#puddle underneath the platform

[mountainbirb]

welcome home to me

the pipe to our water heater is leaking :))))

[nariism]

Could you write Neuvillette blushes so bad when reader called him an otter.

a/n: hi anon! this is cute... yeah guys this is the obligatory neuvillette otter fic on my blog now, enjoy it ●ᴥ●

He shouldn't be feeling jealous. He knows how ridiculous it is to be envious of such a tiny critter, especially one that's been seeking equal amounts of attention from both you and him.

But he can't help it.

"Look!" You hold the otter up into the air, dangling it around in front of his face. The otter trills, curling up into a ball and giving Neuvillette what he can only imagine is the equivalent of puppy-dog eyes.

"Are you sure it is safe to pick it up like that?" Neuvillette murmurs, watching as you peer around the creature with a wide smile.

You're completely ignoring his concerns about scooping up a wild animal, unable to contain your excitement from finally having a chance to grab one of them. "It looks just like you. How cute!"

And he also knows that such a passing comment meant to tease him shouldn't make heat crawl up his neck, but it does anyways.

"How in the world does it look like me?"

Your fingers scratch at the top of the otter's head and it's horrible that all he can imagine is your hands doing the same to him.

You turn the critter around in the air like you're showing off your child, to which the man can only stare in confusion. "White fur, cute face. Even has blue streaks, like your horns!"

"I don't see it." (Correction, he refuses to see it.)

The otter makes another noise and licks his nose, clearly content with being the center of attention. He only scowls, cheeks flushing when he realizes how much you adore the damned thing.

"So adorable," you grin, cradling it in your arms. "Just- just...! So cute!"

He's pretty sure you're malfunctioning with the overload of cuteness. He fares no better, brain melting with every hard-struck realization that you might be calling him cute by extension since you're so insistent about the similarities.

"It..." he clears his throat, losing composure with the second-hand praises. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" You laugh, finally turning your eyes back to him. He almost melts into a puddle right then and there. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he immediately refutes, rosy all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Jealous," you insist with a smile, setting the otter back down into the water. It leaves a shell as a parting gift and disappears into the sea.

"I am not jealous." Neuvillette bends down to pick up the shell, unceremoniously shoving it into your hands. You know you've got him then, with his sudden lack of manners.

The Iudex can't be jealous. Especially not over something so silly. But his face is a mortifying shade of pink, both at your passive comments about his similarities to such an adorable creature and your accusations of envy.

Your free hand suddenly lurches forward and grabs him by the face, effectively holding him in place while he falls apart. There's a pretty softness in your expression as you look at him.

"Cute," you tease, and he's melting all over again.

(Neuvillette flops down on the couch that night, face down in your lap. You raise a brow, setting your book down to peer at him curiously.

He's unmoving for a pause, completely still to the point where you wonder if he just instantly fell asleep. But then he shuffles, turning onto his back to look up at you.

Ah, there it is. Something akin to puppy-dog eyes underneath his stone cold expression.

Your fingers scratch gently at his scalp as you continue to read, combing through his long hair. "Knew it," you muse with a smug expression.

He grumbles with red cheeks.)

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[ma1dita]

Congratulations on 23! not a book reader but I remember reading somewhere that there's a rule that boys and girls who aren't related ofc be alone in the cabins together. Imagine this rule got implemented bc of Luke and posideon! reader

MDNI

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x poseidon!reader

not sure if this was supposed to be a smut request but guys look what you've done to me this is all yalls fault

a/n: smut... a bit of godly desecration & blasphemy?...is this dark!luke? luke said fuck the gods literally...no dialogue...wrap before you tap bc they dont (luke castellan x poseidon!reader)

wc: 603

It had been raining at Camp Half-Blood for a whole month.

No amount of prayers from Cabin 7 nor Mr. D's control over the atmosphere of his camp could change this—and everyone was doing their hardest to figure out why.

You and Luke however, were having the time of your lives— with camp activities canceled due to the downpour, it gave you more time to bundle up under the covers and within each other's arms. It wasn't a secret per say, just something so natural between the both of you. Like crashing tides, he'd fall into your embrace over and over for as long as the gods would allow. But sometimes, he liked spiting them for the fun of it.

Your cabin was empty all the time anyway, no pesky siblings or unclaimed campers peering over the bunks and invading your personal space, because this is what this was between the both of you---personal and intimate. No one's business but your own.

In Cabin 3, you were his alone. And as much as he is Camp Half-Blood’s all-star camper, he thinks the gods owe him this much. He’s allowed to be selfish when it comes to you.

Luke could relish in the sound of your moans echoing off the marble walls, waves of pleasure extracted from you as he thrusts into your pussy, soaked and pulling him in deep. He marks you where only he can see, handprints on your hips, hickeys between your tits and thighs, and he licks your cheek like a fucking dog, just because he can.

His alone.

His cock pistons harder as he holds onto the plush of your tummy, hands grappling onto every expanse of skin he could touch—his, his, his, from the hair he's pulling on your head to the tips of your curled toes. The harder you shake underneath him, the wider he grins, reducing a daughter of the Big Three to nothing but a fucked out puddle of tears. 

Luke encourages you to be louder—deep down, he likes the idea of desecrating you in a place of honor. The Big Three were too pretentious to be parents, forbidden children given temples instead of homes to sleep in. It’s not his fault this place has too many platforms to christen. He supposes you both should try your father’s altar next.

Your eyes glaze over before you cum, and each time it reminds him of sparkling seafoam kissing the coast of the beach back home. It's his cue to throw your legs over his shoulders, diving into your mouth like you'd breathe oxygen into his lungs as he loses control and moans until your heart, like the rest of you feels full of him. He swirls your pretty pearl between his fingers, coaxing your orgasm out of you as naturally as he calls your name. 

Under the tears and drool, Luke agrees you’re your father’s daughter, soft and sopping wet, drenched in his domain. Anchoring himself between your hips, you let out a scream of Luke's name and he kisses you delicately as you both release—everything from your collarbones to your breasts to the skin behind your knee, he kisses all of it. 

His.

Luke could argue that the cum dripping out of your womb is his too, despite how eagerly he gives it to you each time. You didn’t even have to beg him this time.

It's what he loves about Cabin 3—it's his as much as it's yours, no clothes necessary. Until Mr. D comes barging in drenched to nine hells and floodwaters rising behind him with a personal threat from your father.

[bruh-changbin]

love and leather

pairing: bad boy changbin! x afab reader

genre: smut

warnings: use of handcuffs, piv, exhibitionism, fingering (f receiving), some smoochin', alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, an icky man being kinda icky, i think that's all

word count: 3.4K

a/n: before y’all say anything i knowwww this is short but y'all i'm busy and fuck in my last semester of uni and i kinda need to prioritize that a bit more 😭 buuuuut on the flip side i am slowly but surely making progress on some longer fun things so keep your eyes peeled 🫶 this fic is basically a love letter to bad boy eyeliner bin *sigh* when will he return from war..... also lowkey a continuation of under the bleachers but also not really.... no real plot just smutty bc i've been super horknee lately lawl enjoy

————

seo changbin likes a lot of things.

he likes eyeliner and smoking cigarettes and hard sex. he likes going fast on his motorcycle and he likes his tattered leather jacket. he likes getting piercings with silver jewelry and he likes pretending that the taste of tequila doesn’t affect him.

but above all, he likes you.

he likes your pretty teeth and the curve of your neck. he likes the leather platform boots you bought to try to impress him. he likes the smell of your shampoo that’s now permanently interwoven into the fabric of his pillow.

he likes it when you cry when you cum and when you dig your teeth into his shoulder as he fucks you. he likes the way your speech becomes slurred after he’s given you countless mind-blowing orgasms.

he likes to be in control. but not in a weird, lowkey misogynistic way. more in a ‘i’m gonna fuck you so hard and act cold so we both feel good and then kiss away your tears because i love you more than anything else’ kind of way, you know? that’s why handcuffs are such a staple in your relationship.

you remember the first time he used those cold, metal cuffs on you.

it was after a halloween party and changbin was dressed up as, you guessed it, a police officer. the party was fun at first but soon grew to be quite boring. when changbin started to get a little too handsy was when you decided to call it a night. the cab ride back to your apartment was excruciatingly long and when you arrived you unlocked your door with trembling, sweaty hands.

no words needed to be exchanged for you to know to get onto your mattress on your stomach, hands behind your back where changbin cuffed them in place with a satisfying metallic click! 

his movements were painstakingly slow, removing and discarding your bottoms and costume at a torturous pace to tease you (for what you have no idea - your costume wasn’t even that revealing). you could feel the tip of his nose tracing the skin in between your shoulder blades before he fucked you from behind, his blunt nails digging into your hips and he gripped you like he was never gonna let go. all you could do was cry and drool into your bedding as your boyfriend brought you to orgasm so many times your legs felt like tv static.  

every time you tried to move, tried to find solace and stability by gripping the duvet underneath you, you were reminded of the cuffs that were binding your wrists together. changbin would chuckle every time he heard them clink and jingle, knowing he had complete and utter control over you. if anything it added fuel to his fire, resulting in him thrusting his cock into you in such a way that made it feel as if he was so deep inside of you that the two of you would forever be connected.

when he finally relented and unlocked you, your wrists were bruised and throbbing - it felt amazing. 

the stinging of your wrists coupled with the pulsing of your abused cunt had you passing out on changbin’s broad chest in minutes and falling into one of the deepest sleeps you had ever experienced. 

but of course, come morning time, he treated you as if you were royalty and kissed the marks that his handcuffs left on you with so much delicacy you thought you were going to turn into a puddle. 

unbeknownst to the outside world, seo changbin has a soft side; which you discovered the first time he brought you into his room and had forgotten to hide his munchlax plushie beforehand. watching him scramble to hide it under his bed made the situation 10 times worse, and all he could do was scratch the back of his neck sheepishly as you attempted to stifle your laugh.

once the two of you became, you know, official, he let this side of him shine through more often. 

at times he treats you as if you’re made of porcelain, as if you’ll crack and break at even the slightest touches - hence the way he traces the back of your hand with his thumb when you’re holding hands, his strokes akin to that of a feather.

you’ve lost track of the amount of times he’s almost burnt your kitchen down while attempting to make you breakfast after making love to you for hours on end the night before. it always ends the same, with changbin holding a plate of toast so burnt it's turned into bedrock and scrambled eggs you could bounce off the wall because of how rubbery they are. the result is always changbin dragging you to your favourite cafe for brunch in defeat, claiming that ‘it’s the thought that counts, y/n’. 

but only you have the privilege of seeing him like this. these small, tender moments reserved only for the two of you in private, away from the curious eyes of onlookers in public. 

on the days where both of you are lucky enough to not have to pull yourself out of bed early for the sake of attending a lecture or getting work done, you get to revel in the warmth provided by each other’s sleeping bodies. if you wake before changbin, you’re greeted with a view of his broad shoulders, his skin dotted with small imperfections and the bumps of his individual vertebrae visible. small, soft snores can be heard escaping his parted lips. if changbin wakes before you do… he never does.

sometimes you’re able to spend the whole entire day together without having to tend to other duties. these days usually entail slow, lazy starts to the day followed by changbin dragging you to the gym to watch him do lat pulldowns and cable rows followed by a shared shower where you help massage shampoo into his scalp. or, it could involve the two of you screaming at the tv as you battle over the top spot in mario kart 8 - changbin mains bowser, of course, whereas you opt to play as king boo. it takes almost all of your strength to avoid whipping your remote at the wall when he absolutely clobbers you during grumble volcano. 

“don’t be upset y/n,” he coos without fail, “i’ll make it up to you later tonight!”

and he always does.

in public, he’s brooding, mysterious, sexy. it’s rare to see him without a cocky smirk painted across his face, his puffed lips quirked upwards as if to say ‘i’m better than you’ to anyone who crosses his path. and it’s true, he is.

he’s also the type to get jealous very easily.

case in point: 

it’s friday night, and the two of you are perusing the city streets looking for some fun. earlier in the day, jisung had informed you that a small group of friends was planning on paying a visit to a well loved bar to get sloshed later that night. with nothing better to do, you and changbin accepted the invitation.

at first it was fun, with everyone reconnecting and catching eachother up on the current drama in their lives. but after an hour or two the vibe changed and the atmosphere became almost… cliquey. everyone had chosen their respective person or group for the night, choosing to only converse within their little bubble and never straying from it. this resulted in you and changbin fleeing the scene, opting to enjoy yourselves elsewhere where you can get lost in the music and each other… and alcohol. 

soon after you’re at the front of a line for some club you’ve never been to with changbin’s arm wrapped around your waist as the bouncer checks your i.d. you’re let in with a nonchalant wave of a hand, and changbin follows shortly after.

once inside you make your way up the stairs to where the crowd is, choosing to forgo coat check and instead tossing your jackets on top of a pile that has formed on one of the few tables lining the walls near the entrance. then, you make a beeline to the bar where you order yourself a vodka cran and changbin a heineken. 

with alcohol in hand you shove your way to the middle of the dance floor, getting lost in the club music while bumping and grinding on your boyfriend who’s posted up behind you. you’re not sure how much time you spend on the dancefloor with warm cheeks and limbs that have gone fuzzy, but it feels as if time itself has come to a momentary halt, allowing you to enjoy yourself in this moment while the world continues on outside without you. 

so, when changbin taps your shoulder and motions to the bar to wordlessly say ‘i’m going to get more drinks’ you only nod and continue to dance on your own while you wait for his return. 

this decision proves to be fatal however, for only moments after changbin’s departure you feel a clammy hand wrap around your bicep. you whip around only to find yourself face to face with some random man wearing a nike tracksuit ogling at you like you’re the last piece of his favourite candy at the candy store. gross. 

