatingly long legs look so much longer when the only thing stopping them are lacy black panties that are most definitely out of your budget.

The only reason you pick up your jaw and start to unpack your ‘shit’ is that Aeri swivels ever so slightly so that you can see the slight turn of her lip. She’s smirking. She’s fucking smirking.

You look around the place, grateful that the natural lighting is dramatic enough in places to get some interesting images. If Aeri wants that, of course… she hasn’t exactly made it clear what she wants. You’re extra grateful that you wouldn’t have to hike back up the street to get your lighting equipment. 

As you continue to unpack, Aeri changes. The first she shimmies into is a wide legged pair of jeans with frayed and ripped holes up the thigh. It doesn’t help. Then a tube top with a baggy tank over the top. It really doesn’t help. Especially when she passes fingers through her hair and pulls it up into a messy half-up half-down style. 

You blink and she’s apparated in front of you with a hand on her hip, her acrylics curling into the denim.

“Hurry up.”

You pop an SD card into the slot then wave her away to where she wants to begin. Aeri struts over to the side of the train shed and leans against the corrugated iron.

And it starts.

Photographing Aeri is effortless. She’s far too practised in her motions and poses. Even when she gets bored and leaves without a word to change her outfit, it’s efficient. Genuinely, you might be able to get this done in under an hour which is both a relief to your sanity and her bulging wallet (even if it wouldn’t miss the $100 note).

However, as easy as this photoshoot is going, the silence is starting to get to you. 

“Too poor to get your own models?” Apparently pissing her off is the appropriate way to fill in the quiet space. Aeri scowls and you make sure to capture a photo of it. 

So? She looks good when she’s mad.

“I prefer to do it myself. I know what angles the clothes look best at.” She points, guiding you into her next pose. “And no one knows my creative vision.”

“Yet, you trust me to photograph your creative vision.” The viewfinder fogs after your last breath. You hadn’t even realised you were using it instead of the screen. It was just a natural feeling, framing her using a more analogue method felt… right. Lowering the camera from your eye to wipe the fog, you take a second to breathe.

“...Your style. It isn’t so bad.” Aeri finally answers. Then she scowls again. “You’re slacking.”

“And you have fifteen minutes left.”

She scoffs and stalks away to swap her attire.

Wiping the viewfinder again, you put it back to your eye, checking for fog. It’s gone, but all that’s left is a half naked Aeri, perfectly framed and positioned. The line of her back draws your eye to her ass which is slightly pushed out as she bends to step into a new dress. Instinctively, you take the shot.

And then another for good measure. 

“You know I can hear the shutter, perv.” Aeri turns in the viewfinder as you snap another picture. She’s in a swampy green to black gradient which compliments her nails. You figure this is what she had them done for.

“So? Maybe you’ll enjoy these more.” She prowls closer and closer until she’s out of focus and pushing your camera down.

“What, after you rub one out to them?” She sneers, her talons piercing into the skin of your hand where it circles the camera lens.

“Like I’d ever jack off to you.”

Aeri twists the camera out of your hand, opening up the previews to look back at your photos. She keys through the half naked ones, expressionless, and starts to look through the others. 

It’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking. Usually, Aeri wears her disgust on her face, never hiding when she thinks something is complete garbage. And everything is garbage to Aeri.

She grimaces once or twice but it’s never the heavy pull of the lip or the slight scrunch of her nose that you’ve learnt to associate with her disgust.

“Even I would get off on these.” She flips the camera back to you, showing off a preview of her, mouth half open, eyes lidded and hair messy from just swapping outfits.

She does, you have to admit, look like sex on a stick. Or whatever that term is.

Aeri turns, still with your camera and clicks over to a set of chic looking beanbags – however chic a beanbag could look. She lounges down, crossing a leg over the other and lazily stares up at you. 

“Hurry up. You’re wasting my time.” She dangles the camera from its strap. You move forward immediately, reaching to snatch up your camera, your precious baby, back into your hands. 

And Aeri, being the person she is, moves it out of your grasp and above her head. Sick amusement dances across her features when she locks eyes with you. 

“I told you to fetch.”

Neither of you are budging and Aeri’s a fucking immature child. A fucking spoilt immature child. You know that by the time you skirt the beanbag’s circumference, she would move the camera back to where it was before. Her limbs are too long for you to compete with, and her smirk, her damn perpetual fucking dumb fucking smirk, is back on her lips.

Both of you know that there’s only one way for you to get your camera back.

With a clenched jaw, you settle a knee on Aeri’s left side, then her right as you hover over her body to rip the camera out of her hand.

Aeri lets go too early. The camera slides through your grasp and as you focus all your attention on grabbing the strap, Aeri flips you over to pin you against the beanbag. It’s this weird twist and grab, but your baby is safe in your hand. 

“What the fuck, Uchinaga?? Do you know how goddamn expensive this camera is? It isn’t something you can just pick up at-“ The complaint is halfway out of your mouth before it’s smothered by her lips, thick and cushioned.

The kiss is unexpected, a slight moan slipping out when she moves to reposition herself. One hand at your hip, the other sliding into your hair. Her thumb brushes against the hem of your top, lifting and taking fabric along with it until there’s a dense heat branding your skin.

It’s almost nice for a moment. You almost lose yourself in the sensation. Almost.

Aeri yanks your hair downwards, taking advantage of your gasp and forcing her tongue inside. The wet muscle glides across your own, taking its time to thoroughly explore. After an extended moment, she extracts with an audible pop!, daring to stare at you like she’s just blown your mind.

“What…” You struggle to breathe as your brows pull into a frown. “The fuck?”

“You didn’t like that?.” Her tone is blasé like she’s studying her cuticles or waiting for her damn iced coffee.

It’s not a matter of whether you enjoyed it. That, you’d never give the answer to. 

“You can’t just kiss someone when they’re saying things you don’t like! How fucking immature can you be?” 

There’s half a beat of silence, then Aeri measuredly leans forward until she’s a centimetre away. It’s with a controlled precision that you hadn’t really expected. Yes, she’s a fashion major or whatever and that causes a level of elegance, but Aeri’s always been raw and nasty in your eyes.

I mean, she just kissed you, for fucks sake!

Aeri doesn’t say anything but her mouth morphs back into that stupid fucking smirk that looks too good on her lips — you understand why she does it so much but fuck is it annoying — and your stomach twists until you find yourself closing that centimetre and rolling around to push her back against the bean bag. 

You can’t think while you’re kissing her. You can’t even ask why you’re doing this because Aeri’s hiking up your shirt and throwing it on the floor somewhere. You shiver slightly at the change in temperature and her acrylics resting on your back.

She giggles at how crazed your kisses are. In the back of your mind there’s a drifting thought about how you’re proving some point of hers right. You just can’t pin it down. It was the one about… about…? Oh, nevermind. It doesn’t matter.

It especially doesn’t matter when she shoves you off her lap. Hard. It sends you tumbling back, your butt hitting the hard concrete. The impact clears your mind immediately and you send Aeri a ‘what-was-that-for?’ glare.

Aeri leans the side of her head against her palm as she lazily smirks at you. She sits like a maniacal god controlling her creation and it pisses you off. Everything she does fucking. Pisses. You. Off.

“And that one was for…?”

“You were slobbering.” Then she waves to her desk in a careless flourish. “Bottom drawer. Hurry up.”

For a second, you debate walking out of the shed. Denying Aeri’s requests would put you down on her level of bratty pettiness; it’s only natural for you to dish it back to her. Not to mention, this is pretty fucked: You hate the woman. You think she’s rich and nasty and spoiled and far too hot to behave like she isn’t one of the nine muses.

God fucking damn it.

After a moment of rubbing your butt, you push to your feet and wander to the desk. Your camera is left on top of the desk while you squat to open the drawer and yank it open.

“…”

“You are not fucking me with a strap.”

When you turn around, you’re surprisingly not facing her smirk. It’s like a lion without a mane. Instead, Aeri is sitting there looking at you like prey.

“Whoever said I was gonna be fucking you?” She curls a finger for you to come back. It’s clear that she means now. Not in a minute, not in a second. Now.

Mindlessly you grab the harness and your camera, already with the silicon attached and you meander back to her. It’s your way of fighting back, making Aeri feel some of the irritation that follows her. When you arrive, you drop the harness in her lap with a sour expression and place the camera safely on the ground next to the beanbag.

There’s a lot you could ask. Why are we about to fuck? Did you organise all this for me to fuck you? Is this weird or kinky? Why do you have a strap in the bottom drawer of your desk? Is it sanitary? 

“Why am I doing this?” You ask instead.

Aeri hangs the harness over a finger and gives you an eye to step into it.

“Because you think I’m hot and this is your chance to get laid.”

Despite the fact that you hate admitting you’ve had a lack of partners to sleep with recently, you still step into the buckles. She sinches it over your clothed thighs, amazingly efficient despite her nails. The straps are tight but you don’t really mind.

“Come on, baby.” She coaxes you back to your position on top of her and the beanbag. When you look at her rather blankly, she rolls her eyes. 

“God, you’re more idiotic than I thought. Fucking a plushie would be better than this.”

The words are a slap to your face. Although you’re still confused as to why you’re sitting on her lap, with a strap, you find yourself getting angry again. She had that strap in her drawer – just waiting. Is this a normal thing she does? That she paid you to come and fuck her?

Aeri looks fucking pretentious like this – hair mussed, stupid smirk, stupid lips – all dolled up in a horribly vapid and careless way. Her stare sends waves of anger down to your core. It roves over your body, no doubt sizing you up, prepared to dig her nails into your arteries at the first sign of weakness. 

Or maybe the first sign of arousal.

Aeri’s right. This is your chance to get laid, and this is your chance to fuck her. In the fuck you sense, not in the… well, okay in the fuck her sense too.

You hike up her dress, struggling not to make it crinkle and crease at her waist with the thought of keeping it integral for the photoshoot, you expose her upper thighs and… and…

“Those photos really made you this wet?”

It’s obscene. Purely obscene how wet her panties are. When you look up to inspect her expression, Aeri has enough shame to have a dusting of red over her cheeks.

“You narcissist.” You sneer, pushing the strap against her clothed pussy and gliding the head over her clit. It smears your arousal on the underside of the cock, creating a sheen of wet. Apparently, it feels nice enough, good enough, that Aeri clutches onto your shoulders, sinking her nails into your skin. It draws a grunt from your chest and only helps to build your irritation.

“Stop being such a whiny bitch and fuck me.” Aeri tugs your shoulders, ensuring that her lips brush the cup of your ear while she whispers. 

Funny, how she could pretend to be in control when she was holding back her moans and twitching whenever your head bumps against the swollen nub of pleasure. For good measure, you smack it against the soaked cloth twice before deciding that you could torture her better without the layer of protection.

Aeri, on the other hand, leans back. There’s a sort of dazed smile on her lips like she’s a child being rewarded for good grades or some other menial shit. Wanting to wipe the smile off her face, you buck the strap in. 

All the way in, her wet cunt filled to the brim.

She shrieks, her nails scratching harshly down your back, almost getting a line of curses from you.

“And I’m the whiny bitch? You’re the one who wanted this.” You drag your hips back, her pussy squeezing so tight that it actually takes effort.

Moans blossom out of Aeri as you start a sturdy pace, her breasts bouncing with every snap of your hips. The squelch is loud in the warehouse, almost echoing off the walls. Deciding that she deserves a treat, you lean down to suckle under the curve of her boob.

“I bet that was all an act when I arrived.” You purr against her skin. It turns pink under your touch, hot with want. “You were in that robe on purpose, just waiting for a chance to take it off.”

Aeri shakes her head, nails biting into your back. It’s hot white pain, you realise. She’s breaking through layers of skin.

Fuck, that’s filthy. Your eyes find her cunt. The ring clenching rhythmically against the strap. It’s so clear that you could almost feel it yourself. Aeri’s cunt on your cock.

“Are you gonna say something?” She’s too quiet. You’d do anything to hear her say some prissy shit into your ear. To be bratty and deny you. “Or has this dick got you acting on your best behaviour?” 

Your hands are a mess, switching between pinching and kneading her breasts, holding yourself up (or holding Aeri down), and keeping her legs spread wide open. 

Still no answer. Maybe you’ve actually won.

A laugh bubbles up and you double your efforts, making Aeri screech and claw further down your back. She’s already started to roll her hips to meet yours. It’s messy, filthy fucking. Your clothes are crumpled, bottoms stained with her juices, making them look like you’ve wet yourself.

“You just wanted me to fuck you. God, what a slut, paying $100 for a quick fix.”

Aeri shakes her head, she’s trying to fight for her composure. “You were taking pictures of me first.”

Her words bring an idea to your mind. “Because you paid, whore. You expect me to believe you didn’t want this when your pussy is this tight around me?”

The camera you had discarded next to the beanbag. You flick it on, and yank the strap out of her cunt. It flutters indiscriminately. Aeri’s hands flash down to the strap, trying to coax it back inside, her hips scooping like if she tried hard enough she could be filled again. Focusing on the wet mess of her crotch, you manage to capture a photo.

Shiny and slick, pink, swollen with want. Her hand in the corner, wrapped around your stick cock. You can’t hold back a groan. The photo is purely pornographic. 

“Look at you.” The camera is flipped, pushed into her face. “Your slutty cunt needs this.”

Aeri’s unfocused eyes take a moment to zero in on the picture. Almost immediately, they blow out along with a filthy fucking moan.

“More.” She yanks on the strap, ungracefully grinding it on her clit. “I’m fucking paying you for photos.”

Her eyes lock onto yours. “Take. More.”

She doesn’t have to ask again.

It’s clumsy from then on out. You only have one hand to keep her legs split, one hand to hold yourself up. The other is for photos.

Anytime her cunt gushes and your head gets dizzy with arousal, you line up a picture. Anytime she sucks in a moan and you smear your thumb against her clit, you line up a picture. 

She’s so pretty and pink. You’re obsessed. Even the prickling pain of her nails sinking into skin and leaving pulsing red lines aren’t enough to make you stop.

You don’t even notice when she starts to squirm, completely and utterly overstimulated.

“Park. Fucking…” A pained moan. “Stop- Hurts.”

You snap a final picture, creamy arousal dripping down onto the beanbag, a wet spot underneath, big enough that she’d have to wash the entire thing to cover it up.

Aeri pushes a foot into your stomach, forcing your centre of gravity off place and pushing you onto your butt. The strap pops out of her hole and she slaps a hand to her mouth, muffling a cry.

Her cunt is swollen, creamy and so so so pinky raw. It’s impossible for you not to scramble back to your knees, one hand already pulling her folds apart to get the best shot.

The shutter clicks and it’s stored away in the memory card forever.

