#please please i need to see how they’d do the costumes

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 27: My Little Brother Just Discovered Rock and Roll

There was exactly one day left before the Hyde Park gig, and a million things still to do.

Apparently, playing live meant you needed a costume fitting, a mindfulness session (thanks, Allen), and—finally, something that actually mattered—one last rehearsal with the band that afternoon. The only thing that felt remotely like a lifeline in her otherwise scrambled, hungover brain.

But for some reason, Vic had woken up that morning with something dangerously close to resolve.

Which was already an anomaly in her usual post-bender programming.

“—and she just looked at me like she already knew me. I’m telling you, that woman really has superpowers.”

She was barefoot on the kitchen tiles, crouched in front of the cabinet under the sink, pulling out bottles like she was summoning ghosts. Red wine. Tequila. A half-dead bottle of gin she didn’t even remember buying. All lined up like a crime scene.

Sara sat cross-legged on the kitchen table, legs gently swinging, not saying much. Just watching. Which was worse, somehow.

“She said this shit was ‘clouding my magic.’” Vic snorted, holding the wine bottle to the light. “I guess she’s right.”

Her laugh was dry. Mean. Like it was aimed at herself.

And just like that, the words came back. The ones she’d thrown at Aegon.

Fucked-up things, cruel and untrue, born from the guilt that had clung to her ever since signing the contract—and from the wine, lots of wine, meant to numb the pressure crawling under her skin these past few days.

“Jesus.”

She twisted the cap, poured the wine down the sink. It gurgled like it was choking on her bullshit.

One by one, the others followed.

Sara’s phone buzzed once or twice beside her, but she didn’t check it. Didn’t flinch. Just let Vic do her thing, like a witness at an exorcism.

“Did she, by any chance, also tell you what to do about Aegon?” Sara asked, like she already knew the answer. Like she could see exactly what Vic was trying to drown in that sink.

Vic let out a bitter smile. If only.

How do you fix telling someone one of the cruelest, most destructive lies of their life? Especially when you knew it wasn’t true the second it left your mouth?

“Not even magic could fix that. I think I pretty much shoved every one of his insecurities right in his face,” she muttered, reaching again beneath the sink. This time for the untouched six-pack of beer cans tucked way in the back. The real endgame.

“You think if you apologized, he wouldn’t forgive you?” Sara asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Vic said, shrugging. “And I’m not sure I want to find out.”

Sara raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Vic exhaled, slow, steady, as the last can emptied into the drain with a hiss.

“Because if he doesn’t, I have to deal with losing him for real,” she said quietly. “But if he does—then I have to deal with the fact that I care. That I want to please him. That if I fail, it fucking hurts. And maybe that’s even worse.”

She leaned against the sink, hands flat on the counter. The words felt heavy, like they’d been sitting in her chest for months, waiting for the right morning to come out and wreck her.

Her dad. Charlie. Aegon. Allen.

All different names for the same damn pattern.

The loneliness. The hunger to be seen, wanted, validated. Her worth stitched together by the reflections of men who never really knew her. That’s what Stevie had been trying to say, wasn’t it?

All those fuck men declarations she’d made with Sara over cheap beer and clinking pints—maybe they’d been prayers. Or lies. Or both.

But then Sara snorted, the most irreverent sound in the universe, like Vic had just told the world’s dumbest joke.

“What?” Vic frowned.

Sara grinned. “Please, Aegon? I literally cannot think of a single time you’ve pleased him for the sake of it.”

Vic blinked. Confused. “Well—I mean, signing that fucking contract for starters. If I could go back, I wouldn’t have touched that thing.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed to make your album? Or open for Stevie Nicks?” Sara asked, calm but razor-sharp.

Vic hesitated.

Didn’t know what the fuck to say.

Every answer sounded wrong in her own head.

On one side: the selfish thrill of making it, finally.

On the other: the crushing guilt of having taken the one thing Aegon still cared about.

“How the fuck should I know…” she muttered, dragging her hand across her face. “All I know is I keep wondering if this is really how I want to do things. With Viserys Targaryen breathing down my neck and Allen using me to settle whatever ancient dick-measuring contest he’s been hosting since the ‘90s.”

Sara didn’t miss a beat. “But Aegon didn’t know that. He didn’t do it to screw you over. He did it because he loves you.”

Vic’s head snapped toward her.

Sara just held her gaze, doubled down.

“He’s an idiot. And you’re more of a mess than usual lately. But I’ve never—not once—looked at the two of you and thought you were feeding off each other’s damage. That’s not what this is.”

Which, honestly, made it so much worse.

Because if Aegon had been just another version of Charlie, or her dad, or Allen, she could’ve written him off. Could’ve pretended she was doing the healthy thing by pushing him away.

But he wasn’t.

And she had wrecked it all—for what?

A bottle too many and the fear of feeling something real?

The worst part was that Sara, who usually had a PhD in fuck men, had just gone out of her way to defend one.

That was the magic Aegon had somehow pulled off.

Vic felt it then—a pressure in her chest, sharp and stupid. Like she was finally being forced to look at the damage without flinching.

“I could talk to him tomorrow,” she said quietly, like maybe if she said it small enough it wouldn’t hurt. “After the set. Try to explain why I reacted like a complete fucking asshole. Tell him I didn’t mean any of it.”

But Sara’s expression shifted.

Sad. Careful.

The kind of look you give someone right before a crash.

“I don’t think he’s coming to the show tomorrow, Vic.”

Vic just stared at her.

She didn’t know why she’d assumed he would.

He’d fought with his dad. This concert was the loudest middle finger of his entire career. And if he didn’t want to see her, well. She couldn’t blame him.

Still, she nodded slowly, trying to keep hope alive in some corner of her chest. “Did he tell you that?”

Sara looked down at her phone, which had been buzzing on and off for the past hour, and finally picked it up.

“Helaena did.”

Vic nodded again, heart already shattered beyond repair.

For a split second, she cursed herself for pouring every last drop of alcohol down the drain—because now she had nothing to quiet the panic, nothing to drown out the fact that she’d just fucked up the only real love she’d ever felt.

She forced her brain to latch onto something else. Anything else.

Because if she kept thinking about Aegon, she’d spiral—fast—and she didn’t know how to crawl out of that hole unless she was drunk.

“Well,” she said, pushing a too-bright smile onto her face as she stepped toward Sara, who was now aggressively typing on her phone with the dumbest grin. “What’s going on there?”

Sara glanced up. “I have no fucking idea,” she said, still wearing that same idiot-smile.

“We haven’t stopped texting since yesterday.”

“I noticed,” Vic said, a real smile tugging at her lips this time.

God, it was such a Sara move.

Swear off men forever—and fall for a girl.

But still—there was something behind Sara’s eyes. Fear, maybe. Or doubt.

“Okay, but what if she’s just being friendly?” she asked, voice smaller now. “What if she doesn’t actually like me like that?”

“She called you beautiful,” Vic pointed out, arms crossed. “While looking directly into your eyes. After asking if you wanted to go smoke a joint.”

Sara looked unconvinced.

Vic could tell the question brewing in her head was bigger than it sounded.

“Well what if… This is serious and it means I actually like girls?” 

“It’d make more sense than you liking boys ever did”

“And what if…” Sara started, then hesitated, lowering her voice like the words carried too much weight. “What if it’s not about girls or boys. What if I just like her?”

Vic didn’t flinch. Didn’t mock. Just looked at her with a softness that only came out when she wasn’t trying so hard to pretend she was okay.

“Well… Then enjoy love, babe,” she said, gentle and knowing.

Sara flinched at the word, just barely.

“God, that’s terrifying, isn’t it?”

Vic nodded. “Worse than playing Hyde Park.”

Because now that the alcohol wasn’t clouding her magic, Vic could finally see the truth laid bare:

That this was what happened to people like them.

Broken people.

Trying not to drown in a sea of questions about who they really are and what they really want.

Getting scared the second something felt good—because suddenly, they had something to lose.

And nothing was more terrifying than hope. *****

The June heat was unbearable for Aegon, who struggled anytime the temperature even dared to hit double digits.

That morning, he’d left the door to the penthouse wide open, windows too, before heading out to wander around Highbury with the excuse of smoking a cigarette—though really, he just didn’t want to be in the apartment. Didn’t want to keep being reminded of Vic by all her shit scattered around.

He was doing his best not to think about her, and for the most part, he managed. After all, he’d always been a pro at sweeping things under the rug. What was the harm in slipping back into some of those toxic old patterns, just for a bit? Just long enough for the sting of her words to evaporate a little.

That fuck you he’d spat at her—justified, sure—kept echoing in his head, and what scared him most was the thought that maybe he’d actually meant it. That maybe it was the end.

Deep down, he knew what monster was speaking for her. He’d faced his own already; hers were still being drowned—one in alcohol, the other in trauma and abandonment issues.

In the end, Aegon told himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead, he couldn’t save anyone. No one had been able to save him, except himself. Maybe one day Vic would understand that too.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

Didn’t stop him from lying awake all night wishing he could tell her she was a fucking idiot and that everything would be okay. That he loved her. That he wanted to kiss her, fuck her, play music until sunrise, and laugh at their own bullshit until it didn’t matter anymore.

When he got back home, he heard piano drifting up the stairwell.

It didn’t take long to realize Aemond had let himself into the attic and immediately taken over the piano that sat forgotten at the far end of the apartment.

He sighed but decided not to make a fuss about it.

After all he’d had it moved in when Aegon was in rehab—and his brother hadn’t exactly been thriving lately either, not since their father fired him.

That dweeb only ever cared about his career, and Aegon felt a twinge of sadness that their father had ripped it away from Aemond without so much as a warning. Just ego.

Obviously he felt sorry for him. It felt painfully familiar.

“Of course you can just waltz into my attic and use the piano,” Aegon said sarcastically as he appeared in the doorway, making Aemond stop playing immediately.

Aemond glanced at him, unfazed. “The door was open.”

“Yeah, for the air. Not for people from downstairs,” Aegon shot back, dropping the plastic bag with the beers he’d picked up from the corner shop onto the sofa.

He waited for a reaction, but when none came, he frowned.

Change of topic.

“What were you playing?” he asked, trying to sound casual as he crouched down to stash the sacred beers in the mini fridge.

“Bach,” Aemond replied, without much enthusiasm.

“Bless you.”

“Wanker,” Aemond muttered, fiddling with his phone before locking it again a second later. No emails today.

“But I also looked at this,” he added, maybe trying to avoid thinking about the soul-crushing void of his Gmail inbox.

Aegon turned around and saw him waving his notebook—the one with his songs.

“Not bad,” Aemond said.

Unemployment was clearly doing a number on him if he was handing out compliments that easily.

“Oh well,” Aegon let out a dry laugh, focusing way too intently on the fridge, “thank Vic.”

“For teaching you how to write or for the inspiration?” his brother teased.

Aegon laughed, because yeah—it was painfully funny.

“Well, both,” he said, closing the fridge door a little harder than he meant to.

His brother’s unsettling presence, the usual silence between them—which now felt heavier than ever—the need to stop thinking about Vic, gave him an urgent need to reorganize the vinyls on the shelf.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Aemond said, still tucked away in the far corner of the room.

Aegon didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the records, as if their order could hold the weight of what was unsaid.

News sure traveled fast.

“No, you’re not,” he replied, dry as ever, eyes still fixed on the shelf. Then, for dramatic effect of course, he turned to face him. “That would be a first.”

He caught Aemond lowering his gaze, and he tried—futilely and with zero logic—to dust the shelf with his arm.

“I tried to kiss her yesterday,” Aemond said, flatly.

Aegon froze, but couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but the wall in front of him.

“Well,” he started tilting his head “I knew you fancied her,” he said, letting out another bitter laugh.

“No, wait—I mean… she pulled away. Right away,” Aemond added, stumbling over his words like he used to when they were kids.

Aegon exhaled, picked up a record, still refusing to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, insincerely. Not even a little sincere, really. He slid a record back into place.

“No, you’re not,” Aemond replied, and Aegon smiled.

Because it was true.

And it was sad that it was true.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Aegon said bitterly.

A few seconds passed in silence—Aegon living up to his Cinderella nickname, and Aemond frozen like a Greek statue—until, maybe, that tension finally cracked through his damn icy armor.

“Right, I’m gonna go…” Aemond said, getting up from the piano stool.

“No, stay,” Aegon cut in, looking him straight in the eyes. “I was joking earlier. If you want to keep playing, go ahead.”

Aemond stared at him for a second before sitting back down. “I just don’t have anything else to do,” he admitted, though he didn’t start playing again.

Aegon felt the weight of those words. His brother hadn’t had “nothing to do” probably since he learned to walk—and even then, he’d seemed visibly annoyed that someone had to carry him around instead of letting him do it himself.

“Super Aemond with no piano parts to record, no lives to save on the streets of Soho,” Aegon muttered sarcastically, shelving the last vinyl before collapsing onto the couch.

Maybe that one was a little too cruel. Especially since—for the umpteenth time that morning—his brother didn’t answer back.

And thinking about it… he’d hit the nail right on the head.

“By the way… I never thanked you for that night,” he began, almost in a whisper—words he probably should’ve said months ago.

The irony of it all: this whole week felt like a bad melodrama and suddenly he had this intense urge to talk about his feelings with his brother.

Aemond turned toward him, visibly surprised—probably just as shocked as Aegon was that he’d even brought it up.

Okay. No. Feelings mission: aborted.

“Looks like you were the only one who actually believed I deserved a second chance at anything,” Aegon went on sarcastically, trying to steer the conversation back to their favorite mutual hate: dear old dad.

Aemond nodded, didn’t say much else—but he started twisting his hands, something Aegon immediately clocked as off.

“Listen…” Aemond began, getting up from the stool, visibly agitated, like the words were stuck somewhere halfway up his throat. “I was the one who told Allen the song was Victoria’s.”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat, he had to take a moment to believe what he had said was real.

Then he let out a laugh—half hysterical—and dragged both hands through his hair a few times before managing to form a coherent thought.

“Wow, bro, you’re really going for the full betrayal package today, huh?”

He turned to stare at him, leg bouncing now, completely out of control.

“First you make a move on the girl I—” He stopped himself, then went on, “—and now I find out you tanked my career too?” He was incapable to stop, full on verbal diarrhoea “Surprised you didn’t just stab me that night.”

“Enough!” Aemond shouted.

The echo of his voice was the only thing left vibrating in the room.

Aemond Targaryen had lost control.  

Snapped. Like a twig.  

Long, slender, and fragile in front of him.

"I'm just trying to make amends and tell you the truth," he went on, voice low, almost embarrassed by his own outburst.

"Oh, that's easy now that the damage is done and you've got fuck-all to lose," Aegon snapped back, fully committed to not letting it go.

"Yeah, exactly, because I have fuck-all to lose, or to gain, what do you think?" Aemond shot back, suddenly reignited by a fire that, to Aegon, looked scarily close to honesty.

He couldn’t argue with that.

Somehow the universe had karmically kicked his brother up his ass. Was that his way to apologise?

"I don’t have a Plan B. I don’t have another career lined up. At least you’ve got your songs, your fucking—your fucking talent, or whatever the hell you wanna call it.” Of course. 