“sorry, are you trying to get past me?”

“nah i’m trying to get with you, ma,” he practically yells into your ear in order to be heard over the music.

“oh! no thanks, my boyfriend’s at the bar getting drinks,” you say and attempt to shuffle away, an action that proves to be harder than you thought due to the mass of people surrounding you.

much to your dismay, the man persists, “boyfriend? why’d he leave you here all alone?”

“... to get us drinks.”

“well, if i was your man i’d never leave you alone, princess.”

princess? gross. only changbin gets to call you that… when he’s fucking you.

“is everything okay, y/n?” you feel an arm nudge yours and turn around to see changbin, your knight in shining armour, who’s come to save you from this god awkward conversation. in each hold he hands a drink, one for you and one for himself, and you fear what he may do with them in the next few moments.

“yea, all good, this guy was just being… weird,” 

the skepticism that was previously evident on changbin’s face quickly morphs into annoyance (and jealousy at the prospect of someone other than himself making moves on you). without speaking he shoves the recently acquired drinks into your hands - making you scramble to stop yourself from dropping them and creating a sticky, syrupy mess all over the dance floor - before moving to size up the ‘bro’ that was just hitting on you with his chest puffed and chin held high. 

not wanting to get into any sort of trouble tonight, you practically throw yourself in front of the freight train that is your boyfriend.

“no! it’s fine, changbin, let’s just forget him and have a good time, ‘kay?” you attempt to reason with him to no avail. all changbin does is shift his gaze between you and the guy who was making moves on you several times before wordlessly grasping your arm and pulling you towards the exit; you’re forced to abandon the dripping drinks in your hands on the edge of the bar (not before you manage to spill about half of one all over your lower arm).

soon you’re out of the crowded space, and are making your way towards the exit of the building and the city streets that are surely still teeming with nightlife.

“bin-” 

“we’re going home,” he asserts, “i don’t want anyone talking to you like that.”

all you can do is allow yourself to be dragged behind your boyfriend like a ragdoll, his grip on your wrist so tight your fingertips start to lose their sensation. you know that any words of dissatisfaction you voice will be falling on deaf ears, so you opt to keep quiet and let changbin take the lead.

the bite of the cold night air of the winter jolts you awake once you step outside. a dull ring settles in your ears as the loud club music dissipates and changbin drags you further and further away from the establishment, almost dislocating your shoulder when he suddenly yanks you down a small, secluded alleyway. 

“bin i’m fine, really,” you attest, your eyes never leaving the troubled face of your boyfriend, who pulls a pack of marlboros and a lighter out of his pocket. you watch as he places a cigarette between his lips before lighting it, using his hand to shelter the flame from the wind. in that moment you become envious of a measly little cigarette, for you so desperately wish that it was you and your mouth that changbin was putting his lips on and inhaling deeply, sucking you in like you’re his lifeline. 

a haze of smoke soon surrounds you as changbin takes several drags from his dart, his eyes dark and refusing to meet yours. the scent burns your nostrils and you have to fight back the urge to cough; smoking only appeals to you when you’re drunk, and the alcohol you consumed earlier in the night has mostly exited your system.

with a sigh that manifests in a grey cloud changbin tosses his half-smoked cigarette to the ground, squashing the spark with the heel of his boot before catching your eye. his leather jacket rustles as he raises his hands to cup your face, the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“you’re mine, and nobody else’s,” his gaze is so piercing it feels as if he’s going to burn a hole through you, “right?”

you nod enthusiastically, head bobbing up and down as you whisper a quiet ‘right’ through squished cheeks and puckered lips - lips that are then being pressed against your boyfriends. 

changbin tastes like the nicotine he just inhaled and smells like the cologne he saturated himself with earlier this evening, and you find yourself getting drunk all over again on something other than alcohol this time - him. 

with your back pressed up against a brick wall you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of your lover’s mouth on yours, enraptured by the way changbin moves his lips in tandem with your own. the warmth radiating from the palms of his hands that have yet to leave your face makes your cheeks flush, and you tangle your fingers in the wavy strands of his hair that he’s choosing to let grow out, much to your delight. 

the skin of your cheek stings when it’s exposed to the cold as changbin retracts his hand from your face, the tips of his fingers tracing the skin of your neck and sternum before reaching the waistband of your bottoms. his curious hand only hovers there for a moment before slipping underneath, not allowing a mere piece of fabric to be an obstacle in the way of your pleasure. a feeble moan escapes you when changbin gropes your cunt over your panties, the fabric already sticky and wet with your arousal. 

“here, bin?” you question while scanning your surroundings, making sure there isn't anyone spying on the two of you being exhibitionists, “are you sure this is a good idea?’

“the best one i’ve ever had,” as he speaks his lips graze your neck, his breath hot and heavy before he starts to nip and suck at the supple skin; your pulse skyrockets and you clamp your thighs shut, ultimately trapping changbin’s hand in between them. 

he manages to pry your legs apart just enough in order to move his hand, sliding your panties to the side and running two deft fingers through the folds of your dripping, needy pussy. it’s funny in the sense that changbin’s actions are so simple yet they already have you whining in pleasure, head rolling forward as you hide yourself in the crook of his neck. 

“shhh baby, try to keep it down,” he coos, yet continues on nonetheless - easy for him to say, he’s not the one taking your fingers in an alleyway where a bunch of drunk people are parading by only metres away. 

changbin continues to play with your cunt nonchalantly, much to your chagrin. every now and then he lets the tip of his middle finger dip into your dripping hole, causing you to go weak in the knees as the calloused heel of his palm kisses and bumps your aching clit.

“binnie,” you heave out rather embarrassingly, “i need it.”

“my girl needs my fingers in her pretty pussy, huh?” he teases, you nod pathetically with glassy eyes.

and at long last changbin finally relents and slips his middle and ring fingers fully inside of you, your cunt immediately clenching around his digits. the way he drags his fingers in and out of you so slowly before fucking them back into you feels so euphoric that you can’t help the goofy, drunken smile that makes its way onto your face as you drool onto the shoulder of his leather jacket. 

with his broad shoulders shielding you from the outside world, changbin begins to curl and scissor his fingers inside of your warm, wet walls, making you moan and plead against his neck.

“god binnie you’re so good, feels so fucking good,” you cry through cracked lips while blinking away the eyeliner that stings your shiny, tearfilled eyes. 

changbin then uses his thumb to massage your clit while his fingers continue to reach deep inside of you, making your lower abdomen twist and churn and your heart go thump thump thump from behind your chest. your fingers only tighten their grip on changbin’s jacket as you subtly rock your hips against his hand in an attempt to bring your orgasm on sooner.

you find yourself tuning out the sounds of traffic and people and nightlife to instead hone in on the beating of changbin’s heart that you can hear beating in his chest, your moans that only continue to increase in pitch, the rustle of bin’s jacket as he fingers you. 

“so close honey, can you cum for me?” changbin groans into your ear in response to your pussy clenching around his fingers, a telltale sign that you’re on the brink of finishing all over his hand. at this point your back is aching from being pressed against brick for so long and you have a headache from how intensely you’ve been furrowing your brows, but the fire you feel in your aching pelvis makes it all worth it.

it only takes changbin several more thrusts before you’re creaming all over his fingers, whining his name is a nasally, needy tone as you all but collapse against his built frame as your orgasm explodes inside of you like fireworks. after a few moments you begin to come down, immediately noticing how dry your open mouth is and how sore your fingers are from gripping changbin’s jacket with everything you got.

when you pull away from changbin to stand up straight, a string of spit from your mouth to his jacket follows you - you wipe it away and pray he didn’t notice. it takes you a second to fully regain your balance and when you do, changbin finally lets go of your hips only to move his soiled fingers to his mouth where he sucks them clean of your essence. then he places his mouth on yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before he swallows you down his throat. 

words needn’t be exchanged for you to know what comes next, you simply follow changbins lead as he drags you all the way home and makes a mess of you on the sheets of his bed.

[the-kr8tor]

Heatwave

Feat: The cats 😺😻😾

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: You and Hobie try to survive a record breaking heatwave.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, some miscommunication, FLUFF, lovestruck Hobie.

A continuation of this fic

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You groan loudly, as if it helps make the air cooler, but alas it doesn't work that way. It certainly doesn't help that the air-conditioning in your building completely fizzled out last night, resulting in you and Hobie waking up sweaty and grumpy.

You breathe heavily through the humidity, but the sweltering heat doesn't make it any easier.

The cats don't help too, especially that they're currently blocking the air flow from your single working fan. Crumpet,Teacup and Crowley lay sprawled across a cooling mat, Crowley looks back at you every minute or so, checking to see if you've melted into a puddle.

Teacup, the ever spoiled baby, mewls towards you, as if to say it's time for their hourly wipe of their paws with a cold damp cloth. She's lucky you love her. She's been relishing the attention lately, especially time spent with Hobie, you can't help but get jealous sometimes, this is what Hobie probably feels like with Crowley attached to your hip.

You reluctantly stand up, stretching to your full height, arms wide, you cringe at the sweat clinging to your back, arms, legs and clothes, it's safe to say you're covered in it. You grimace at how tacky your clothes feel on you, your tank top must look like an abstract painting from behind. You lick your lips in a futile attempt to keep them moist, feeling the cracks of skin underneath your tongue.

You grab the designated cloth to soak it in the sink, at the same time you open the fridge to grab another ice pack. Thank goodness you have a stock of them for whenever Hobie comes home bruised. You wish you don't have an abundance of it though, you hate it when Hobie gets hurt.

Teacup meows loudly, telling you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright! 'm coming, you big baby" not noticing your words slurring together. You lift up the cloth, wringing off the excess water.

You stride towards the cats, carefully patting the cloth on their paws, while checking their fur for any tangles. Making sure their water bowls aren't empty.

After rubbing their paws you move to pet Crumpet, moving your fingers on her head, and scratching behind her ear. She purrs under your touch.

You're concerned about Crumpet, she's a lot older than the other two, so you're taking more time to be more attentive towards her.

You rub her thick fur absentmindedly, the air from the fan blowing on your lashes. Your mind wanders back to Hobie, how is he faring in this temperature? Especially in his suit, you practically had to beg him to leave his leather vest at home.

"I always wear it, love, I don't feel complete without it"

"Yeah, I know for the aesthetic," you change your tone, you don't want to fight, "but damn it, just for today please, I don't want you getting heatstroke" you sigh at his stubbornness.

For added effect Crumpet meows at Hobie, backing you up.

Hobie sighs in defeat, "fine," he drops the vest haphazardly over your bed, you think he's mad.

He leans over kissing your cheek, it's too hot to give you a proper kiss, you curse at the temperature, depriving you of affection. "don't forget to drink water, yeah?"

"Mmhm, you too. Take breaks, okay?" you move to hug him, but you recoil your hands back, thinking the added heat might make him more agitated. Hobie thinks you're mad at him.

You wanted to convince him to leave his leather boots and wear his trainers instead, but it might've been all in vain, since he's already opening the window to swing away.

That was hours ago, you hope he's okay, and keeping hydrated. You wish he wasn't mad at you.

Putting the ice pack on your head, you lean against your sofa, watching the cats stay cool.

You zone out, not hearing the familiar thump of heavy boots.

Hobie thinks you're ignoring him, shit you look mad, your face scrunched up into a scowl, sweat dripping on your forehead.

He crosses the small distance, the cats lay sprawled on their mat, the only indication that they noticed him is their heads slightly following his movements, even Crowley refuses to scowl at him. It's hot even for the little hell spawn.

Hobie grabs the cool can inside his little plastic bag, it rustles, but you still haven't looked at him. Fuck he should've kissed you goodbye better.

You feel the cold can on your cheek, waking you up from your daze. You feel sluggish. Craning your neck towards Hobie, you give him a small smile.

"Hey, you're home, early" your eyes slightly glossy.

"Yeah, even villains are too hot to commit crime" he notices your eyes, "when did you last drink water?"

You grab the cold can of soda from his hands, your hands shake trying to open the lid. "Um, I'm about to drink now"

"Shit, sweetheart, that's not enough" he grabs the can from your hands, earning a small "hey" from you. "Let me get you some water, yeah?"

