#to be handled as vaguely and delicately as in this book

[lostandbackagain]

annoying people love telling you it's your fault if a book is confusing and boring

[badathumanemotions]

Out of Hand

Spencer Reid x Reader

MDNI Category: Smut CW: Fantasizing About a Co-Worker, Hand Kink, Finger Kink, Fingering, Light Nipple Play, Vague Reference to Masturbation. WC: 1,417

Reader is obsessed with Spencer's hands, so obsessed they can't stop fantasizing about how they'd feel. (Not Proof Read) It's been a really long time since I've written in 2nd person and it shows. Master List

You watch Spencer's fingers glide down the page as he reads. His eyes dart back and forth, absorbing the words of a book that has seen better days. Admire the way his brows furrow with intense concentration. You can't help but feel a little jealous of the ink and paper getting all of his attention.

Everyone else sees a sharp mind at work, but you see more. His hands are the real stars of the show. Long, slender, and graceful, they move with the delicate precision of a pianist. You find yourself lost in thought, picturing those same hands caressing your body.

You've never dared to let Spencer know about your secret fascination. It's not just his hands, it's the way he uses them— the way they gesture when he's explaining a complex theory, the gentle touch when they glide down pages, or the way they fidget when deep in thought.

It started out as just amusement watching his fingers danced wildly in the air while he spoke, mimicking the chaotic patterns of the synapses firing in his brain. The way his hands moved with such passion and conviction, as if conducting an invisible orchestra, was mesmerizing. You'd catch yourself smiling, lost in the rhythm of his gestures, until his words would snap you back to reality.

But then watching the way they could delicately touch, almost caress, the pages of his books shifted your thoughts to something less innocent. You found yourself wondering what those hands would feel like on your skin, tracing the contours of your body with the same tender precision they used to handle the smooth pages.

In the quiet of the night, you'd lay in your bed, heart racing, as you let your imagination wander. You'd imagine his fingers travelling down the hollow of your throat, feeling your pulse quicken beneath them. Your breath would catch as you pictured them moving further, tracing the swells of your breasts with a touch so light it could barely be felt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your mind's eye would follow his hand as it continued its journey, moving to the valley between your breasts, leaving a warmth that seemed to burn. His thumb would gently graze your sensitive peaks, eliciting a silent gasp from your lips. You'd arch your back, silently begging for more, as his fingers danced along the sensitive flesh, teasing and tormenting you with his touch.

Then, his hand would slip lower, tracing your soft stomach and swirling around your navel. His hand would linger there for a moment, as if he could feel the flutter of your stomach muscles, the desperate plea for him to explore further.

And then, the moment you've been imagining for so long would arrive. His fingers would dip into the warm, wet heat of your pussy, coating themselves in your arousal. You'd bite your lip to stifle a moan as you felt him gathering your slickness.

You could feel yourself growing wetter with every stroke, your body begging for more of his skilled touch. His thumb would find your clit, already swollen and begging for attention. You pictured his fingers, coated in your desire, bringing the slickness back up to your clit. He'd circle it gently, his touch feather-light, making you squirm with need.

As your arousal grew, so did the pressure of his touch. He'd be gentle at first, but you knew he'd know just when to get rough. You could almost feel the moment when his thumb would start to press down firmly, the pleasure building into a crescendo.

Your fantasy took you further, his fingers now pinching and rolling your nipples, tugging slightly, the sensation sending a shock through your body. You'd imagine the sharp intake of your breath as he twisted them, a silent scream of pleasure escaping your lips.

As the intensity grew, so did your desire to be filled by him. His long, graceful fingers would slip inside you, the sensation of his knuckles brushing against your inner walls making your eyes roll back. You longed to feel the stretch, the way his fingers would move in and out of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of a climax.

And then, the whispers would start. The things you'd imagine coming out of his mouth would be downright filthy. "You're so wet for me," he'd murmur, his voice low and husky with lust. "You want it, don't you?" In your mind, his voice grew more demanding, more possessive, as his hands worked their magic. "Tell me how much you want it," he'd say, his breath hot against your neck.