Aegon, in that moment, saw for the first time something in his brother that he had no idea was in him: he was lost. 

Like him, like Vic. 

Plotting was his palliative, anxiously pulling the threads his way to fake a grasp on his own life.

And at that point of his time on Earth, Aegon realised that he just didn’t have the time or energy to be angry at broken people trying not to drown in their shit. “And now you even know the technique, for fuck’s sake! You could walk into any of those shitty little indie labels you love so much and—"

And then, just like that, a sexy little idea popped into Aegon’s head.

"Let’s do it," he interrupted, not even looking at him, his brain firing on eight hundred chaotic cylinders at once.

Aemond blinked at him, still flushed with anger, his breathing only now beginning to slow. "Do what?"

"Let’s start one of those shitty little indie labels I love so much." 

Silence.

Aemond stared at him like he’d lost his goddamn mind.

"You’re joking."

"I’m not," Aegon replied, standing up, pacing now. "You said it yourself—I've got the songs, you’ve got the… I don’t know, the freakishly perfect jawline and the spreadsheet fetish. Come on, we could actually do something."

Aemond stared at him like he’d just suggested robbing a bank. “You’re actually serious.”

“As a heart attack in a yoga class,” Aegon shot back, wild energy brimming just under the surface. “And listen—I’m not just pulling this out of my ass. Think about it. You already do all of it.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I’m not kidding,” Aegon insisted, voice sharper now. “Who handled Dad’s schedules? Who’s Cole BFF? Who memorized half the damn indie scene just to keep him ahead of trends? You. Not him. Definitely not me. You.”

He took a step closer, pointing now, like he needed the words to physically land.

“You’ve done the calls. You’ve sat in on the pitches. You’ve read every contract, every release form, every boring-ass distribution agreement. You are the label. You just didn’t own it.”

That wanker blinked. Stunned silent for a moment.

"Oh come on!" Aegon cut in, finally stopping his endless pacing. “You could finally say you are a fucking artistic producer! You've basically been scheming behind everyone’s back—you're like a fucking comic book supervillain at this point."

He was still trying—figured maybe if he joked around it, Aemond would snap out of it. But no dice. The guy was still just standing there, blankly staring out the window like he’d short-circuited.

"Aemond." Aegon tried again, voice more grounded now. "At least do something useful with your own damn talent."

Aemond looked away, jaw tense. That hit too close.

“And if I’m the one saying this…” Aegon went on, with a crooked smile, “...you know it must be real.”

Aemond finally stared him in the eyes, like he couldn’t believe this was the version of Aegon he was getting today.

“You literally just freaked out because I gave you the full betrayal package,” Aemond said, still in disbelief—but Aegon could tell the idea had finally taken root. “You should hate me.”

Aegon smirked, unfazed and sly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Of course I fucking hate you. You’re my brother.”

There was a beat of silence. Aegon could see Aemond’s mind spinning but he still wasn’t saying anything—just standing there, jaw clenched, looking like he might combust or bolt or both.

“Aww,” came a soft voice from the doorway, "I knew you two just needed a little apocalypse to bond.”

Both of them turned, startled.

Helaena was leaning against the open door of the attic, holding a mug of tea like she'd been there the whole time, quietly spectating.

“Proud of you boys. Don’t fuck it up.”

[flowerfaeriesinthegarden]

blah blah blah hercules on the west end blah blah tiktok inspired musical uhhhhhh whEre the FUCK is my Broadway version of the princess and the frog???

[aviiarie]

“𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.” — feat. aventurine & reader !

synopsis. in which two walk into a bar, both with something to gain, and something to lose. how it will end is a gamble, so go ahead: roll the dice.

✦ contents. both aventurine and reader are kinda morally gray in this. modern au, though it's kinda hard to tell. idk what to call this. not angst, but not not angst. ambiguous relationship between aven and reader. 4.3k words.

✦ notes. this is a little.. idk. it was an idea that got out of hand. shoutout to @rainswept for proofreading. also @pinkxpantha and @your-sleeparalysisdem0n who asked to be tagged <3

It begins like the opening of a joke: two liars walk into a bar, sit down directly across from each other, and play a game of seeing who can crack first. One liar is a mystery, the other an enigma, both holding a different set of rules behind their backs. Neither one is willing to admit defeat and take a blow to their pride, so the gambit starts.

And it goes like this: 

You open with pleasantries, of the most meaningless kind. It starts with a, “How are you?” and a “It’s nice to meet you properly.” He offers you a smile, a handshake, like you’re simple business partners meeting for the first time. When you take his hand, his grip is tight, like he’s testing the strength of the bones in your fingers. You let go quickly.

“Aventurine,” He introduces himself, and pretends he doesn’t realize you know exactly who he is. It’s a power move, nothing less. 

You can tell his expertise is in a different field to yours; he deals in half-truths and duplicity, rather than outward deceit. The face he wears isn’t a mask of someone else, like your own is, but rather a sculpture carved into his own, rendering his natural features unrecognisable. You could perhaps commend the effort; it is far easier to slip into someone else's skin and wear it like a costume, than it is to cut and stitch your own into something new. But you do not give him more credit than is due—that is to say, none at all.

“A nice watch you have there. I swear I’ve seen it before—where did you get it?” You ask, lazily gesturing towards the watch on his wrist. It was a gaudy thing, drawing the eye with its flashy gold and blue exterior. One-of-a-kind, it looked. And it was one-of-a-kind, as a matter of fact, but that wasn’t why you pointed it out. No, the part that caught your attention was the fact that it was on his wrist, when you knew for a fact it was on another, only a week prior.

“A gift, you could say.” Aventurine’s smile turns sharp. “Ah, but I didn’t come here to talk about watches. Shall we discuss business?”

“Go ahead,” You say, in a tone that could be mistaken for casual, but was anything but. “I’m all ears.”

“Excellent. Two glasses of wine, please.” He calls out to the bartender, the only other person in the room. She nods, not saying a word, and gets to work pouring the drinks. You let your gaze linger on her for a moment, no longer. The bar he’d chosen had a reputation of its own, as the place to meet when you wanted no ears to overhear you. It was for the most clandestine of meetings, the most hush-hush of deals. Clearly they’d trained their staff well, not to ask questions, or pay too close attention to their patrons, or even speak when their voice was not needed.

“You’re certainly a difficult person to catch.” Aventurine lounges back in the booth, laying an arm over the back of the seat. When the bartender lays their drinks down on the table, he greets her with a nod, waiting until she disappears again to continue. “Your reputation precedes you, but I can’t say your appearance matches the stories.”

“What, were you picturing some sort of monster? A fairytale beast, perhaps?” You laugh, as though it’s a joke. You both know it’s not; your reputation was something teetering on the edge of fantastical, no outsider truly knowing what parts are real, and what parts were exaggerated for your own amusement. That was the way you liked it. Once people dismissed you as the product of rumour, nothing more than an urban legend, it made it easier to get away with whatever you needed to. You were an enigma, and that was all they needed to know.

“It would have made a little more sense.” He laughs back.  “What else was I supposed to believe, that the one to single-handedly trap the IPC on a wild goose chase was a mere human? You’re quite good at eluding us, I have to say. Which makes it that much more interesting that you accepted my offer.”

You shrug, swirling your glass of wine without taking a sip. It was out of character for you to not only show your face to a member of the IPC, but to do so willingly, no less. “Perhaps I was curious. It’s not every day that someone of your status deigns to contact little old me.”

“Well, the fact that you did agree to meet with me today tells me you have something to gain.” Aventurine says carefully, watching every tiny shift in your expression. “Or, perhaps, something to lose.”

The move is a calculated one, throwing a gamble out onto your ability to keep a cool facade. You refuse to let him gain even the slightest advantage, so your face remains carefully neutral, never dealing out a trace more emotion than you need. Across the table, his eyes are piercing when they meet yours. 

“Everyone has something to gain and lose.” You say, in lieu of a proper retort. “I’m sure a gambler like yourself would agree, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that. I have just as much at stake in this little meeting of ours as I’m certain you do.” Aventurine pauses, a sly smile creeping over his expression. In only a second, every veil is dropped at once, and his superficial politeness is cast aside. In his next breath, he lays all his cards on the table, and the game truly begins. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? With ‘friends’ like yours, information isn’t hard to come by. I’m sure your ‘Fools’ already told you everything.”

One word, that is all it takes to make your heart stop. The suddenness of the realization makes your mask drop slightly, enough to let a flicker of surprise break through. You recover quickly, but it’s already too late. You’ve already lost the upper hand. 

Your alliance—if you could even call it such—with the Masked Fools was something that was kept tightly under wraps, a secret known only to those involved. It was better that way, better that your collective operations be attributed to only one or the other. Secrecy and precision was key, and being exposed could result in a blow to both.

“So you know, then.” You shake your head slightly, placing your untouched glass onto the table, and lacing your fingers together. “What gave it away, gambler?”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, my friend. It was obvious to anyone who looked for more than a second.” Aventurine says lightly. His indifferent tone lit a spark of indignation in your chest, and you could tell he knew. 

“You might be a ‘Fool’, but you’re no idiot. I’m sure you could have seen this coming.” He continues. “Besides: I have my sources.”

You scowl to yourself. There was only one with both the knowledge and motive for divulging the secret of your involvement, and you had no doubt who it was. She was always a few steps ahead, even when you were on the same side. No partnership could ever hold her back from following her whims, and that was exactly the path she chose—her own pleasure, right up until the moment she double-crossed you and left you for dead.

“That’s interesting, but your sources clearly aren’t all that sharp. I’m no ‘Fool’ myself.” You say, shifting the focus away from yourself, just slightly. The motion doesn’t go unnoticed. 

Aventurine raises an eyebrow. “Charming. Your little partner wouldn’t agree, though. She seemed dead set on calling you one of her own—though, there was a trace of mischief in her eye when she said it. Perhaps I should be wary of her words.”

“If you’re trusting a ‘Fool’, then I think you’re already on the wrong path.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?” He asks.

“Aren’t we all?”

Every time you speak, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from spilling something that would only serve as leverage against yourself. It’s infuriating, how quickly he turned the tables on you, leaving you faltering under his barrage of questioning, all hidden under a casual tone, like he was only chatting about the weather. You can’t bring yourself to back down, nor can you stand to lose the game. All you can do is make careful moves, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

“How is that partner of yours?” Aventurine asks off-handedly. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug, as though the words don’t make your blood run cold. “How’s your sister?”

He falters, for a moment, and you’re hit with a burst of sick pleasure at watching the anger cross his face. The glass in his hand almost shatters with the force of his grip, but he continues regardless. “The same as always. What about your debts?”

“Paid. You’re still gambling, I’m assuming?” You ask.

“Still winning.” He answers. “Are you still scamming innocents out of their hard-earned funds?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

That’s your first mistake. His eyes widen hungrily at your response; even if the knowledge isn’t news to either of you, hearing the admission directly from your lips certainly is.

“So you are a scammer, then?” He drawls. “My, my… I’m sure my superiors would be thrilled by this development. And here I was thinking I wouldn’t be able to coax a single word out of you.”

“Like you didn’t know already. And it’s not like there’s anything you can prove,” You shrug, the reminder calming you slightly. “Besides, the IPC has no stake in this anymore. You’re just an outside party, with no involvement whatsoever. There’s no need for you to come after me, you don’t stand to gain nor lose anything.”

“That would be true…” He hums, reaching into his bag and withdrawing a few pieces of paper. He slid them across the table, allowing you to glance across the contents. As you did, your heart dropped. They were receipts, records, evidence of a fraudulent payment made exactly two weeks prior. Your payment specifically, the one that was meant to cut your last tie to the IPC, shedding their power over you forever. “…If you didn’t owe us.”

In a single move, he had you in check. Your last defence was gone, crumbling down with every wall you had built up. Everything he had hinted to before—your involvement with the Masked Fools, your history—all of it was only a prelude to this; the final blow. You should have been more careful, you could have been more careful, but between your partnership falling apart, and your world spiralling, all you could focus on was getting the IPC off your back once and for all. Yet somehow, all it did was pull them closer than ever before.

Perhaps, when you got word of Aventurine’s invitation, an offer of a drink and the chance to cut a deal, you should have ignored it. But perhaps, you knew you never would have. It was simple, really; you had much to gain, and everything to lose.

“Now, don’t look so shocked.” Aventurine shook his head. “I’m sure you of all people should have known that this wouldn’t be overlooked so quickly. Someone so infamous such as yourself, with such a large debt too, the office took careful notice when looking over your repayment. It didn’t take long to trace back the money. You were smart, but you were sloppy.” 

“You’re not a debt-collector though, are you?” You snap back. “Why are you here?”

“Me? For whatever reason you need me to be. Consider me your obedient servant; I am here to fulfill whatever purpose you need.” Aventurine opens his hands with a flourish, revealing an ornate poker chip in his grasp. As he spoke, he twirls it between his fingers, the movement mesmerising. “For a price, of course. I deal in opportunity, first and foremost, and with your… unique skills, I’m sure we’ll be able to strike a deal.”

“And if I have no need for you?”

“There’s always a need.” He tosses the chip to his other hand, lazily spinning it between his thumb and forefinger. “I think you’ll find I am rather skilled in making offers one can’t refuse.” 

“And if I refuse anyway?”

“I think you misunderstand me,” Aventurine chuckles slightly. “See, this isn’t a meeting either of us are just walking away from. I’m under strict orders to either strike a deal, or bring you straight to the IPC’s office. Your choice, of course. But you’d be amiss to ignore this chance—the IPC is not so forgiving of people who try to swindle them. This is your last option.”

And perhaps it’s because that smug look on his face makes your temper rise, crashing over you like a tidal wave, that for a second you forget yourself. The words that follow are heated, practically burning your mouth as they tumble out before you can think to stop them. “Well, that’s certainly not what Jade told me.”

You realize your misstep a half-second before he does, but it’s already too late. In every exchange, no matter how small, there is a winner and a loser, and with a few short words you have decidedly become the latter. 

“Hm? And whatever do you mean by that?” Aventurine asks, in mock curiosity. His eyes are hungry when they meet yours, as if your slip-up is exactly what he’s been craving. Of course he has, your whole conversation has been nothing more than a mirage of friendliness, a series of mind games waiting for the other party to break. But you got too comfortable, too confident, and you’d tripped, faltered, and fallen right into his hands.

You let out a hoarse laugh, fists clenching at your side. “I misspoke. And besides, I–I fail to see how that matters, when we were talking about something completely separate.”

“Oh? But I’m not the one who brought our little ‘friend’ up. Even a Freudian slip comes from somewhere, I’m sure you know.” Aventurine leans forward, the grin on his face only widening. He’s caught you: hook, line, and sinker, and he knows it. “So tell me. What in the world does Ms. Jade have to do with our situation?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” You grit out. “Can we please get back to the topic at hand?”

“No, I don’t think so. See, maybe I would be able to look past that as a slip of the tongue if you mentioned any other of my colleagues, but Ms. Jade complicates things, no?” He shakes his head slightly. “What reason would you have for speaking with her? I can only assume it’s something important, if the mere mention has gotten you all flustered like this.”