Hobie rushes towards the kitchen, shit how long have you last drank? You must've been too busy taking care of the cats that you forgot about yourself. He doesn't blame you though, those cats are your family. He should've checked in on you on one of his breaks.

Glass in hand, he webs himself towards the living room, so he can get to you faster. You hate it when Hobie leaves his webs inside, but he'll apologize and clean it up later.

Hobie brings the cold glass to your chapped lips, you empty it in a flash, water drips from your chin, he wipes it with his thumb.

"There, you're gonna feel better in a minute" he sighs when color comes back to your lips.

"Can I have the soda now?" You tilt your head prettily.

Hobie opens the can for you before giving it back, "lemme change and I'll get you another glass, yeah?" He rubs the sweat clinging on to your eyebrows, messing up the strands. He chuckles at your unruly brows.

"What's so funny?" You pout against the mouth of the can.

"Nothing" he pecks your forehead, ignoring the sweat. That kiss will have to do for now, he has to make up a lot of kisses for the lack of love he gave you that morning.

Hobie basically tears his suit off him, sweat clings inside, he should shower. He should also try and fix your aircon, but he doesn't want to leave your side, you were on the brink of heat stroke when he arrived, Hobie needs to watch over you till you're better, and the cats need attention too, he still hasn't won over Crowley yet. He's made it his personal mission since he met the rascal.

Crowley settles next to you, the fog clouding your mind slowly dissipating. You sigh with your eyes closed.

"Oi no sleeping" Hobie places another cold glass in your hands in exchange for the soda. He's now wearing an old band shirt that he's kept at your place. Hobie doesn't have shorts, so he just went for his boxers.

He sits next to you, with Crowley in between. Hobie stretched his legs in front of him, his toned legs in full display.

"Here," Hobie hands you a fresh cloth "nevermind c'mere" you happily lean towards him, "you need to take care of yourself too y'know" He dabs the cloth on your neck, drying it.

"I know," you sigh "I was just worried about the cats and you, it must've been hard being in that heat all day"

He hums too engrossed in wiping you dry. You take this as Hobie still being angry at you.

"Are you still mad at me?" You ask in a small voice. wringing your hands anxiously.

"What?" He stops his movements, "I thought you were the one who's angry" he grabs your hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs, trying to calm your thoughts. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because of the vest thing" you look up at him through your lashes. "I thought, you might've looked at it like I'm trying to change you, I'm not, I like you just the way you are"

Crowley watches the scene with pensive eyes. Crumpet sneezes in her sleep, while teacup curls near Hobie's foot.

"I'm not mad about that, I understand you were looking out for me, and I was too bloody stubborn" he kisses each of your knuckles, his warm breath calms your nerves. You know he isn't good with his words, sometimes opting for showing what he means through his actions.

" 'm not mad either, I shouldn't have pushed you" you lay your head against the couch cushion.

"Nah, I want you to make me, you keep me in line, love. You're right I would've gotten heatstroke with it on" he softly lays your hands on Crowley, he returns to his previous action, wiping at the soft skin on your hip.

"Imagine, I fainted while swinging" he jokes but you glare at him.

"Not funny, Hobart"

"Now, you're mad" He chuckles as he moves the cloth over your nose.

"Augh!" You swat at the piece of wet cloth "that's disgusting!"

"It's your own sweat, lovey" Hobie smiles lopsidedly.

"Next time, wear your trainers instead of boots too?" You ask shyly.

"Alright, for you, yeah"

You nod, finally convincing him "you took care of yourself out there?" You cup his jaw, making circular patterns over his skin with your thumb.

"Yeah, took breaks, hydrated, can't say the same thing for you though"

"I know, I'll do better next time" you sigh, thumping your head on his shoulder.

"Oi" he shakes you with his shoulder "I still owe you that kiss"

You laugh, Crowley perks up at the sound "and I still owe you a hug"

"What are you waiting for? Come up here and get it" a smile creeping on the corner of his lips.

You lean up, head staying on his shoulder, Hobie does all the work, he cranes his neck down as he holds the back of your head, guiding you towards his lips. You sigh into his lips, ignoring the sweat forming on his upper lip.

You cling on to his shirt, slowly moving your arms around him, he kisses deeper.

By some sort of miracle the aircon comes to life, blowing much needed cold air into your flat. You both decide to ignore it, while you climb on his lap, so his neck wouldn't strain. He holds your back, anchoring you.

Crowley meows at the both of you trying to get your attention away from Hobie.

A/N: thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

My requests are open! Check out my rules.

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 2: After Fighting Grym

Chapter 2: After Fighting Grym

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 1, Canon-typical violence

WC: 1.3k words, 2/18 chapters

Summary: Their second hug takes place after a tough battle. A painful hug, but comforting nonetheless. Rogue!Tav has begun to catch feelings, Astarion is none the wiser.

Ao3 | [Hug1][Hug3] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

You don't think you've ever been this sticky– sweat is dripping from pores you didn't even know you possessed. The Grymforge needs to be this hot to operate, but any hotter and you may cease to function.

As if the oppressive heat isn't enough to protect this deathtrap, the forge's guardian is currently looming over you. Its giant back obscures your view of the rest of your team, but if all is going to plan, they should be in position. A wave of lava gushes out around you, surrounding the platform that you’re on and splashing onto the metal monster in front of you– Karlach has turned the valve.

Now you just need to complete your task: be bait.

"Come and get me, you piece of junk!" you yell, as if this mechanical construct could understand what you say.

"A bard you are not, darling," comes a verbal jab from Astarion. He's positioned opposite you as the two of you have been kiting this behemoth back and forth in a clunky, messy dance. It hasn't been your best work, but you can see sparks emitting from the creature's joints, starting to wear down.

"Yes, well," you start, quickly surveying your surroundings. "At least I'm good at stabbing." You jerk an arm forward, piercing the glowing superheated carapace of the guardian with one of your daggers. It emits a sharp keening before refocusing its entire attention on you, turning toward you in pre-programmed aggression. Job done, you move to leap onto the platform behind you.

The metal monster has other ideas, reaching a gargantuan hand out to swipe at you. “Argh,” you grunt, as a searing hot claw makes contact with your side. It feels as though you’ve been hit by a cart and you stumble back, barely catching yourself before you hit hot, molten lava. You may still be reeling from the blow, but you know that you’re in a world of pain if you don’t get off this platform now.

Taking advantage of the creature’s slow swing, you finish your leap from before, scrambling onto one of the platforms on the edge of the forge. “NOW!” you yell so that Shadowheart can hear you across the cavernous room.

She doesn’t respond, but the satisfying ‘click’ of a lever and the impressively loud ‘KA-CHUNK’ of the forge’s hammer are a clear indicator that she heard. You watch as the massive construct in front of you is flattened, steam hissing off of it as its body cools.

It lays there motionless for a moment, and the hammer shoots back up into the forge. You vaguely register an adamantine piece of armor shooting out of the contraption– the forge’s instructions finally completed.

You feel a sense of vast relief, the grueling battle finally won. Your team is safe now, carefully avoiding the remaining lava flows to make it to your platform. But underneath that feeling of relaxation, you feel a much more annoying, much more urgent, sense of pain.

It’s always a drag when the adrenaline dies off. Between the heat of the forge continuing to wear down on your tired body and the blistering wound at your side from the forge’s guardian, your legs begin to wobble against your will. “Ah hells,” you mutter, placing a sweaty palm to your forehead. “Is this what it feels like to get a hug from Karlach?”

The large woman laughs, almost having made it to your platform. “I think you’d be a puddle if you attempted that.” Then, with some concern to her voice, “Are you alright, soldier?”

“I’m…” your voice trails off and, as your vision begins to blur, your follow up comes out as more of a question, “Fine?”

Your team is quick to answer your question, all picking up their pace to reach you. Astarion, moving with the speed of a practiced predator, is the first to make it. Just in time too, because you’re teetering precariously off the edge of your platform, inches away from molten death.

“Easy there, darling,” he says, an arm wrapping around your torso. He pulls you toward him, away from the lava. However, as he pulls, he tugs along the side where you got swiped, eliciting a sharp, pained breath from you.

“Astarion,” you gasp, seeing spots of white in your vision from the pain. “It hurts.”

He looks momentarily flustered, “What hurts?”

“My side,” you manage, eyes dropping down to see a massive burn mark across your leather armor where the construct struck you.

“Oh,” Astarion says in surprise, releasing you immediately. Your body sways at the sudden loss of his arm and he’s back on you again in a panic. One arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you to him tightly, the other presses a surprisingly gentle hand on your forehead. “What do you say we get you some healing and a nice flask of water?”

You nod into his hand gratefully. It’s somehow several degrees cooler than everything else and you don’t think you’ll be able to leave its cooling touch until you’re out of this damned forge.

For his part, Astarion doesn’t seem to mind, holding you and his hand in place while Shadowheart arrives. He doesn't say anything while Shadowheart inspects the wound and calls upon her divine healing, just continues to hold you, steady. This is the closest you’ve been since that night after the tiefling party and, as the fog of pain lifts, you suddenly become incredibly self-aware.

I’m quite possibly the sweatiest person in Faerun right now, how badly must I smell, you think. The heat is most certainly getting to you, because you feel a sudden urge to jump into the lava to avoid finding out. You resist the temptation, thanking Shadowheart as the pain subsides, “Thank you, now let’s get out of this hells hole.”

“I happen to think it’s quite agreeable,” Karlach says from your side. “Though a bit toasty for you all, I’d imagine.”

Astarion, who has not let you go yet, chimes in, “If you so much as breathe on me, I may burst into flames, Karlach. Please stay far, far away.”

“Oh fine,” she says, taking a step back from you both. “But I am the one carrying the water.”

Astarion gives an annoyed click with his tongue, and removes his hand from your forehead to hold it out expectantly toward Karlach. You try not to let your disappointment show at the loss of its chill balm. “Very well, as long as you don’t throw it at us this time.”

The tielfing moves to hand him the flask, but you can see the mischief in her eyes before she makes her decision. One loud shattering of glass later and both you and Astarion are drenched from head to toe in water. “Shouldn’t have reminded me, Fangs.”

Honestly, you don’t mind it. It’s quite refreshing in the otherwise hellish heat. But from the way that Astarion’s arm around you tightens, you can tell he doesn’t quite share your mindset. “Karlach,” he says, slowly, his tone deadly. His eyes are narrowed, leveled at Karlach under a mop of wet curls. “Have you ever wondered if you could withstand lava?”

He releases you, and his absence brings you a sudden pang of sadness. Luckily, you don’t have much time to consider why that is because Astarion is quickly stalking after Karlach, murderous intent rolling off of him.

“Well, that was… fun,” Shadowheart says walking up to you, her face looking anything but.

“Yeah,” you respond, stretching out your side carefully. “I guess we should stop them from killing each other?”

The cleric shrugs, looking at your companions. “It’s up to you, really. I wasn’t the one melting in Astarion’s arms.”

You hold back a surprised cough. “I was not melting. It’s just hot in here.”

She gives you a knowing look. “Sure it is.”

You ignore her remark before setting off– you have enough problems. You don’t feel like adding ‘the comforting feeling of Astarion’s arms around you’ to the list.

[a-ladyman-in-waiting]

Update: I hate the costume part 2

Summary: I walked a bit further

After a whole bunch of waiting underneath a hill, hiding from groups of people, I made efforts to fix up my crotch piece behind a tree. I kept an eye out for anyone walking nearby.

Once I was done, I dared to venture further into the local park in search of a clearing. Fortunately for me, I remember some delightfully quiet spots to practice my choreography.

Following a path to my left, I carefully walked up, acknowledging a guy to my left.

And lo and behold, there it was.

It was a platform for spectators to enjoy a large view of the refurbished pool and by extension, a view of the park up to the skyscraper.

It was a pretty decent sight.

Ahead of me were two large pillars that provided a lot of cover for me to fix up my crotch piece.

Sure it had a few puddles, but I was wearing some robust sneakers. I didn’t have to worry too much.

The catch?

A few people crossed the platform during their leisurely strolls, so I waited until they passed by to return to my practice swings.

At some point, I wanted to run for exercise and was reminded of the slippery crotch piece.

At some point, I had to vamoose bc a mother and her kid arrived.

So I walked around the platform.

Le tags: @the-trash-eating-llama

@skyethewolfwizard

[dr-futbol-blog]

Letters from Pegasus, Pt. 2

While McKay returns to his lab to work on the plan, Sheppard finds himself something to occupy himself with. We find them in the control platform with Zelenka, looking at the long-range sensor read-out of the wraith ships and Zelenka's projection on their probable route toward Atlantis. Sheppard actually tells Weir: "Teyla and I were just deciding which planet to go to." That is, Sheppard and Teyla had been discussing what to do while a member of their team is otherwise occupied, and since they could not ask McKay to give them information, they had roped in Zelenka. Weir had joined them some time after. Their plan was to do a recon mission

I'll draw your attention to the fact that Sheppard once more has his hand between himself and Weir. He also does not turn his body toward her as he speaks to her, only his head. Most of the conversation he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen like that is where his focus is, and that's where his focus should be, too. Zelenka, Teyla, Weir and Sheppard are all acting like normal people, co-workers discussing work. Especially Sheppard and Zelenka's interaction lets us contrast his behaviour with a scientist with his scientist.