Then there’s a breath of air and you loosen the harness, letting it drop to the floor. 

Hypothetically, not that you had thought about this before, you would have pushed Aeri over and found some part of her body to grind out your own orgasm on. It was only fair — 1-1.

But you don’t feel the need to. It was relieving just to get her to shut up for a moment and let you take all semblance of control. Even if it meant she was 1-0. Plus, you hadn’t even noticed when she had finally cummed on the strap.

Fucked that you were letting Aeri not pay you back. Then again, $100 was payment enough.

Oh.

Your phone is empty of notifications when you pull it from your pocket, but the time blinks back at you. 

16:07.

You can’t help the bark of laughter that falls out. It’s past the hour. Another paycheck for you.

“What are you laughing at?” Aeri’s mumbles are clear enough for you to decipher. She lifts her head just enough to let you glimpse her half-lidded eyes.

Crawling back, you shove the phone in her face.

“Seven past.” You grin. It takes a moment before she groans, sinking her head back into the beanbag.

1-1.

You win.

NOTE: is this finished? mmhhhhhhhh not really (i was gon write them fucking another round but i wasn't horny enough rah rah blah blah) goddamn it

[earthnashes]

I needed examples for a new commission type bracket I'm adding to my website, so these brave souls stepped forth and allowed me to experiment/test them out with their characters! The owners of these lovely ladies, in order, are: PyritKyrit, ChibiCreates, BoxofFoxes, and Daughteromega! Thank you all so much for being my test subjects! ;w;

I do these "EXAMPLES NEEDED" commissions on occasion to answer following questions: -How long will this take me from start to finish? -How do I want them to look across the board? -Is the test price an appropriate price for the piece, or should it be lower/higher?

It's basically my form of quality control to make sure I'm offering something that looks good/has a consistent baseline look, is fun for me to draw, and is priced fairly for both myself and the potential client based on the hours worked. It also gives me the perfect excuse to experiment with new potential commission types! :)

As you can clearly see, this time the test was for Lineart commissions. I've done them in the past, but they never felt uniform enough to properly gauge a price as well as give an acceptable example to really show folks what they'll get from me. So this was me sitting down and giving myself specific parameters to stick to when I do these commissions, and those parameters are "toned lineart". Lineart with some flat toning/shaded added for extra sauce.

BUT YE! I had a fuckin blast working on these. My August commissions will be opening within the next couple of weeks, in which these badboys will make their debut! Keep your peepers open for more info on that later, and until then I hope ya'll enjoy the art! More to come soon! :)

[creativeashproductions]

Murder Mysteries and Afterlife Businesses // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: Maddie Nears is unaware of one ghost at Split River High School with the connections to help after dead end after dead end. The issue? Well the reader hasn’t stepped in the school since 2013 due to a certain dead jock.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, mention of murder, ghosts and some fluff

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Reader’s nickname is Renaissance since she’s an artist! Renai is pronounced Ren-ah. Reader is a twin!

I could be persuaded to make a part 2 (or more parts).

Masterlist | Next Part

The frustration of dead ends for the mystery behind Maddie was driving her crazy. The inability to leave the school property left Maddie placing a lot of trust and lack of control in other people’s hands. And most of the ones involved had no clue Maddie was wandering the school in the afterlife. And Maddie thus far only trusted 25% of the Scooby Gang attempting to get answers.

There was really only one person in the afterlife with better ways of providing new avenues of searching. But it’s difficult when a metaphorical cavern between two ghosts prevents it.

“Well, Cherrypop, if you want the behind-the-scenes exclusive, maybe you should visit Wally’s girlfriend.” Rhonda’s lips were twisted in a smirk. Her beret sitting prettily on her curls.

Maddie’s blue eyes fled one ghost for the one shifting on his chair in the library space. The support group ended thirty minutes ago, but Maddie needed more information.

“Girl-“

“Rhonda, seriously.” Wally groaned, flopping back on the couch and staring up at the speckles of some mysterious substance on the ceiling, “We’re on a break.”

“For the last ten years.” Charley supplied, flinching when Wally pinched his leg.

Wally’s mouth opened to reply before closing, “She doesn’t want to speak to me.”

Once upon a time, Split River High School had a bludgeoning art studio and an excellent program. You dabbled in many different art forms, but following an unfortunate fire, the program perished, along with the studio and you. The school had rebuilt the studio with better fire-resistant products and attempted to revive the program. It failed ultimately. Even the art scene didn’t want to work in the same building where two students and a teacher had perished. So the program was shifted to a wing inside the school.

Out of sheer surprise, the building was sealed off and avoided by everyone but the janitor.

You and Brady had built a moderately successful afterlife business creating different objects. Then, you were commissioned by the fellow dead to make blankets and pottery around the holidays and birthdays. You barely left the studio, and then you met Wally.

Split River High School, 2010

Your face glanced down at the watch on your wrist before shifting the blanket in your arms around. You were running behind delivering the blanket to Mina. How humourous that even in death, you were always running late.

Typically Brady was the one to deliver items while you stayed in the art studio working. But, unfortunately, the delivery date for Mina fell on the annual day he deemed his ‘day off’ to mourn his life.

And to think you were the theatre kid with how dramatic he could be.

“Why the hell do I need to deliver this. Mina barely likes me and- OH!” You exclaimed, slamming into the linoleum ground.

“Shit!”

You grunted when a body fell right onto your body, “Jesus, dude!”

The other person rolled off to stare at the ceiling in pain. His eyes scrunched closed and curled in the fetal position.

“Watch where you’re going, meathead!” You exclaimed, sitting up to grab the blanket lying on the ground. You didn’t give the guy another glance while you carefully folded the blanket back up and fixed the card on top.

“I’m dead. Why does getting kneeled in the balls still hurt?” He wheezed, slowly rolling to sit up. You knew even with him sitting, he was tall and a jock, given the varsity jacket he wore bearing the older mascot the school retired years ago.

“God, I am so giving Brady garbage duty for the next month!” You huffed, turning to look him in the face properly, “You are so glad this was breaka….”

Wally knew of the afterlife business conducted out of the building on the far corner of the school’s property. Knew that Charley had gotten the coffee mug Wally got for Christmas a few years prior. While Rhonda had tall, thick walls, and sarcasm adored the bracelet Janet had given her. Wally had just never had a reason to go there. He’d seen one of the twins delivering items, but he never saw the other twin. You.

“Hi.” Wally breathlessly spoke, instantly falling for the person standing before him. Regardless of the harsh glare, he quickly scooped the items from your arms, “Let me help.”

And for some reason, you let him. He held the door open to the theatre for you and listened intently to everything you said. It was an instant connection. A friendship with the potential of more.

Wally became a new feature in the art studio while Brady and you worked. He was with the twins when he wasn’t at the support group or on the field. It didn’t take long before Wally asked you out.

And for three years, you built an afterlife together. Until it fell apart in 2013.

For the last decade, you had become more reclusive than previously, partially due to running Highlands House alone without Brady and partly to avoid running into Wally. An ache swelled, thinking of the tall brunette.

You shoved the thought of him aside to focus on the handmade journal Rhonda had commissioned. You’d worked hard to develop the craft of making your own paper and enjoyed it when she popped in when you asked to go over the cover details.

When Brady was still here, you worked more on having clients come to the studio, but you’d managed to get a phone. It was hard to get and used for clients to contact with requests for appointments and contact.

As you said. You’d become reclusive.

So when the knock on the door happened, your eyebrows raised. Your e/c eyes glance at the calendar on the desk. Not a single appointment for today and one known visits you. If Mina left the theatre, you had a feeling she would.

“Renai?”

Your eye quite literally twitched hearing his voice. You kept silent.

“I know you’re there, Renai. I can hear the kiln, and I know you barely move your eyes away from it when it’s firing!”

No matter how much you wanted to slam Rhonda’s notebook on the floor, you refrained. Instead, you smoothed your hair and took a deep breath before striding out of the workroom to the front office. The lock clicked open, and you saw Wally standing there with Charley behind him.

“Hi.” Charley’s smile was watery at best. The apology clears in his expression.

“You so afraid of seeing me you brought backup.” You inquired through the open space between the edge of the door and the jam.

“I think you’re less likely to punch me with him here.” Wally returned with a half smile. His brown eyes watched your lips twist.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for Charley.” Although you admitted opening the door to the duo standing outside, “I wouldn’t punch you. I need my hands.”

You ignored the feeling Wally’s chuckle brought you by leading them to the small sitting room you’d set up. You’d barely sat in the chair with drinks in hand. Tea for Charley, a Gatorade for Wally and your beverage of choice.

“What made you crawl out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding in for the last decade.” You questioned, “Because Charley was here last week to get Mr. Martin’s mug. By the way, how’d he like it, Charley?”

“He loves it.” Charley quietly interjected decidedly, trying to avoid the quarrel he hoped would end sooner rather than later.

Yet it still smouldered.

“It’s not like you’d left the buil-“

“Not like I have a choice.” You shut Wally’s question down. He winced, nodding, “I’m guessing this is more of a business trip than personal.”

Wally nodded. Charley delved into the story of the newest member of Split River Afterlife and the mystery of her death. You didn’t know who this Maddie was, and that was primarily due to how you kept away from the living world.

“So she was murdered in the boiler room.” You finished for Charley, “And you’ve found out she can talk with the living.”

“And I was wondering if you could check in with Jo-“

Your eyes left Charley’s calm ones to Wally’s sitting there in the audacity he had. The cup in your hand slammed against the table so hard you wondered how it hadn’t shattered.

“Are you shitting me, Clark? You come here after so many damn years because you need something from me?!” You exclaimed, taking a step away from your ex-boyfriend.

Charley bit his lip like the meme he saw on Emilio’s phone of Michael Scott from The Office. Charley really didn’t like confrontation all that much. But look where it got him.

“It’s just I feel for her, you know. We all came to the afterlife knowing what happened. And she’s suddenly dead with no idea how or who did it. She’s all alone, and I think you two-“Wally pleaded, attempting to step closer.

“And whose fault is it I’m alone.” You snapped. Wally flinched back, and Charley gasped, “Please leave. I have work to do.”

You fled for the workroom leaving the two in the sitting area digesting what had happened. Charley guided Wally from the building toward the library, where they had left Rhonda and Maddie alone.

“I knew me going was a bad idea. She hates me. Still.” Wally moaned, collapsing onto the couch to sling his arm across his eyes.

“Blowout?” Rhonda ignores the lump of an athlete on the couch.

“Explosive.” Charley replied, turning to ask Maddie, only to find the place empty, “Uh… where’s Maddie?”

You’d slapped the closed sign on the door before stalking away from it and the memories. A trinket is nimbly held by your fingerprints. But, despite wanting to rebel against Wally’s request, you couldn’t ignore the guilt of even considering not helping.

“Joel!” You shouted near the edge of the school property. The chain link fence is the physical evidence of where the property was cut off from the forest. You hated coming to this part because you could feel the eyes of the dead watching from the shadows.

A tall, lanky form materialized from behind one of the trees. He was wearing the sweater you’d swiped from the lost and found. His red hair was as bright as the fire extinguished in the kiln.

“Renaissance,” Joel responded, coming to the chainlink fence. His hand held out for the stamp you’d pay with for any information.

Life was easier when money was accessible. Now instead of cash, it was trading items and favours. Paying for information was more complicated, and Joel didn’t require new clothing as of yet.

“Have you heard anything about the recent disappearance of Madison Nears? She goes by Maddie.” You questioned, stepping away before his skin could brush yours. You hated the screams you audibly heard each time you felt his skin or even his clothes.

Joel curiously looked over the stamp, “I do not have this stamp.”

Getting information from Joel was more challenging than pulling teeth. You loathed any time you lost a piece of leverage for information. It is tough to find stamps the soldier hadn’t collected in the last century and a half since the Civil War.

“Joel.” You huffed, bringing the soldier’s attention back to you.

“I have not. The death of Maddie Nears is no more significant than that of a deer.” Joel responded, looking up to meet the disappointment on your face, “You are kind to me and my fellow soldiers in the face of our part in the Civil War. I shall gather information for you.”

You watched silently as Joel faded into the shadows of Split River’s forest bordering the school grounds. The unease of his presence followed him as well.

Working on any Highlands projects was illogical with how distracted you were. Wally appearing after so long had indeed thrown you for a loop. You were sure everyone would understand things being late by a day.

“You never did tell me where you got this.” Mr. Martin announced from his spot at your desk. His eyes scanned the phone lying facedown on the table.

Your spine stiffened, seeing the ghost in your safe place. The afterlife teacher, slash support group leader, had always rubbed you the wrong way. Something about him felt off, but you could never put your finger on it.

“You evade every question I have.” You deflected grabbing the phone from the desk to lock away in the filing cabinet, “What can I do for you, Mr. Martin?”

“I’m wondering how your grief eased after seeing Mr. Clark so much you agreed to help him. You know this misguided wild goose chase is destructive to Maddie acknowledging and accepting her death.” Mr. Martin replied, dragging a finger down one of the planting pots you had on display. Your flesh goosed seeing his finger disrupt the pottery.

Your laser focus is pinned on Mr. Martin, “Everyone copes differently.”

“And how are you coping with Brady crossing over?” Mr. Martin demanded, turning to face you fully.

Brady’s name, let alone the question, felt like Mr. Martin was shoving a red-hot poker in a wound.

“Fine.” Your features shuttered close from the prodding, “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave Mr. Martin. Highlands House is closed.”

You had never distrusted someone more than the teacher, leaving your business and home with confidence.

“Remember our agreement Renaissance.”

The nickname you’d gained in the afterlife felt comfortable hearing from him. You refused to speak more to the teacher.

Walking the halls of the high school’s main building felt odd after so long. It still smelt of a mixture of questionable cafeteria food, BO, and unrecognizable scents. Little had changed. You couldn’t tell if you felt comforted by that or not.

“-she’s a loner.” Charley’s voice drifted into the library’s opening as you entered quietly.

“All the more reason to talk to her!”

The object of your mission cradled delicately in your hands. The heads of the ghosts in attendance; Charley, Rhonda, Wally and the new girl, you guessed.

“Rhonda, I have your journal ready.” You notified the group but focused on the teen kneeling before the coffee table.

“You’re Renaissance. You own Highlands House.” The blonde female declared, leaning forward, “Have you learnt-“

“Maddie. Manners.” Charley ground his teeth together in a small that bordered more on a grimace, “I’m so sorry, Renai.”

You waved it off, “Hello, Maddie. Welcome to Split Valley afterlife. I haven’t gotten anything from my contact yet, and I’ve received no messages from other ghosts in town. So I’m just here to drop off Rhonda’s journal and head back to the studio. Unfortunately, the ghost who died in Mr. Anderson’s house crossed over a few months ago.”