But even in your fantasy, you'd blush at the thought of the obscene sounds your body would make. You'd be too embarrassed to admit how much you enjoyed the way his fingers filled you, how your pussy clenched around them. Yet, Spencer, ever the gentleman, even in your darkest desires, would be unfazed. He'd lean in closer, his mouth against your ear, and whisper, "Don't be shy. It's just us here." A gentle reminder that you didn't need to be embarrassed.

You'd feel a thrill at the thought of his eyes, so sharp and analytical, studying your reactions. Cataloguing every twitch, every gasp, every shiver of pleasure that ran through your body as his hands. His mind, so adept at solving the most complex equations, would be focused solely on bringing you to new heights of ecstasy.

As if reading your thoughts, his fingers would move inside you, curling slightly to find that perfect spot. The moment they grazed it, your body would jerk, and you'd hold your breath, waiting for the next touch. And then, at just the right moment, he'd zero in on your G-spot, stroking it relentlessly.

You could feel the pressure building, your toes curling into the sheets. Each stroke of his fingers was like a spark, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure that had you teetering on the edge. And just when you thought you couldn't handle anymore, he'd bring his mouth to your clit, his soft, warm lips taking it between them.

You imagined the sensation would overwhelming, like nothing you'd ever felt before. His tongue flicking against you, mimicking the dance of his fingers, and your body responding in kind. The muscles in your stomach tightening, your chest heaving with each breath.

In your fantasy, you'd cum in seconds, the orgasm ripping through, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You'd imagine his smug smile, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you fall apart under his touch. You'd want to look away, embarrassed by your own vulnerability, but you couldn't.

Those fantasies never failed to make you cum in no time, leaving the sheets drenched in your arousal. Each fantasy was more intense than the last, his hands more skilled, his mouth more demanding.

Coming back to reality with a jolt, you realize you've been zoning out again. You're at work, not in the privacy of your own home. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realize you've been lost in thought, staring at Spencer for who knows how long. He looks up from his book, his eyes meeting yours, and you can't tell if he's noticed.

You give him an awkward smile, hoping to play off your momentary lapse of professionalism. His gaze lingers for a second, a question in his eyes, before he returns to his reading. You decide that now is as good a time as any to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You stand up quickly, your legs wobbly from the intense rush of blood to your core, and rush out of the room.

Once inside the sanctuary of the bathroom, you lock the door behind you and lean against it, trying to catch your breath. The tension in your body is palpable, your heart pounding in your chest. You're not sure if it's from the embarrassment of getting caught staring or from the vividness of your fantasy. You decide it's probably a bit of both.

You look at yourself in the mirror, noticing your flushed cheeks and the heavy-lidded gaze. You know you can't go back out there looking like this. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to calm down. You splash cold water on your face, hoping it'll wash away the evidence of your desire. As you pat yourself dry with a paper towel, you can't help but feel ridiculous. This obsession was really getting out of hand.

[forever-fixating]

RWRB Appreciation Month Bingo: Female Character(s)

For @rwrbsource and @rwrbmovie's RWRB Appreciation Month Bingo: Female Character(s)

Female Character(s)- Bea, June, and Nora

Author's Note: I love the girls so much. I love how unique each one is and how they provide lovely support for the guys. (Bea's speech to Alex after the outing is really beautiful and one of my favorite moments from the book.) This is just a silly bit of fluff that turned into a wedding quartet! Enjoy!

"Why does it feel like this state is punishing its residents for living here?"

June snorted a laugh at the vaguely annoyed expression on Bea's face. It wasn't her first time in Texas and wouldn't be her last since Alex and Henry moved from New York. The big day was a week away, and the three women were "enjoying" a quiet moment at the Diaz lakehouse before everything descended into wedding madness.

"One of life's unanswerable questions," Nora mumbled, her head in June's lap. "Like who shot Kennedy or why some people like pineapple on pizza."