And I know that I'm belabouring the point, but see how he gestures with his hand like he is subconsciously establishing a perimetre there between himself and Weir.

There is something off about Sheppard's tone in this scene. Like he's putting up some kind of a pretense either for Weir or for all of them. What ever he is actually feeling at this time, he is concealing it underneath this charming, boyish persona. Like he's purposefully trying to keep his demeanor light--and this might just be a response to the wraith approaching, as he is standing in front of the screen that displays their approach while he acts this way. The fact that Teyla's voice shakes as though she is suppressing fear when she points to the planet where the wraith will be attacking next just highlights the false nature of Sheppard's upbeat attitude.

We are once again reminded of the fact that Sheppard is quite sharp:

Weir: How do you expect to reach them in a Puddle Jumper? Sheppard: We fly to a Stargate en route that Zelenka thinks they're gonna drop out of hyperspace and we watch ‘em pass by. Weir: That's good. Sheppard: Well, I have my moments.

He says that he has his moments in order to downplay his intelligence in current company. It's one thing for McKay to know he could have passed the Mensa test but there is really no tactical advantage in letting people know just how smart you are. Weir tells them to come back before McKay is done and Sheppard has no problem with this because he probably hadn't even planned to stay gone longer than McKay is occupied:

Sheppard: Stealth mode. They won't even know we're there. Weir: OK. Go. Get what intel you can and get back--before Rodney sends his message. I need the both of you here. Sheppard: Won't even stop at the duty free!

Sheppard has a physical reaction to Weir mentioning Rodney by name. As soon as she says the name, he looks to his right and shifts his footing. He doesn't appear to look at anything in particular, doesn't necessarily have even time to think about anything in particular, but it is interesting that his body has an automated response just to the mention of McKay.

Weir issues Sheppard an order not to take on the wraith on his own and this, once more, seems like her overstepping her post. This is very much a military matter and it should be up to Sheppard's discretion what should be done about it. Still, she issues a direct order and he even acknowledges that the order was received which is relevant for later. However, he also lies to Weir and while we have seen him lie many times before, here we are asked to pay attention to it through his facial expression.

Weir tells her not to take on wraith ships "on yourself". Sheppard confirms that he will not take on an alien armada single-handed. While he looks to his side at Teyla. He says "single-handed", then looks at Teyla, and only then confirms the order. Because, while he may not be planning on doing anything drastic at this particular moment, he is keeping his options open. And if it just so happened that they were called to do something, doing it with Teyla is not doing it single-handed. It's a loop-hole. It is acknowledging the letter of the law but not the law itself.

Weir is not military and clearly does not know how to issue direct orders. And here, we see Sheppard retain his option for seeing things a little different if need be, to keep the option of making his own calls. Also note that you have to be able to read Sheppard's expression to understand what actually happens in the scene. It's a visual cue that is a key to interpreting the dialogue.

It is somewhat odd that Ford does not seem to be a part of their plan and is not going on the mission with them. Ordinarily, they would all go but currently McKay is otherwise occupied. And yes, obviously Ford needs to stay back to be able to record everyone's messages but he has not been assigned the task yet so he has no motivation for staying behind. The only explanation for him not accompanying them is that Sheppard leaves him behind to make sure McKay is safe while he is away. This imminent threat looming over them, he is not taking any chances. There is also a really big marine standing guard during the meeting of the senior staff later on which we've never seen happen before so clearly Sheppard has been taking precautions. And this guy seems to be keeping an eye on McKay in particular. Not that everyone wouldn't know just how important he is to the expedition.

It's also curious that this scene in the meeting room cuts directly to Sheppard and Teyla in the jumper discussing the topic of what he might do if his dear friend was in danger from the wraith:

Teyla: If someone close to your family--a dear friend--was in danger of being taken by the Wraith, would you have not done the same? Sheppard: Not if it jeopardised the mission.

The thing is, we see over the seasons that what ever moral code Sheppard has, what ever ethical principles he operates on, he is willing to break each and every one of them for McKay. We see him not only be prepared but actually do some pretty darn dark things to keep McKay safe. He actually is willing to doom the entire human race including his closest friends (and himself, naturally) for this man, and he would do it without a second thought. He wouldn't even feel bad about it. This is why Col. Sumner and Gen. O'Neill told Weir that he's a liability. This is the little different that Sheppard is willing to see through. McKay is the exception to every rule he has.

So, Sheppard and Teyla gate to a planet where she has some acquaintances. She makes the introductions, and we are reminded of the passage of time and that the characters have changed from when we first met them:

Orin: Look at you! You're so different! Teyla: Much has changed since my last visit.

Orin looks at Sheppard curiously as Teyla introduces them, clearly thinking that the two of them are an item. They are of the opposite sex and out there alone together, that is all that it takes for someone to come to this conclusion.

Relevant to this episode is the fact that Orin has a family, one that Teyla wishes to save. The concept of family comes up several times in the episode, especially the concept of the found family, the family that is created out of the people of one's choosing. Although there is not much interaction between Sheppard and McKay in this episode, as stated, we learn that they have very similar feelings when it comes to this concept.

You can tell that family is a particularly difficult topic for Sheppard in how he turns his head away the moment Teyla mentions the word family, as to escape the very thought of it. I would also bet good money on this man resembling Sheppard's father at least to some extent as Sheppard and Orin do share features as they are stood here facing each other. This man seems kind, he seems like a good man. The resemblance must be... superficial.

Sheppard seems initially reluctant to jeopardize their mission to save these villagers, causing friction between himself and Teyla. Teyla tells him "It is the very least we can do" with a pointed look, reminding him of the fact that it was their actions that unleashed the wraith upon these worlds but in spite of Sheppard feeling the full weight of the guilt for having caused this, he tells them that he cannot make the promise to save this man and his family.

Back on Atlantis, they are having another meeting discussing what all they should be sending with the information package back to Earth. Since Sheppard is not present for this meeting, we are able to see how different the interaction is when he is absent. Weir compliments McKay who actually responds in a modest way just like Sheppard did earlier regarding his intelligence, having his moments. McKay hears Weir calling what he has done 'incredible,' so he's telling her that it's actually the algorithm that has done most of the work, it's perfectly credible for him to have fit the data they have deciphered into the data burst.

McKay: I've included a ton of data that we've been able to decipher from the Ancient database. Weir: Really? That is incredible! McKay: Well, the algorithm I've devised is extraordinarily efficient, yes. Beckett: Oh, please!

But that's not what the people around the table hear, and Beckett especially seems to roll his eyes at McKay's perceived arrogance (surely taking pride in one's work is not arrogant; arrogant would be him making promises he couldn't deliver). We have never seen him do this when Sheppard has been present probably because he wouldn't dare. They all just seem to take it for granted that Sheppard is always going to side with McKay and vice versa. That Sheppard would jump to his rescue. This time, it is Weir that acknowledges the work that he's done for them:

Weir: It must be, in order to fit all that data into one point three seconds. McKay: Point three seconds, actually. Weir: We have a whole extra second to fill?! McKay: A whole extra one, yes. Weir: Is it enough to include personal messages? McKay: Uh, sure--I mean, several hours of video. Much more if it was strictly audio.

The other notable thing is McKay's reaction to the possibility of sending messages back to Earth. If the concept of family seemed uncomfortable to Sheppard, the concept of sending personal messages to Earth seems to be the same to McKay. He can't even get any words out at first. It had not even occurred to him that it a) could be done and that b) anyone would want to do it. The thought also seems to make him uncomfortable.

Like Teyla, he also has changed a lot during his time on Atlantis and this, much more so than the possibility of sending information and mission reports back to Earth, forces him to think back on his life--his non-life--back on Earth. Some people seem to have left behind something worth remembering but he does not think that he has anything back there worth sending messages to. Ford, on the other hand, is instantly excited and has a specific person in mind:

Ford: I could tell my grandma what I've been up to all this time. Weir: Well, if your grandmother had security clearance, yes, you could! But for now you can tell her that you're well--and that you miss her. McKay: This is all very charming, but, um, I have work to do -- shouldn't I, uh…?

McKay seems extremely discomfited by this possibility. But note Weir's reference to the security clearance. They emphasize this multiple times in the episode--the messages cannot contain classified information unless the receiver has the proper security clearance. And although Ford, assigned by Weir to take care of filming the messages assures them that no one will see the messages besides the recipient, it's clear that they are going to undergo a security check. Beckett even comments on this later:

Ford: Well, don't worry. The only people who'll see it is gonna be your family. Beckett: Aye--and you and the US military!

That is, it is explicitly confirmed that members of the military are going to review the tapes before they are sent to anyone--if they are sent to anyone. McKay's message to his sister, for one, seems never to have reached her, although I will argue here that sending a message to his sister was but an afterthought, anyway. McKay actually started recording the message for a whole other purpose.

In the earlier meeting, McKay mentioned that he had done the coding for the Air Force, and he nodded toward Sheppard as he said this. It reminds us about the fact that McKay is on the USAF payroll (and answers to the Chiefs of Staff, as per his own witness). The reason why we need to remember and were hence reminded about this state of affairs is that McKay has been doing civilian contracting for the military, and specifically for the Air Force, for a very long time and he knows how it works. He knows the ins and outs of their politics and, if we assume that he is something other than straight, he is also familiar with all of the issues faced by gay and bisexual men in the military at this time.

Because members of the military are bound by a code of conduct, it falls on the civilian to make an exaggerated performance of heterosexuality so that if and when anyone is seen with them, they will be assumed to share in this (cf. Moebius in SG-§ for an example of him doing this). If he performs over-the-top straightness then anyone seen with him will be interpreted as straight because that kind a person, naturally presumed to be homophobic, would not hang around with the 'queers'.

To her credit, Weir seems to notice that McKay is being weird about the whole sending messages thing:

Weir: Rodney? McKay: Hm? Weir: You don't wanna send a message to anyone? McKay: You know what? Maybe with all my spare time I'll just record a message myself… you? Weir: Yes. McKay: Good, good.

So, McKay was not originally going to record a message. He clearly refers to spare time sarcastically, as he has had precious little of it lately. He also had no one in mind to send a message to; no one back on Earth that was significant enough for him to say anything to. In this, he and Sheppard seem to be alike. They were both lonely, although for different reasons. Sheppard had isolated himself to the Antarctic so as not to get attached to anyone he might get killed. McKay had been banished to Siberia for being unlikable--or at the very least he felt that way. He had been meeting new people with an abrasive attitude to take the sting out of the eventual rejection. If you're not really trying to connect with anyone it won't hurt so much when they don't want to get to know you. So yes, both men were alone and lonely (and cold, seems like) on Earth. And then, here, they had found a home and a family. In the expedition at large, in all the people in this small community, but most of all in each other. Everything McKay cared about is on Atlantis, so why does he decide to start recording a message with "several valuable insights" to "humanity in general"?

Even though he remembers his sister toward the end of his recording session and does record a heartfelt message to her reflecting what family means to him now that he has finally found one, that wasn't the motivation. When he started recording the message, he was recording it to SGC personnel, to the USAF, to which ever official would be going through the tapes, to Samantha Carter whom he was certain would be the one decoding the message (and not because he has any special attachment to her but because she's an USAF officer that he happens to know; and a woman at that). He starts recording the message for (although not to) Sheppard.

This is pretty much confirmed by the fact that Ford asks Zelenka: "You didn't say anything that would require security clearance, did you?" reminding us of the fact that unless the recipient has the proper security clearance, they could not say anything classified on the message. McKay's entire message was full of things that would never pass a security check, off the bat he starts with describing their fight against the wraith "deep within the Pegasus galaxy". He knew there was no goddamn way anyone besides military personnel would be watching his video. It's entirely possible they never sent his message to his sister because it didn't pass the check as he had only remembered he had a sister half-way through recording all manner of crap designed never to pass the security check.

At the earlier meeting, he had reminded Sheppard of his position in the USAF. He knows perfectly well what kind of a situation they are in with regards to military regulations, and why Sheppard might be reluctant to want to contact Earth on official business. If he has to act the part of Valentino to make it just a little bit easier for him, he can do that. He had been doing that long before he ever met Sheppard. But it isn't just for the eyes of military security but also for Weir, because of Weir, that he records the message. She basically cornered him here and let him know how strange it is that he would not want to send a message like the rest of them. That it was suspicious. That a normal person would want to "tell her that you're well--and that you miss her," like she told Ford. So it seems like he is forced to keep up appearances on several fronts, here.