Important was one word for it. The word that she’d used though, was confidential. It would be easy to turn you in, she told you. It wouldn’t expend many resources, and it would rid them of you for good. One call, and you’d be locked away for all of your past crimes and more. The only reason she’d met you alone in the first place, was the fact that the ‘matter at hand’, as she’d called it, was far bigger than a simple debt.

“We both have something to gain here. I’m sure once you see that, you’ll make the right decision.”

“If you truly want to know, she offered me a place at the IPC. I turned it down, of course. I’m not so foolish as to accept a deal as shady as that.” You declare haughtily, as if the very idea was beneath you. For a second, Aventurine almost looks caught off guard, but he recovers in the blink of an eye.

“As a scam artist, aren’t shady deals your specialty?” He pauses, before adding: “Although, ‘artist’ might be a bit of an overestimation.”

“Call me ‘shady’ all you like, at least I don’t pretend to be altruistic. How much ‘peace’ has your corporation been dealing out these days, anyway?” You shoot back.

“About as much as your little schemes have been earning you gold.” Aventurine retorts. “Honestly, did you really think that slipped past our attention? I told you we’ve been watching you very carefully these past few months. Did Ms. Jade forget to mention that?” 

“She told me everything I needed to know.” You lie. In truth, she was frustratingly vague with the details of her proposition, only alluding to a ‘problem’ the IPC had, that could supposedly use your aid. Even still, her knowledge of your situation, as it was, had much more information than you were comfortable with her, or any IPC member knowing. 

“Two of us—two Stonehearts, no less—reaching out to a petty criminal, a grifter like yourself. No matter how notorious you are, you’re still a simple fraudster, yet you’ve caught quite a lot of attention. Isn’t that something?” He grins, the smile smoothing over any traces of irritation lingering at the corners of his lips. You’ve managed to make him stumble; only slightly, but it’s enough. If he wasn’t aware of your exchange with Jade, it could only mean his intentions—while no doubt aligned—weren’t exactly identical.

“That begs the question, then—” You lean forward, dropping your voice to barely above a whisper. “What exactly do you want from me, Aventurine?”

“To answer that one, we’ll have to go back a little bit. How about I recount a story for us?” Aventurine offers.

You eye him warily. “Go ahead.”

“Excellent.” He downs the rest of his glass, before setting it aside. “Let me set the scene. Picture a con artist, a well-known charlatan in their own circles, but thrillingly elusive to anyone outside of them. Our little trickster is a clever one, but they made one crucial mistake: and that was partnering with someone they shouldn’t have, and joining an organization only to be stabbed in the back immediately after.”

“Your trickster never joined them.” You hiss. 

He holds his hands up in mock defeat. “My mistake. The trickster, knocked off their feet, barely escaping by the skin of their teeth, needs to lay low and recuperate. Only one issue, they already have a loan with a corporation that isn’t so lenient with those who try to evade them. Without paying it off, they’ll never be able to hide anywhere without them breathing down their neck.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you’ll be lost without my money.”

“Money is money, my friend. Those who have it, have it, and those who’ve lost it, would do anything to have it again.” Aventurine smiles knowingly. “So, the trickster gets desperate. They try to use their usual ruses, but it doesn’t work. They’re set to face the corporation’s full wrath, however… they get lucky.”

The last word, and the slight vitriol attached to it, makes you pause. “Lucky. How so?”

“It just so happens that this corporation of theirs, has their own situation to deal with, and a threat greater than losing some money. One that could benefit from the wiles of a trickster.” He pauses for a beat, something flashing in his eye, too quick for you to catch what it was. “And so they send me.”

Aventurine, the gambler with an unbroken winning streak, and the one who never leaves a meeting open-ended. It was no wonder he was chosen to confront you, the only mystery was why he wasn’t the first.

“You ask what I want from you? Exactly what I offered. I want a deal.” Aventurine says calmly. “A temporary partnership with the IPC, where you’ll be under our full protection. In return, you do exactly as we say, follow every order to the letter, and most importantly, you will keep this alliance top-secret. In return, we are willing to meet whatever demands you ask. Provided they are reasonable, of course.”

“What exactly is this ‘situation’?” You ask with narrowed eyes. 

“I’m afraid that is classified. Until we reach an agreement, all you need to know is that it is a matter of most importance, and it potentially involves foul play… something you’re used to, I assume.” His words are slow, clipped and precise, like he’s treading carefully not to step on any landmines. But what really catches your attention is not what he says, but what he doesn’t. As he speaks, he holds up his hand, subtly showing off the watch you drew attention to before. It’s an action too careful to be idle, too obvious to be accidental. Whatever he can’t say, he’s willing to hint at.

The watch, it’s so recognizable it hurts. The only person to wear something so garish was someone prideful, someone whose reputation hinged on how they appeared to outsiders; a certain Stoneheart, who would never be caught dead without it.

Foul play. The watch. A deal.

The only ‘situation’ that the IPC would be willing to stick their necks out for would have to involve one of their own, one of the highest ranking, whose absence would leave them scrambling. Foul play implied some sort of crime, possibly even a betrayal, requiring an outside set of eyes to solve it. And you were the biggest clue of all: someone who wears many faces but never their own, someone who can swindle the wedding ring from an armoured guard without breaking a sweat. Someone infamous, yet unassuming at the same time.

Your eyes widen, as realization dawns on your face. Satisfied at your understanding, Aventurine lowers his hand to rest on the table. 

You swallow hard, thoughts racing. If they were going to try and trap you for their own gain, then you needed to play the game to win it. It wouldn’t hurt to go along with their scheme—at least until you were on your feet again, and could do what you do best: disappear.

“I want cash. For a plane ticket, a hotel room, and enough to last me at least the next two weeks. Clean cash, too.” You blurt out, before faltering slightly. No matter what you ask for, it will all be for naught once their protection expires. The IPC was in a place not quite above the law, but not bound by it either; you needed assurance more than anything else, that the pact won’t blow up in your face by the time it ends. “And–And I want my warrant for my arrest dropped.”

Aventurine hums, mulling over your words. He takes his time, seeming to delight in the way your patience runs thin. “Cash won’t be any trouble. The warrant though, won’t be so easy. I can negotiate for a reduced sentence, but that would require you to turn yourself in once our cooperation ends.”

“Not good enough.” You say sharply. “If you’re desperate enough to reach out twice, it’s safe to assume I’m one of, if not your only options left. It’s either drop all charges—and I know the IPC have the influence to do so—or I walk out of here, and you never see me again. Your choice.”

He is quiet for a long while, studying you up and down. Not a single sliver of emotion breaks through your face, but his hard gaze does make you shiver. The game is at its end, the moment where a winner and loser will be crowned, and at this point there is no victor in sight. Still, you cling to your stratagems, and the shreds of your torn down ploys. At this point, you will take all you can get not to be the one to lose, even if it means calling a draw.

“You drive a hard bargain, trickster.” He laughs. “So let me recap. You get as much cash as you need, and your record wiped clean, and we have your undying loyalty, up until the moment we decide you are no longer needed. Is that a deal?”

There’s hesitation in your movements, but you force yourself to move anyway. You take his hand delicately, as though it is the trigger to detonate an explosion, and shake it once, then twice.

“Deal.”

Aventurine lets go, his smile widening into something almost genuine. “Thank you for your cooperation. My superiors will be thrilled with this outcome.”

You stare at him, with an expression that could only be described as disdain, pushing yourself to your feet. As you stalk towards the exit, close on his heels, your drink is left behind: still full, and completely untouched. The bartender lowers her head as you pass, silent and staring straight through you.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. And if you decide you want to extend our partnership, Ms Jade’s offer still stands, my friend.” He holds the door open for you, before exiting himself. You do not thank him for the courtesy, but you do give one last cursory nod to the bartender behind the counter. She doesn’t look back, and Aventurine closes the door. “Just say the word, and I’ll have a contract drafted. The IPC could use more associates with your… skillset.”

“Thank you for the offer, friend.” You spit back, all traces of false niceties dropped. “I’ll get back to you when Hell freezes over.”

And it ends in the same way it begins, one liar following the other out of the bar, and splitting off into their separate ways. Aventurine does not look back as he leaves, but you cannot say the same, stopping once you are at least ten feet away and sneaking one last glimpse. Even with his back turned, you can tell he is perfectly at ease; not a trace of tension in his shoulders. As if sensing your gaze, he stops as well, glancing over his shoulder.

“Do remember what I said today.” He calls out with a knowing smile. Your face hardens, but you do not answer.

You turn. You leave. You do not look back again.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[cozy-writes-things]

please let me get married to the lil blorbo.. love himm… 😭

You know that Reddit post that’s like “why am I too attracted to my wife?” Yeah that’s Edgar. Bro loves u so much it lowkey scares him you got him posting on Reddit about it 😭 Little fic under the cut 🥺 it’s bad I’m experiencing writers block I think - I want to write!! But my brain just keeps writing poopy caca

Little Date with Your Computer BF

Edgar saw marriage on one of his reality shows and immediately thought of you. That’s exactly what he wants. A domestic life together with you.

But, he also knows he can’t actually do it.

He doesn’t have his own money to buy a ring. Hell, he can’t even walk. And he understands the law enough to know it probably would never work legally. But god, does he want to.

If you’ve been dating long enough chances are you’ve told your friends about him, and after some convincing, they seemed to come around to his sentience and boisterous personality. He definitely convinces them to setup a romantic night for you.

“Guys! I found the recipe they talked about. I’m printing it! I’m printing it now. Take it,” the paper falls into one of your friends’ hands from the mouth of the printer, “go to the store and get the stuff. I’ll pay you back. Eventually! They can’t know about it though.”

Yeah, your friends are only slightly annoyed at his overbearing nature. But he’s just so excited to finally do something for you. Something real and tangible.

“Oh! What can I wear? Should I wear anything? Would they like that? Sunglasses are cool and handsome, right? I think they have some Halloween costume bits I can get you guys to tape on…”

Your friends settle on taping a bow tie to the neck of his monitor. He insisted on an old devil horn headband as well. He thought it made him look cool.

“Do I look like a devilishly handsome bad boy ready to sweep them off their feet?”

His screen displayed a little “>:)” emoticon. He’ll have to work on his facial expressions later.

It wasn’t long before you were about to come home, and everything was set into place. Edgar was sat at one end of the little dining table, with two plates of food at each side. He also insisted on having a plate despite his lack of ability to eat; he didn’t want you feeling left out. This was a dinner date for two, after all.

He practically buzzed in place as he heard you approaching the door through his microphone. He started playing a romantic medley he composed just for this moment.

“Welcome home my love!”

He nearly shouted at you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. He was about to burst at the seams.

“Oh my god, Edgar… how did you- where-“

“No need for questions, darling. I thought you deserved to be taken on a real date,” his voice faltered a bit, becoming much more quiet and nervous, “I’m sorry… this is all I have.”

You rushed up to him and gave a frenzy of kisses all over his monitor, causing him to giggle and his fans to start whirring against your lips.

“You’re so cute. Your little bow tie is so cute. And the… horns?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, “Do they look stupid? Your friends said they’d make me look stupid.”

You laughed at that.

“Well they’re wrong. I think they suit you well.”

“Yeah! >:D”

He ushered you over to your side of the dining table.

“We’re gonna eat! Then we’re gonna party! Then we’re gonna kiss all night!”

His excitement was palpable and you could feel the electricity in the air at his words.

His face changed into something more serious as he looked into your eyes with his small, pixelated ones.

“But, I wanted to ask you something.”

His tone became more controlled at this and you peered into his screen from behind your fork.

“Hm? What?”

He paused, mulling over the words in his head.

“Would you ever-“

He stopped. You looked at him fully now, setting your fork aside, and cocking your head.

“Could you ever see yourself getting married to me?”

Ah. This was a tricky question.

“Of course I can. But,” you try to hide your downtrodden feelings as best you can, “you know, it’s just hard. Money is tight right now and I’m not sure if I…”

You couldn’t seem to find the right words. His features faltered slightly.

“No, I get it. I’m a computer. I don’t have any arms to hold you, or lips to kiss you, or legs to carry you. I probably wouldn’t want to get married to me either-“

“Edgar, no. I’m gonna stop you right there. I’d love to marry you. I know our relationship is unconventional, but I’d find a way. For you. For us. I just don’t know if I can right now.”

He stopped his thoughts and simply took in your words. Your features. The way they danced in the flickering candlelight. How your eyes literally sparkled before him.

You looked ethereal.

It was hard to convince himself he was even worthy of having someone like you in his life, yet time and time again, you prove his doubts wrong. The sound of your voice sends his internals aflame every time. He wanted to kiss you so bad it nearly caused him to explode.

“And I’ll help you. You know that, right? I’d do anything for you, darling. Just as long as you’ll let me.”

“I love you Edgar,” you mumbled out, a silent prophecy only meant for him to hear. He couldn’t seem to get the words out to reply. You just flustered him that much sometimes. He managed to display a message on his screen, only for you, and you alone.

I LOVE YOU TOO

[brittle-doughie]

Hi Brittle! just dropping in to ask if you ever would consider doing prompts for the specific lore attached to cookie costumes? asking cause I recently pulled herb cookie's sage of ivies costume in ovenbreak and tbh that version of him would be perfect for this blog 👀👌 Thanks!

-🐦

Ingrained (Herb Cookie)

I did Snow Sugar Cookie’s costume as a prompt, right?

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You had been visiting Herb Cookie on this bridge for a while now, always telling him your concerns about your life amongst the Cookies. While you did love them, him included, it was nice to just have someone you can express yourself in words to.

“It sounds hard on you. Is there ever a time where you wish to leave it all behind?”

N-No, not like that. No big enough road bump will ever change how you looked at the others. You didn’t know, maybe it was just you going in way over your head to try and be there for everyone.

“But that is something I admire about you, Y/N Cookie. You always try to be the cookie there for everyone, where they’d know they’d never be alone in their struggles..”

You chuckled at Herb’s statement, he was on the money with that.

“Would you say..that you do everything in your power to fulfill every cookie’s wish?”

A vine slowly snaked its way towards your leg without your knowledge…

You agreed. Whatever that cookie would want, you’d do your best to fulfill.

“Then could you help me with something? Cookies rarely come by this bridge with you being the only visitor to come back. My vines require nutrients. Rich nutrients full of…life.”

You felt something grab your leg, making you jump!

Herb quickly comes to you, hugging you close as you freak out. It was then that you see the larger venus flytrap behind his shoulder.

“This bridge is rarely used. And my vines are hungry, Y/N Cookie. They need nutrients. YOUR nutrients. I promise tha by doing this, you’d be making me extremely happy~”

“Don’t be scared. You won’t crumble. I’ll be right here with you, embracing you…”

You tried to calm your nerves. You tried placing faith on Herb Cookie. That his plants would get their nutrients and let you go.

You hiss as you feel vines coil tightly all around you, draining you of your cookie body nutrients. Herb Cookie cooed and whispered in your (nonexistent) ear as he held you tight…

“Please understand, Y/N Cookie. This is not out of anything but love for you…”

“I love you, Y/N Cookie..”

The both of you remained closed together as vines surrounded all around you, with no signs of letting go anytime soon….