With that, you turned on your heel and made it a handful of steps down the hall when Wally called out. Then, your feet abruptly stopped striding from the library.

“You haven’t made a delivery since Brady crossed over. You have one of the freshmen help out. What brought you to the school?”

“Curiosity more than anything. Strengthen the relationship with the customers.”

“Bullshit.” Wally spoke, stepping closer to you, “You know something.”

“Nothing of importance yet. It’s hard to get information when and I quote, ‘her is no more significant than that of a deer’. It’s not like she doesn’t have eternity to figure it out.”

“She shouldn’t have to wait that long for answers,” Wally argued, crossing his arms and stretching the white t-shirt under the varsity jacket.

Your e/c eyes scrutinized the jacket you’d worn often during your relationship with the brunette. The dances you’d attended with him and cheering from your spot in the stands for homecoming. Getting to know Mrs. Clark, albeit her being unaware of yours or Wally’s presence and holding him the fifth anniversary, his dad stopped coming.

You’d loved, and if you were to admit it, still loved Wally Clark in every atom of you. But the pain of losing Brady and Wally’s involvement cut deep. You weren’t ready to forgive. You didn’t know if you would ever be able to forgive him.

You cleared your throat, “I’ll let you all know if I hear any news. Be easier if Maddie had someone from her life helping.”

You didn’t see the guilt appear on his features.

“For what it’s worth, Renai. Thank you for helping.”

Your soft smile was answer enough for the football player and reignited his mission to have you forgive him. And rekindle your relationship. Wally wasted enough time with you.

Tag List: Let me know if you want to be tagged!

@websterss

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (1)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, mention of trauma and violence ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She remembered exactly the one sunny afternoon when, still being a small child, she walked with her father into an old, gigantic Gothic church that seemed to her to be so high that it reached up to the sky.

As they stepped inside they were struck by the distinctive smell of incense, dampness and a strange, disturbing echo with each of their steps, as if reminding them that they were in the House of God.

She remembered clearly the narrow, long windows filled with figures of saints, shimmering with various colours of glass, as if they were really looking at her from the heavens themselves. The rays of the sun shone through them like the glory of God himself, and she thought then that she wanted to learn more about them.

She quickly began to draw. At first it was just her favourite cartoon characters, but as she got older she began to take an interest in art and paintings − on all her school trips she would look curiously at the works of the old masters in art galleries and then read about them at home.

When she managed to get into a painting department at a state university, it seemed like the happiest day of her life. One of the specialisations she could choose after the first year was that of stained glass, and it made her face flush all the more because she knew who taught there.

Although there were as many as three professors in the stained glass department, only one, the youngest of them, namely Professor Targaryen was so spectacularly successful internationally, to which he also owed his quick habilitation being only six years older than her.

For all she knew his talent had already been recognised during his studies and he was now carrying out gigantic commissions for new churches built by the richest archbishops.

She had seen his work in one of the churches in her town and had to admit that he was one of the best stained glass artists of their generation.

The holy figures in his works seemed light and halting, partly Baroque and partly Mannerist, their faces expressing some kind of heavenly anticipation, wonder or melancholy, the colours of the glass he chose contrasting wonderfully under the sunlight, creating a breathtaking composition.

He was a genius.

During her first year at university, she saw him fleetingly several times during a class on the basics of stained glass design, where everyone, no matter what specialisation they wanted to choose afterwards, learned how to cut glass with diamond blades, paint it and apply patina.

They were then taught by his assistant professor, Cregan Stark, and Professor Lannister's doctoral student, Meera. Both were very warm and patient – she took great joy in these lessons and stayed after hours to complete her work.

One day Cregan stood over her and seeing her painting her saint's face for the third time, this time with satisfying results, he nodded his head in approval.

"You are very hardworking and you are doing well. You should choose stained glass as a speciality." He said softly. She blushed all over and hopped up in her chair, happy.

"I am so pleased to hear that. I would love to study in your workshop under Professor Targaryen." She said quickly with excitement in her voice, and he raised his eyebrows and laughed. She blinked, confused.

"Forget about it, I advise you well. You're a good girl and you don't deserve what would happen to you there." He said, scratching his chin, looking at her apologetically, as if he resented himself for getting her hopes up. She felt a tightness in her throat not understanding what he was implying.

"What do you mean, sir?" She asked uncertainly and he sighed heavily.

"Ask your fellow students."

His words kept her awake and made her feel very uncomfortable – she had heard that Professor Lannister sometimes liked to flirt with his female students.

Was Professor Targaryen the same way?

Or worse?

Reflecting on this, she realised as she walked past the room where his students worked that she had never seen any women.

She asked this out loud the next day to her female colleagues, who looked at her surprised.

"Didn't you hear about that incident two years ago? He slapped one female student in the face during class. And she wasn't even his student! It landed him on the rug with the rector himself and he almost didn't get fired from the university. He owes his position only to his achievements and that thanks to him our university keeps getting new assignments from the curia." Said Ellyn, and she swallowed loudly, shocked by her words.

"Is it known why he did it?" She asked uncertainly. Lysa shrugged her shoulders.

"Apparently it enraged the rector the most. He didn't explain why he did it, he just said that she deserved it and that no whore – he probably meant woman – would cross the threshold of his workshop. He has one artificial eye and a huge scar, maybe because no woman wants him he behaves this way."

She lowered her gaze, heartbroken, feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck, her heart pounding like mad.

What kind of man was this?

Now she wasn't surprised why Cregan had told her to let it go.

However, the closer she got to choosing a speciality and a workshop, the more she felt the need to fight for what she wanted.

Maybe if she stayed away from him and just worked hard he would give her a break?

Maybe he was annoyed by the way the girls dressed or behaved?

She decided to give it a try.

Despite everyone warning her not to do so, she submitted the papers, writing his name as her supervisor, whose workshop she applied to.

She had a feeling that it would lead to some kind of earthquake, but in the field of stained glass she wanted to be like him.

She thought through how she would dress – she decided that since she didn't like women, she would try to look as neutral and bland as possible.

She put on a large black hoodie from under which neither her breasts nor her buttocks were visible, tight black trousers and trainers. She tied her hair up in an elaborate braid to keep it out of her face, applied only foundation and no other make-up.

Dressed like this, she came to the first meeting of the new semester, where students found out what classes they had and met their lecturers.

She entered the room full of men and complete silence fell; she saw that the professor wasn't there yet, so she sat down with her notepad and pen at the very end of the table to just disappear. One of the boys with dark, curly hair turned to her.

"You're brave, but I already feel sorry for you. He'll kick you the fuck out of here." He said amused, several of the other boys laughed nervously.

She lowered her gaze, horrified, beginning to regret doing this instead of going to another professor who would have welcomed her applications with open arms.

When the door suddenly opened she curled into herself, not looking in that direction, resting her chin on her hand, swallowing loudly. She heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and someone sighing, then the rustling of pages.

"I'll start by reading out the list and welcoming the new students." She heard a cold, indifferent, stern voice that sent shivers through her, felt her breath get stuck in her throat with fear.

"Allan Baratheon."

"Mark Arryn."

"Royce Hightower."

"Matthias Martell."

"Well. I welcome you and will get straight to the task ahead of you this term." He said calmly, putting down the sheet of paper – she felt the stares of all the students on her.

He hadn't read her out.

She was sure she was on the list.

She pressed her lips together lifting her gaze to the boy who had spoken to her earlier – he just raised his eyebrows with a shrug of his shoulders in an I told you so gesture.

For a moment she wondered what she should do, feeling tears of helplessness under her eyelids – still not looking at him she raised her trembling hand slowly upwards. She heard him fall silent for a moment, but then he continued as if nothing had happened.

"− I have decided to hold a competition for the best design for three window quarters with a representation of the Virgin Mary surrounded by saints. The design will be chosen by me and the bishop, who will pay for the whole order, and then the whole workshop will work together to make this chosen design. Cregan will send you by e-mail the dimensions of each window and which specific saints are to be depicted. That's all."

He said and simply stood up, taking his papers and coffee and left, not paying any attention to her or her hand. Her classmates looked at her in shock.

"Oh fuck, that was horrible. He completely pounced on you. I'm so sorry." Her year mate said, patting her on the back, and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

"Don't cry. This is not about you. Go to Lannister and don't spoil your nerves." Said one of the older students and everyone slowly began to leave the room.

She looked blankly at her notebook and decided that she would try one last time.

She would try to talk to him.

She left and approached the locked room where a placard with his name on it was posted. She heard two voices coming from it, in one she recognised Cregan.

"− she's not like that, Aemond. Really. She focuses on her work, she's diligent. Three times I made her start the same face over and she did it without saying a word. She is humble and learns quickly. It's a shame to give her up to waste to Jason or Floris −" She heard Stark's voice and felt warm in her heart at the thought of him trying to defend her. For a moment he was answered by silence.

"No. There are always problems with them sooner or later. She was almost crying by now. I don't want any weepy scenes in my workshop. I −"

He didn't finish because of the loud knock on their door. She heard someone stand up inside, then the door opened and she saw Cregan standing in front of her. He shook his head quickly letting her know that this was a very bad idea, but she had already made up her mind.

She wanted to look him in the face before she gave up completely.

"Please, find five minutes for me, Professor." She directed her words to him rather than Cregan.

He sighed heavily, stepping back and it was only then that she noticed a fair-haired man with his short hair pulled back in black turtleneck, looking at her as if he had never seen a more disgusting thing on earth.

His artificial eye was cold and lifeless, his nostrils moving restlessly, his jaw clenched tight – she thought he looked more like a sculpture rather than a human being.

He seemed empty to her, created from stone rather than flesh.

He was silent for a long time and then rolled his eyes, sighing heavily and hummed under his breath, pulling out his phone, turning on the stopwatch.

"Five minutes." He said lowly, and Cregan quickly walked out, leaving them alone, closing the door behind him. She wanted to come closer, but his voice stopped her.

"Don't come up, just stand there and talk. You're running out of time." He burst out coolly, still facing her in profile, tapping his fingers impatiently on his armrest. She swallowed loudly, feeling her throat dry up, and opened her mouth to tell him all that she was holding inside.

"I know what rules you have set in your workshop and I wish very much now that I had been born a man, but unfortunately I am not." She said with difficulty hearing her voice tremble. She glanced at him and saw that he was still listening to her, so she continued.

"I saw your artworks while I was still in high school at St. John's Cathedral, and having always dreamed of creating stained glass for churches, I wanted to be taught by someone who is such an accomplished specialist in the field as you are, sir. I know how difficult the job is and I promise to do what you tell me to do without a shadow of dissatisfaction. I will not approach you except to revise my designs or projects. I will always work at the furthest table and sit in the last seat as far away from you as possible, dressing in such a way that you do not notice me and forget my existence on a daily basis. Please." She whispered the last word weakly – she saw his adam's apple waving as he swallowed loudly, tense.

He remained silent.

"Just because you're a fan of my works doesn't make you a talented person. What good is it to me that you work in silence if none of your pieces will be at least satisfactory and your colleagues will have to correct your mistakes?" He asked dryly, lifting his stern gaze to her – she swallowed loudly, feeling small, feeling like a nobody.

She did not bring her designs with her.

"Well. All I have with myself now are quick sketches in my notebook. They're portraits of people I see travelling on the bus to my classes." She said quickly and he sighed heavily, frustrated, and ran his hand over his face.

"So you are unprepared." He summarised, and she furrowed her brow, shaking her head.

"None of my colleagues had to −" She began, but he threw her a sharp, annoyed look and she realised at once that she had to back off, had to humble herself.

"− I − yes, I'm unprepared. I'm very sorry." She mumbled, fiddling with her notebook in her hands, her lips tightening.

He turned his head away from her, but extended his hand towards her in a movement full of impatience. She approached him uncertainly, handing him her sketchbook without touching his skin. He sighed and began to look quickly through what was inside without interest.

She saw that he had stopped at a few drawings, depicting a young woman with a child on her lap, an old man wearing a large black cap and winter scarf, and a stooped man asleep leaning his temple against the glass.

She saw him massaging his forehead and closing his eyes, clearly fighting with himself internally. He closed her notebook and waved it in his hand.

"Three of your fifteen sketches I would consider good. Do you think that's enough?" He asked dryly, without even looking at her. She felt a squeeze in her heart and a wave of disappointment knowing what he meant to say.

"No. It's not enough."

He hummed under his breath agreeing with her opinion, and then with a light flick of his hand, he tossed her notebook into the bin that stood by his desk. He glanced at her reaction and she gasped.

He wanted her to cry, to run out hurt and humiliated, to leave him alone.

No.

"So I'll do 200 sketches, 40 of which will be good. Or 300 of which 60 will be good. I will do as many of them as you see fit, Professor." She said with an effort, trying with all her might not to cry again.

He looked at her coldly in silence, the bell on his phone ringing out like something final. She felt cold sweat on the back of her neck as he reached over and muted his app, turning his profile back to her again.

"400 sketches. And they're all supposed to be good. Without them, don't even show yourself to me. Anything else?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Thank you for the chance, Professor." She muttered and just walked out, closing the door behind her, feeling her whole body tremble.

He wasn't a man, but a walking monster breathing fire.

Cregan walked up to her, looking at her in horror, clearly seeing how pale she was.

"Did he agree?" He asked in a whisper, as if he was afraid he would hear them.

"He told me to bring him 400 good sketches and not to show my face to him without it." She mumbled apprehensively, wondering how long it would take her and how she would decide which were good and which were not. Stark looked at her in disbelief.

"I know it's no consolation, but you've just achieved the impossible." He said with some kind of admiration, and she sidestepped him, not knowing if she could call it that herself.

When she got home she started searching the gossip portals in the hope of finding out something about the incident from a few years ago, guessing that it must have been a big scandal and she was not disappointed.

Admittedly, she couldn't find his statement anywhere, and the student he slapped gave a wide-ranging explanation.

Professor Targaryen showed an unhealthy interest in me from the beginning and was also unpleasant and disrespectful. When we were left alone and I went to him to ask him to proofread my work, as my professor was on sick leave at the time and I wanted to move on with my job, he rose with anger and slapped me on the cheek shouting that I had no right to enter his workshop and invade his privacy. I believe this stems from his complexes and fear of women, and I regret that no justice reached him for this. Unfortunately, in this university everyone cleans each other's hands.

She read this, and she decided that she needed to be wary of him and keep her distance, not to approach him or frustrate him.

She spent the next week from morning to night sketching, sitting in the park and looking at people passing by, but she wasn't satisfied with her results.