And this is the context in which we must decipher his recorded message.

Continued in Pt. 3

[multiwreckedmess]

Entertain Me

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader

An idea i had for a cold chaebol version of Hongjoong who'd hidden his artistic side for the sake of his family and a failed writer who'd stolen his notebook of ideas and gotten famous off of them.

This is en-media-res, the reader is staying with Hongjoong to learn from him. She finds herself writing snippets of ideas but none of any worth and Hongjoong gets tired of it.

18+ below the cut. please do not interact if you are not for my own comfort thankssss.

not edited/beta'd if you cared.

TW/CW: fem reader, "darling" used once, under/unnegotiated kink.

"If you're going to write trash you might as well finish it." There's no arguing with Hongjoong when he's in this state. Eyes cold and jaw set he leads you by the scruff of your shirt to his study. "Clearly you lack proper motivation, that's my fault. I should've recognized that from the start."

There is a different chair sat in front of his typewriter, short and plain and wooden instead of the usual ornately backed throne. It isn't until you round the corner that you notice a contraption tied to the center of it.

"Remove your undergarments" He hisses, air smacking the shell of your ear and sending shivers down your spine. You splutter. "Hongjoong but-that's-I can-" "Did I ask?" His hand weighs heavily on your shoulder, waiting for you to comply. The weight doesn't drop as you reach underneath your skirt to tug at the cotton of your underwear. They aren't anything special, simple maroonish briefs not meant to be seen by anyone except yourself. Falling weightlessly to the floor you stand in their small puddle. "Pick them up and hand them to me."

You can't hide the wide-eyed shock that crosses your face, head snapping in his direction. "But they're-" Hongjoong gestures again, with his free hand palm up. An expectant pulse of flexed muscle, other hand heavier still on your body. The hand travels to your waist as you bend over to untangle your feet and scoop the flimsy cotton into your fist. "That didn't seem particularly difficult now, was it?" He coos with mock sympathy as he tucks your underwear neatly away. Guiding you by the strength in his arm to the chair, you can see the contraption better. What you originally thought was a curved cushion actually seemed more solid and shiny. A medium-ish conical instrument protruded upward, glistening in the lamp light. "Sit. On it." "Hongjoong-" "Don't play dumb. Light is waining and I don't have the patience. Sit or I'll make you. That choice, is yours. Darling," he practically snears as he places you palms down on the desk, chair pressed to the backs of your thighs.

Tentatively you perch yourself on the curved platform, you can't hope to hide the apparatus beneath your skirt, the way your thighs are forced open to accommodate the curve ensure that if the stem isn't within you, it would be noticable. He'd at least liberally lubricated it, the glide easy between that and your growing anticipation. Fully settled you bite your lips shut, unwilling to give him that satisfaction. "Do you know what I'm going to do?" "Do I ever know what you're going to do?" You volley back, uncaring of your predicament. Hongjoong giggles. You feel the buzz and lurch forward, top half spilling over onto the desk as your hands scrabble to find something to hold onto. "You're going to write. For every fifteen minutes that pass I increase the vibrations. You'll either finish your chapter or pass out. At this point I don't particularly care which." You clench on the apparatus. Shit. The motor turns off and you shoot him a glare. "It's not fair!" You protest. Hongjoong shrugs as he settles on the couch in front of the desk, laying casually back into the velvet with his knees akimbo. "You're staying here for free and I'm bored. Fair is fair. Entertain me."

[bardic-tales]

Happy Six Sentence Sunday. This is my submission for today's Creator Club challenge. The Creator Club aims to bring artists / writers together so we can celebrate each other's work. If you are interested, please see this post: Creator’s Club.

Rules: Post (approximately) six sentences from something you’re working on. If you aren’t ready to do that, add six sentences to your WIP.

I have been working off and on on Blood & Stardust, the FF7 fanon novel that I am creating for Fantasy Worlds Collide. I have three novels planned for this passion project that will follow alongside Bianca Moore and her journey as a celestial. This takes place after Mordecai sacrificed himself to protect Bianca and right before she met Sephiroth.

This is six-ish.

Content warnings: blood, body horror, death, demonic violence, extreme grief, gore, injury, loss of a loved one, murder, traumatic imagery, violence.

Bianca placed her shaky foot on the obsidian step above her current one, as she willed herself to move and place as much distance between herself and the way back to Earth as she could. Overhead, the star-drenched sky glimmered, two immense heavenly bodies whorled, and the crimson arms of a nebular spun and block out most of the inky sky.

Blood poured from underneath her cashmere sweater, soaking the soft egg-shell-colored material a ruddy, wet hue. The crimson life-fluid poured out of her stomach and landed in widening puddles on the ground as she ascended to the platform above, as well as leaving a trail through the abandoned city behind her.

Grief. Overpowering, paralyzing, choking grief bore down upon her. How could he choose her over himself?

“Go! Defy your destiny!” he commanded before he pushed her and that infernal sword into the rift which roared opened moments before the demonic lord, Asmodeus, grabbed him by the neck and ripped his throat out. Gore from her husband coated his claws and arms.

[rosewaterandivy]

tabernacle, reconstructed

Summary: tabernacle - house of worship, a dwelling place (archaic).

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, if you squint (it's really more of a character study)

WC: 1.2k

Warnings/Themes: 18 +, MINORS DNI. Graphic depictions of violence and sex. Psychological horror/trauma, memory loss, body horror, dark and sacrilegious themes, and mutual corruption.

A/N: please re-read the warnings/themes section above because this is not for everyone. if you can't watch a David Cronenberg film or have issues with any of the warnings above, please move along. and before you can ask, yes, this is a quasi-winter soldier!au

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not.

Enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist | currently spinning:

previous || next

November 1992

For as long as you can remember, there’s been a knife twisting inside of you. 

An ache.

Not debilitating, of course. But just uncomfortable enough to keep you alert and moving.

Stowing your weapon underneath your coat, you step lightly over the mangled bodies and puddles of blood against the gleaming tile floor of the mezzanine. 

A wet slice cuts through the air, a soft puff of air released as another body hit the floor. 

You wait at the entrance, watching droplets of cold rain flow down the glass door. You hear him before you see him, know his gait well enough by now to anticipate his movement. Hand finding home on his left arm, you allow yourself to be escorted into the dreary winter night.

Warmth flees from your hand, though the cool metal of his arm is hidden under his coat. Stolen from you like so much else; no matter.

He’s quiet after a job. Well, he’s more quiet than not, really, but especially so on this night for some reason. 

Passing under a streetlight you pause to adjust his cravat, lips moving imperceptibly. “Lovely job as always, mon lion.”

His mouth curls up, ever so slightly, bemused. “Much obliged, ma louve.”

The rasp of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, pitched lower to avoid suspicion and slightly hoarse from disuse. Your fingers smooth the silk fabric against the column of his throat, watching as he swallows. A brief close lipped smile and you’re off once more.

Into the cold Moscow night.

Someone has been trying to contact you.

The old woman at the pharmacy tells you as much and passes you a scrap of paper hidden under the palm of her hand. 

“Be careful, my dear,” she whispers over the crinkling plastic bag. 

You nod, pocketing the paper and make your way outside. 

The paper burns a hole in your pocket as you descend from the street to the subway platform. A quick case of the joint quells your nerves— just the 5 o’clock rush. 

Retreating to the back of the car, you pull a newspaper from your bag and set the note below the fold. 

Laika.

Your heart thuds in your chest as you read.

Tretyakov Gallery. 6 PM.

Committing the information to memory, you crumple the note and let it fall from your hand as your exit the car. It falls between the train tracks and will soon be demolished beyond all recognition. 

Everything, it seemed, was coming to a head.

December, 1989

Another stint of playing fake aristocrat and no one was the wiser. 

A month ago, as the Berlin Wall came down, the pair of you attended the Berlin Ballet’s production of Swan Lake. Regimes rose and fell everyday, and it didn’t matter. A simple change of leadership or economics wasn’t going to effect lasting change.

For something like that, more immediate action was required.

An easy mission, get in, get the intel, and get out or, stay for the ballet. Your first without a handler, a test of loyalty, if you will. How ready Moscow was to put its faith in the pair of you: the asset and his protege, the she-wolf and her lion, Adam and his Lilith.

“Entschuldigung.”

A man apologizes for bumping into you at the bar. Tall and broad, the faintest traces of 5 o’clock shadow coming in. 

You partner catches your eye from across the lobby, brows furrowed in concern— hazel eyes bordering on molten gold in the light. 

A nod and a smile to both men, assuring one of your safety and the other of your attention.

“Not at all,” you murmur back in English, ear catching the slight clipped nature of his speech. A dead giveaway to the trained ear. “What’ll you have?” 

He doesn’t seem to catch your meaning. You nod to the bar expectantly.

“Oh, uh, vodka.”

Turning from him, you order and turn back to the American. 

“Far from home, no?”

He laughs, “Surprisingly, not the farthest.”

“Oh?” Your palm meets the crisp edge of the highball glass as you pass it to him. “A world traveler, are we?”

He sips without the expected flinch. “Something like that.”

And then, the American does something very interesting indeed.

September 1990

Robin has always had a knack for languages. Took joy in the simple pleasure of a new conjugation or well honed nasal inflection, rolled r’s, and an indiscernable accent.

It only made sense that she’d pursue languages in college. What was unexpected is that the CIA would take notice. They first made contact while she was working through her capstone in Slavic languages when Hop showed up during office hours.

“Hey kid,” he greeted, in his usual unassuming slouch. As it turned out, he’d been working with the Feds for longer than the party had realized. A quid pro quo for keeping El safe and out of the government’s hands— you do this for us, and the girl will be safe.

“Y’know,” she replies, turning from her reading, “You don’t look like a Ralph Emerson from Russian 101 to me.”

“You caught me.” Hop says shutting the door, settling into the club chair in front of her desk. “Got some news for ya.”

“Really?”

She tries not to let her eagerness show through, learned through hard, long years to keep the hope at bay.

He nods and slides a worn paper across the desktop.

Murray’s cramped handwriting is discernable enough, to the trained eye.

S.H. = KGB asset; per LAIKA

The breath Robin had been holding stutters out.

“D-does this mean—”

“We don’t know,” Hop allows, “Yet, at least.”

“Who’s Laika?”

He prizes the note from her fingers, “That’s classified, junior.”

She bristles at the name, “I have a badge y’know.”

“So do I.”

It wasn’t much, not by a longshot. But if this Laika’s intel was sound, then there was hope.

November 1992

The American met you at the gallery, as planned. Extricating yourself from your partner, however, was more of a trial than you’d bargained for.

“C’mon darlin’,” he drawled from the bedroom, sheets rumpled about his waist and hair askew, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Just stay in bed,” he takes another drag, smoke plumes falling from his ruddied mouth. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know you would, pодной,” you step out from the bathroom securing a necklace around your neck. “But I can’t get out of it.” Pausing in front of him, you turn your back and ask, “Zip me up?”

He begrudgingly obliges you and promptly pulls you into his lap. His right arm snakes up to splay his hand against your collarbones, a warm comfort you know is meant to sway you. 

Turning in his grasp, you smile and brush an errant lock of hair from his face. “I won’t be but a moment,” you promise, plucking the cigarette from his lips and taking a drag for yourself. 

You allow yourself a moment to study him. Bed-mussed hair, longer and darker in the winter, framing his chiseled face. Hazel eyes, always quick, with a halo of gold. Stubborn skin clinging to the vestiges of summer, the faintest hint of bronze coloring him. And kiss-bitten lips, your handiwork, naturally.

“I’m doing this for us,” you say, passing the cigarette back to him and moving to rise.

He cocks his head in interest, eyes flitting down your form. “Okay malishka,” he allows, pressing a kiss to your wrist. “I’ll see you soon.”

Quickly turning toward the door, you reluctantly drop his hand and gather your belongings. You take a steadying breath before opening the door. 

See you soon.

If the American pulled through, that wouldn’t be true for long.

[cupidsarows]

Cupid's Arrows: Wind Beneath My Wings

Cast:

Blaze-Black-Love To Hate

Otto-Yellow-Familial Love

Sylvia-Purple-Shallow Love

Ike-Green-Objective Love

Pheobe-Blue--Platonic Love

Rowan-Red-Romantic Love

Mr. C-Cupid

Chapter 1

“Shit fucking damn it, no no. Nonononono”

“Cupid? Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Sylvia halted as one of her low heels stuck to the viscous liquid on the floor.

“Is… that what I think it is?”

Cupid nodded weakly from he was curled on the floor and Sylvia’s face constricted into some combination of despair or queasiness as she helped Cupid up. A large gash ran down his shoulder, soaking into the white of his coat. That was the source of the puddle. It was so much for one being, almost too much.

“Ok, here’s what we’re going to do, I’m going to go get Ike, he’d be better at this I think. You stay put- “

Cupid let out a shaking sob.