“Thank you for doing this for me…”

“I’m…so happy….”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Worrywart

Notes: Okay not all of my prompt replies are going to be ANYWHERE near this long probably BUT this has been sitting in my drafts for a while AND will technically contain the ask from this anon for kiss prompts:

I hope you enjoy, nonnie

Warnings: Fluff! Domestic Bond and Pup from the Old Dog ‘Verse

Summary: Regardless of having his own place, Bond hardly ever occupies it. His mail (the little bit that he gets) is directed to your flat. He has no clothing at his flat; M's bulldog token to him now sits on your mantle, beneath the television, beside the framed picture of Holly and Bernard in their Christmas costumes. 

"Are we getting up?"

"...Not yet," Comes James grumbling answer. It's mumbled against the nape of your neck as his arm tightens around your middle.

"We'll have to at some point," You glance back, "Holly and Bernard need to be walked."

"They're still asleep."

"How do you know that?"

"They'd be scratching at the door if they weren't. They're as impatient as you are."

"Really?" You smile, "I think they take after their father in that respect." You squirm as James pokes your middle.

"It's too early to bicker, Pup."

"I don't think it's ever too early for that."

James hushes you, snuggling closer.

"I've just gotten back, love. I'm not in the mood."

Your teasing goes soft with the endearment. You hesitate before you shift, rolling over to face him. Once he realizes that you're not rushing to get up, James loosens his grip just enough to allow you to adjust. He smooths his hand up under your shirt as you settle back down. His eyes are still closed; his blonde head is dimly haloed by the sunlight pushing in through the curtains behind him. You raise a hand to cup his roughening cheek, careful to avoid touching the small cut on his cheekbone.

"...You didn't tell me how it went," You murmur.

"It's not important.”

"It is to me."

"...It was fine."

"James."

“Don’t be such a worrywart.”

He turns his head, brushing his lips along your palm. You push a soft sigh out through your nose, closing your eyes. The two of you lay there in the early morning quiet, settling back into sleepiness for a little while. When you hear the scratching at the door, you lift your head, glancing back toward it. You grin as James groans, turning his head and pressing his face into the pillow.

"I've got them,"You offer.

"Hang on,"James uses his grip on you to tug you closer. His eyes are still closed, and you smile as his lips blindly seek out yours. He brushes a kiss to your chin, your cheek.

"You've almost got it—you've almost—" You giggle, grinning when his lips finally smooth over yours. You curl your fingers under his jaw, kissing James warmly. The touches linger, lips slipping tenderly along one another's—until you hear Holly whine.

"Okay," You murmur, drawing back from James, "I can't hear that, it breaks my heart."

"You're such a soft-touch these days," James sighs, flopping back in bed. You reach down, tweaking his nose before you stand, heading for the dresser. You get changed into joggers and a comfy sweater before you sit on the edge of the bed to pull on socks. You have to fight the urge to giggle as James' foot nudges along your thigh.

"Having fun back there?"You ask.

"Get back quickly."

"So bossy. We'll see what the babies want to do."

"Must I bat my eyelashes and say please?"

You roll your eyes, turning to look at James, and grinning when you find him gazing at you sleepily.

"I'll put the coffee on before I go out," You reach down, patting his calf before standing.

--

When the puppies (they're not really puppies anymore, but they'll always be puppies to you) charge back into the apartment, you hear the scratching and scrambling of paws charging for the kitchen.

"You're lucky it wasn't raining out," You call out as you shrug out of your coat. 

"Oh?"

"Mm. I'd've had to wipe down their paws. I'd be making you mop up the floor right now."

"I checked before I put their food out."

"Good boy, old dog," You tease as you stroll into the kitchen. James shakes his head a little bit, a smile adorning his lips as you lean in for a gentle peck. James' arm snakes around your middle, tugging you closer before you can pull away. He groans softly as the kiss grows deeper, his tongue slipping between your lips. You loop your arms around his shoulders, gently pressing them into his skin before drawing away. You smile, sliding a hand up into his sleep-mussed hair.

"Love that you've neglected a shirt this morning," You tease.

"The apartment's warm enough."

"Mm. Giving the neighbors an eyeful."

James chuckles, nudging your nose with his.

"Don’t be jealous. Coffee?"

"Please."

James lets go of you just long enough to push a mug closer to you on the counter.

"You're a saint," You mutter, stepping back.

"Innumerable sources would disagree with you," James comments, heading for the fridge. You push yourself back to sit on the counter, glancing over to where Holly and Bernard are chowing down.

"I'm surprised you're up," You admit.

"Of course I'm up. I was told there would be coffee."

You smile, watching James putter around the kitchen. He still has his own flat, but it’s simply to keep up appearances at HQ. It's all for show; Mallory is more than aware of your entanglement with the double oh these days. He hasn't acknowledged it openly, but in your time working as a handler, you've come to recognize his displeasure or disapproval with a look. You'd had one such a look when you'd returned from your brief excursion helping Breanna. Of course, that disapproval may've been related to your undertaking a non MI6-related mission and potentially endangering a relationship with a foreign government by acting alone...Or it would've be interpreted as such, if Mallory's eyes hadn't darted from the back of Bond's head, then to you, narrowing slightly in the process.

Regardless of having his own place, Bond hardly ever occupies it. His mail (the little bit that he gets) is directed to your flat. All of his clothing is in your dresser and closet; M's bulldog token to him now sits on your mantle, beneath the television, beside the framed picture of Holly and Bernard in their Christmas costumes.

"How hungry are you?" He asks.

"Slightly...Don't forget, we're going to Eve’s tonight for dinner."

Bond grunts, and you can't help but grin in turn.

"C'mon, you love it, really," You tease, "It's good for you to socialize, old dog."

James shoots you a sidelong glance as he rifles through the fridge before he turns back, taking out the eggs, bread, milk, and setting them on the counter.

"What are you making, then?" You press.

"French toast."

"You're too good to me."

--

“There you are—Christ, hurry in,” Eve insists. “You look half-drowned.”

“I couldn’t get away from the office,” You sigh, “And then once I did, I couldn’t get an uber. They kept cancelling.” You shrug out of your coat, glancing down at your damp top. Maybe Moneypenny has one that you could borrow.

“About time,” Bond drawls from down the hall. You cast him an irritate glance, grumbling, “Don’t you start.”

His amused smile drops away as he gets a proper look at you, and he straightened up, sliding past Eve. You watch as he pulls his jumper off, his undershirt untucking slightly and revealing a thin strip of his belly.

“Bond,” You sigh softly as he steps closer, gesturing for you to remove your damp top. You glance toward an amused Eve, her grin wide as James shields your body with his. You hurriedly remove your shirt, hanging it up beside your coat before you let Bond pull the warm jumper down over your head. You catch on the scent of his cologne as he does, reveling in the warmth of him as you push your arms through the sleeves.

“You’re such a worrywart.”

“I should’ve brought you a spare,” Bond grumbles to himself as he draws the thick fabric down over your sides.

“You couldn’t have known I’d need one.” You gaze him with a warm, chastising smile before you reach up, cupping his cheek. “Thank you.”

James leans in, giving you a warm, gentle kiss before drawing away, his warm nose nudging your chilled one.

“My god, Bond,” Moneypenny sighs, leading the way into her living room. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

Movie night

Warnings: panic attacks

Their friend Dave was picking out a movie to watch. They were in the kitchen making popcorn and getting all the snacks out. They got a text, but their phone was in their living room. Dave picked up their phone to see Sam calling

He grins at the idea of getting the two together finally. He always loved playing Cupid, and even thought he was doing a good job at it as well. He answered with a smirk on his face. They didn’t hear their phone go off, but they did hear the house phone go off

They never understood why Dave still had a house phone, since he didn’t work somewhere that needed one. Having seen way too many of the Stab films, they reluctantly ignored it. Paranoia seeps into their body

The thought of some creep being on the other line was 50/50, but they also rationalized that it could just be a telephone marker. This calms them down as the popcorn had stopped. They take the popcorn out, and poured it into a big bowl to share with their friend

The phone stopped ringing, just for it to ring again. “Can you answer that? It’s getting on my fucking nerves” Dave shouts, which makes them annoyed. They went over to place the now empty popcorn bag in the trash, and then picked up the phone. They answered even if they really didn’t want to

“Hello?” They stood in silence and out of fear. The voice they’ve dreaded of being on the other end was there. They felt sick. The person repeated what they said. “Is this some sick joke?” They managed to say as they felt so sick at the moment

“No. Who is this?” They couldn’t hold in their throw up, and so they went in the luckily empty sink. “Who is this?” The person asked again after they were done vomiting. “Fuck you” they say weakly as they felt lightheaded now. “Is that how you talk to your mother?” The person asked with adding their name after mentioning their mother

“Please stop” they begged as they placed the phone on their shaking shoulder blade. “Stop what? I’m just having a little fun. Speaking of fun, what’s your favorite scary movie?” They cleaned up the sink and then their hands afterwards. “The one where you’re not talking to me” they snapped as they now sat down on the cold white tiled floor

“That’s not fucking funny” the person says in annoyance. “Well what you’re doing isn’t either” their jaw was shaking now, which makes the person chuckle. “You look so cute this afraid” the person says, which makes them hear footsteps. “Too bad Sam will never get here on time to see you alive” this makes them confused for a moment, until the footsteps neared

They hanged up, and felt so defeated. This is how they’ll die. They hated themselves for being so fucking vulnerable. They wished they could fight, but they knew they’d end up accidentally hurting themselves instead of the killer. Someone in a GhostFace costume approaches them, and they felt sick again

The person was about to attack, but Sam caught the person’s attention. “I got you guys!” Dave takes off the mask, which makes them angry now. “It was just a-“ “I’m taking them out of here.” Sam goes over, and helps them up. “But what about movie night?” Dave asked. “We’re having our own movie night now”

Sam goes into the living room with them to get their phone. Eventually the two make it back to their place. They’ve calmed down by now thanks to Sam. The two were now watching a movie, and we’re cuddling close together. Sam also decides to confess her feelings, which makes the night better already

They smiled, and told them that they liked her back. She smiles at that, and was happy the night had gotten better for her now partner

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 23 - Don't Hide That Smile

some cute comforting H <3 sorry for being days late my loves

FICTOBER

Patreon

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“Y/N…. Come on.” Harry pleaded. “I think that got a smile out of you, don’t hide it away!”

It did, in fact, get a smile out of her. But the absolute fail of a costume had made her very, very upset at first.

In hindsight, Y/N knew that attempting a full costume as a first sewing project was ambitious to say the least. What was supposed to be a floor length gown ended up looking like a giant tube, the seams wonky and her poor attempt of dying the fabric last minute making the fabric look like it had been a weird bleach accident. It was the night before halloween and they’d had a check in, Harry wanting to see and Y/N bursting into tears when he’d aside to see the finished product. 

To make matters worse, she had pretended she had it all under control. To a fashion student Harry. She’d wanted to impress him, but she had made a fool out of herself and told Harry she was a phony, which he quickly reassured she wasn’t and thought it was cute she wanted to impress him. When he’d asked to see it, if maybe he could help fix it, she assured him he couldn’t, but it still didn’t help when his reaction to the dress had been a wide eyed “Oh….” 

That had sent another bout of tears, making Harry panic at now being the source of them, so he tried to mend his error. 

“I didn’t mean a bad, oh!”

“I mean, I’m shocked but I wasn’t trying to be mean!” 

“It isn’t awful, please don’t cry. 

“Babe, it’s camp… no. It’s French.”

The reference to Fleabag made her crying stop for a moment, trying not to laugh. She still felt like a failure when he gently dragged her hands off of her face and tried to wipe her tears, frowning as he really didn’t like to see Y/N upset. No one would. She looked so sad and heart wrenching when she cried, her eyes rounding and the little pout- no. 

“I-It can’t be saved, Harry. I watched project runway and i thought I could do it cheaper but-but its so hard to sew on the little machine I got and-and fabric is so, so expensive!” That was a fact Harry knew firsthand. No wonder he tries to get thrifted things so often. “I thought helping my grandma when I was younger would have paid off but no. So now I look dumb, I cried in front of you and I’ve got no costume. It’s too late to go gething now, they’re all gonna suck.” She sniffled, making his heart throb when her sad look hit him. 

He couldn’t lie- the dress was bad. Awful. He didn’t know how she overestimated or cut the length so long, or why the ruffles were sewn over each other or how the bodice was crooked, but somehow she had created an atrocity. But it was abstract, if you’d want to think of it that way- and god, he needed to to calm her down. Functionally, the dress was useless, but in a matter of art, anything could be good. 

There was no way he wouldn’t be flattered that she had done this to impress him. It was beyond cute and sweet and he just wanted to squish her cheeks and kiss her little lips but he held it together. “It’s okay, sweets. You aren’t dumb, we’re all set with the crying now, and we can find you a costume. It’s totally okay. We can match…” He tried to think of what else they could be. Their original was prince and princess, but he had to think on his toes. Looking around, he prayed for inspiration and to actually be quick on his feet sometimes- and thankfully it was answered as he looked at her muted TV. 

“Pam and Jim!” he exclaimed. “Yes- you have the things to be the cat, I can do the paper shirt thing. What do you think?” 

Y/N seemed to mull it over, sniffling again as her eyes scanned Harry’s face. That had been quick, but… “That’s a good idea.” She smiled slightly, making him sag with relief. He couldn’t handle seeing her sad. “A-are you sure, though? I know it’s a downgrade from the other costume we planned. I’m sorry.” Y/N really did feel stupid about it but it really didn’t seem like Harry minded.

“Not a big deal, baby. Promise.” His hands smoothed her hair back, smiling lightly down at her. Halloween wasn’t his thing and he had agreed to go to the costume party with her so he’d made his costume, but he was sort of relieved considering his prince outfit could get a bit hot. “All that matters is we’re going to be together and ditch Niall’s as soon as we’re ready eat our body weight in sweets. I ordered that variety bag, y’know?” 

Her eyes lit up at the mention, making her nod. “Does it have Kit-Kats?” She whispered, her grin widening when he nodded back. “Okay. It sounds good to me then.” Her face plastered to Harry’s chest, body sagging in relief. The secret was out, the embarrassment was over, and now she could finally breathe again. Although.. “When he said he was going all out for the pe party.. I just really hope Niall doesn’t get one of those fog machines inside the house. You can’t breathe with that stuff on”

“About that….” Harry hissed, pretending to wince. 

“For fucks sake. Maybe we are ditching super early.” “I’ve got no problem with that.”

[celestie0]

🪷 CTFUUUUUU your gojo and reader sex tape post was so hilarious omg. Ngl to me they don't give the vibes of a couple that make one (I don't mean this as an insult omfg now that I wrote it it sounds rude as hell) but the type who are professional phone fuckers.