She recalled her sketches he had stopped at and wondered what they had in common. She thought that as well as a study of the body there was a kind of melancholy and lightness in them, a snapshot of some fragment of life and situation.

She decided to go to church.

She made sketches of figures from the paintings in prayerful exultation, sculptures facing the heavens with outstretched hands, close-ups of their faces.

She thought he meant a character study like Leonardo da Vinci did, who caught facial expressions and gestures on the fly, making the viewer of his drawings go through a thrill of excitement.

She went round all the temples in her city and ended up with 500 sketches, from which she selected the agreed 400. She decided for her own satisfaction to bring him 401 drawings, which she managed to pack into two big folders.

She did not find him in his office so she set off towards his workshop where his senior students and her year mates were gathered. However, she didn't cross its threshold but knocked on the doorframe, eager to get his attention, to get permission to cross that magic line.

He was just leaning over another student's projects and glanced at her with a sharp, disgruntled look, clearly hoping he would never see her again. She lifted up her folders showing that she had brought what he wanted – he sighed heavily and moved towards her, avoiding her by a wide margin.

"Follow me." He said dryly, so she went straight after him. They entered a room with illuminated tables on which glass was usually cut and painted.

"Lay them out here. Show me the top 40." He said impatiently, and she swallowed loudly, wondering what she should show him. Her hesitation frustrated him.

"Can't you judge which of your works are suitable to be shown to me?" He growled and she shook her head, quickly searching for the works that were most memorable to her.

The woman turning to her over her shoulder with an enigmatic smile, the angel looking up to the heavens with his lips parted, the distraught Mother of God looking at her suffering son, Mary Magdalene humbly bent over in prayer, the nun covering her face with her hand, leaning over in thought.

She put down sheet after sheet, counting in her head, but then she lost track, stood up, trying to count them all over again, her heart pounding like mad.

"That's enough." He commanded coolly and walked over to the table, this time looking at each of her works in turn.

She stood at a great distance from him, not daring to come close, his face thoughtful, sharp and tense, his brow furrowed.

She was afraid he was about to humiliate her again, start crumpling up sheet after sheet and throwing them in the dustbin. He picked up a few, however, taking a closer look at them.

"Is that a figure from the church of St Michael the Archangel?" He asked indifferently, and she nodded quickly. He hummed under his breath and added nothing, putting the piece of paper down, watching further, his hands entwined at his back.

It seemed to her that his silence lasted for ages.

"A month. For a trial. If you disappoint me, I'll kick you out." He said low and unenthusiastic, turned and walked out, simply leaving her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hiding her face in her hands, and burst into sobs.

She had made it.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[zhongrin]

𒆙 zhongli

part 7/8 of ⎡∞ / 𝟔 𝟎 𝟎 𝟎 ⁺⎦, a zhongli 2023 birthday event

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

𖧷 tags ┈ fem!reader (you get called nǎinai), afab!reader (implied past pregnancy), you’re both grandparents with grandchildren, super domestic, teeth-rotting fluff, ocs: liwen & liwei

𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓊 ❬ masterlist ❭ 𐫱 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭

𝒾t would not be an over-exaggeration to say that there was no greater happiness at this moment than the way the innocent bright smiles of your grandchildren filled you up with warmth, even more so given the harbor’s chilly cold breezes of the night.

“yéye, nǎinai, bye bye!” the youthful cheers were just as energetic as ever despite the lateness of the night. the tiny mostly-humans waved at the both of you, some jumping and bouncing like overexcited hatchlings, others in a calmer manner reminiscent of your husband’s temperament.

“don’t run!” you reminded them as you waved back, a fond smile stretching your lips as you watched them walk further and further into the distance. the same expression made itself home on your beloved’s face, even as your not-so-small family turned around the corner, vanishing from view. a poignant silence blanketed the two of you, the solemn tune of tranquility momentarily accompanied by the squawks of the gulls passing overhead.

a gloved hand settled on the small of your back, and you inhaled deeply in pensiveness before following the guiding push. zhongli led you towards the calm docks, making sure to choose the flattest paths so your bad knees would have the least strain. as if that wasn’t considerate enough, you knew he was also attentively judging your condition from the way you gripped his arm to help you walk.

he was ever so silent and yet, you knew his head was full of many things. he seemed to be getting especially contemplative with each of the years that passed lately.

“….. liwen is turning out to be a wise mother,” he remarked after a few minutes of silence, “perhaps she had unconsciously learned the art of parenting from dealing with all of liwei’s sudden bursts of high energy ever since they were young, do you think?”

“perhaps… but i think she learned it from you,” you chuckled, “just like how she’d perfectly replicated your special slow-cooked bamboo shoots soup.”

“to be more specific, your slow-cooked bamboo shoots soup.”

“oh, i forgot about that,” you snickered, “’soup so good even rex lapis is hopelessly infatuated with it!’…. that past self of mine sure has great foresight, hm?”

“that you did, my dear,” zhongli chuckled, eyes twinkling just like that day, but this time with his convivial smile in full view. he had long since felt comfortable enough to bare himself in front of you, knowing that you would never turned up your nose against him across all of your lifetimes.

your conversation temporarily halted so you could focus on climbing up the small steps of stairs with zhongli’s help. a series of huffs and puffs later, you sighed deeply, one hand pressed onto your cheek as your husband paused in your walk just so you could take a little breather, “dear me…. i think for your next birthday i’ll have to spend it in a wheelchair.”

“then i shall be sure to speak to master zhang to get the commission started,” zhongli smiled, “may i propose a mechanism so it can only be pushed by someone who wields geo elemental energy?“

there he goes, flirting with you again.

“and whatever will i do when i need someone to help me push the wheelchair while you’re not around, hmm?“

“are you implying i will just abandon you at the side of the road? after all these years? you wound me, darling.”

“you’re so dramatic, i swear to rex lapis.”

eyes rolling, you shared a chuckle before continuing on your way back to your modest shared abode.

as you walked, golden shadows of the past clouded your eyes, the ghosts of the past playing moments remembered before the deserted streets, unconsciously creating an upward curl on the corners of your lips.

you saw the first time you walked back home, with the newborn twins tucked safely within yours and zhongli’s arms: with you panicking internally, because dear gods you were not ready for two babies, while zhongli merely gave you a comforting smile and tried to calm your nerves with his soothing reassurances. you saw the two of you chasing the two toddlers, nearly knocking over the pots of marigolds on your front porch: zhongli panicking because liwei’s shapeshifting had gone out of control and he was practically zooming about everywhere in his dragon form, while you couldn’t help but laugh at your husband’s attempts to lead him back home without attracting too many eyes. you saw the two of you seeing off the twins, the first day they insisted on going to school by themselves, because ‘all the big kids do it and we’re big kids!’: the both of you the most anxious you had ever been in your lives, despite knowing big brother xiao would be faithfully watching the little ones and would never allow any harm to befall them.

so many memories, so many years, so many birthdays... passed in the blink of an eye.

“hey, li…,“ you hummed and squeezed his arm with your wrinkled fingers, “…….. happy birthday. even if i won’t be here to say it next year, make sure to spend it with our family, okay?”

“yes, darling.”

“don’t get too lonely, okay? i’ll be back in your arms again before you know it.”

“…. i know, my dear.”

in actuality, he would gladly spend hundreds of birthdays without you, just to spend one birthday with you. but had he told you this, he had a feeling it would add a sad frown onto your lovely face, so he refrained. so instead, he planted a kiss onto your forehead, lined and creased with age and wisdom, with a fond whisper that carried the weight of his devotion.

“i know you always will.”

𖧷 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭ ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[robsheridan]

Nine Inch Nails Still trailer, 2001. Directed/edited by me, with video art by Bill Viola. I gave this a gentle upscaling in honor of Bill Viola’s recent passing. He was a legendary video art pioneer and a huge influence on me at the beginning of my career. Without Bill’s work in establishing video as a contemporary art medium, none of what I and many others have done with video art in the past 25 years would have been possible.

I was fortunate enough to work with Bill when he was commissioned to create original video art pieces for NIN’s 2000 Fragility tour. Although I was a 20 year old nobody and Bill already had a 25 year retrospective at the Whitney, I’ll never forget the kindness and respect he showed me, listening to my ideas and asking for my input as if we were equals. It helped me step through some of my imposter syndrome and become a larger creative voice on the tour production, which led me to become creative director of the next NIN tour production a few years later.

The clip here is a teaser I made in 2001 adapting some of Bill’s Fragility visuals. After trying several approaches of editing together his imagery, I ended up filming his raw footage off a screen with my DV camera, and using my own camera motion on top of his to change the flow of the piece to fit the teaser I wanted to make. It made the piece a bit more distant, abstract, jittery, and eerie; exactly what I was looking for. It’s the type of unconventional approach they would have maligned in video production classes, but became a hallmark of how I work throughout my career; so thank you Bill for opening so many glowing, flickery doors for so many.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

A Little Much

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

Fluff, Evie and Astarion have self worth issues, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: It’s Evie’s first ball after the fall of the Netherbrain and somehow, facing down Baldur’s Gate elites feels more terrifying.

A/N: I’m alive! I know this hasn’t been requested by anybody but sometimes you need to ride the inspiration. And reminder to please COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 1.7k

“What about this one?” the tailor said, his tone starting to strain. “It’s a lovely color for your complexion.”

Evie didn’t say anything, running the fabric through their fingers. It was just about the finest fabric they ever felt. A small pang of guilt twisted inside them for simply touching it, as if their calloused fingers would somehow damage the smooth threads. Carefully, they let it back down on the table next to the pile of other rejected fabrics.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Astarion said. “Cliche as it may be to say, blue truly does bring out your eyes.”

Evie shifted, the familiar anxiety they’d been experiencing for the last two hours rising in their gut.

“I’m not sure,” they said, trying to sound discerning. “Maybe something a little more…simple?”

The tailor’s lips turned into a hard line. Evie had the distinct impression that if they were not the literal hero of Baldur’s Gate, he would have kicked them out ages ago. He must really need the commission.

“Simple,” he repeated, sharply. “Very well, I’ll see what I can find.”

Without even bothering to pick up the bolt of fabric, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the backroom.

Evie let out a short breath of relief. This whole song and dance had been going on for far too long. First ball or not, there had to be a simpler way. After the next round of samples they’d say they need to think about it and leave. It may be in rough shape, but their performance dress could still do in a pinch. Maybe they could convince Astarion to spruce it up.

As if feeling their thoughts turn in his direction, Astarion moved closer leaning into their ear. “I think you’re going to drive that man to baldness.”

Evie gave what they hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “Not baldness. Grayness, perhaps. His head is fairly well preserved.”

“Either way, he’s cursing your name.” He took up one of the other swatches, a dark blue patterned with silver stars, and examined it with an artful eye. “I still think you would look lovely in this. Not the whole dress, mind you, but for the bodice at least.”

They smiled a little at that. An image of a gown came easily into their mind, although not as detailed as they were sure Astarion could picture it: something grand and striking, something a princess would wear waiting for a knight to rescue them. And with that thought, the fantasy ended.

“I think it’s a bit much for my taste,” Evie said. “Might suit you though. I know you prefer red, but you truly look well in just about any color.”

They glanced over at Astarion expecting to catch him mid preen. Instead, his gaze was solely on them, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Do you actually want to go to this ball?” he said, suddenly.

Evie straightened in surprise. “Of course, what are you talking about?”

“I am talking about that infuriating thing you do when you technically agree to something by not disagreeing before dragging your feet at every step.”

“I don’t–.” They stopped at the side eye Astarion was giving them. It was something they were working on.

“That’s not what’s happening,” Evie corrected.

“Enlighten me then.”

They shifted their stance, suddenly feeling very hot all over. When did it get so stuffy?

“It’s just…it’s all a bit much, isn’t it?”

“The ball?”

“No. I mean, yes, a bit, but this.” They waved their hand around the shop. “He’s charging twenty gold a yard for some of this. And that’s just the fabric, let alone the labor cost. And it’s not as if I’ll ever wear it again. I mean, how many balls can I expect to attend in one lifetime?”

“So, you’d rather wear something you already own?” Astarion questioned with clear judgment in his tone.

Evie’s lips pressed into a line, their defenses rising. “It’s not as scandalous as all that.”

“Only if you want to dress like the entertainment.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “so long as you don’t mind being the entertainment. Or at minimum have people handing you their used cups all evening.”

Evie bit back a groan of frustration. He really didn’t understand.

“I just think it’s all rather frivolous,” they vented.

“You think fashion is frivolous?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you implied.”

“I didn’t–.” They stopped, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t going how they wanted it to go. They just wanted to leave and not have to think about hundreds of eyes on them whispering speculations about who they were and where they came from. They almost wished they were the entertainment. It would be more honest and they’d walk out with well earned gold in their pocket.

“Look, I know dressing well is important to you,” they said, carefully. “I know that choice is important to you, but it’s just not to me. I don’t need to make a statement outside of my performances. As soon as I’m off that stage, I am perfectly content for people to stop looking at me.”

Astarion scoffed. “Then you’ve somehow missed the point of the evening. People are going to be looking ,whether you want them to or not. The only thing you have control over is what they see.”

Evie glanced away. He was right, of course. They had wanted to focus on the other aspects of the evening; seeing their friends again, free food, listening to music instead of playing it for once, just seeing how the other half lived. They should have known it would come with a price.

“Well then maybe it is best if I skip it.”

It was a testament to how much effort Astarion was putting into understanding that he didn’t just throw his hands up in frustration. He did, however, get in one exasperated sigh.

“What are you so afraid of them seeing?”

A mouse. A rat. A thief. Gur scum. Unclean. Unworthy. Wrong.

It must have shown on their face as Astarion touched their chin, turning them back to him.

“None of that,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

Evie didn’t really know what to say. They just knew they couldn’t bring themselves to look directly at him.

Astarion, however, didn’t falter. “You’ve been my mirror in more ways than I’d like to admit. Do you wish to know what I see?”

“I’ve got a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

His face lit up with pride. “There’s my love. Let’s start with that deceptively smart tongue disguised by a very pleasant mouth.”

“Pleasant mouth?”

“Very,” he insisted. “Now let’s see…a nose that one might describe as too long for your face, but actually proportions your features quite well when taken all together. I think it’s the little bump that does it. Good hair with some potential. You are with me after all darling. It’s hard to compete with perfection.”

“I think you’re losing the point of this exercise.”

“I’m not finished. I haven’t even gotten to those two near supernaturally blue eyes of yours. They are always so much more endearing when they’re trying to be annoyed with me.”

Evie tried to glare, they really did, but their smile gave them away.

Astarion’s own grin only widened. “And don’t even get me started on your truly lovely skin and even more enticing neck.”