“Right, I guess you can’t really do anything else. Uhm, ok then.”

As Sylvia took off running something like adrenaline filled her and next thing she knew she burst into Ike’s room.

“Ike I need your help, do you have any medical supplies?”

Chapter 2

It was going to be ok, Ike had been able to patch up Cupids arm, it would probably heal soon. Cupid hadn’t had to tell the story for Sylvia to piece together what must have happened. She shuddered as she thought about it.

“I’m worried, what could’ve happened between Rowan and Cupid? Is it my fault? I woke him up, he chased after them…”

The rest of what Sylvia was going to say was muffled by the fabric of her lavender hoodie as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve. She knew the result was, but the question of what had really happened was eating at her.

Ike sniffed solemnly from where he was squatting against a pillar. He didn’t shift his gaze from the point in space ahead of him but his hand found Sylvia’s with a soothing calmness.

“For the record, I don’t think it’s your fault. Rowan’s always been loyal to Cupid, you couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“Ike, thank you, just, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s what friends are for.”

Chapter 3

“Really? Wow, good for him.”

Blaze smirked at the horrified look Sylvia made in response to his comment.

“Not funny Blaze, please don’t tell Otto or Pheobe, they’d be destroyed, just say Rowan’s in his room ok?”

Blaze held up his hands in a show of good faith.

“I won’t tell them, but c’mon, Cupid had it coming.”

Before Sylvia could tell Blaze off for this remark a shout rang out from the doorway that they were standing outside of.

“Cupids awake! I better go!”

Blaze did a sarcastic salute as Sylvia hurriedly opened the door and tried to calmly walk inside.

She couldn’t remember ever being inside Cupids room now that she though about it. It was enormous, larger than everyone’s rooms combined. It was also made of white marble, at first Sylvia had wondered if this was simply a continuation of Cupids domain that she hadn’t been in before but he had insisted on coming here specifically.

Cupids room consisted of a seemingly endless hallway of pillars supporting a large slab of concrete that looked as though it could fall and squash Sylvia like a bug at any time. The floor underneath the slab was covered in a white fur runner carpet that eventually, after what must have been minutes, led up several staircase steps to a simple white bed with an ornate, gold frame. It was here that Sylvia and Ike had left Cupid laying though the being was now sitting on the edge restlessly.

“Finally, what took you so long?”

“Sorry,”

Sylvia tried to catch her breath but failed as there was nothing on the platform she could lean against.

“Is something wrong?”

“I have a question,”

Sylvia was ready in an instant, Cupid needed her and she wouldn’t fail him.

“Do you trust me?”

The question caught her off guard, of course it did. As long as Sylvia had existed she had devoted herself to Cupid and his cause. It stung slightly, that he thought it was even possible for her to doubt him anymore. Sylvia didn’t say any of this however;

“I promise.”

Chapter 4

The pat of a hand on her shoulder as she understood what was being said,

The pat of her low heels on the rug walking away,

The pat of Rowan’s shoes as he had run after Cupid.

Had he been scared? Or did he have only violence on his mind? Did he even think about his family and friends when he tried to attack?

I have to do something

[carrotkayt]

Introduction, rabbit hole, personal note

Personally I've lost sense of what a feeling sounds like. I just know my sight to see the world is veiled by my ambivalence with being a part of it and that feels like something.

What trips me up is the words and phrases all smashed into 90 second videos, interfering with my ability to actually do anything because I'd rather watch than play, an unfamiliar game. All the words we have for brainwashing. Insemination, dogmatic, narcissistic, propaganda shoved down the opticals, spectacle.

The ironic, the hopeful, maybe this will help someone else while they go through the process, now I'm wondering if sharing actualizes what you're doing, and I'm afraid to share. Or if it just contributes to the fog. Discovering that this fog is a smoke filled consciousness echo, saying fix this fix that fix it. Inside a self righteous thunderdome for the entertainment of many, and the first platforms to live stream genocides.

Have you not experienced ego death? OH, its radicalizing, you have to see for yourself then maybe you'll understand where I'm coming from.

Am I being dramatic.

Whatever, I'm bothered.

Bothered by society, bothered by humanity, or the lack there of, fully aware that I'm bothered by my perception but I promise I've seen through others, brightly colored, softly toned, calm stone below the crisp and shallow puddle but still underneath it all, I come back here for a reason.

There's something with our psyche, a bug, a virus, an error alert you can't just hit X. Ultimately I feel like we could at least agree on that. We deal with these popups all day, in many different ways.

Ok ok, scroll past the rabbit hole or read me through

It's intermission during the show and we decide mid conversation to start remembering backwards all the things we had said. And its really fucking hard, like memory is weird enough and now it's being tested? But I really think it's necessary, and arguments are inevitable. And to get past it all we need to be is open with a filter, the rest is just the process, processing, in a perfect mind.

But were not, we don't have perfect minds, we don't live in a perfect world, I haven't been able to re trace a conversation without yelling since the first time I tried when we were like 10 or something.

So what if we're required, to stop and listen, hear the experiences around me, its not just mine that weighs when I'm crying, there are so many of us and we all have our own to share.

Small set backs you re-calculate and re code, continue with the day. Within that we have different understandings of a small set-back.

But harsher road blocks are placed systemically for us to go through together because how the hell can a mind be well, when you have a piece of it brutalizing and dehumanizing itself with its apparently gained power? I know we can do this to ourselves everyday in small ways.

And how are we supposed be okay with this as reality! It's so easy to close your eyes when the worst isn't happening to you. The thing is there's a worse state of being that you just thought of, or you might agree that it's a malfunction to normalize the effects of poison without treating it's sickly condition. A trick of the mind.

We rationalize our misfortunes under the pretense that one is better then one, then dare to say we deserve what we have because of who I am. And who are you?

The child of a mother of a mother of a mother, where do you think I came from?

I'm going to share a corner of grief, because under the screen under the stars under the eye lids and empty hellos, I'm really fucking lonely.

I noticed you in my fear of connection, reconnecting, wanting to connect.

I've deleted, blocked and removed myself from all social platforms at least 3 times, and in just that moment of humiliation erased every number, every face, every voice, every friend that ever existed within a 10 year sphere of community. Which sounds just digital but it showed me how badly I keep in touch. That has something to do with being seen, and everything to do with seeing myself. Why is that so disgusting. 12th house sun? 1st house rising? Probably my Mercury in Pisces, something aspects around and around this deep dark pit and it makes me so fucking difficult to be around.

They tried to teach me but I don't think I understand.

And I think that's what I am most pissed off about. From the age of diapers, according to my mom, I had an expression of no fucking way are you gonna control me. Have charge over me. And with that one moment I became free to destroy myself as long as it was safe.

As long as someone could watch.

As long as someone knew.

And I never got prepared to protect myself.

With all the appreciation and gratitude I owe my parents, and the adults that raised me in tandem, and the blessing of a life I was gifted into, today I still I have to stop myself from blaming every figure that just watched me as I walked myself off a fucking cliff.

I was a kid, why wouldn't anyone stop me. Or why didn't they know? I guess they tried in they're own way, even today the way people help doesn't seem to get though my thick ass skull. So it really is still.. me huh.

Because I knew EXACTLY what I was setting myself up for, it just happened to be rooted in slowly slowly slowly ruining myself, my ambition, my hopes, my dreams, my goal was never to succeed, not in a new smart gifted way it was to ruin myself so I could at least now, finally, have a concrete reason for why I just cant get it done.

And that's going to be a whole conversation about privilege.

Right now I just feel failed by myself and anyone who could have guided me. Even typing I'm thinking fuck! I should take it all back!

And this is the feeling, so maybe to forgive myself and everyone else I have to be okay with this feeling. Because I know things now, and I knew parts then, but I stayed quite, silent, dismissive, and willing to see what would happen. Which sounds a lot like eating the poison.

But I don't know where I am now, 10 years have passed and in a very very strange way, I'm back where I started, with a twist, and it's kind of laughable, and I am maybe enjoying this, but there is a lot, a lot to talk about.

[keyn-jender-bite]

The Evening has Truly Become The Night in this Big Dark City

part one part two part three

The education district was suspiciously quiet when I ascended from the subway platform. I myself never attended higher education, but it was my understanding that university kids liked to party, and party hard. There was nobody visibly or audibly partying anywhere in the vicinity this particular dark and foggy evening.

Did I fail to mention it had become quite foggy? Well, it had. It was the kind of ambient fog a rock-solid private dick like me just craves. We're creatures of the fog, private detectives. It's not just an aesthetic thing either. There's something casually magical about a nice, thick, pea-soup fog that gives us gumshoes strength.

I breathed it deep into my nostrils, pulled my collar up around my neck and began to slink towards campus.

The large brick buildings of the City University loomed darkly in the night, lit scarcely by lampposts, themselves haloed in the fog and surrounded by fluttering moths. My footsteps echoed on the cobbled sidewalks, splishing a little in the shallow puddles gathered between the bricks.

I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I figured I would know it when I saw it, and thankfully I didn't have to wander too long before saw it I did.

The sign in front of the building was slightly obscured by clinging ivy, but clearly enough I could read "Marvin Chestermarvin Laboratory for Applied Theoretical Electrics and Mysterious Plumbing." This must be the place. I circled the exterior, looking for a less obvious entrance than the front door, which might be a bit too conspicuous for the purposes of snooping around.

There are different kinds of snooping. The snooping I partake in is functionally and physically different from the type of snooping that a cat burglar might employ, for example. Their form of snooping usually involves more creeping, skulking and especially sneaking.

I don't skulk. I've never skulked in my adult life and you're not likely to ever find my skulking unless I've fallen on hard times and it's required of me for work. There but for the grace of God and paying clients go any of us.

Around the rear of the building I found the perfect entrance into which I might snoop appropriately. The Lab had a small loading dock with a corrugated lift gate through which I'm sure various pieces of equipment and pallets of raw materials were loaded in. These cheap style of gates were notorious for locking insufficiently, a weakness that I intended to exploit, and did.

Using a nearby crowbar I was able to lever the bottom of the gate up until I could spot the poorly-designed hook latch. Employing a nearby tire iron, I manipulated the hook out of its housing and raised the gate just enough for me to wriggle underneath it like a hag fish in a trench-coat.

I was in.

Fishing the small flashlight out of my coat pocket, I clicked it on with a flick of the button and slowly padded up the stairs of the loading dock, through a heavy steel door into the hallways proper.

The wide, tall halls were constructed of marble, with columns supporting the vaulted ceiling above. The classrooms and offices were clearly labeled with small copper plaques, announcing their room number and the typical use-case for the space within.

An eerie quiet permeated the dark halls. Ghostly light seeped in through the windows to cast wiggly reflections on the imperfect floor. I could nearly hear my own beating heart in the silence.

A placard informed me the theoretical electrician offices were up a floor, with an arrow pointing to a broad staircase. I crept up slowly, keeping my feet precise and muted.

At the top of the stairs was a T-junction. To the right was a large lab filled with esoteric equipment, the purposes of which completely eluded me. To the right was an office door, shut and mercifully labeled: "Dr. Morose, office hours M-W 9-3."

A quick try at the doorknob confirmed my suspicions, the office was locked. Surely it would pose no challenge for me and my little lock picking kit.

Kneeling in front of the door I slid my favorite pick into the key-way, employing a 2 thousandths thick turning tool and a slightly hooked wave rake. A bit of fiddling solved the problem with a gratifying "click", allowing the door to swing freely open with a slight creak.

The air inside Klevin's office was musty and stale, with a hint of something I couldn't yet place. The soft circle emanating from my flashlight prowled the walls and furniture, seeking out items of interest. It was all pretty stock stuff—a desk with a comfortable-looking chair, filing cabinets, book cases, etc.

"Where did you go, professor?" I asked under my breath, scrutinising the books and papers which littered the space. Exploring their desk, I thumbed through the notebooks and folders thereupon, seeing nothing of particular import.

Sliding the primary drawer open, a small black notebook caught my eye. I fished it out and flipped it open. it appeared to be a diary or journal of sorts.

Most of the entries were pretty banal stuff, notes about classes, students and faculty. Petty inter-departmental drama and the like. An entry towards the end of the book jumped out at me for the speed with which it looked to have been scrawled.

"September - I know I'm being followed now. I suspected as much but now I have proof. I don't know to whom I might confess this. I can't be sure who else is in on it. It might have to do with the grant? No. Don't be stupid Klevin, it's the work. It's the EMF Drive. He wants it. I should have known it was him. A and L mustn't know, they would spiral with worry. I have to find more proof before accusing him or I could be disbarred. Talk to JD, they might be able to help."

That was the last journal entry. I closed the book and sat in Klevin's chair, my brow crinkled. Maybe they had been kidnapped by a rival in the college? Were A and L Aurora and their other partner? Who is JD? What on Earth was the EMF Drive and why would somebody want it? And what was that smell?

It was strongest here, at their desk, especially in their chair.