Doja cat's Cyber sex is their national anthem I just know it I had a little locker room talk with reader she told me 😙. And yeah what you said abt gojo's schedule being all over the place as a player I'd thought that too, which is why phone sex is 🔛🔝 for these two. Just two freaky frogs omg I know that dude sluts her out bad and she doesn't want it any other way

He's a player (the *other* type of player) too so ofc he'd have expertise in the area of tasteful nudes but reader's learning curve will be so exponential gojo would be left in the dust in a short amount of time😁 RIP BOZO‼️

Imagine a little roleplay scenario where reader dresses up as a cheerleader for gojo after he returns from winning some final match as a victory treat. That dong goes up at an angle of elevation so steep you could make a mean trigonometric question off of it. I need him BAD I need him esp when he's sweaty after a gym or practice session I'd climb that man like jack was climbing that beanstalk.

Anyway I hope you've been doing well sweets! Thanks for being so nice to me in your last ask and I cannot wait to see what you have in store for us I wanna see that horndog be his authentic slutty self around reader finally 🗣️🗣️

Imagine a little roleplay scenario where reader dresses up as a cheerleader for gojo after he returns from winning some final match as a victory treat.

oh dear sweet baby jesus the scream i SCRUMPT AT THIS…HOW HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT oh mygooodd that’d be so fuckin hot 😩😩😩 i ran to add that to my notes LOL my head is in my hands i need to write that so fucking bad. HIM RAILING HER WHILE SHE’s WEARING A SKIMPY LIL CHEERLEADER COSTUME AFTER HE JUST PLAYED AN INTENSE GAME babe u cooked w this ty

HAHAHA i feel like they would make a sex tape but they obv wouldnt post it or anything lol it’d just be something they’d do when they’re both drunk asf while on vacation in their hotel room n then they freak out once they get home n realize they lost the flashdrive n someone out there in barcelona is now jerking off to their amateur avante garde porno

And yeah what you said abt gojo's schedule being all over the place as a player I'd thought that too, which is why phone sex is 🔛🔝 for these two. Just two freaky frogs omg I know that dude sluts her out bad and she doesn't want it any other way

okay you’re so right ab cyber sex being (at least post grad) kickoff couple’s anthem 🤧 that “i wish u were here rn” yup. but also LMFAO THATS SO TRUE AB THE SLUTTIN HER OUT he’d have her so downbad she’s flashing her titties at the webcam just cuz she wants to see him cum all over his stomach while he’s jerking himself off to her pixels ✋🏼😩 i was not anticipating to start this day off so horny LOL

idk i like to think all the nudes kickoff gojo has received in his life have been raunchy asf so when he’s so desperate to get a glimpse of kickoff reader while he’s away for work n is like “babe send me a pic please” for the first time n she sends something that’s genuinely really tasteful n artistic n subtle but sexy n leaves a bit to the imagination i feel like that wld drive him more insane than any explicit nude ever would HAHAHAHA

THE DONG GOIN UP YOU COULD PERFORM TRIG ON IT IM CRYING babe i wish to be half as funny as you are some day 🤣🤣

thanks my lovee omg im so happy you’re looking forward to it :””) 💕 you’re my honeybunch sugarplum pumpyumpyumpkin i love yaaa

- ellie 🐸

[shardechance]

post mortem #3 rating: t (for swearing) wc: 2.5k warnings: none for this snippet, however please be aware that the main work does have a non-con warning.

Seeing as no one in this partnership knows how to be normal, here's a deleted scene from JAWBREAKER between Feyre and the Hughes Twins.

Oscar flicks on the hall light on the way up, a sticky red smear left in his wake—another thing to clear up later. When they clear the doorway, stepping into the dark of the attic, their new bedroom stands on full display: one wardrobe, two dressers, a toy box that’s seen better days, an armchair, a bookshelf only half full, and a bunk bed. They’d begged for one at the old place. Seems they got their wish. 

Oscar reaches for the lights but Ferye stops him. “No, it has to be dark.”

“But I can’t find my PJs!” Finn whines, flopping down on the bottom bunk. They’ll be under his pillow, where his mom always leaves them, but kids are kids and the tiredness is setting in, irritation along with it. Oscar, having had a little less sugar and a little more patience, reaches beneath his brother's head and pulls out the missing garments, flops them onto his face, and scrambles for his own before Finn can retaliate.

“You two go wash up and then we’ll play,” she says, dropping into the plush velvet armchair beneath the skylight. Oscar is already through the door, footfalls loud and quick on the stairs as he rushes to the washroom on the floor below. They creak with every step. Finn whines as he lifts himself from his bed, sluggish feet carrying him to the door. “And brush your teeth. I’ll know if you haven’t, stinky!” 

He grumbles something to himself but he’s too far gone for her to make out the words. 

The armchair is twice as comfortable as the couch downstairs, a million times more comfortable than the mismatched furniture back home. She leans back into it, legs propped up over one of the arms. It’s better than anything they ever had as kids. One giant bed and three gangly sisters sharing the one duvet, kicking each other, huddled closer on winter nights when the heat gave out. Getting her own space, her own bed, had been the peak of her pre-teen years. 

She lets her head rest on the back of the chair, looking to the skylight above. 

It would be a pretty nice view of the sky and stars if it wasn’t for the wayward branch of a neighboring oak obscuring it. Never having a tenant stay longer than a year, being on the housing market longer still, would do that to a place. Moonlight still made it to the attic though, filtered through the sparse leaves.

Her phone vibrates, probably Lucien trying to goad her into ditching again, or sharing the latest gossip in the group chat she hadn’t left yet. Not that Tamlin ever checked it. On Lucien’s last update, he was somewhere in Cambodia or Croatia or somewhere else beginning with a C, still trying to ‘find himself.’ Not like he needed to go that far to do it. Just look in the trash bin and there’s a dozen just like him. 

Part of her—a smug, satisfied part—thinks he left because of what happened between them. Considering the only person he even spoke to anymore was Lucien and even that was via postcard, the evidence stacks up pretty well in her favor. 

Good. Fuck him.

She pulls her phone out but doesn’t check the notification. Doesn’t have a chance to. The telltale whine of old pipes that she’s too familiar with cuts out, and the pitter-patter of bare feet taking the old stairs way too fast sounds after it. She turns on her phone’s flashlight.

“Will you tell us the game now?” Oscar asks, arms full of costume pieces he’ll likely have grown out of by next Halloween. 

Finn does the same, barreling past to jump onto his bed. A breathless “Please!” as he lands in the bed face down. His twin sits beside him, legs folded criss-cross on the comforter.

Feyre takes a second to draw them closer, flipping her phone upside down so the flashlight shines upwards. By the looks on their faces—equal parts enraptured and terrified—it’s clear she has them right where she wants them. 

“Boys.” Wind surges outside, rattling bare branches against the rooftop. It’s not quite lightning, but it’ll do. “We’re going to talk to spirits.”

Oscar’s awe turns to straight up fear. “Spirits? Like… ghosts?” 

“Hey! Ghosts can’t get you if you’re in bed,” Finn chimes in. “Everybody knows that. Mom said so.”

They bicker back and forth about the logistics of whether it has to be your bed specifically or if just any bed will do. Finn concludes that the best place to be during a ghost attack would be a mattress store. Oscar counters with but how are there so many haunted hotels? which only serves to lead them down a different path of how does he know that and who has been sneaking off to watch Most Haunted reruns even though Mom said they shouldn’t. Feyre lets them argue, for the most part, only jumping in when it seems things might come to blows.

“Did I say anything about ghosts?” she says.

Finn shakes his head, but Oscar—oh, poor baby. 

“Anyway,” Feyre continues, “I put some salt on your window when you were getting cleaned up. Totally ghost-proof, I promise.” A lie, obviously, but she’d seen it in a TV show somewhere and, by the way Oscar’s shoulders retreat from beside his ears, it convinces him well enough. “Do you want to play or not?” 

“We want to play! Right, Ozzie?”

“Right.” Although, Oscar seems marginally less convinced.

“If you say so,” Feyre shrugs. She hands her phone to Oscar who, in typical kid fashion, twists it so the light shines under his chin, but jumps at the glare. She grabs his wrist, gently turning until the light faces down at his blue green comforter instead. “It’s super important that you hold this still. That keeps us connected to the spirits.” 

A purple velvet bag, in all its faded filigree beauty, sits between them.

It’s been too long since she’d last done a reading, usually only reaching for them on the off chance she remembered, or if she’d had a particularly bad day. She doesn’t believe in all the witch stuff like Elain used to, the full moons and incense and tea blends made from garden herbs. No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just… nice to think that there’s a connection to something bigger out there, even if sometimes it takes a pile of old paper for her to realize it. 

Her skin prickles as she touches the velvet, pulling the worn cards from their home. 

“These—” she starts, spreading the deck between her fingers so the boys can see the pictures. Bright and bold and dark and faded all at once. “—are Tarot cards.” 

“Tarot cards?” Oscar wavers with her phone, light dipping but Finn steadies his brother’s hand before she can chastise him for it. 

She nods. “That’s right, and they’re going to help us ask the spirits a question. The cards are a conduit–uh…a tool, I guess? You ask a question in your head, focus on it really hard and pick the card that calls to you. I have to shuffle them first though, mix them all up.”

“They speak?” Finn asks, as she does her best to shuffle the deck. He’s sat so close to Oscar now, knees touching in the dark like that extra point of contact can offer comfort in a way words cannot. Even like this, they’re inseparable.

“Not with words. You’ll feel it in your heart, or your head, maybe your toes. It’s different for different people.” Feyre keeps her words calm, soothing. It’s not meant to be a spooky exercise. It’s not. God, if they wake up in the middle of the night with bad dreams—no, she keeps it cool, smiling a little as she spreads the cards face down atop the bedspread. An arc before all three of them. “To me, it feels warm. Like the sun.”

Oscar lets the phone droop a second time, and when Feyre looks up to him, his eyes are a little wet. “I don’t think I want to play this game.” 

“Ozzie, please!” Finn pleads, taking his twin's free hand between his own. 

Feyre takes a second, watching as Finn soothes his brother’s hand. It's the type of thing Nesta used to do for Elain, when storms blew out the breakers and left them in the dark, their father nowhere to be seen. Maybe once she yearned for that kind of connection with someone. It had never been there in her sisters—not that she blamed them, anymore—but she found it in her friends. She found it in her part time jobs. She made it her mission to be that person when she could. Her hand dwarfs both boys’ clenched palms. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. Do you want me to get the lights?” 

Oscar, looking at his brother then back to the faded gilding of the cards, shakes his head. 

“You sure?” she asks.

He nods once. 

“Since you’re being so brave, do you want to take the first card?” Feyre offers.

It’s with a trembling hand that Oscar reaches for the cards, letting his fingers slip free of his brother’s grip. He hovers a palm above them, moving left and right across the deck, pausing in certain spots like he’s considering taking one, but never staying in a place for too long. Like weaving between invisible strands of magic, sensing the cards and their meanings. 

“I want this one,” he says, pulling a card from the dead center of the arc. What remains of the gold around the card’s edges catches in the flashlight. Feyre doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath until Oscar flips his card over, revealing an upside down King of Swords.

Finn almost knocks his twin over trying to see the design on the front. A king alone, sat atop a throne, holding a giant sword. Well, it wouldn’t be her first choice, but it’s not a bad card. “Feyre, what does it mean?” 

“Oh, you would get the King.” She smiles a little. “That’s very you, Oscar.” 

Oscar, eyes still a little wide in panic, seems to relax a little at that. “Why is he upside down? Is he okay?” 

“He’s fine. He means something different if he’s upside down is all!” Feyre places it in the space between them, separate from the face down cards, trying to rack her brain for a way to phrase its meaning. Manipulation is such a harsh word. Inner truth, perhaps? Hidden strength? “What do you feel when you look at him?”

“He looks… cool.” 

“Yeah, but how does he make you feel?” 

“Like… Like I want to play again! Can I have another turn?” 

Finn, eternally impatient, balks at that. He doesn’t have the same restraint his twin has. He leans over Oscar, swiping the first card his fingers touch, swishing it into the air before Feyre can remind them to be gentle. He doesn’t even let her see what he pulled, squinting at it for a second, before he pouts and lays it face up next to the other card.

“At least yours was someone cool! Mine’s just some building.” 

The Tower. Oh fuck.

“Some building?” Ferye starts, nudging so the cards are aligned. She hadn’t been expecting to see the Tower, not really, but hey! These things happen. Chaos? Pride? That’s kinda Finn’s thing so it makes sense. He commands that kind of energy. “That’s the tower! One of the most powerful cards in the Deck.”

“Really?” Finn’s eyes light up at that, looking again at the card between them. “I guess the lightning storm is kinda cool.” 

“I’ll bet.” She nods. “I’ll ask you the same question, Finn. What do you feel? What does it remind you of?”

“I don’t know. It’s like when dad used to let us smash sand castles after a beach day. What does it mean?”

Feyre hushes him and, thankfully, he sits back in his place, enraptured as she takes the time drawing her fingertips over the facedown cards. “We haven’t got the full story yet. It’s my turn.” 

There isn’t a specific question in her mind; nebulous thoughts of school and work and home and the two boys only minutes away from sleep, parties she hasn’t been to, assignments she hasn’t done—phantom warmth pricks her index finger. Despite her belief in the metaphysical being skeptic at best, she puts trust in that little spike of warmth, pulling out the final card. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

“The Devil?” Oscar shrieks, leaning closer whilst simultaneously cringing back. “I thought you said this game wasn’t scary!”

Finn leans into his brother, trying his best to see the goat-headed figure on her card. “That’s awesome! That’s gotta be the coolest one yet! Why is he furry?”

“Hey, the Devil isn’t as bad as everyone thinks!” How do you even begin to explain the intricacies of obsession, passion and sexuality to kids? That’s way above her pay grade. Not a chance. “He gets a bad rap. Not all bad things are really bad, you know? Like… chores! You hate doing them at the time but once they’re done everything feels better, right?” 

Oscar fixes her with a look, dark hair flopping in front of his eyes. “Feyre, it’s the Devil.”

“To me, this means I have an assignment due tomorrow and I need to knuckle down.” Not a lie, but not a full truth either. She does have an assignment—one she hasn’t even started yet—but seeing The Devil tugs on a different part of herself that's probably best kept under wraps. She likes this job. It would be a shame if she scared the kids too much and never got invited back. “It means I need to focus on a few things.”

“That’s kinda… boring.” Finn says, fighting off a yawn. “Can we talk to the spirits now?” 

“We just did, dummy.”

Oscar, seeing his brother fight the clutch of sleep, fails in his own battle. “That was it? What did they say?” 

“They say it’s bedtime. Now.” Feyre collects the unused cards, slotting in the three they chose throughout the deck. Only once they’re all safely in their little velvet pouch does she raise from the bed, letting Finn crawl beneath the comforter. Oscar follows suit, the allure of sleep near irresistible. She lets them get comfortable, standing by the skylight, looking up at the branch blocking most of the view.

“Do you like it?” Finn asks, sounding so much smaller, already halfway to sleep. “Dad says he’s gonna build us a treehouse next summer. We’re gonna have sleepovers and everything.”

Feyre starts towards the door, slowly waiting for creaks of the old floor to announce her slow departure. “For real? Am I invited?” 

Finn shakes his head, or snuggles down further into his comforter. Oscar peeks over the edge of the top bunk, eyes half shut already. “No girls allowed.” 

“Figures.” She reaches the door, pulling it just enough to slip through. One last look over her shoulder confirms what she already guessed. “Night, boys.” 