“Careful my love, you’re starting to drool,” they teased.

He answered by pulling them to him, playfully nipping their neck with a growl.

“Astarion!” They laughed.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said before moving his lips to their ear. “You’re so much more than all of them.”

Evie’s brows furrowed as they felt the air shift. His tone was softer now and all the more serious for it.

“Even before you saved everyone in this miserable city, you were worth more than any of the fools who thought they were superior because they were the ones to put coin in your purse. If the world actually judged people by the things that mattered, near everyone would question their worthiness to even speak with you. I know I do.”

They felt their heart clench, turning their head to catch their love’s eye. “Astarion…”

He gave them a half smile. “Not to worry darling, it’s only in moments. It’s comforting to remind myself that you’re not infallible. You did make the very foolish decision of choosing me after all. Besides, I’m selfish by nature. I’m not about to do something noble like let you go to find someone better.”

He left his voice light, but Evie could feel the weight of his fears. It had faded for the last few months, but still lingered. Time was the only cure for it. And Evie intended to give him as much as it took.

“I’m holding you to that,” they said.

Astarion watched them a moment, surprise flashing across his features before settling into something much more self satisfied.

Evie felt the need to say something to keep him from getting down right smug, but the kiss he placed on their lips quickly evaporated those notions. He was just as relieved to hear their words and they were to hear his.

They held each other close, even as their lips drifted apart content to stay in their own little bubble for a few moments longer.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want,” Astarion murmured, “but don’t let what other people think stop you. They’re not worth the consideration.”

Evie took a breath, finally letting his words settle. They wouldn’t be alone. Astarion would be with them, and Wyll and Karlach and Gale and Shadowheart and Lae’zel; really the only people whose opinion mattered. How could anyone make them feel small with love like that?

“Alright,” Evie conceded. “I might need to borrow your eye though. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Gladly, so long as I don’t catch you squirming thinking about how much it’s all going to cost,” Astarion countered.

“I will…try.”

He beamed and Evie could already feel their last few coppers clinking together. They pushed it aside though. Their purse might regret it but they would not. If there was ever a reason to celebrate, the knowledge of never being alone again seemed just about the best.

[vacantgodling]

semi-back; commissions open

hey guys :)

been on a hiatus for about a week cuz i've been depressed and whatnot, but i have some life changes coming my way.

tl;dr i'm starting t! my relationship with my mom is currently up in the air but i'm excited that i'm finally taking some next steps to be happy in my body.

as such, and from all the ubers and other shit that i'm doing lately, i wanted to plug my commissions again: https://ko-fi.com/vacantgodling/commissions

i always feel bad about asking for money with nothing back for y'all in return, but i'm open to drawing p much anything. bc i don't check this account too much rn, please make sure you leave me your discord @ or your tumblr username and i will reach out to you from @vacantgodling-comms

some examples of recent art:

[softonshanks]

A quiet night

Word count: 980 words

Characters: Marco the Phoenix x female reader

Plot: This one was a request by the lovely @kazenomegaminowanpisu who asked a one shot in which the s/o woke up without Marco on her side and she went to his office and she tried to convince Marco to sleep cause it was getting late, but Marco insisted not to... So the s/o sit down on his lap and sleep (just marco adoring her while she sleeps). I guess it came out a little bit sadder than I wanted, but I hope you'd still like it.

Author's note: Very important thing before you dive in, @kazenomegaminowanpisu is a very talented artist, make sure to check her art and commission her some stuff <3

Y/N woke in a cold bed. Her arm reached out across the blankets to find only air and empty space where Marco had been. The thin and blue moonlight trickled through the slats of the cabin window, casting long shadows over the room. She sat up, brushing sleep from her eyes. It was late—too late, by the look of the moon. Maybe two in the morning. She exhaled, feeling the pull of worry stir inside her. She dressed quickly and slipped through the door, careful not to wake anyone else. The air outside was cool, with a soft breeze pushing off the sea, and the ship creaked faintly with the swells of the waves. The stars above were scattered, sharp points of light.

She walked the deck with soft steps, peering through the dim light for any sign of Marco. The crew was quiet, most of them lost to their dreams. A few kept watch, their shoulders hunched, heads tilted to the sea. She stopped and asked the first one she saw.

“Have you seen Marco?”

The man shook his head. “Not since he came to sleep with you”.

She moved to the next one, a wiry man leaning against the mast, picking at his nails. He shrugged when she asked.

“No idea. Probably off somewhere thinking too much again.”

The girl nodded. She knew that was true. Marco could be like that, disappearing into himself, tangled in thoughts. She crossed the deck slowly, the wood cool beneath her feet. She passed the galley, the medic room, the empty crows’ nest. No sign of him anywhere. It wasn’t until her eyes fell on the faint glow of light spilling from under a door on the far side that she remembered. His office.

She moved toward it. The door was half-cracked, so she pushed it open with one hand. Marco sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, a stack of books and papers spread in front of him. His eyes were fixed on a worn notebook, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look up at first.

“Marco,” she said, softly. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

His head lifted slowly, his blue eyes a little foggy with exhaustion. “Hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. You just weren’t there.”

He gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked away again, his hand tracing over the pages of the notebook absently.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, stepping closer to him. Her fingers brushed along the back of his chair.

“Just thinking,” he said quietly. “Whitebeard wasn’t doing well tonight. Worse than usual. I gave him some medicine… it helped a little.”

His voice faded, and she could hear the frustration hidden in it. He stared down at the desk. “But it’s not enough. None of it’s enough. No matter how hard I study, no matter how much I try to learn, I can’t… I can’t heal him. All I do is push it off a little longer.” He clenched his jaw, his hand balling into a fist. “I’m just… delaying the inevitable. He’s going to die.”

The girl watched him, her heart sinking. She understood the weight he carried. It wasn’t just responsibility; it was love, the fierce kind that made it impossible to accept failure. She knelt beside him, her fingers trailing over his arm. “Marco,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “You’re doing everything you can. Whitebeard knows that. We all do.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. She cupped his face with her hand, guiding his gaze back to hers. She pressed her forehead to his. “You’re not a god, Marco,” she said gently. “You’re just a man. You can’t control life and death. You’re here for him now, and that’s what matters.”

He closed his eyes, letting her words sink in, his breath shallow and heavy. She kissed his forehead, soft as a whisper, and then again, on the bridge of his nose, down to his lips, lightly. She lingered there for a moment, her hand still resting on his cheek.

“Come to bed,” she said. “You’re tired. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

Marco shook his head slowly. “I can’t. Not yet.”

She frowned but didn’t press him further. Instead, she slipped onto his lap, curling her body against his. “Fine,” she murmured, resting her head against his chest. “But I’m staying here, then.”

He smiled, this time a little warmer, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. She nuzzled deeper into him, her body molding to the contours of his. His heartbeat was steady against her ear, the faint rhythm comforting. Minutes passed, her breathing slowed as sleep started to pull her under again. Marco watched her, his fingers gently stroking her hair. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her body melting into his. The lines of her face were peaceful, calm in the way only sleep could bring. He kissed her forehead, soft and slow, his lips brushing her skin like the lightest touch of wind. His hand cupped her cheek, and he kissed her again, a quiet reverence in his movements.

In the stillness of the night, with the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders, Marco found a small moment of peace in her. He held her as she slept, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on her skin. There were no answers in the books, and no cure for what was coming. But right now, in the quiet of the ship, he let himself forget it.

Just for a little while.

[nspired1fanfiction]

Commission for Ichor & Pomegranate

Art by MadBedlam , Fanfic Art

Chapter 3:

"Fortunately, with Marcia's case still being an active investigation, we've been able to keep the church closed. Only the forensic investigator has been in and out of the building since the initial crews came in." He answered as he handed her the crime scene investigation kit. "If we find the pinecone, I'll let you bag it. I want you to make your assessments like you have been."

"Yes, sir," Jill murmured while she studied the contents of the kit before closing it back up.

The double doors to the church were locked and she watched Wesker pull out a set of keys from his pocket before he paused and glanced down at her.

"Did you bring your tension wrenches?" he asked with another cock of his head.

With her mouth dropping open slightly, "Sir, that's a crime." When his eyebrows went up, she quirked her lips, patted a pouch on her belt, and continued, "Of course I did. May I?"

"You may not, Valentine," his tone was colored with amusement when he put the key in the door and pushed it open. "I just wanted to be certain that my little B&E Specialist was adequately prepared."

She smiled at his back from his usage of her previous taunt back in the car and followed him through the threshold.

The tall chandelier hung a good ten feet from the vaulted ceiling and was bright enough to light the rich textures of the following room.

"Beautiful," Jill breathed into the muted atmosphere of the Nave.

Her captain shifted beside her, but he made no comment on the scenery and was instead looking toward a taped off area to the right.

She followed behind him again as he led her down the row of dark walnut pews. Their steps were muffled on the royal red runner carpet. The surrounding floor was made of tile; the polished surface reflected the many angles of the church as they moved.

"The nave, the main room in churches, were always my favorite," she spoke aloud while she followed. "The design was adapted by the early Christian builders from the Roman hall of justice, the basilica. The nave of the early Christian basilica is generally lighted by a row of windows near the ceiling, the clerestory." She pointed even though he wasn't looking back at her.

"You seem to have a continuous religious theme about you. A passion you follow through on Sundays perhaps?" her captain responded after a moment.

They both came to a stop where the crime scene tape marked the beginning of the tracking site.

"No." she winced when her response came out somewhat harshly. "Frankly, I find the levels of fanaticism... worrying; the spoken word of gospel calls for a lot of unnecessary violence. I've seen groups of people cling to some atrocious things in the name of God. Whether I believe or not is my secret, but I do not attend church."

"Yet, you find yourself clinging to the written word of a polytheistic religion." He lifted the tape and motioned for her to step through.

"And what of you, captain? Do you prefer the stories of the gods, one god, or none at all?" She held the tape for him while he stepped through next.

"I believe in knowing them all."

Jill tilted her head up at him and was somewhat pleased for a little more detail, even if it was rather vague.

"For what purpose?" she asked curiously.

"Stories have always been man's easiest weapon." He removed his glasses and set them carefully into his breast pouch on his vest before jutting his chin toward the stained-glass window on their right. "That was the original purpose for windows like these. To teach the gospel to those who couldn't read. What better power than to teach belief, Valentine?"

Grabbing the CSI kit from his hand, Jill pondered the thought while she cracked open the box and handed him gloves before she carefully donned her own.

The silence rang out and Jill wasn't sure he expected an answer from her. He turned from her then and began to move to where they had noted the pinecone in the picture that hung over to their right.

Stooping low, she watched his tall form lower to a crouch as he glanced beneath the pew in the front portion of the corner space.

"You'll need to grab it from your side; it's still here. Are you capable of bagging this on your own?"

Jill glanced over to see him holding out the tweezers to her. Once more, she met his challenging stare before her gloved fingers wrapped around the tweezers and pulled the instrument from him.

"I haven't let you down yet," she murmured and turned for the task.

"Indeed," he said quietly, now behind her when she carefully knelt on her side of the pew and gazed under the wood.

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 5

Summary: In which you avoid Zagreus, until one day you can't. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

WC: 2.4k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut, MINOR descriptions of blood and injuries. Physical touch, affection. Just Zagreus being soft and doting and kind to you this chap

Damn her, damn her, damn her, damn—

Teeth clenched, your vision swims as you grip the rim of the basin for balance, washing off the blood as red drops swirl and mix like watercolor paints before the water clears again. It’s days like this where you wish you can get stronger, more powerful, but there’s a limit to everyone’s full potential, and unfortunately you met yours a long time ago.

Still, it’d be nice.

Contrary to popular belief, succubi can be vicious warriors, they’re simply in their own class. Their abilities, their magic, while never measuring up to gods, could ruin an army in a master’s hand, but it has its limits. Especially amongst demonkind.

As the water calms, you grind your teeth at the sight of your reflection, assessing the damage. Blood and darkness, that’s going to bruise, that one’s definitely going to scar, and you curse the universe because your job’s about to get that much harder now that you may have to use a glamor. Oh, you swear next time you get your hands on her, you’ll—

A resounding rumble quakes the room.

Your chamber door.

You curse. But you're sluggish from the blood loss, and before you can hurl yourself out the balcony, Zagreus steps in without his usual greeting, panting and laurels slightly askew, like he rushed in knowing you’re here. Wild eyes dart to every corner of the chamber, as if he half-expects you to be hiding, until they fall on you, embarrassingly hunched over your healing fountain.

One glance at your battered face, he’s beside you in a flash.

"Zag—”

“What happened?” His tone is surprisingly strained as his hands, clean of blood and gore, reach for you. Then something flickers across his face that makes him hover, his eyes—red and green and wide—taking in your new wounds with horror.

If only you had the energy to cower, shield your bruised face. He’s the last person you want to see right now, and your vision blurs, hating how he of all people is seeing you like this—broken, imperfect.

“I’m fine, Zagreus,” You croak, your voice quiet as you swallow your insecurity like bile. A poor attempt to put some distance between you, you try to step aside, but your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumple like a house of cards.

Of course, Zagreus catches you—asshole—strong, lean arms gentle as he hugs you to his chest, holding you up as if you’re the most precious of gems. Hate how quick you are to relax in his hold, clay in his hands. Blood and darkness, it’s so easy, so quick, so… right.

You squirm against him, but his grip tightens slightly, mindful of your injuries.

“Sure you are,” Zagreus snorts, though he gazes down at you so soft and sweet you want to shout, wondering if he tastes the same. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”

Unable to protest, you let him carry you like a rag doll, limp in his hands before he gently props you up on the lounge chair. You lean against the back with a groan. “Really, I'm—”

“'Fine', yes, you’ve said that,” Already, he’s rummaging through your cupboards, at least the ones he knows aren’t filled with art supplies. “Do you have bandages?”

“… Second last cabinet on your left.”

Without a word, he walks through your chamber with self assurance, maneuvering around your easel and stepping over splayed out canvas as they finish drying, careful where to leave his burning footprints. He finds what he’s looking for easily enough, a moment later pulling up a chair and plopping down in front of you. His hands are methodical as he lays everything out; two bowls of water, a small cloth, and the saddest little first aid kit.

In your defense, you hardly end up like this.

You watch his hands as he dips the towel in the water then wrings it out, before gently dragging it across your exposed arms. You flinch as he begins wiping off the grime.

“I know,” His tone is soft, terribly understanding as he continues. “Give it a minute, you’ll feel much better soon.”