"We warned you, Magistrate!" a harsh voice suddenly screamed from the open doorway.

My reaction time was just quick enough to save my life. I flipped backwards in the chair just as the pistol fired, clipping Klevin's desk and sending a stack of papers flying into shreds.

I ducked behind the large desk, keeping my head down and kneeling. I couldn't see who was in the door, but I could hear them pull the trigger of their gun and the unmistakable sound of a misfire.

"Cribbage!" they hissed, followed by the metallic sliding sounds of a revolver chamber ejecting for hasty inspection.

Now was my chance. I wasted no time, vaulting over the desk head first. In one swift motion, I grabbed a dusty apple sitting on the table top and threw it at the would-be assassin's head, just winging their shoulder.

It was just enough to distract them. "Erk!" they croaked, grabbing their arm and twisting.

I attempted to jump off the desk and punch them, but a small pile of ungraded essays slipped beneath my shoes, sending me forwards ungracefully directly into the bookshelf beside my attacker.

I crashed through three shelves, sending tomes, treatises and various novels spilling onto the floor and at the shadowy figure, who was still stunned.

I managed to kick one leg out from under the pile of books, knocking the gun from their hand. "Hey!" they complained.

"Come here you!" I commanded, trying once more to heave myself into their stomach, only to trip on the same apple I had thrown at them moments before and careen face first past them and down the flight of stairs outside of the office.

My body tumbled head over buttocks down the first flight of stairs where I gracefully collapsed into a heap of books and papers. Struggling to my feet, I was just able to look up to see the figure jumping at me from the top of the stairs, brandishing a large, serpentine dagger.

"Hoooo!" they yelled.

My self defense instincts kicked in and I executed an imperfect round-house kick, tripping on the slick marble floor and falling backwards to perfectly hit my head on the windowsill behind me before blacking out just in time.

When I came to, I was alive. I raised myself up on my elbows, to survey my surroundings. I was still in the stairwell, books and papers were still strewn everywhere. The attacker was suspiciously absent.

Clambering stiffly to my feet, the situation became abundantly clear as I spotted the vaguely person-shaped hole in the nearby window. I peered out the shattered pane to the pavement below. Absent from the pile of glass was a body of any kind, or any other trace of the shadowy figure.

I sat down and rubbed the back of my head where a sizeable goose egg was already growing. Now I had a sliver of an inkling as to what was going on. Some puzzle pieces were falling into place. The shadowy figure had been wearing a long, dark robe, obscuring their features and body. I finally recognized the mysterious smell in Klevin's office as tarragon. The curved knife the assassin wielded was all too familiar in form and function.

I thought he was long dead, but these were the calling cards of my oldest nemesis and his weirdo cultists.

It seemed Warlock Geoff was back in town.

[mondaychildsworld]

I know the end - Joel x Reader

Previous chapter / Next chapter

Part Two / ?

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.1K

Chapter summary: starts off with a throwback about how Joel and reader met. The rest of the chapter is just really depressing, dealing with grief. Reader tries to make herself useful.

Warnings: mention of drugs, swearing, grief, arguments and some angst.

A/N: So here's chapter two!✌️ If you're reading this and enjoy it, or just have any feedback at all, don't hesitate to reach out! I would love to make some friends here on tumblr. This chapter was nice to write, as I felt like I got to dive a bit deeper into the history. Next chapter will be bring more action!

Almost forgot my tiny taglist haha! Here you go @boofy1998

April 2nd 2021 / Throwback

It rains. Of course it fucking rains. The jacket isn’t keeping him either warm or dry. He’s drenched. The gravel on the ground is not really helping, the rain creates small puddles and makes the whole street into a muddy mess. Joel sighs and tries to wipe away the raindrops running down his forehead. The rain soaked his hair, the wet curls on his head dripping down onto him. It’s a bit depressing really. 

The group of people around him all wait for the same thing. Everyone looks indifferent about both the weather and the task. At least it’s canned food and medical supplies today. Tomorrow it could be dead bodies instead. It’s the little things in life, he thinks to himself. As if it mattered. The group of people are all waiting for the daily deliveries, even though it's not much. This job won’t give much credits either, but it was the only one available for today. 

He shifts his weight and moves away from the puddle underneath him. Surrounding the group are a couple of FEDRA guards. Probably only there to make sure that anyone from the group doesn’t try to steal anything. 

Then the trucks finally arrive. The faster they unload, the faster they get out of this shit weather. Two trucks drive around the corner and park on the opposite side of the small parking lot. The driver of the closest truck opens the drivers door and hops out. It’s a blonde woman. Hair in a low ponytail, the ragged coat reaches down to her knees and a pair of black boots covers her feet. 

She walks up to one of the closest FEDRA guards, making him sign a piece of paper. At that same moment, someone behind him shouts, “let’s get to work!”. The group starts moving towards the trucks, stumbling around the puddles. 

He gets to the opening of the truck, reaching for the closest box of supplies. As he moves back to the platform for the goods intake he glances down. The heavy box is filled with medical supplies. Bandages, lots of packages with the big text ‘sterile’ printed over them, and pills. There’s pills. There was a time when he didn’t need them. Now they’re essential. Could he take a couple without the guards noticing? It’s probably too big of a risk, with all the FEDRA guards around watching their every move. A bit ironic, Joel figures, as he recognizes a handful of them as his customers. It’s either the nightmares, or a way bigger punishment than deserved, for just stealing a couple of pills. 

He decides that it’s not worth it. Tess hasn’t been home for a couple of days, and he’s starting to get a bit worried. Not that he would ever confess it. Not to anyone. Definitely not to Tess. If something happened to her, now is not the time to get in trouble with FEDRA. 

He puts the box down on its assigned place. Takes one last look at the pills before he returns back to the truck. On the way back, he gets a better view of the driver. He recognizes her. He’s seen her before, on the streets of the QZ. He’s seen her with other people, nodding and discreetly trying to deal drugs. 

He knows, because he does the same. Usually it’s him who just does the dealing, not using them. Well, that last part is just a lie to himself. Of course he uses them. He doesn’t want to admit it. But at the lowest points in life, when his whole soul hurts too much, it happens that he takes a couple of pills. But he’s not an addict, he doesn’t need them like others do, he tries to tell himself. He’s just dealing. But his guy has gone silent since a couple of weeks back.

Maybe… he hesitates and picks up a box of canned ravioli. He makes his way through the mud, towards the pile of the other boxes of food. He makes up his mind, and walks back to the truck after he puts the box of food down on the platform. He focuses on the driver, who stands next to her truck, making a few marks in her notebook. 

“Hey, uhm. Do you happen to know what cargo comes in tomorrow? I’m on the same shift as today… so… yeah” he says once he’s gotten closer to her. The woman looks up, and their eyes meet. Her eyes look tired. Despite the icy blue color, there’s some kind of warmth in them. Like a small hint of kindness.

“Not the fun one. It’ll be… infected… I’m afraid…” she answers with an apologetic smile and blinks a couple of times. Heavy raindrops soaks the pages of her notebook, before she shuts it close.

“Alright.” Joel glances over to the remaining pile of medical equipment and pills in boxes inside the truck. “You don’t happen to… ehm…” 

She studies him while he shifts his weight to his other foot, planting his hands on his hips. 

“You know, I’ve seen you. Dealing. I need some of those pills.” he says quietly. She looks around, peeks behind his shoulder over to the closest guard. He’s not looking in their direction.  

“As I said, I’m driving tomorrow too. Have your cards ready and I’ll make it happen” she says and turns around and gets back into the driver's seat of the truck.

He nods to himself, keeping his eyes on her until she closes the driver's door and disappears out of sight. He takes a few steps back. Rubbing his hands together and quickly looks around at the guards. No one seemed to notice their conversation. He turns around and gets back to work, relieved that he’ll get a good night's sleep tomorrow. Although, good might be a stretch. At least it’ll keep the nightmares away.

November 17th 2023

You wipe away the tears from your face. The last couple of days have been hard. You’ve pulsed your way through the snow for hours and hours on end. Your whole body hurts but you don’t want to complain to anyone. That way you’d just seem weak, and Joel would probably leave you all alone in these wintery woods. As was his intended plan, from the beginning. 

The sun starts to set. It’s still pretty early, but winter always comes with a shorter span of daylight. Soon you’ll have to stop and find some kind of shelter for the night. That's probably the only thing that motivates you at the moment. You’ve been walking pretty much non stop for the last 3 days. In the beginning you didn’t feel a thing. Every part of your body felt numb. There was no point in stopping, your feet didn’t hurt, your joints didn’t ache, you weren't even thirsty. Now, when the shock slowly but surely wears off, you feel like shit. There’s a pain in your knees that wasn't there before, and your feet feel as heavy as if they were made out of stone. And let’s not get started on your back. You guess this is what grief does to the body. It weighs you down and tries to crush you into the ground. 

Ahead of you walks your new found companions. Joel leads the way, with Ellie right behind him. Every so often she turns her head around to see that you’re keeping up. She has a worried look on her face, she tries to conceal it, but you’re no fool. You know you look like a mess. 

After a couple of minutes Joel stops and looks around the edge of the forest, his eyes landing on a small indent of a big rock. It’s not a cave, but some sort of protection against the wind. The opening faces the valley beneath you, where a river snakes its way through the landscape.

“That’ll do.” He says and shuffles his way over to your spot for the night and pulls out his map from his backpack.

Ellie stands still, waiting for you to catch up. The hair that sticks out of her beanie sways softly in the brisk wind. 

“You okay?” She asks when you reach her side. You put your arm around her shoulders. 

“Yeah, let’s get us settled here.” You answer and start walking over to Joel with Ellie close by your side. Yesterday, she grew tired of the depressing, quiet hike the three of you had going on. She had pulled out a book containing bad puns. Joel just muttered and didn’t seem to find it too amusing. But for you, it was a nice change, to not think about your sister for a moment. You didn’t laugh at her jokes, but you didn’t protest, as Joel could do when he decided he’s had enough.

The two of you put your backpacks down next to Joel, where he’s hunched down over his map with a concentrated face. 

“Over there,” He says and points at the west side of the valley before he continues. “Should be Cheyenne. It’s smartest for us to find a truck, and the biggest chance of us doing that is in the city.”

Ellie hovers over his shoulder and looks down at the map where Joel has his finger pointed to the closest city.

“Che-” She starts. “Cheyenne?”

“That’s right.” Joel mumbles. 

“What a weird name.” She says and makes a funny face. “Is it close?”

“It’s a long hike, but it’s our best plan,” He says as he folds the map together to put it back in his backpack. “Unless we want to freeze to death.”

It is cold. You’ve been sleeping under the stars for a couple of nights now. It’s not ideal, but you didn’t have a choice. You’ve gotten far away from the raiders, so you guess you were pretty safe here. But no one's safe from cold weather. You didn’t have as much packed as Joel and Ellie. The first night, Joel and Ellie slept in their sleeping bags. You didn’t have one, so you just laid right on the cold ground, with your backpack as a pillow. It was freezing. You had been shuddering all night long. The second night, Ellie forced Joel to lend you his sleeping bag, since he insisted on staying awake and patrol the whole night anyway. 

Ellie and Joel got up to collect some twigs and such from some of the fig trees, to put on the frozen ground for you all to sleep on. You watched them march away, into the forest. You could hear their distant voices. Ellie enthusiastically tells him something. Wait, what was that? You got a glimpse of Joel's face as he turned it to the side to look at Ellie. Was that a smile? He tells her something back and they disappear behind the trees. 

Even Joel Miller found someone who could put a smile on his lips. Hell, that made you feel even more lonely. The loss of your sister still didn’t feel real. You couldn’t really comprehend that she was gone. Still you felt a hole inside of you from the moment you heard the gunshot. A piece of you was definitely missing. You had been together since the day you were born. You had shared the same womb. And now you have to continue without her. It felt impossible, like you lost a limb. It wasn’t fair. That you had to keep going, that you had to age. Growing older day by day. But her journey has stopped. She won't live to see another sunrise. But you had to painfully wake up every morning to see the first rays of sun light up the tree tops above you. With the realization that you were all alone, and would be for the rest of your life. Everyone that mattered was gone. Everyone met their end. Except you. 

You didn’t want to end up alone. But the odds were against you. Somehow the thought of your sister made you realize something. You reached down to your backpack. You digged around for a small object. Something your sister gave you on her last day of life. Before you went out to hunt she gave you a fire steel. You had declined, telling her you would be back soon. She had already given you the rifle. But she insisted, saying that if you got lost on your hunt, you should at least be able to make a fire. You had reluctantly accepted the fire steel. You had given Julie a kiss on top of her head, promising you’d be back soon. 

You looked down on the piece of metal in your hand. You knew you had been slowing down the group these last couple of days. It was time to prove yourself useful. 