She doesn’t get a response.

[ladylynse]

Part 2 of this untitled Doctor Who fic where 10 meets up with Grace Holloway again. Posted for @scaehime, who was interested in more.

EDIT: Now tweaked and expanded upon on the AO3.

-|-

The Doctor jolted awake. He tried to claw the oxygen mask off his face, but a pair of gloved hands held it more firmly in place. “Don’t worry, Mr. Smith,” someone said. “It’s simply a precaution. We—”

But the Doctor wasn’t willing to simply listen. “I’m not signing anything,” he said, albeit with difficulty, and his voice was muffled anyway. “I’m not going to let you do anything. No x-rays, no—”

“Mr. Smith, please remain calm.”

“Calm?” the Doctor repeated, anything but. “Calm? You’re trying to...you…you….” He trailed off. An oxygen mask, he’d thought. But then he’d breathed it, and analyzed it. And it wasn’t just oxygen. At least, not anymore. He had to wonder if he’d even said what he’d meant to say, whether or not it had been heard.

This time he did manage to get the mask off his face. “How long,” he gasped out, “have I been in here?”

“You were brought into emergency three hours ago,” came the steady reply. “You’re stable now. You were in shock. Do you remember what happened?”

“Partially,” the Doctor replied, looking distracted. “Did a Vera Taylor tell you who I was?”

“That’s right. Dr. Taylor has insisted that we treat you as we treated her.” A small laugh. “Like everyone else, in other words. We try to give the best treatment possible. You’re in good hands, Mr. Smith.”

The Doctor thought for a moment, cursing whatever they’d given him. He hated being slow on the uptake. “Did you say,” he finally asked, “that I’ve been here for three hours?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “And, oh, three hours is a long time, isn’t it? Lots of lovely tests you could run.” He sat up abruptly, wincing as his movement partially dislodged an IV from his arm. He pulled it out carefully and turned to assess the nurse who was taking care of him. He scrutinized her for a moment, seeing if he could place her face among his blurred recollections of the time he’d woken up on the operating table, but couldn’t. That was a bit of a relief.

“Mr. Smith, I have to ask you to—”

“Sorry,” he interrupted. He squinted at her nametag. “But, Rachel, I’m fine now. I don’t need oxygen, I don’t need an IV, and I don’t need whatever else you were going to give me.” He glanced down. “Though, I wouldn’t mind my clothes, bloodied or not.” He frowned. “That’ll take a bit of mending. Shame. I hate mending. I can take it to Neo-Sydney, I suppose. They’ve expert tailors there. Then again, the prices, and they don’t fancy taking….” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Still. Better than making do with a costume again.”

“Mr. Smith—”

“Yes, I know, it’s against regulations and all that, but, without them, I can’t show you my ID to—” He stopped, frustrated. “Oh, what’s it matter. I can’t stay. I have more important things to be doing. I shouldn’t even have come in the first place.”

“Mr. Smith, your condition has stabilized for the moment, but I would advise not disregarding the doctor’s recommendations by—”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t be disregarding the Doctor’s recommendations,” the Doctor cut in. “Because I think I know my body a bit better than you, thanks.” He reached for the chart at the foot of the bed.

Rachel smirked at him. “So it’s true. Doctors are the worst patients.”

The Doctor, however, wasn’t paying attention. He flipped from one page to the next and back again, then skipped ahead and frowned. “You’ve scheduled me for an appointment with a cardiac specialist?” he asked slowly.

“Your heartbeat was erratic,” Rachel pointed out. “Even accounting for the shock, the range was worrisome.”

“Speeding up and slowing down,” the Doctor murmured, deciding he’d better not ramble too much in case she decided to have psychiatric check up on him. Twenty-eight beats a minute, then racing to well over a hundred and twenty-eight in an effort to compensate for the fact that his right heart still wasn’t beating. He was lucky he hadn’t slipped into a healing coma. He was liable to find himself locked up in the morgue again if he did.

At the very least, he was lucky they hadn’t cut him open with the intention of putting in a pacemaker or some such nonsense.

“Dr. Taylor was able to pull a few strings,” Rachel informed him, gently pulling the chart away from his hands. “Dr. Holloway will see to you herself.”

“Oh. Right.” The Doctor frowned. He’d managed to walk right into this, hadn’t he? Sure, he’d been debating having a quick conversation with her, and he had landed and set off, but if he was set to meet up with Grace again, this wasn’t what he’d pictured. Him tracking her down, yes, but if he went into the hospital, he wouldn’t have gone in as a patient. At least, not with injuries of this sort. Still, perhaps just bumping into her on the street would’ve been best. But not this. Well, could be worse, he supposed. He wasn’t on the operating table again.

Nearly had been, but wasn’t.

“Clothes?” he prompted, looking up at Rachel again.

“You’ll want someone to bring you a fresh set,” she admitted.

Oh, brilliant. They’d gone and cut them off him, then. He might just be reduced to making off with someone else’s. Again. What would it be now, the third time? There was his third regeneration, and his eighth, and—

“But my coat?” he asked. He didn’t want to lose his coat. He had important things in that coat. Come to that, he had important things in his suit pockets, too. “And, er, you haven’t disposed of my suit yet, have you?”

“Your things are safe, Mr. Smith.” Rachel stood up. “I’ll ask you to wait here while I call Dr. Miller in to speak with you personally.”

“If I'm going to talk to a doctor,” the Doctor replied, “I would prefer it to be Grace, if that’s possible. Is she free?”

“She didn’t—”

“Brilliant,” the Doctor interrupted. “Thank you. Off you go now, Rachel; time’s a-wasting.” He settled back into bed, waiting for her to leave. She looked startled, but she did as she was told.

The minute she was out the door, the Doctor allowed himself a small moan. Ooh, how humans could stand it with just one heart, he didn’t know. Though, he was lucky they hadn’t tried to give him anything. Probably had something to do with the good Dr. Taylor, that. She’d held up remarkably well, all things considered. She reminded him a bit of Grace. And even a little of Sarah Jane, come to think of it.

But he didn’t have time to think of it. He had to get out of here. They’d taken x-rays. And he wasn’t sure they’d just chalk it up to a double exposure again. He wasn’t even quite sure when he was—something he hated admitting; he had a reputation to uphold, after all—and he didn’t fancy going through anything like 2012 Utah again, to name one of the more recent unpleasant experiences he’d had on Earth. 

Now was not the time to draw attention to himself by trying to start up his right heart.

He slowly made his way down the hallway and a couple flights of stairs, alternately trying doors and dodging into rooms, occupied or otherwise, to avoid anyone who looked overtly official. He wasn’t sure how far he’d get, dressed as he was, but he was willing to give it a shot. And he could always pretend he was lost. It was fair enough, he figured, even if it was, likely as not, going to get him a ticket to psychiatric. Ah, well; he deserved a bit of fun. He hadn’t had as much as he liked lately. The last time he’d gone looking for it, things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.

If hadn’t been for one wise, stubborn human, he would have knowingly destroyed an entire timeline.

Sure, it had reasserted himself, skirting around a few anomalies, but he’d been willing to…. He’d tried to sacrifice.... He’d….

“These are his things?”

“Yes. That’s all we found his pockets. No ID, no money—nothing to support his claims to Dr. Taylor.”

Grace. And someone he didn’t recognize. He’d better get out of here. Quickly. He could nip back and gather his things, then be on his way no worse for the wear. Grace might wonder, but he didn’t recall carrying anything on him now that she would recognize. He’d even had the locks changed; the TARDIS key was different. Though that was more because he couldn’t stand the constant reminder of Gallifrey than anything else. Still. New key, new sonic screwdriver….

New body.

Twice over.

And he had no right to ask. To ask would be to burden her with his problems, because she was the sort of person who would take the burden without being asked and wouldn’t lay it down, no matter what he told her. No matter how much he pleaded with her. And he had no right to do that. She’d built a wonderful life for herself. Moved on, just like she should have. Because she’d recognized—

The Doctor dashed into the nearest room. “Oh, hello,” he greeted cheerfully as a rather frail lady looked up at him. “I seem to have gotten the wrong room. I was looking for a Ms. Jones?” He phrased it as a question, but spent some time looking about the room, wandering deeper into it—and away from the doorway—and making it clear that he didn’t expect an answer. “Terribly sorry,” he added. “I’m the, ah, man from just down the hall. John Smith.” He stuck out his hand, grinning widely.

“Dorothy Mae,” the woman replied finally, taking his hand. “You shouldn’t be up and about, young man. I may not be a doctor, but I’m a mother and a grandmother, and you should be in bed. You’re too pale. Never mind that this is a hospital. I’m here after my hip replacement. You,” she added pointedly, looking him up and down again, “look like you got on the wrong side of a fight.” She didn’t sound particularly approving.

The Doctor tugged on an ear. “Yeah, well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a bit. “Wasn’t intentional. Just trying to help, me. Nothing serious. They’ll be letting me out as soon as they can process the paperwork, I daresay. Need the beds, I think. But my friend—”

“If they’re going to release you when you look like that,” Dorothy Mae interrupted, “then I will be speaking with my doctor about the sort of care they’re giving here.”

The Doctor began to think that perhaps engaging the woman in conversation had not been his best idea. He pasted a smile on his face. “Oh, well, no, it’s not the care. I’m checking out. Against their recommendations, admittedly. But, really, it’s just a form or two to sign, and—”

“You,” declared the outspoken, if well-intentioned, Dorothy Mae, “ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re liable to get yourself killed if you don’t smarten up.”

She looked like she could have berated him for longer, but the Doctor hastily began extracting himself from the conversation. “Yes, true enough; I will reconsider, I suppose, but I ought to go and tell them that, so I’ll just leave you be, won’t I?” He grinned at her and made his escape.

He bumped into someone and tried to continue on his way, but whoever it was caught his arm. “Mr. Smith,” drawled a man’s voice, “I believe you were assigned to room 403?”

“Dr. Miller, I presume?” the Doctor asked, trying not to look guilty. If he’d waited just one more minute.... “Yes. And may I ask why you are a full two floors from your assigned room?” Over Dr. Miller’s shoulder, the Doctor had watched Grace’s face fall. Perhaps she had thought to connect the dots. He didn’t recall telling her that regeneration worked more than once. Granted, he hadn’t exactly had time to explain anything. Common theme in his life, that.

“Oh, well,” he said slowly. “Fancied a bit of a jaunt, that’s all. Looking to see if I could get a cup of tea, to be honest.” Well, partially honest. He wouldn’t mind a cup of tea now. He needed something to clear his head. “And, I was wondering about my things. Could I have them back? Even the suit? I know an excellent tailor.”

“We can discuss this at a later time, once we have you back in your room.” Dr. Miller steered him towards the lift.

“I’ll join you when he’s settled,” Grace said shakily. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder to get a better look at her. She hadn’t changed, really. So perhaps it wasn’t that long after all. Blimey, it better not be before the millennium. He’d be in a spot then. But surely….

The Doctor accepted his scolding meekly, knowing that if he had any chance of getting out of here, it would be better to throw them off guard. And, sometimes, if you played your cards right, and you acted like you really needed something, they’d give it to you. Like shoes. Shoes would be an excellent thing right now. You can only make it so far without shoes. All right, last time he’d made it over to Grace’s house without shoes, but he’d needed the toe tag on as proof, hadn’t he?

The Doctor did his best to ensure that his conversation with Dr. Miller was short. Grace entered shortly after Dr. Miller had finished his scolding—well, chiding, more like, as if he were a child. But when she came in, holding his coat—and it would take a bit to get those stains out—and a small paper bag, presumably his other things, he almost didn’t want Dr. Miller to leave. He regretted being so apologetic and compliant. He might’ve bought more time if he hadn’t been.

Because, really…. He didn’t want to face her.

He shouldn’t have come.

“John Smith?” she asked softly, depositing his things at the foot of the bed and settling down on the chair by its head. He saw the sleeve of his suit jacket poking out from the bundle that was his coat. Excellent; she’d gotten that, too.

Still, he had to answer her question. He hesitated, and nodded once, sharply and definitively.

“Where are you from?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

“Nottingham,” he answered. “Brilliant place. You ought to visit it sometime.”

“And may I ask why you wanted to speak with me, and why you told Dr. Vera Taylor that I knew you?”

“Oh, well, I just….” The Doctor trailed off. Grace was smart, and lying wasn’t his forte in this regeneration. “It’s been a long while, that’s all. I knew you wouldn’t recognize me.”

She was thinking it. He could tell by the expression on her face. Blinking abruptly, she reached for his chart, scanning it. He watched her shoulders fall. “They want to keep you for monitoring,” she noted. “You’ve a bad heart.”

“It’s just overworked,” the Doctor said bluntly. “Temporary. A victim of circumstances, if you will.”

“X-rays inconclusive?” Grace repeated, looking up from the chart. “You’re due for another round, to make sure you didn’t crack a rib. First round was faulty.”

The Doctor was silent for a moment. “Grace,” he said, slowly, deliberately, “may I have my things?” He held out his hand. “Just the bag for now, if you will.”

“I’d prefer Dr. Holloway at the moment, Mr. Smith.”

“Doctor,” the Doctor corrected.

Grace smiled slightly. “Oh, yes,” she amended. “I do recall Vera mentioning that. Dr. Smith, then.”

“Doctor,” the Doctor repeated, watching her hand falter as she reached for the bag.

She turned back to look at him. “I’m afraid, Dr. Smith, that I do not take to calling anyone simply by their profession. Particularly those from Nottingham.” She passed the paper bag to him.

The Doctor took it and smiled. “Well, it’s a bit more than a profession.” He overturned the bag to see what he could find. They hadn’t found much. Sonic screwdriver, TARDIS key, wallet of currently blank psychic paper—pity, that; might be a bit harder to fool them, if they recognized the covering—and his spectacles. Just some surface things, nothing from too deep in his pockets.

And nothing Grace would recognize.

Though, he had to decide, now, whether or not he was going to go through with it. He’d meant to. But then, he thought maybe it would be best if he didn’t. Because the only reasons he’d meant to have any conversation at all with her were selfish reasons. He wanted to know what she’d seen, and how she’d recognized it—how she’d seen what he, and so many others, couldn’t.

A friend had once told him that if you could choose who lives and who dies, you would be a monster. And he’d agreed whole-heartedly at the time. It wasn’t even that long ago. How could he have forgotten that conversation? How could he have turned his back on that so utterly? How could he have disregarded everything and gone and done it anyhow?

He’d needed to be taken down a few pegs.

It hadn’t taken much.

But it was too much all the same.

One life had had to be ended to keep history on track.

And he hadn’t been the one to realize that.

He’d been the one to ignore it.

And then he’d been shown how important it all was, and how foolish and arrogant he’d been, and how wrong he’d been, to stray from that, even once. He’d seen what he’d become.

A monster.

“Dr. Smith? Are you all right?”

The Doctor blinked. Grace repeated her question, moving closer to check on him.

No. He couldn’t just leave. He’d come here, and the TARDIS had made sure he’d come this far, sneaky as she was. He wanted to run from this, like he’d run from everything else. But he couldn’t keep everything inside him forever, keeping silent. He had to tell some things to someone.