You want to snort, snap at him that you’re fully aware of how it works, but the cool sting of water, the mild burn from the open gashes and cuts along your skin, is quick to clench your jaw shut. Pain ebbs across your body, and you watch him speechless, the rhythm he follows, painfully gentle as he drags the cloth across your skin, careful not to aggravate your wounds. Clean water, wring out, wipe, rinse, repeat; he even goes out of his way to change the water, and the relief that comes after would make you sink into the couch, if not for Zagreus's silence.

He's yet to say a word since he entered. He'd asked you already, yes, but you take him for someone who doesn't give up that easily. You expected more of a fight. Now, you're not so sure.

"Zagreus, I… I—" It's hoarse, hardly above a whisper, but it's a start.

You feel him pause before choosing to lay into your newfound cowardice like a wet blanket, avoiding his eyes. Who knows what you'll do if you meet his gaze.

Sensing your hesitation, Zagreus clears his throat, "Perhaps you should save your energy. We can chat when you're healed."

You shake your head, though it only makes the room spin. "No, I need to tell you this now. Before..."

"Before what? You start avoiding me again?" He resumes, wrapping gauze around your forearm, his touch ghosting your skin as he holds your arm out. There’s no malice or respite in his tone, soft and withdrawn as it comes, but you wince. If anything, it’s bittersweet, with an acceptance he long held before he approached your chamber, and it leaves your heart clenching. You don't know how to respond. Are you that obvious?

"(Your Name)... did I do something wrong?"

You blink, whirling to face him.

Zagreus bites his lip, emotions he can’t fathom threatening to spill out of him. That's always been his flaw, according to Father. He's attuned to his emotions, more than Nyx, Father, literally any of the chthonic gods. He stares as his hands tremble, attempting to knot the bandage. "Because if I did, please just tell me what it is so I can make things right between us."

"No-no, you've done nothing wrong," You assure him, sitting up through the pain even when Zagreus protests. When he raises a brow at your answer, you rush to add, "I swear! I've been busy with... work." Technically, this isn’t a lie.

"... 'Busy'. Is that how you got these?" Zagreus holds out your mangled arm by your hand, flicking his eyes over your body in the way you hate most. You'd take aura-induced desire over this: pity, disgust.

You wrench your arm away, cradling it in your lap and shrugging. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

"(Your Name), who did this?"

You freeze. Nerves go haywire, and you squirm under his piercing gaze, burning through you as you contemplate lying to him, but you know better. At this point, you know each other too well, and—blood and darkness—he'll see right through you. There’s a defeated sigh, then a quiet, "Alecto."

Zagreus's eyes darken, but you wave him off. "Don't worry. In her defense, I kind of deserved it."

Zagreus sputters, taken aback, staring at you as if you offended him. "'Don't worry'? Don't—how can you say that? First I've seen you in days, and you're—" A sharp intake of breath, and he clenches his jaw so hard you're surprised it doesn't break.

"It's not a big deal. I disobeyed direct orders, and..." You trail off, thinking back.

Since meeting Zagreus, seeds of doubt sprout in your chest, in your lungs, suffocating you as you question the system you’ve worked under for so long. You’ve never questioned who you are and what you do, not to say you love your job, but it’s your life. Yet who’s to say there aren't poor souls sentenced to the wrong level? Genuine and kind, noble and passionate—people who don't deserve eternal damnation.

The possibility of your victims being innocent and undeserving makes you want to hurl, tortured shrieks and endless tears flashing across your memory and echoing in your ears. Your stomach clenches just thinking about it.

"(Your Name), I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Zagreus starts, mouth opening and closing like he can't find the words, his breaths coming quick and ragged. He just stares at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you can't quite place—as if your virtuous act breaks his heart, crushes his soul. Then he blinks, and it's gone, shaking his stupor. “This is my fault…”

You raise an eyebrow, “How is this your fault?”

“I… I just… you shouldn’t have…” You frown as Zagreus struggles, brow furrowed, clearly pained as he thinks over his answer, like whatever he says next determines your fates. Seeming to think better of it, he shakes his head and brings your hand to his lips, and you flush, your heart skipping as his lips graze over the bandages, warmth seeping through the material and into your wounds like a healing salve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He rasps between each kiss, trailing up the back of your hand and up your forearm, like they’ll heal the wounds faster. Like this is the best he can do, like this is all he can do. Not that you plan to stop him.

Your face burns, but you let him apologize, though you’re not sure what for as he stops before your shoulder. At some point, he slotted himself between your thighs, and now face to face, he studies your cuts and bruises, already fading away as his eyes, soft and glistening, flick over your features. Like he’s debating if his kisses will help them heal faster too.

Gods, if he brings those lips anywhere near your face, you might combust.

You meet his gaze, “What—”

“I lied.”

It comes as a whisper, his voice dry and low that you tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’m not some mortal soul, dredging their way through Tartarus,” Zagreus grinds out, scanning your face as if committing you to memory one last time. Then he sits back and stares at the floor, still gripping your hand as he rubs circles over the bandage. “I mean, it’s true I intend to escape the Underworld.”

“Zagreus—”

“And yes, I’m searching for my mother—”

“Zag—”

“But I’m really—”

“My prince.”

He flinches, his eyes shooting up to meet yours. “What?”

“None of this is your fault, my prince. With or without your influence, I’d have done the same thing anyway.” He gapes at you and you smirk, using the little strength you’ve recovered to squeeze his hand reassuringly, “Or would you rather I address you as Your Highness instead?”

Zagreus shakes his head, black hair flopping out of his shocked face. “I don’t understand. You knew?”

“For a bit now, yes,” You shrug as you turn his hand over, large and calloused in yours, swiping a thumb over one of his healed blisters, probably from gripping his weapons. “Took me a while to figure it out, but I can’t say I was surprised. It explained some of your funny behavior.”

He scoffs, the corners of his lips twitching slightly, “What sort of funny behavior?”

“Pretend all you like, but you can’t suppress those noble habits,” You chuckle, eyes crinkling seeing him cheer up. “All your mannerisms screamed ‘royal’, I just didn’t realize we were talking Underworld royalty.”

“Seriously?” Zagreus gazes at you in disbelief. “I thought I did a pretty good job acting—”

“Like a commoner?”

“Like a mortal,” He shoots you a pointed look, and you snort, relaxing into the love seat.

“You were okay.” You purse your lips, “While we’re on the subject of identity reveals, you should know I’m—”

“A succubus?”

You blink before pouting, snatching your hand away to cross your arms over your chest. “You only say that because I was about to tell you…”

“Not true,” Zagreus grins, leaning over to give your thigh an affectionate squeeze. “I knew from the beginning. Succubi magic doesn't affect gods, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.”

“And you still stayed? Knowing what I am and what I do?”

“And you still treated me as any other friend, knowing who I am?”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I disagree,” He coaxes your hands into his, prompting you to meet his gaze as his expression shifts into something more earnest. “We both tried—and failed miserably—to hide a huge part of ourselves in fear of what we’d think of each other, am I wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Exactly. (Your Name), I hope you know not once did I think any less of you for your work, much less your species.”

You respond in kind, “And not once did I consider bowing down to the Prince of the Underworld, especially not after seeing him stuff his face with wraps he picked off the ground.”

He guffaws. “Good, then we’re in agreement?”

“I guess...”

“Just what every man wants to hear from a beautiful creature.” Ignoring the burn in your cheeks, you roll your eyes, and he adds, “But we’re okay? You won’t avoid me anymore?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“Keep that up, you won’t be seeing me for another couple runs.”

“I was agreeing with you!”

“Your tone said otherwise.”

By the time your shared laughter dies down, the atmosphere clears, leaving a comfortable silence settling in the small space between you. In that time, he’s yet to let go of your hands, your thighs brushing as he rubs soothing circles against your hands, and while he insists on staying until he’s sure you’re better, acceptance rushes over you like the oncoming tide, because try as you might, Alecto’s punishment was nothing in comparison to Zagreus’s absence. These fleeting moments he stops by your chamber, whether to recover, commission a painting, or to simply have a chat, you appreciate each and every one of them. If that’s all you’ll ever have with Zagreus, you decide, your chest tight with a melancholic warmth, then that's okay.

This is enough.

—

Soon after Zagreus reluctantly leaves you once more, he enters the last chamber of Tartarus.

“Redblood! What say you—ack—hey, I wasn’t done talking!”

If he prolongs their time together, allowing him to indulge his cruelty, then consider it time well spent.

—

AN: One of my biggest peeves in media tropes is the betrayal and angst as a reaction from hiding identities from s/o, like in superhero media. It's overplayed, overdone.

A good, recent example of this is the new animated Superman show, My Adventures with Superman, where (SPOILERS) Lois forces the truth out of Clark, and is pissed when he confirms he is Superman. Bro, you literally said to his face how you'd reveal his identity to the public, can you blame the guy? Idgaf you think he's lying ab his feelings omfg he's protecting his idenity (its a good show tho pls watch it!!)

However, a cartoon that does the scenario right is in the old Nickelodeon cartoon, Danny Phantom (some of yall may be too young to remember), the older sister, Jaz, of the mc, Danny, quietly realizes he's the superhero of their town, and decides to patiently wait for him to tell her when HE'S READY. Like askjgdaksjhf yassss we love patience and understanding.

Which is why I like to imagine while Zag didn't outright tell you who he is, he didn't try to hide it either. The underworld's a big ass place, he's got no control over who and what ppl say and do, so however you find out, whether in passing or of your own sleuthing skills, you both wait.

Ty for coming to my ted talk :D

[badkitty3000]

can u do a five fanfic where he saves vivi from smth/someone. like “kill for ur love” sorta trope. idk if you’ve alr done im only on #3 of halo but pls its a need

No Escape

Five is forced into assassin mode when Vivian is put in danger by another Commission agent. He must not be very smart, though, because no one in their right mind would dare lay a hand on Five's girl.

Thank you so much for this request! I love writing anything with these two and this was a great subject that I hadn't done before. I hope I did ok! 😊

Words: 8,045

Warnings: blood, violence, Five being a badass but also a softy, smut at the end but can be skipped and it won't affect the story at all

As an aside: this story is meant to take place at some point during my AU series Halo on AO3, when Five and Vivian are not yet married and he is working for the Commission. If you like this pairing, you can check out more (lots more!) here. Also, here is a link to my Master List posts on Tumblr.

And a big shout out to my homie @kaybreezy3000 who was a major help with this one, and did the super sexy cover art!

Five tried to swallow down his rising panic as he sped through the city’s dark and empty streets. The heavy rain battered down onto the roof of the car and the tires sent up a spectacular spray of water every time he screeched around a corner. He didn’t care if he was driving one hundred miles an hour over the city streets or running red lights. His foot stepped harder down on the accelerator. If a cop tried to stop him, they’d have to shoot out his tires first. Even then, he wouldn’t stop. With his heart hammering away in his chest and his hands gripping the steering wheel, he glanced over at the handgun lying on the passenger seat where he had thrown it. A flash of lightning illuminated his face for a brief moment, and he saw his eyes reflected back at him in the rearview mirror. They looked like his normal emerald-colored eyes but with one major difference. These eyes belonged to a man who was desperate and seething with rage.

He had known something was off as soon as he had come home that night. Viv always left the light on in the living room for him, no matter how late he was going to be. And most times she didn’t even know when he was coming back, but she left it on all night long, just in case. So, when he had teleported into their apartment earlier and it was dark, Five was immediately suspicious.

He had called her name, but there was no answer and he didn’t hear her in any of the rooms. The place wasn’t that big, so it’s not like she wouldn’t have heard him. But he checked the bedroom and the bathroom. Both were dark, with no signs of her anywhere. When he walked into the kitchen, though, and snapped on the light, he knew something was very wrong.

There, in the middle of the tile floor, was a large pool of amber-colored liquid, surrounded by hundreds of glass shards. One of the kitchen chairs had been turned over and was lying on its side.

Five called her name again, as if she would appear out of some secret panel in the wall, carrying a broom and laughing at herself for being so clumsy. But, of course, that didn’t happen and the only sound was the echo of his own voice bouncing off the kitchen walls.

He crouched down next to the spill and the broken glass. The floor was sticky and the whole room smelled like whiskey. Most of the glass was clear with no markings, but one large chunk of it still had a label attached. When Five reached out with a trembling hand to pick it up, he held it closer to read the print. He recognized it immediately. This was not the normal liquor they kept in the house, and it would have been impossible for Vivian to have even acquired it on her own. Not unless the local corner store had come across a rare shipment of whiskey that hadn’t been distilled since 1865.

Five stared at the piece of broken glass in his hand, trying to wrap his head around what he was gradually piecing together. When he looked up at the kitchen table, he saw Viv’s phone lying there, which did nothing to quell the growing sense of dread in his stomach. He stood and picked it up, the movement making it come to life and flashing a photo of the two of them that she kept as her home screen. That’s when he noticed the smear of blood across the screen.

His eyes darted from the phone to the overturned chair, to the broken bottle and spilled ancient whiskey and his heart sank.

“Vivie,” he said in a horrified whisper.

She was gone and he knew who had her. Why, he had no idea, but wherever she was, she would be scared and maybe hurt; or worse. Five forced the gruesome horror scenes from his mind. It wasn’t going to do him any good to crack up now. He needed to focus on finding her and he needed to do it fast. There was no telling what this fucking psycho was capable of. And if Five found out she had been hurt in any way whatsoever, one thing was for damn sure. God help the man who was responsible.

When Vivian heard the knock on the door, she figured it was the older lady from two doors down. Ever since Five had moved in, the woman had been making herself much more present around their apartment; always stopping by with plates of cookies or a scarf she just happened to have knitted. She never seemed particularly interested in talking to Viv, but if Five was around, she had endless amounts of time to stay and chit-chat. Not that he even pretended to be remotely interested, but she ate up every terse smile and head nod, apparently taking them as signs she should come over more often. Viv had no doubt the woman, who was technically closer to Five’s age than her own, wished Viv would suddenly disappear in some sort of tragic accident so she could swoop in and make her move.

Viv rolled her eyes and smiled as she headed for the door. “Sorry, Betty,” she started as she opened the door. “Five’s not home right n—oh!” Viv stopped when she saw it wasn’t Five’s old lady girlfriend, but rather a man she did not recognize. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Can I help you?”

The man was taller than Viv, but his build was a little on the scrawny side, with thinning brown hair that was combed to the side and a pockmarked face. His gray suit pants looked too baggy for his frame and were cinched at the waist with a belt, as if they had fit him at one time when he had more weight on him. The white dress shirt he had on was wrinkled and a shabby-looking trench coat hung loosely around his wiry frame.

“Oh…sorry,” the man said slowly and Viv could see he was most likely drunk. “I’m looking for Five Hargreeves? Does he live here?”