First, you had to get rid of the snow on the ground. You started to kick at the layer of the packed snow on the ground with your boot to get to the frozen ground. You knew the snow would just melt into water and kill the fire if you tried to light it on top. You got down on your knees, scoping away the snow. Your breath created a misty cloud in front of you. Soon, you decided it was good enough and started to collect some wood to burn. Fortunately it was pretty easy, you broke off some twigs from nearby trees. Collecting everything that didn't look like it was soaked. 

You built up the wood just like your father had taught you when you were young. Once you were happy, you pulled out your knife and the fire steel. 

“Come on now, don’t fail this.” You mumbled to yourself as your shaking hands started to work on the fire steel. You dragged down the steel a couple of times with the knife without any success. You remembered what your dad had taught you. You had to do it at the absolute right angle and pressure. You took a deep breath and focused on your task. A few attempts later and there was a spark. To not let the spark die out you put your hands close to it, protecting it from the wind. 

A couple of minutes later, you had a proper fire. You felt good about your achievement. Soon Joel and Ellie would be back, and you hoped this would be a welcomed surprise. 

You were right.

“Woah! Do we have a fire?!” You could hear Ellies excited voice as they got close to the campsite. You saw her skip towards you and the campsite between the trees. She drops her armful of fir branches right in front of you and howers down. She tugs her gloves off and starts warming her hands. “This is fucking nice.”

Joel drops his findings of branches next to Ellies and starts fixing a good base for you to set up your sleeping bags on. 

“So, do you have any more secret qualities we should know about?” He mutters without even looking at you.

You don’t bother answering him if he continues to be grumpy towards you. He has barely said a word to you since you were on the train.

“Oh, shut up Joel, don’t be such a party pooper.” Ellie says with a smirk. 

“No, but really, if you had the tools for making a fire all this time why didn’t you say anything?” He asks and looks up to you. Eyes narrowed. 

“I just remembered.” You start, apologizing. “I’m sorry, my mind has just been on Julie…” 

“Like we all haven’t lost people, huh?” He quickly answers. “But that doesn’t-”

He doesn’t get to end that sentence. Ellie cuts him off.

“Just shut it and be happy Joel!” She snaps. “What if you lost Tommy? Wouldn’t you be out of it for a while too?”

“No.” He says angrily. “Don’t say one more word.”

There’s a silent argument between the two. Ellie rolls her eyes and Joel sighs. The rest of the night is quite uneventful. You heat up some cans of beans over the fire. Quietly dine on the tasteless beans. At least they’re better warm than half frozen. The darkness felt a little bit more distant, with the warm light from the fire. 

The sky is free from clouds, allowing the stars to shine brightly over the three of you. Ellie plays around with her pocket knife while both you and Joel stare into the fire. Occasionally you lift your gaze to steal a glimpse of the man in front of you for a couple of seconds. He looks harshly into the fire. Jaw clenched shut. You wonder if he always was like this. Before the outbreak, was he this hard-nosed and unwelcoming? You tried to guess what he did for a living. Finding all of the options you come up with, hard to believe. He had no medical experience, you knew. He seemed too unpleasant to ever work in retail. Customer service wouldn’t be his best skill. Did he have any higher education? You didn’t.

Julie was the smart one. She was the one with a degree. You were in your mid twenties but still figuring your life out. Always felt a bit behind. All your friends got engaged, graduated from fancy colleges and universities, started a career or bought a house. You still tried to manage your life working some hours here and some hours there. You even had to move in with your sister in Chicago because life got tough. But then things started to turn around. You actually got a good work opportunity, and had started dating someone. He was kind, athletic and shared your interest in film. You used to rate the movies you saw during your date nights at the cinema. Discussing the plot afterwards on your walk back to his apartment. 

He didn’t last long after the outbreak. It was the only love you had experienced in your short lived life before the world turned upside down. It didn’t last long, so you didn’t really miss him. You had the occasional lover over the years though. But life in the QZ was even more complicated, so those flings were even more short-lived. And now, twenty years later you’ve just given up on finding someone. The biggest task was staying alive anyway. 

That didn’t stop you from eyeing the man in front of you. He was a little bit older than you, but still good looking. Despite his sour and vigilant personality. You wondered where Tess was. They were always side by side. You decide to ask.

“So… where’s Tess?” You ask as cautiously as possible. 

“We don’t talk about Tess.” Joel says strictly. Dodging any kind of further conversation on the topic. You press your lips together to a thin line and slowly nod. This will be a long night.

Suddenly Ellie flinches a bit and stops fidgeting with her knife. She gets up from her comfortable spot in her sleeping bag in front of the fire. She points towards the pitch black horizon.

“Look!” She exclaims.

Both you and Joel turn your heads to where she’s pointing. You squint your eyes in the darkness, not really seeing anything. 

“It’s really vague but look, it’s there!” She says excitedly and you try to focus your eyes on the dark sky. You sense that Joel has the same problem as you, squinting into the pitch black. It’s been a long time since you had your eyesight checked. You wonder what you’re supposed to be looking at. 

A moment later, and there it is. A small flutter of green in the far distance. It slowly grows stronger and stronger. 

“Northern lights.” Joel confirms and shifts into a better position.

You remember the first time you saw the northern lights. You had been out of state with your sister. You had stayed in a cabin, right before the time when fall hits you with an explosion of colored leaves. You had just made yourself ready for bed. Julie was reading a book on the couch and you glimpsed outside the window, just to see the northern lights. You had excitedly put your jackets on outside of your pajamas, hopped in the car and drove a couple of minutes away to the closest lookout. You had stood there for over an hour, watching the green magic dance over your heads. 

Ellie stands there, mesmerized with the natural phenomena happening right before you over the valley. Despite the ugliness there is in the world, mother nature decides to reward you with her beauty today.

You look over to Joel for a second, only to meet his eyes. It’s just for a brief moment. He had been studying you, as you watched the northern lights. You suddenly felt a tear rolling down your cheek. He looks away as he realizes that you caught him, and you embarrassingly wipe away the tears. You didn’t even realize that you were crying. 

After a while Ellie resorts back to her sleeping bag. After about ten minutes she’s fast asleep. She must be exhausted after the long hike you’ve been doing the last couple of days. You were too. But you couldn’t get yourself to climb into the sleeping bag and let the crackling of the fire slowly rock you into sleep. Because your dreams were haunted. You decide to stay awake for a little bit more. You're lazily looking at Joel. His features look softer in the warm light of the fire. The strands of silver shine like gold in the light. This time it’s Joel who catches you staring. So you try and take the opportunity of the moment and talk.

“Who’s Tommy?” You ask softly. Joel keeps his gaze on you.

“Tommy’s my brother.” He answers flatly. 

You nod silently. He doesn’t open up for any further conversation, so you take it into your own hands. 

“I know you didn’t want to talk about it. But I actually knew her too, a bit.” You say in the most considerate way you could. “Please, where’s Tess?”

He stares annoyingly at you. Like he’s already had enough. But there’s a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes too. He takes a deep breath before he starts.

“She got bit." He says, and continues. “Her last wish was to…”

He trails off and lowers his gaze. You give him a reassuring look once he looks up again. The fire starts to die out. He leans forward and pokes a bit in it with a stick laying close by. He blows life into the fire and then pauses as he contemplates how much he should share.

“Her last wish…” He sighs and stares into the fire once more. “She made me promise to keep Ellie safe, before she died. And I’m trying to find Tommy.”

“He’s out here?” You ask.

“Somewhere.”

“Oh.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before you open your mouth again. Shivering a bit from the cold. 

“So why were Ellie with you and Tess from the beginning?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He snaps back. 

“Oh, why are you so grumpy? You should be a little bit more grateful. I’m the one who made your life way easier back in the QZ, remember?” You give him a stern look but he just glares back. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have any stash with you, don’t you?” He says like he’s trying to prove a point. “Because if you did you wouldn’t have those nightmares.”

You freeze. Apparently he’s heard you whimper and cry in your sleep. It’s the same dream over and over again. In different forms, but always the same outcome. You, losing Julie. Always reaching for her, but you never get to her. It’s like you’re running the fastest you ever could, but make no progress. She’s always slipping between your fingers. And then you wake up, face wet from the tears. But you always wipe them away before Joel or Ellie wakes up or notices. Or, so you thought. 

“Fuck you.” You simply say, as your bottom lip starts to tremble a bit. You blame the cold. 

“Ditto.” He says, and turns his gaze back to the fire. 

You crawl into his sleeping bag that ironically smells of him. Give him one last glare before you roll around so your back faces the fire and him. You take the opportunity when he no longer sees you. You don’t hold it in anymore. Tears stream down your face and you just let them roll down without wiping them away. You cry yourself to sleep, under the stars and the northern lights.

[taughtcruelty]

tory stands in the ensuite bathroom of their bedroom, dressed in her halloween costume. she leans closer to the mirror, carefully applying her signature dark red lipstick, the vibrant color perfectly contrasting with her lighter red outfit. she’s noticeably taller—her sparkling silver platform boots give her an extra five inches of height. in all honesty, she can’t quite fathom how the hell ethan managed to find the exact outfit & boots (or maybe he made them with his powers?), especially since the cutout red hearts match her dark, rich shade of red lipstick perfectly.

but she won’t question it too heavily; given ethan’s penchant for going all out, she wouldn’t be surprised if the glittering crystals on her outfit & the silver details on her boots are real. they are—all swarovski crystals, hand-sewn by ethan. on the sheer tights with dark red lace accents that match her lipstick, tory’s initials—tdnw—are elegantly printed in cursive on the side of her left thigh, atop her snake & flowers tattoo, with a cursive print of “queen cobra” underneath. there’s a simple phrase in cursive, “taste me,” that adorns her right thigh atop her dreamcatcher tattoo, with a small heart extending out from the edge of the e.

as she carefully smooths the lipstick across her lips, tory glances at her phone when it pings with a message from paze, feeling excitement bubbling within her. she quickly replies with voice-to-chat, not wanting to mess up her current action. tonight’s party is going to be huge, & she wants everything to be perfect. @taughtpain is waiting just outside the bathroom door in their bedroom, & she knows that her fiancés are eager to see her in her full costume. just to keep the anticipation high, she had asked robby to have his back facing the door, so when she walks out, he won’t immediately see her outfit until he turns around. &, as per tory’s request, ethan hadn’t allowed any of their fiancés to peek at the outfit when it was finally completed—she wanted tonight to be their first look.

she can hear ethan fidgeting in the room next to their bedroom with miguel & sam, who are still getting ready. his loud “eldritch chirps,” as he calls them, sound strikingly similar to the endermen from minecraft. brandon used to play that game religiously when he was younger. the thought of ethan’s happiness brings a smile to tory’s face. even though he had been confused about halloween traditions, it’s nice to see that he agreed to come to the party at least, dressed up as a hyper-realistic slenderman. & as an bonus: he’s also wearing an all-black suit—& putting on mascara. tory’s pretty sure she might immediately melt into a puddle when she lays eyes on him.

sighing softly, she knows that she should probably hurry up, given the fact that their friends are all probably waiting for their group to arrive. they’ll be there soon; tory just wanted everything to look perfect.

“i’ll be out in a sec, babe!” she calls out to robby, adding a final touch to her blush before using her setting spray. she wants to make sure everything is flawless, feeling the need to impress her partners tonight, just as she does every time they go out.

she finishes her makeup & steps back, quickly surveying her reflection. the outfit hugs her curves in all the right places (with a deeper neckline as she’d requested), showing off only a portion of her tattoos that adorn her body. her hair is in perfect waves, flowing down her back. her heels also add a confidence boost to her posture. her engraved, diamond-encrusted cobra earrings glitter in the lights, as do her various queen crown (two) & snake rings (three), most of which are adorned with various colored rubies, ranging from light red to deep, crimson red.

on her left hand, her updated engagement ring sits snugly on her ring finger, & a queen crown ring graces her index finger. on her right hand, a bold double snake ring wraps around her middle finger, while her other queen crown ring rests on her ring finger & the final snake ring on her pinky.

she can’t help but smile at her reflection, setting down the mascara tube & putting the rest of her makeup in her drawer, closing it. tonight, ethan has swapped out the usual blue lapis lazuli gemstone in her engagement ring to match her all-red look. even with the change, the gemstone still functions as a silent panic alarm, which is completely fine with tory.

she has another outfit for tonight, but that’s a surprise for later.

quickly, she picks up her latest perfume obsession: her yves saint laurent black opium eau de parfum, & sprays two spritzes on her neck, one on each wrist, & one on the inside of each elbow. she takes a moment to admire her reflection, knowing that the fragrance & her outfit will leave a lasting impression as she steps into the party.

with her halloween costume preparations complete, tory places the perfume down & finally moves towards the closed bathroom door, her heels clicking with every step. she pushes the door open & leans against the frame, a seductive smile spreading across her face as she catches a glimpse of robby’s back, her heart skipping a beat in anticipation.

“ready to see what your girl is working with?” she teases, her green eyes sparkling with a playful, flirty mischief. “you can turn around now.”