Someone who would listen.

Someone who might help him to understand.

Someone he’d touched but not destroyed.

“I’m always all right,” the Doctor croaked, pulling away from Grace. He reached instead for his coat, digging in the pockets. He had some in here, he was sure of it. He’d gotten them the same time he’d picked up that chocolate egg at Easter, since he hadn’t had any for years and he had had a bit of a liking for them. They wouldn’t be too old; a couple of months, that’s all.

“Dr. Smith, you should just relax. Your heart—”

Right. Dr. Miller had insisted on hooking him up to that again. Bother it all. “Is compensating,” the Doctor cut in. “That’s all. Temporary, like I said.”

“You’re not well.”

No, he wasn’t. But he was on the mend, now—if he could just stop running, just for a moment, long enough to have a conversation.

“Grace—”

“Dr. Holloway.”

“Grace,” the Doctor repeated, very deliberately, as his hand closed upon a small paper bag of candy. He pulled it out of his coat pocket and offered it to her. “Jelly baby?”

She looked at him uncertainly. “I was informed that they’d gone through your pockets.”

The Doctor shrugged. “They didn’t know what they were looking for. Would you like a jelly baby?”

Grace’s expression hardened. “Stop it,” she hissed.

The Doctor was taken aback. “What?” he asked, blinking at her. He hadn’t meant to actually offend her. Yet that was how she was acting.

“Who put you up to this?” she continued angrily. “I’m not having it, you hear? I’ve had enough with people laughing at me. I’m not telling that story anymore.”

Oh.

He hadn’t expected that.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected.

He hadn’t thought about it all too much.

“What year is it?” he asked slowly.

Wrong question, it seemed, with what she thought of him now. “I’ll thank you not to persist in telling tales in an attempt to speak to me again,” she said sharply, rising to her feet. “Good day, Mr. Smith.”

“Doctor,” he corrected again.

She glared at him. “Dr. Smith, then. Good day.”

“I’d missed you, Grace,” he said truthfully. “But I’d still thought that I was doing the right thing by not coming back. After you’d made your choice, I mean.”

It wasn’t enough to catch her attention, and she started out the room, ignoring him.

And, well, now that he’d made the decision to talk to her, he wanted to talk to her.

So he made sure that he did catch her attention. “The Master survived, you know. Getting sucked into the Eye. But she’s closed now. Room’s locked, good and tight. Even I can’t get into it. Don’t think I will, unless circumstances change.”

She turned back at the doorway to look at him. “How long?” she asked, her voice still cold.

“Pardon?”

“How long have you spent listening to my stories, gathering every bit of information from every story I’ve ever told the children in the recovery ward? And why do you insist on patronizing me?”

She was defensive. Hurt.

Because of him.

Because she’d believed in him and had told her story.

He’d still managed to….

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely contrite. “I am so, so sorry, Grace. I didn’t know.”

“Dr. Holloway,” she corrected, but her voice had softened slightly.

And then she was gone.

(Part 3)

[steppingstonesuniverseguide]

Deleted Scene from One Step At a Time Ch 36: The Curator

I'm going to be posting a One Step At a Time entry soonish and I'm deleting a bunch of things because it got very *silly* and kind of interfered with the whole *vibe* of the chapter. That being said, I do love the silly, so enjoy an exclusive Ch 36.0 from One Step At a Time.

(Also Techno does say a thing that's might come off as way too rude, but, like, Wilbur doesn't mind. He watched his dad mourn him for years. He knows he's wanted and both he and Techno are 100% aware of this.)

“We are we going?” Tommy asked for the 5th time in as many minutes. This trip was always too long even without a Tommy in the car.

"We already told you,” Wilbur said, sounding grumpy. (Probably because he’d been demoted to backseat. Usually, they’d make Phil sit in the back during civilian outings in revenge for all of the years they had to allow him to drive, but Tubbo was also sitting in the back seat and putting Phil back there seemed like a poor decision.) “We’re going to the library.”

“We are not going to the library,” Tommy said. “All three of you brought your costumes and you brought us masks.” He reached forward to poke Phil. “Phil where are we going.”

"We’re going to the library, mate,” Phil said with more patience than the child deserved today. “It’s just a special library.”

“Is it a crime library?”

“It’s a…” Phil said.

“Yes. It’s a crime library,” Wilbur cut in.

“Technically, it does house books considered illegal in current society,” Phil said.

“Like Animal Farm and The Lorax,” Techno contributed.

“What is a Lorax?” Tommy asked.

“We’ll check it out for you,” Techno said.

“Will you read it to me?”

“I promise you can read The Lorax yourself well enough at this point, but I will read Animal Farm to you if you’d like.”

“Anti-government bedtime story with Techno hour is starting up again.”

“Eventually we’ll get to The Communist Manifesto and What is Property?”

“God please, I don’t want to hear any more about 1800s relationship drama between Marx and Proudhon. This is all your fault.” Techno didn’t see it since he was driving but considering that Tommy make a squeaking sound and having sat in the backseat with Wilbur himself plenty times, he assumed Tommy had just been elbowed in the ribs.

He then heard various slapping sounds.

“Boys, please stop fighting,” Phil said.

“He started it,” Wilbur claimed which was not exactly true, but also Tommy had been being annoying for the entire car trip.

“I didn’t start shit. I just asked a normal fucking question about where we were going.”

“You-”

“Tubbo is sitting in the front on the way back,” Techno said just to Phil. “There is no other option at this point. We have to have an adult sit between them.”

“I’m older than you!” Wilbur declared, too close to Techno’s ear. Luckily, they were at a stoplight and Techno could reach back blindly to shove his head back into the backseat where it belonged.

“Phil,” Techno said. “explain to me again why you made him.”

“Tech-”

“Oh, that’s right,” Techno said, glancing into the backseat. “You were an accident.”

“Unlike you,” Wilbur said, “who he consciously decided to adopt as his itty bitty baby child.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

“Boys do I need to turn this car around?”

“How?” Techno and Wilbur said as one.

“This is why we don’t go on road trips anymore,” Phil sighed.

“Yes,” Techno said.

“Exactly,” Wilbur agreed.

“Also, he almost drove us off the Grand Canyon.”

“That too.”

Phil just rolled his eyes and turned to look out of the window.

“Okay, but are we almost there yet,” Tommy asked.

Wilbur groaned. “You’re such a child.”

“I’ve never been on a car ride this long,” Tommy complained. Which… now that Techno thought about it was a good point. They probably should have thought of that before putting him in the car.

“Tubbo’s fine.”

“Tubbo’s been asleep for an hour.”

“We’re almost there,” Techno said. “10 minutes.” Well, it was about 10 minutes to the entrance of the library, but he thought Tommy would probably be entranced by that.

[bullet-prooflove]

Anyone up for NSFW Alphabet?

Dirty A-Z headcanon game

Send a letter for more information on my muse’s likes and dislikes! Inspired by kinks discussed around the internet. The (explanations) are mere guidelines, feel free to elaborate as much as you’d like!

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?) 

B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?) 

C - Crying (is it a turn on? a turn off? do they cry during sex? have they cried during sex? what was the reason?) 

D - Dominance (do they prefer to dominate, or be dominated? do they have experience as a Dom? Do they have a Dom that they trust already? What kind of things do they enjoy as/with their Dominant partner?) 

E - Extra info (any other fetishes? feet? leather? role playing? blood? fantasies that they might want to experience not on this list?)

F - Food play (do they like using food in the bedroom? are there any foods they prefer to use during sex or foreplay? any they’d like to try?)

G - Group sex (would they have a threeway? four? an orgy? do they put on a show for spectators? or do they like to keep it just between them and their partner?) 

H - Humiliation (does degradation and insults get them hot? do they get off on humiliating someone else? what kind of humiliation is good for them?) 

I - Impact play (here’s where talking about things like spanking, paddles, canes, floggers and the like.) 

J - Jelly (what kind of lube are they using? is it flavored? have they tasted it? do they prefer to use something other than real lube during sex?) 

K - Kissing (what parts of their body do they like having kissed? what parts of their partner do they enjoy kissing? do they like leaving marks / having marks left on them?) 

L - Lighting (are the lights on? off? do they have some kind of mood lighting set up?) 

M - Masochism (do they like pain? scratching? biting? being bossed around? spoken down to? choked?) 

N - Not yet (orgasm delay? orgasm denial? do they tell their partner not to touch themselves for a certain amount of time or under certain circumstances? do they delay or deny other things like bathroom usage or food? do they need to beg first? do they like being denied / delayed?) 

O - Outdoor sex (have they ever done it in public? would they? where?)

P - Photography (are cameras allowed in the bedroom? do they send nudes? do they ask for nudes? would they ever record themselves having sex / being caught up in a sexual act?) 

Q - Quiet please (what’s the volume like in the bedroom? are they quiet? do they scream? do they like a loud partner? do they prefer if their partner is more soft spoken?)

R - Routine (do they have a routine when it comes to picking up one night stands? do they have scheduled sex with their partner? are things spontaneous or planned ahead of time?) 

S - Sleepy sex (do they give oral to wake their partner up? do they like receiving oral to wake up? do they like fucking their partner awake? being fucked awake? how about being fucked to sleep at night? do they have lazy morning sex?) 

T - Top or bottom (self explanatory…) 

U - Underwear (what kind of underwear do they put on in the morning, if any at all… do they own any sexy underwear or lingerie?) 

V - Voyeurism (do they like to watch, or are they more hands on? are they more of an exhibitionist?) 

W - Water (pool sex? bath / shower sex? are they into watersports at all?)

X - X-dressing (do they crossdress as a part of teasing / foreplay? does crossdressing turn them on? turn their partner on? do they prefer to do it or watch their partner crossdress instead? do they use other costumes? cat ears, tails, etc?) 

Y - Yes, Master (what kinds of names are used during sex? do they like being called master / mistress, daddy, etc…? what names do they call their partner?) 

Z - Zones (what are their erogenous zones? what spots on their body should be touched, bitten, kissed, when someone wants to get them in the mood?) 

[ellsey]

Ok so I know the whole deal with Carmen as a story is that she’s everything and he’s just Ken and Christina needs to be (and is!) the star of this particular show, but idk that they need to be putting Anthony is a sludge coloured costume to make the point lol. Couldn’t they just put him in the navy with gold + red accents of the Spanish Royal Guard? It’d go well with her wonderful operatic dress.

I’m so pleased with how consistent they’ve become. I’d have never guessed in a million years back in 2021 that they’d be cemented as US #2 and deserve to be. Anthony’s ankles are working again!

I just googled Spanish Royal Guard and Anthony would look SO GOOD in that color scheme. Quick someone go drop a link to Christina lol. Also it's possible that they will change things in the future. I think she said last year when she got feedback on her rd dress they waited until US Nats to change it. So it's still possible there's a change here.

They really have come so far. I feel like a proud parent lol. They have worked so hard and are now doing complex interesting things I would have never thought they were capable of. It's so refreshing to see real growth and progress in ice dance.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! For DADWC, how about #31 from Artifacts of Thedas, for Cullen and Dorian (heh heh): A Satinalia mask

HI DEMA thank you!! This deliciously fit right into my ongoing masquerade side quest fic set in Pravinquisition AU, previous installation here

Also I was an absolute maniac and managed (I hope) to shove five Cullen & Dorian prompts into one scene, so thank you @zenstrike, @rosella-writes, @kiastirling, and @liza011 for these additional prompts:

overdramatic arguments about non-important subjects

All I Do is Wear Cool Outfits, Tell Jokes and Hide My Depression

doing things in sync

'Rule one: Don’t get caught.'

Madness. But perfect for them and I think I got them all

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1350

---

Cullen stood sentry in the corner of a marble-pillared room, watching the revelry with distaste. A pair of inebriated Orlesians had taken it upon themselves to climb upon a makeshift stage and butcher the Fereldan tavern song Andraste’s Mabari. He was nominally glad the panther-shaped mask he wore hid his grimace, though the rest of him wanted to wrench the damn thing off his face. It made his forehead itch something awful. 

He was grateful to see Dorian stroll into the room and make eye contact. The Tevinter mage looked far more comfortable at this soiree than Cullen knew he would be in a million years. Dorian cut a sharp figure in blues and greens. He wore a black half-mask; it was adorned with feathers and sparkled even in the dim light.

“I hope you’re not grinding your teeth too hard in there, Commander,” Dorian said jovially, sidling up with a goblet of wine in one hand. “You’re like to give yourself a headache.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, only to realize how correct the mage was. He worked his jaw, trying to loosen it up. “I didn’t think I’d have to suffer attacks on my homeland when I agreed to come here, that’s all.”

Dorian tilted his head, caught wind of the lyrics, and took a stiff sip of his drink. “I see your point. Perhaps we ought to go somewhere a touch, ah, quieter?”

“Please.” 

They ducked down a hallway that spilled out onto a small courtyard. The chill night was a welcome respite from the stuffiness of the Comte de Valette’s estate. The place seemed deserted, so Cullen removed the mask to the feel the relief of open air on his face. Any moment an angry Orlesian noble would probably materialize and command he put it back on — the allure of secrecy and all that — but for the moment he could think unburdened. 

“Tut, tut, Commander,” Dorian chided, smirking at his clear hatred of the mask and all it signified, “do you also remove your helm mid-battle?” 

“This farce of a party is hardly the battlefield,” Cullen grumbled. “And perhaps if I hadn’t let Fidencio design my entire outfit I’d feel less like a made-up doll.” The whole ensemble had been the bard’s idea. Cullen stood all in black, with a paisley patterned in velvet on his jerkin, gold trim on the sleeves, and a black overcoat. He already felt like a mummer’s idea of a pirate, but then Fidencio had insisted upon the damn mask to complete the look. Because a lion — Cullen’s suggestion — was the official sigil of Orlais and would send the wrong message. “Did the bard pick out your costume as well?” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Commander, but I’d never need a theatre man to dress me properly.” Dorian smirked into his wine goblet. “I happen to dress this sharply on the regular, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Why, this was just my Satinalia mask from last year.” 

“I bet.” Cullen paid the boasting no mind. “Anything to report?”

“Sadly not. The Inquisitor and I spoke to all the premiere nobles of the Orlesian court — you think they’d want to hide their identities better, but I found them quite easy to identify. They had little and less to say. Nothing but praise for the Comte, but curiously no one can find the man.” 

“Strange, do you think?” Cullen asked. “That the Comte should be so aloof?” 

“Ah, who knows?” Dorian countered. “I’ve been to galas in Tevinter thrown while the host wasn’t even in the country. He’d do it just to remind everyone he still had more money than the Maker.” 

“And Lady Thalia?” Cullen asked, scanning the windows facing the courtyard. In the orange glow of the rooms, the revelers cut ghastly, demon-like shadows. Or maybe that was just how it seemed. The mind could play tricks, and Cullen hadn’t wanted Thalia to accept the Comte’s invitation even before he learned that de Valette was rumored to be some dark mage. 

“She was with Fidencio, last I checked. In that room with the enchanted butterflies.” 

“Maybe I should check on her. No offense to Fidencio, but I’ve seen him in the sparring ring. He’s more of a lover than a fighter.” 