Considering she had no idea who this man was and the fact that he was asking about Five had her immediately on edge. It’s not as if Five had friends stopping over. Or had friends, period, for that matter.

Viv crossed her arms over her chest. “And who, may I ask, wants to know?”

The man laughed and ran a hand through his sparse hair, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Right, sorry. I’m Sam. I work with Five.”

Viv hesitated but accepted his handshake. “I’m sorry, you said you work with Five?”

She knew better than to just give up any information about Five’s work, and she was highly skeptical of this man’s claim. For one, Five worked for the Commission and it’s not as if that was the accounting office down the street. They were a highly secretive time-traveling operative filled with dangerous assassins. For another, Five never talked about anyone he worked with. Unless they were pissing him off in a particular way that day. So, to have this man she’d never heard of before showing up at their door and knowing Five lived there was a major red flag.

Sam ran a shaky hand through his hair again, looking embarrassed. “Yeah. I’m sure you don’t have many of us stopping by unannounced, do you?”

“And by ‘us’ you mean…”

The man gave a sheepish smile and then pointed at the ground near his feet. Viv looked down and saw the familiar black briefcase she knew Five and all of the other agents at the Commission used for getting around. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone else to have one, so this guy must have been who he said he was. It put her a little more at ease, but not totally.

Viv nodded. “So, what can I help you with? I’m afraid Five isn’t home right now.”

The man’s face fell a little. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. I don’t have much time, but I wanted to bring him by this bottle of whiskey I know he likes.” He held up a very old looking bottle of some kind of brown alcohol. The label looked old-fashioned, yet brand new. It was also only half-full, presumably the remains of what Sam had already drunk. Viv wasn’t familiar with the name on the label, either, and she was fairly certain she knew all of Five’s preferred drink choices.

“We shared a couple of glasses of it a while back, so I picked up some more on my last mission and figured I’d bring it by,” Sam explained. Seeing Viv’s dubious face, he continued. “It hasn’t been made since the 1860s, and technically we aren’t supposed to take things back across timelines, but I figured one little bottle of whiskey wouldn’t make the whole world collapse, right?”

He laughed at his own joke and Viv could see he actually had a nice and genuine smile, even if he was a bit tipsy. His story seemed legit, although it was still weird that Five had never mentioned him to her at all. Although now that she thought about it, he didn’t really tell her much at all about the Commission; for both of their sakes. For all she knew, maybe he had a boatload of friends down there. Maybe he was the life of the party.

She gave him a smile, softening up a little. “No, the world seems to still be in one piece. And don’t worry, I won’t tell. Five once brought me back a bottle of perfume from 1923 Paris, so I think we’re safe.”

He chuckled and then they both stood there awkwardly until he cleared his throat. “Well, just tell him I stopped by, I guess.”

Seeing his disappointed face made Viv feel sorry for him, especially when she saw that it had started to rain. He looked so sad and pathetic standing there in his baggy clothes, drunk on Old West whiskey, and seemingly lonely. She wasn’t sure why, but something about him tugged at her heartstrings and she didn’t want to leave him alone in the rain.

“Why don’t you come in? Five should be home soon, you can wait for him if you’d like.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be too much trouble.”

“No, no, really, I insist. Come on in. I’m Vivian, by the way; Five’s girlfriend.”

Sam followed her inside and she shut the door behind them. She then led him into the kitchen, where she offered him a seat at the table. He sat down heavily, almost missing the chair entirely in his altered state, leaving the black briefcase next to him on the floor.

“This is a really nice place you have here,” he marveled as he glanced around their simple kitchen.

Viv looked surprised. “Really? Well, thank you, but it’s not much. There weren’t too many apartments in the area that I could afford at the time I moved in.”

“So, you lived here first and Five moved in with you?”

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “We met, fell in love, and he moved in here. I was never intending on having a roommate, but you never know what life will bring, right?”

Sam looked at her with an odd expression; one that Viv wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“And life brought you Number Five, the assassin, huh?” he asked.

That was a weird question and Viv hesitated for a moment. “Uh…yeah, I guess it did.”

“You know, Five never mentioned you when we shared that whiskey,” Sam said; his eyes seeming to harden just a little. “He also said he lived in a shit hole place, all alone. But this is definitely not a shit hole and he clearly isn’t alone.”

Viv swallowed nervously. “Well, that was probably before we met. He was kind of a loner before that.”

Sam gave a low chuckle and he looked around the kitchen again, seeming to take in his surroundings in detail and soaking it all up. Then he was back to eyeing Viv up. He still had the same friendly smile on his face, but she could see something about it had changed.

“Aren’t we all,” he mumbled. “He’s a lucky guy, though. Ending up with someone as pretty as you.”

Vivian shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “Um, oh. Thank you.”

It was quickly becoming clear that inviting this man in had not been a good idea. Viv cursed herself for having such a bleeding heart sometimes. She should have followed her initial instinct about him. She just hoped Five would be home soon.

Trying to change the subject, Viv pointed to the bottle on the table. “So, you said you and Five spent some time together at the Commission? Five’s not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, so how did that come about?”

Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg of the other. “Well, you’re right about that. Five is not exactly Mr. Friendly, at least around there. But he must have been in a good mood one day and decided to sit and chat with me. Although, maybe the whiskey was more of the motivator. Anyway, once we got to talking, we realized we had a lot in common.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we both ended up working for the Commission out of necessity rather than desire, but I won’t bore you with those details about myself. He was kind of a loner like you said, and so am I. And I could tell he had a lot of hostility towards most of the world. He knew the unfairness of life and how some people have it good and some don’t. That’s just the way it goes. Unfortunately, he and I got dealt one of life’s shitty hands and had been living with it our whole lives.” Sam stopped and looked at Vivian, again with that weird look in his eyes. “At least, until he met you, apparently. Now he seems to have the good life; coming home to this nice place with you waiting for him, while I’m stuck in my piece of shit house eating microwave dinners for one every night. That is, when I’m not putting a bullet in some poor bastard’s head.”

He chuckled at that and Vivian attempted a smile. This man was appearing to become more unhinged by the minute and she wasn’t sure how to keep up this conversation anymore.

“I know doing what you do, and for whom, can be extremely hard and I’m sorry. But I’m sure things will change for you. Everyone deserves to be happy, and to have love.”

Sam stared at her with unfocused eyes as he processed her words. Viv could see the wheels turning in his head and she suddenly felt very much in danger. Why had she let this guy in their home? The hairs on the backs of her arms stood up.

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Sam said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Maybe I’d be happy, too, if I had someone like you to come home to every day. Someone young and pretty to take care of me.”

The tone of his voice and look in his eyes were dangerous, and Viv instinctively began to stand up and back away. “You know, you’re making me a little uncomfortable. I think you should leave.”

Despite his unsteadiness from the booze, Sam was quick. The kitchen chair he had been sitting in fell over with a loud bang as he sprang up, grabbing her arm in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide. “Please. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Viv tried to pull her arm away. “Let go of me!”

“Please, just sit back down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You are hurting me! Let go of my arm!” she cried as she desperately tried to free herself from his grasp.

He took hold of her with his other hand so that he was firmly gripping her by both her upper arms with surprising strength. Shaking her, he yelled in her face. “I am not hurting you! Just stop! Stop and listen!”

“No! Let me go!” she yelled back, struggling against him and trying to kick at his shins or anywhere else she could reach.

“Stop doing that, or else…” he hissed.

“Or else what? If you think Five’s not going to lose his fucking mind when he finds out you grabbed me like this, then you’re even crazier than I thought.”

“I AM NOT CRAZY! DON’T CALL ME CRAZY!” he screamed; his face contorted with fury.

Viv flinched and she started struggling harder. That’s when she saw Sam’s eyes move off of her and down to the ground near where he had been sitting. A white-hot panic started to rise up inside of her when she realized what he was looking at. The briefcase.

She couldn’t let him get to it. Not when he also had ahold of her. There was no telling where or when she would end up. With all of her strength, her adrenaline pumping, Viv fought as hard as she could against him. Kicking and pulling, she managed to yank him off balance, causing him to knock into the kitchen table, upsetting the bottle of whiskey and sending it tumbling to the ground. They continued to fight against one another, their shoes crunching in the broken glass.

When Viv lost her balance, she managed to free one of her hands, catching herself on the way down. Her hand landed on a piece of glass, the sharp edge slicing into her palm. With a last-ditch effort, she tried to reach out and grab her phone off of the table. At the same time, Sam reached for the briefcase. Viv watched in horror as she saw his hand latch onto the handle at the same time that she felt her fingers slipping across the screen of her phone. Then she felt the familiar feeling of being sucked into nothingness, her stomach lurching, as they both disappeared in a flash of light.

It was a miracle that Five even remembered what street Sam lived on. He had only mentioned it once, during a drunken conversation one night as they both slugged down the gasoline passing as whiskey in the Commission break room. Five had remembered because it was about a block away from where he used to live; before he met Vivian. It was in a shit part of town, but that would actually play to his advantage now. It was less likely anyone would pay attention to gunshots or other signs of violence when you’re already in a crime-filled neighborhood. Not that Five didn’t know how to cover his tracks. He was a professional, after all.

The fact that he wasn’t sure which run-down house was Sam’s posed a problem, along with the fact that he could have taken Viv anywhere and to any time. If that were the case, he was going to have to go to more extreme measures to get her back, including breaking Commission protocol. Which he was more than willing to do.

But as he drove slowly up the street with his headlights off, Five was granted a small amount of luck. A light was on inside one of the houses and Five could see clearly into the front window. On a table in the living room was the briefcase. He didn’t see Sam or Viv inside, but it was most definitely a Commission issued case.

“I’ve got you now, you piece of shit,” Five mumbled out loud as he parked the car a few houses down.

The rain was coming down hard and Five was soaked through in a matter of seconds as he hurried down the uneven sidewalk, his shoes splashing through the puddles. He didn’t want to risk being seen by blinking out in the open, so he waited until he was standing on the front porch of Sam’s house. The rain leaked down through the cracks in the rotting awning above him. After another quick peek inside the window, and seeing no one in the front room, Five teleported inside.

He took a second to take in his surroundings. Resisting the urge to call out for Viv, he remained silent and started making his way toward what he assumed would be the kitchen, his Glock held firmly in his left hand. There was no one there, but on top of a wooden cutting board on the worn and peeling countertop, was a meat cleaver. It caught Five’s eye, and since he is never one to turn down the convenience of a sharp weapon up for grabs, he left the kitchen with his gun in one hand and the cleaver in the other.

Five passed by a small, empty bathroom, and then came to a bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed and when he tried the handle, it was locked. The door was old and flimsy looking, so he didn’t hesitate to give one strong kick, cracking the wooden frame and splintering the door so that it swung open. As soon as he saw her, he felt immediate relief and horror wash over him.

“Vivian!” he cried, forgetting all of his training and not surveilling the rest of the room first. If he had been watching someone else doing the exact same thing, he would have told them they were brain-dead and lacked critical thinking skills. It was such a rookie move. But his emotions had taken over and he only saw her.

Viv was tied up to a wooden chair, arms behind her, with a blindfold over her eyes and a piece of duct tape over her mouth. She was frantically mumbling something when she heard Five’s voice, but it was unintelligible from behind the tape.

“Shit,” Five whispered as he hurried over, kneeling down in front of her, and placing the gun and knife on the ground. He immediately started to undo the blindfold. “Oh my god, Vivie, I’m so sorry. It’s ok, I’m here. I’m going to get you out of here,” he was saying as he yanked it away from her eyes.

Viv blinked into the sudden brightness, but then her eyes widened in fear as she looked at Five. Five assumed it was from shock and he continued to talk to her and assure her it would be ok as he carefully stripped the tape away from her mouth.

“I’ve got you, angel, don’t worry,” he said, right as he freed her mouth and she took a deep breath in.

“Five! Behind you!”

Five turned around, just in time to see Sam emerging from the bedroom closet with a wild look in his eyes. In his hand he had some sort of small device and he was coming their way. Five tried to grab one of his weapons off the floor next to him, but it was too late. Sam was quicker, and before he knew what was happening, Five fell to the floor in a heap; convulsing violently as electrical currents traveled throughout his entire body.

The stun gun Sam used was a standard-issued weapon from his employer and was given to every field agent, along with a Glock. The electrical charge from these particular guns were much stronger than what any modern-day policeman or SWAT member carried. Word around the halls was that it once took down a full-size grizzly bear with one zap. Sam wasn’t letting up on the trigger as he leaned over Five’s body, pressing the device into the back of his neck and watching with satisfaction as he was electrocuted over and over again.

Because Five was soaked through from the rain, the electrical shock was amplified as it continued in an endless loop through his body while he writhed and groaned on the floor. Five let out a grating cry, his body flickering with a pulsing blue light as he tried to use his own electrical power to counter the attack, but he wasn’t strong enough. Viv watched in horror as the light faded away and he became silent, even as his body continued to contort and seize right in front of her.

“Five! No! No! Stop, you’re killing him!” she screamed, her voice breaking and her eyes filling with tears. She tried in vain to break from her restraints. “Stop! Please! Five!”

Sam finally stopped, tossing the weapon to the side so that it skittered under a beat-up dresser. He was breathing hard as he looked at Viv and then at Five’s limp, unmoving body at his feet. Viv started sobbing loudly and she hung her head as the tears flowed down her face and onto her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. Then he spoke louder, but his voice was trembling. “I had to do it. He was going to take you away. I’m going to let you go, I told you that, but I need you to listen to me first and you’re not listening. All I want is for you to sit here and talk to me, and maybe stay with me for a night. But you weren’t listening, and so I had to tie you up, but I didn’t want to. He was going to take you away from me, and I can’t let that happen. Not until you stay here for a while.”

Viv lifted her head slowly, strings of tangled hair sticking to the tears on her cheeks, her eyes narrowed in a hateful glare. “FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO! YOU ARE A CRAZY, PATHETIC LOSER AND I FUCKING HATE YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME? I HATE YOU!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking before she started sobbing again.

Five was still lying unmoving on the floor, but his eyes were open, and to Vivian’s relief, she saw he was breathing, although it was shallow. Sam looked down at him with a glower. Then he nudged him in the side with the toe of his shoe and Five let out a weak moan.

“This is your fault, Five. If you had just stayed put and let me handle this, it wouldn’t have gone this far. But now you ruined it.” Sam squatted down next to Five, leaning in closer so that he could hear. “I wasn’t going to hurt her, you know. But now…well, now you’ve gone and fucked it all up.”

His voice grew louder and more desperate. “We were the same, you and I! So, how did you get so god damn special? I thought we were friends; I thought we had a connection. But then I find out you’re living this perfect little life, with your fancy apartment and your pretty girl. But what about me, huh? Where’s my perfect life? My happy ending?”

Sam stood up and looked at Vivian, although he was directing his words at Five. “I was going to kill you and keep her, but now I have a better idea. Since I know you’re currently paralyzed but can still see and hear everything that’s going on, I think maybe I’ll kill her instead. Then you can watch and listen as your perfect little life is ripped away from you until you’re just like me again. All alone and mad at the world.”

“You stupid piece of shit,” Viv growled out. “He never did anything to you.”

“YES, HE DID!” Sam yelled right in her face. “He took my life! I deserve this life, not him. He’s killed way more people than I have; I’ve seen his records. I know his reputation. He might as well be Satan himself! So why don’t you tell me why he gets you and I get nothing?”

Viv looked him dead in the eye. “Because Five is good and decent, and he knows how to love others. He feels remorse for all of those lives he took. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a giant pile of dog shit in a cheap suit. And no one will ever love you.”

Sam smiled. “At first, I wasn’t going to enjoy this, but now I might.” He bent down to pick up Five’s Glock which was lying next to his immobile body. “I think I’ll shoot you in the head with his own gun. That feels poetic to me, don’t you think?”

He raised his arm and pointed the gun right at Viv’s head. She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as a few tears leaked out. “Five, I love you,” she said quietly, knowing they would be her last words, and hoping he could hear her. Just as she was trying to steady herself against the pain and sudden death that would be upon her any second, she heard a high-pitched scream and she opened her eyes.

Sam was standing right where he had been, his face frozen in horror as Five’s gun dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor. He slowly sank to his knees before falling face first onto the ground, collapsing onto his stomach with a loud and painful groan. As he fell over, Viv could see a meat cleaver was embedded in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades; the shining metal handle sticking straight up in the air as blood seeped from around the blade. Viv looked up to see Five falling to his knees next to Sam. He was shaking and breathing hard, but alive and apparently able to move again.

“Oh my god, Five! Are you ok?”

Five nodded slowly and lifted his head weakly to look at Viv. “Yeah. Are you?”

She nodded her head and started to quietly cry again. Then another pitiful groan came from the injured body on the floor. Sam was stirring and trying to get his arms under him in a futile attempt to get up. Five seemed to gain more strength as he slowly hauled himself up to standing again. He placed a foot on Sam’s lower back, grabbing the handle of the cleaver and yanking it out of the mutilated flesh beneath him. Sam screamed again while fresh blood began pouring out of the wound. Thick drops of scarlet red dripped from the cleaver and onto the old and dented hardwood floor beneath them.

Five was still unsteady on his feet, but he leaned down and pulled Sam’s face up off the ground by a fistful of hair.

“You made a fatal error, my friend,” Five warned. “You have no idea what I am capable of. But you’re about to find out because you have fucked with the wrong man.”

Sam breathed out a shaky laugh. “You think you’re better than me. But we’re the same.”

Five clenched his teeth and held the blood-stained meat cleaver under Sam’s throat. “Listen, you pathetic waste of space; you are wrong! We are not the same, and we never have been,” he hissed.

Sam let out a more maniacal laugh. “We are though. You just can’t admit it.”

Five got ready to draw the sharp blade across Sam’s neck. He wanted to split his throat open from ear to ear and watch him bleed out slowly and in agony. One corner of the cold steel pressed into his skin and a rivulet of blood trickled out.

“Five, don’t,” Viv said suddenly.

Five didn’t look up as he paused. “He needs to die, Vivie.”

“Not like that. Please, I just want to go home. Let’s go home, ok?”

Five looked up at her sorrowful face and knew she was right. He needed to get her back home. But he still wasn’t about to let this fucker go, even if the odds of him surviving the horrific wound in his back were slim. He let go of Sam’s hair, letting his face fall with a loud thunk onto the floor. Then he picked up his pistol and pressed it into the back of Sam’s skull. He glanced at Viv as a warning to let her know to look away.

“Lights out, you stupid fuck,” Five growled before pulling the trigger.

BANG! Sam’s skull exploded, sending blood and brain matter everywhere. Vivian flinched and looked away, but Five watched with satisfaction as the grisly contents oozed out of the gaping hole in the dead man’s head. Then he dropped his gun and hurried over to Viv, who was still bound to the chair.

As soon as her hands were free, she threw her arms around Five’s shoulders and he pulled her tightly into him. She burst into tears again, sobbing into his shoulder as they both knelt on the ground. He kissed her temple and smoothed her hair.

“Vivie…look at me,” he said as he held her face in his trembling hands. “Are you hurt at all? I saw blood on your phone.”

She shook her head while more tears ran down her cheeks. “No, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, Five, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault, I was stupid and I let him in, he said you were friends, I wasn’t thinking. Five, I’m so sorry.” She started crying loudly again, touching the side of his face with her hand. “I thought I lost you. I thought you were dead. And it was all my fault.”

Five closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers, his own tears threatening to spill over. “Darling, you have nothing to be sorry for, ok? You did nothing wrong. I just…god, I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Five, you’re the one that almost died!”

Five gave her a smile and kissed her softly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. You should know that by now.”

She let out a small laugh, sniffing back her tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, angel.” He glanced very quickly to the dead body on the floor and then back to Viv. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

She nodded and they stood up, Five still shaky and unsteady on his feet. Viv held on to him for support. “What’s going to happen now? Aren’t the cops going to come after us?”

Five shook his head. “No, we’re safe. He works for the Commission, so he’s their problem to deal with. Agents die all the time in the field. He’s just one more spare cog in the wheel that won’t be missed.”

On the way out of the house, Five remembered the briefcase. He grabbed it off the table and turned to Vivian. “I don’t think either of us should be driving. I have to bring this back anyway, so do you mind?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. The sooner we can get home the better. We can get the car later.”

With a nod, Five programmed the case, took Viv’s hand in his, and in less than two seconds they were back in their apartment. As soon as they arrived, though, Five collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees. He was still so weak from being electrocuted almost to death and now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, it was starting to catch up with him.

“Five! Oh my god…”

Viv put her arms around his waist as he leaned against her and she helped him up. Tears started to form in her eyes again as they traveled over Five’s exhausted face.

“I am so sorry, Five…this is all my fault…and now you’re hurt…”

“Vivie, I’ll be fine. And it’s not your fault.”

She could see he was starting to sway on his feet again and she nodded before realizing he was covered in a splatter of quickly drying blood. “Come on, you need to get cleaned up first and then you can lie down, ok?”

Viv led Five to the bathroom where she had him sit on the top of the toilet seat while she helped him undress down to his underwear. She didn’t trust that he was strong enough to take a full shower, so she wiped up his face, neck, and chest with a wet washcloth; the dried blood that was painting his skin gradually fading away. Five closed his eyes from both exhaustion and the feel of her touch as she gently washed his latest sin from his body.

After he was cleaned off, Viv washed her own hands and bandaged the cut on her palm, and they both collapsed onto their bed, too tired to turn back the covers. Viv crawled next to Five as he lay on his side, and he wrapped her in his arms with her face buried in his chest. They both let out a long sigh and then she looked up at him. With her hand on his cheek, she kissed him, her warm lips pressed to his as he kissed her just as deeply in return and stroked her hair.

“Are you going to be ok?” he asked her quietly.

“Yeah, I’ll be ok. I’m pretty tough, you know,” she said with a smile.

Five laughed and squeezed her tighter. “I know you are.” He was silent for a minute before speaking again. “I’m sorry, Vivie. I’m sorry that I can’t ever seem to escape the hell that follows me everywhere. All I want to do is keep you safe, but I seem to be failing in that department.”

“I never feel safer than when I’m with you.”

Five didn’t respond to that and was quiet again. “I’d do it again, you know.”

“What?”

“Kill anyone that tried to hurt you. Without a second thought. And I’m sorry because I know that’s not what you want to hear, but if protecting you means I have to be the bad guy, then so be it.”

Viv looked into his eyes and smiled sadly. “Five, you’re never the bad guy. You’re my own personal superhero and you will always be the good guy. Because you are good inside. I need you to remember that.”

Five chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but if I am, it’s only because of you, angel.”

Bonus: Smut (as a little treat)

It took a few days before Five was completely healed from his electrical ass-beating. He couldn’t even blink a few feet without the power leaving his body and feeling like he was going to faint. And even though he loved that Vivian took care of him, he was getting pretty fucking annoyed with getting scolded every time he tried to do something she didn’t think he could handle. He reminded her several times that he had made it through four and a half decades of self-preservation in a barren hellscape, so unloading a bag of groceries was probably not going to be the end of him. But she just gave him a pointed look that told him she didn’t give a shit what he said and then he shut up again. After the third day, though, she finally decided he was well enough to return to his normal activities.

Viv was at the kitchen sink when Five came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. “I have a surprise for you,” he told her with a grin.

She sighed heavily, continuing to rinse off the plate she was holding. “If it’s what I’m currently feeling being jabbed up against my butt right now, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve seen it before. Several times.”

Five gave her ass a pinch so that she squealed and then scooped her up in his arms, the dish clattering into the sink. “That’s only part of it,” he answered before he teleported them into the bedroom and onto the bed with a bounce. “I can blink again,” he said with a cocky smirk.

Viv scowled at him, fighting against her smile, and she smacked him on the arm. “Five Hargreeves, you are the worst! What have I told you about non-consensual blinks?”

Five laughed and shrugged. “It was worth it.”

Before she had a chance to respond, he was dragging her on top of him and pulling her in for a kiss, his hand tangling in her hair. She immediately gave in and made a little moaning noise into his mouth.

“Besides,” he said as he pulled away with a smile. “I know you secretly love it.”

Viv shook her head. “I don’t. But I do love a lot of other things you can do.”

Five nuzzled his face into her neck and placed a line of soft kisses along the underside of her jaw. “How about I do a few of those things right now?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” she said quietly while she started tugging up his shirt.

He chuckled as her hand slid over his hard abdomen and chest. “Trying to undress me already, my love?”

“You know I hate it when you have clothes on. I’d much rather have you walking around naked all day, just for my viewing pleasure and for easy access.”

Five laughed again and then flipped her over so that Viv was on her back, and he sat up on his knees, pulling his black t-shirt over his head before leaning down again. The muscles in his arms and back flexed as he held himself over her. He pressed the hard crotch of his pants into her thigh and he flashed her his sexy, crooked smile.

“If anyone needs to be walking around naked all day, it’s you. So let’s start there.”

Viv smiled and let him take his time with her, softly running his lips over her stomach and chest before lifting her shirt over her head. When he moved to tug her pants off, she stretched out long, closing her eyes and sighing. She felt his hand drifting over her legs and hip, and around to her ass where he gave it a small squeeze. Then he repositioned himself between her legs and she felt the warmth of his breath on her inner thigh as he placed his hands on either side of her hips.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he murmured.

Viv let out a quiet moan when she felt his mouth and tongue drawing hot lines over her skin, punctuated with tiny nips of his teeth. When he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down a little bit before covering the entire damp area between her legs with his mouth, she jerked her hips up with a whine.

Five leisurely sucked and licked at the thin fabric that separated him from that hot piece of heaven just underneath. He was teasing himself just as much as her, because the wetter she got, the more he could taste. And the more he could taste, the more his feral instincts kicked in and he wanted to devour her.

When he finally threw the lace underpants somewhere to the side, he was already on his knees between her legs, holding her tightly by her thighs, as he watched her rocking her hips up in anticipation. She looked up at him under hooded eyes, the corner of her bottom lip caught in her teeth, before sucking in a loud breath.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy,” he growled before immediately getting back to the matter at hand.

Five always knew the best ways to make Vivian a trembling mess, and one of those ways was to eat her out like she was the first meal he’d had in years. She liked when he was slow and gentle; flicking his tongue over all of her most sensitive places and taking his time. But when he lost all restraint and consumed her entire pussy, groaning and shoving his tongue inside of her while sloppily sucking at her clit, that’s when she lost her damn mind.

It always came with a slight risk of bodily harm for Five, since she would be thrusting her hips up into him so wildly, and pushing his face harder into her that it was a wonder he didn’t end up with a neck injury or suffocating to death. But he figured if that’s how he went out, he’d be ok with that.

“Five! Oh…my…fucking…god…YES!!!”

She pushed herself harder into his face with each word until she was screaming unintelligible words and Five could feel her thighs trembling and her body shaking as her back arched off the bed. He continued greedily lapping her up until she relaxed again and fell back against the pillow.  When he sat back on his knees, he was breathing hard and fast. He pushed his hair off his forehead as he licked at his lips; her warm, liquid sex coating his mouth and dripping down his chin.

While Viv lay there, catching her breath, she watched as Five wiped his face with the back of his hand, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a tiny smirk. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told her all she needed to know. Now it was his turn and she was about to get railed. Hard.

He unbuckled his belt and opened the fly of his pants, taking out his hard cock before shoving her legs further apart with his knees. When he leaned over the top of her, covering her body with his own, he kissed her long and deeply; making sure she got a good taste of herself on his tongue. Her already soaked cunt accepted his dick with ease as he sunk himself inside of her.

With one hand holding himself up and the other gripping and pulling her leg up higher around his waist, Five started rhythmically thrusting into her, and moving his face to her neck.

“Vivie,” he breathed against her skin and she closed her eyes and dug her fingers into his back. “I can’t live without you, angel.”

 “I’m yours forever, Five.”

Five continued to fuck her hard but slowly, the buckle of his belt that was still dangling from his opened pants clinking with each push of his hips. He was groaning and biting into the crook of her neck as he kept his face buried there and Vivian clutched his body to hers. In between heavy pants, he told her all of the things he needed her to know. Every little thought and emotion that made its way to the forefront of his brain. If he didn’t tell her, the moment may pass and she’d never know.

“You are my whole world, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I am nothing without you. I love you so much, Vivian, so much.” He started moaning louder as his pace got faster and he held himself over her again to look down at her face. She smiled up at him, even as she let her head fall back again with a cry from how good he was feeling as he pounded into her.

“Five…”, she whimpered. “I love you, too...you feel so good like this.”

Her words acted like some sort of switch inside his brain, and after a few more seconds, Five was unleashing his hot cum inside of her while he pressed his forehead into her shoulder and groaned low in his throat. As his body relaxed, he stayed where he was, lying on top of her and breathing hard against her neck. She stroked his back and hair and ran her fingers lightly down his arms. He felt her lips press against his ear and she sighed happily.

“No one can ever take me away from you, Five,” Viv whispered.

Five kissed the side of her neck and then her lips. He didn’t say anything in return. Mostly because he knew she was right. Because if anyone ever tried to take her away again, he had no problem slaughtering everyone in his path to get to her.