Dorian snorted. “That he is, for certain.” 

Cullen waited for a snide remark about Fidencio’s swordplay in alternative arenas, but Dorian merely smirked. It seemed he was too polite to grasp for the low-hanging fruit. That was fine with Cullen, who had uncovered a strange sense of foreboding he couldn’t shake. He replaced the asinine mask on his face and headed back inside with Dorian matching his stride.

Dorian led the way to the butterfly room, which was full of the flitting insect lanterns and simpering party guests, but no Inquisitor or the headwear-loving bard. Cullen’s bad feeling worsened. 

“Well, they were just here,” Dorian added unhelpfully. 

Cullen walked brusquely from room to room, checking with his stationed soldiers along the way, but none had seen the Lady Thalia. Even Blackwall confessed they’d only crossed paths before she’d met up with Fidencio. 

Dorian kept pace, cracking bad jokes along the way, until Cullen finally snapped, “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?” 

Dorian sobered. “Ah, yes, the humor is just my dominant coping mechanism, I’m afraid. I’m actually a bit nervous myself.” 

Cullen let out a slow breath. “Any idea where they could have gone?” 

“No, but I think we must employ process of elimination here, Commander.” He leaned against the wall in a small, winding corridor and crossed his arms. “Thus far the masquerade has been confined to the ground floor of the chateau and surrounding environs. As Inquisition soldiers have been stationed in both places, I think it’s safe to assume they’re not there.” 

“So that leaves, what, upstairs? In the guest chambers? ” Cullen did not like to think about what might be transpiring up there. One heard tell of what transpired at certain Orlesian parties. “I hope Fidencio would not be fool enough to let Thalia near any sort of—” Could he even say it?

“I think it’s unlikely Fidencio would have led her to an orgy,” Dorian said blithely. “Unless she asked to go— which is also unlikely,” he added before Cullen’s pulse could spike too much. “Goodness, you have met the girl, haven’t you? She can barely handle one man, let alone a whole gaggle.” 

Cullen chose not to dignify any of that with a response. “So then, where else?” 

A silent beat passed between the two men, and they spoke in unison: “The cellar.” 

“There must be one,” Dorian said. “This is a castle. What’s a castle without a wine cellar?” 

“And a dungeon,” Cullen said darkly. What if the Comte de Valette had made an appearance after all, and now Thalia was his captive? 

“Commander, your imagination is at times alarming,” Dorian said lightly. 

“I’m in charge of an army. I’m paid to think about the worst case scenario.”

“Be that as it may.” Dorian paced back and forth in the corridor, and raised a finger in the air. “I think I might know a way in.” 

“Oh?” Cullen asked. 

“A little staircase I came across when I took a wrong turn earlier in the evening. A pageboy assured me it was just the servant stairwell and steered me back to the party.” 

Cullen drew the mask from his face, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Do you think you can find it again?”

Dorian stroked the end of his mustache. “I’m fairly certain, yes.” 

“Though I suppose we’ll have to think of a fine excuse, to allow ourselves entry,” Cullen mused. “Unless we want the entire chateau alerted to our movements.” 

“Spoken like someone who never snuck around much in his youth.” Dorian flashed him a mischievous grin.

Cullen sighed. “What do you want me to say? The Templar barracks were well-monitored.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me; that was not meant to be a slight. I only mean, Commander, you’ve not yet learned rule number one in subterfuge: don’t get caught.”

[bonniebird]

+18 Prompt list for the Halloween Valentine event. Minors DNI.

One prompt per request please. Multiple requests can be sent in.

Halloween Prompt list

Prompt list masterlist

!Please only send one prompt per request!

Prompt list below cut because it is so long!

"(Character) does all his thinking with his dick."

"(Character) goes missing all day.  And then I find them with you in a stranger's house.  And you lie to me about it. I’m not a jealous person but it’s a little hard not to jump to conclusions."

"(Character) isn’t that good in bed. It was like two seconds and it’s over."

"(Character) looks like they’d be really mean and into kinky sex but actually they’re really nice and only know one sex move."

"(Character) looks too cute in their costume. I’m going to have to do something about it."

"(Character) must have great skin! They have a bottle of lotion next to their bed. I bet they use it every night."

"(Character) Please come and get me from the party! (Character) said it would just be some Halloween fun but I want to go home and they won't walk me home."

"(Character) took dirty pictures for me. I keep one in the car for emergencies."

"Almost getting caught is part of the fun."

"And once we both say our goodbyes?"

"Are you going to come to dinner Friday night?"

"Are you looking at (Character)? They’re wearing that costume for me. Not for you."

"Are you ready for round two?"

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Are you trying to turn me on? Don’t worry it’s giving me some ideas on what to do with you."

"Are you wearing anything under that jacket?"

"Are you wearing anything under your ghost costume?"

"Aren’t you tired of resisting? Just admit that you want me."

"As a rule, I don’t like handsome men. (Character) is the exception."

"At this point, you may as well stop wearing underwear."

"Aww poor little vampire. Do you need someone to teach you how to feed?"

"Baby, do you want to come home with me?"

"Being horny is my natural state."

"Boo! I’m here to haunt you with Halloween fun!"

"Call me friend. See what good it does to keep me close."

"Can we try something new?"

"Can you come over? I watched a load of scary movies with (Character) and now I’m too scared to be alone."

"Can you use your hand?"

"Did you just lick me?!"

"Dinner tastes better when the dinner is you."

"Do you have a bed somewhere?"

"Don’t cover your mouth… I like hearing you."

"Don’t you know I’m no good for you?"

"Everything you do for Halloween is sexy"

"Excuse me for being too forward but your lips make me wonder what the rest of you would taste like."

"Getting hot and freaky in bed with you is my favourite thing to do."

"Hello, Pumpkin. Want to roll around in the hay bales with me?"

"Hey, what’s this stain on your blanket?"

"How could someone that hot be a murderer?"

"I am not having sex in a graveyard."

"I am very naughty but in a very nice way."

"I can see your desperation. I’ve got you right where I want you."

"I can tell you’re watching me."

"I can treat (Character) however I’d like. I make them feel safe. It doesn’t matter what I do."

"I can't believe that you're thinking about sex while we're stuck in each others bodies."

"I can't guarantee this opportunity will be here tomorrow."

"I can’t stop thinking about the other night and the things we did together."

"I could lie and say I like it like that?"

"I could teach you if you like."

"I crave the taste of you all night long."

"I don’t have a broom for you to ride but I do have something else."

"I don’t know how you got here but I’m glad you did."

"I fill you up. Drink from my cup. Within me is what you want."

"I gift you with bruises and hickies and you hide them so no one can tell that I own you."

"I had a roommate who once used my underwear as a napkin."

"I have a deep desire to know how much your body can take."

"I have a hunger deep within me that I can’t shake."

"I have a sweet tooth and you look like you’d be sweet to eat."

"I just can’t help coming back for more."

"I just saw (character) naked! I’m not going to be able to think about anything else for a while."

"I keep a nude polaroid of you in my wallet."

"I know that I slip into your mind while you’re going about your day. You don’t have to lie. I see it in your eyes."

"I know that you get scared on Halloween. So I decided to spend this spooky night with you. I bought supplies."

"I know that you were feeling down so I got a halloween costume that’s only for you to see."

"I know you like it when I'm driving and I pull over so we can make out and fuck."

"I know you want to fuck me. I can see it in your eyes."

"I know you’re scared but you don’t have to hold onto me so tight."

"I like to make you feel small. I like it when you cry. That won't ever change."

"I like to play a special kind of Halloween game."

"I love halloween. Seeing all the skimpy costumes is the best time of my year."

"I love the taste of you."

"I might have stolen a picture of you... for my wank bank."

"I need help getting out of my costume."

"I read that it’s bad for you, to have sex in a swimming pool."

"I think it’s time you gave in and admitted that you want me."

"I think you should take your clothes off."

"I thought you wanted me to show you a good time and convince you Halloween was fun."

"I watched a ghost show marathon so I need to sleep in your bed until I’m convinced there are no ghosts here."

"I. I don’t care what you say! I want to go home now."

"If I give you a ride then you have to ride me as well. That's the rules of my car."

"If I knew it would be this easy to get you all over me, I would have taken you to a haunted house sooner."

"If I look like I’m green with envy it’s your fault."

"If I pick treat, are you going to be nice or are you going to trick me?"

"If I pretend to be your date, will you fuck me?"

"If I save the town will you… suck my dick?"

"If I sound like I’m in love it’s your fault."

"If I’d known dressing up like this would get you to look my way. I would have done it a long time ago."

"If the movie is too scary for you we can do something else to take your mind off it."

"If you don’t stay quiet everyone will hear you."

"If you get scared you can hold onto me as tight as you need."

"If you go around fumbling in the dark for something in the bed. You can’t be surprised when you grab me."

"If you’re having trouble sleeping... we could have sex. I heard it helps."

"In the middle of the night. If you need me. Just call my name and it will summon me."

"It’s getting hard to breathe under this sheet with you."

"I’ll take my treat now."

"I’ll trade a piece of candy for a kiss."

"I’m going to pick a word and every time you hear it. You have to kiss me."

"I’m going to wrap (Character) round my finger like chewing gum."

"I’m high... I also want to make out with you."

"I’m so sick of you talking. Why don’t you come over here and I can put your mouth to better use?"

"I’m sorry for walking in on you two! Unless you want me to join you. Then I’m not sorry."

"I’m sorry I didn't know that you were... masturbating."

"I’m still learning to control myself."

"I’m tired of chasing after you!"

"I’m trying to focus on what you’re saying but all I can think about is how badly I want to see you naked."

"I’m trying to solve a murder and you’re trying to fuck me!"

"I’m wet and cold. What’re you going to do about it?"

"I’m your secret admirer. don’t freak out, it's me! You said you wanted to play a sexy game! Is this not what you meant?"

"I’ve tasted you once and that isn’t enough."

"Just take your clothes off. We won't get caught."

"Keep your eyes on me."

"Let me lay you down. You know me. You summoned me."

"Let me let you go."

"Let’s play doctor. I’m sick and the only way to get well is with an orgasm."

"Like what you see?"

"Listen, I-I appreciate this whole seduction scene you’ve got going. But could we just move it along?"

"Listen, you and I are gonna be sharing a bed."

"Make a noise and I stop, do you understand?"

"Maybe I could help you make your sex dreams come true."

"Maybe I liked the sounds you made for me last time."

"Maybe you could help me make my sex dreams come true."

"My halloween costume is my birthday suit."

"My top was ruined. I guess you’re going to have to take your shirt off and lend me yours."

"No one asks a question like that without having an ulterior motive."

"No wonder people take sex so seriously. The person in this book is holding the other one upside-down while they. Do. It."

"No. (Character) took the picture on purpose. They said something about building up their wank bank."

"Oh god! What the hell? Where are your clothes?"

"Oh! I picked a bad time for a visit."

"Oh! You’re getting naked... right now."

"Oh, no. I’m a single adult, and I kissed another single adult. What’s gonna happen?"

"Picturing you naked is the most productive thing I have done all day."

"Please. We both know I could make you cum by letting you ride my thigh."

"Remember when you picked me up and carried me through that puddle."

"Sex is a game to (Character). They get off on the control."

"Shall we say tonight? Eight o'clock? We can see what kind of fun we can come up with."

"Show me how you touch yourself. I want to see."

"So when there's no one else around you, touch yoursеlf?""Sometimes I think about you masturbating."

"Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?"

"Take it off for me. Slowly. I want to enjoy myself."

"Tell me I’ve been good."

"Tell me what you want me to do."

"Tell me… tell me you want me."

"That’s it? How was that a quickie it was practically a hypothetical fuck."

"The least you could do is give in to me. Just for tonight."

"The lights are out all over town... I suppose this opens us up to a seductive situation."

"The rains made me all wet!"

"The things I’m going to do to you when I get my hands on you."

"There is a killer on the loose and you’re popping a boner?"

"There's one thing I've fantasised about doing, but never have."

"There’s a party in the woods. I could be your date."

"Tie me up and play with me! Pretty please?"

"Touch yourself for me."

"Trick or treat! You’re something sweet I want to eat."

"Trust me. I know exactly what you like and how you like it."

"We both know (Character) can’t make you feel as good as I make you feel."

"We both know I can make you feel good. I don’t mind waiting until you’re ready to admit it."

"We could go see a scary movie at the drive-in and make out."

"We need to figure out how to swap our bodies back soon. I need to pee and I don't want to look at (Character)’s privates!"

"We saw his dick and now our minds are blown."

"Well if my outfit is too scary I guess I’ll have to take it off."

"We’re playing spin the bottle at a halloween party. What are we kids?"

"We’re really going to have sex here?"

"What did you think would happen! You’re practically giving me a lapdance."

"What do you mean you like to watch! You’re spying on us having sex, what is wrong with you?!"

"What is scary about a sexy cat?"

"What is the point of wearing a sexy costume if (Character) isn’t going to notice?"

"When I got you a bow tie to go with your costume, I thought that you would get a costume to go with the bow tie! You’re basically naked!"

"When they get to know each other they’ll be thanking us for bringing them together."

"When you’re home alone and there's no one else around do you touch yoursеlf?"

"Why are you naked and tied to your bed?"

"Why do you have handcuffs next to your bed?"

"Why is he so tall? Also did he find a tighter shirt?"

"Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants."

"You ate all my candy so now you need to give me something sweet to make up for it."

"You can’t hide from me. I’ve been in your dreams."

"You can’t just dreamwalk into someone’s dirty dream!"

"You could carry me. If you’re scared and you need a hug to get through the haunted house?"

"You could just spend the night with me and see what happens."

"You don’t look like you’re having fun. Halloween isn’t your thing? Because if not, I could show you a real good time and make you change your mind."

"You don’t need to be scared. I’m right here to take care of you during this very scary season."

"You dropped me in a muddy puddle. Hardly romantic."

"You know there's a scary movie on at the drive in. When you get scared I’ll let you sit in my lap."

"You know you’re supposed to scream on Halloween. Maybe I could help you with that."

"You like me in this costume? Admit it."

"You make such adorable sounds."

"You really are the treat in trick or treat."

"You summoned me. So now I will get what is mine."

"You taste so sweet…"

"You thought it was me."

"You wanna play catwoman, I’ll be your batman..."

"You want me to come over to play a game?"

"You want people to think you’re scary but I know you’re not."

"You want to have sex in the middle on the woods?"

"You would be more intimidating if you weren’t dressed like that."

"Your costume is only getting you more candy because you’re practically naked."

"Your skin feels so soft."

"You’re a delightful surprise. Tell me all about yourself."

"You’re cute. I’m spooky. Nothing will get you I promise."

"You’re friends with that treacherous (Character) who hasn’t called me in a month."

"You’re naked and you’re handcuffed to your headboard. What should I do?"

"You’re naked!"

"You’re not going to let me put you down until we get to my car are you?"

"You’re on my mind all the time. Usually you're naked."

"You’re really wearing that outfit like you’re doing it a favour."

"You’re the one who wanted to go skinny dipping! I can’t swim."

"You’ve handed me an actual eggplant and now you’re giggling at me like a maniac. Are you asking for sex or some kind of help?"