Bea then looked perplexed. "I thought that Oswald bloke shot him?"

Nora pushed her sunglasses onto her forehead. "That's what they want you to believe."

"Behave," June sighed, smacking Nora's forehead lightly. "Keep acting like that, and she is gonna convince H to pack it up and head back to England."

"I'd have better luck convincing Pip to wear a dress to the ceremony," Bea said. "Did you see Eloise's flower girl dress? Maz sent me a video of her practicing her petal scattering technique. The gardener at their residence is beside himself because she won't stop ripping petals off flowers."

June and Nora moved closer and cooed over the video of the tiny five-year-old in a dress with a white bodice and a tutu skirt, each layer of different shades of pink. She held a basket full of white rose petals and took patient steps down a path in the garden, pausing with each step to let a fistful of petals fall delicately to the ground.

"Stop, that's so adorable!" June squealed.

Nora snapped her fingers in approval. "Little Miss El said, 'Uncle Al and Uncle H may be the ones getting married, but this is my moment to shine!'"

Bea locked her phone with a smirk. "I've taught her well. Can we head inside? I may perish if I stay in this heat for a moment later."

June loved hanging out with Bea. After the dust settled, the three women enjoyed getting together for girls-only weekends without the boys for mani-pedis, spa days, and marathons of whatever reality show social media deemed the most unhinged. It was frivolous and fun. Growing up, June always wanted a little sister. That didn't mean she hated having Alex as a little brother, but sharing a bathroom with a boy was gross. Walking in and finding a sweaty jock strap hanging off the shower rod. Showering after him and having no hot water because he took forever to "get extra clean" like she didn't know about masturbation. Going off to college at UT was a bunch needed break from the testosterone tornado that was Alex Claremont-Diaz.

Inside the lakehouse, Bea opened a bottle of sparkling water and poured each a glass, saying, "If you're up for it, I bought some obscenely expensive face masks for us to try. The new season of Too Hot to Handle looks fully bizarre. I think if I auditioned for it, that might finally be the thing that takes my Gran out."

When the boys returned from Austin with dinner, they found them in pajamas, each with a mask on, trying not to laugh too much as a dentist hygienist Marcie made out with Maxx, a naked personal trainer, in a hot tub to make Jake, a bodybuilder, jealous.

"Why do you three always do this without us?" Alex whined as they headed to the kitchen.

"Girl time, little bit," June called out. "Now be a good feminist and bring us dinner! Jake is about to walk in on Marcie and Maxx, and I will not pause."

Alex started to argue, but Henry said, "Best not to argue, love. Everything will be all about us soon enough."

"Listen to your man, Alejandro!" Nora said. "If you're really nice, I'm sure your future sister-in-law will provide your very own face mask so you'll look extra pretty on your wedding day."

June glanced at Bea, who shrugged and said, "Maybe. But only if Alexander remembered the extra queso this time!"

A/N- Like I said, silly silly fluff! I can't believe this month is almost over!

Check out this post and join the fun in celebrating the one-year anniversary of our little romcom that could being released!

[greetings-humans]

ice adolescence and russia

1 - Russia in today's world

okay look. I see you when you talk about how the political climate today means that iceado was doomed. I see you when you talk about the many many many doping scandals of Russian athletes, we saw it when the athletes didn't compete under the banner of Russia but as OAR or ROC, which I absolutely support. I see you when you rightfully mention Russia invading Ukraine. This is genuinely horrible, it's horrifying, it's inhuman, and the fact that many Russian athletes (including figure skaters) openly, unapologetically support their government's actions is disgusting.

2 - yuri on ice was just meant to be fun

now, let's also recognize that the core of yuri on ice to be silly and queer and accepting, to talk about anxiety and depression, about burnout and competition, about rediscovering your passion for your work and falling in love along the way. I see this, and these are some the reasons why I adore yuri on ice.

3 - yoi and russia

I would love to say that yoi is about escapism so we should ignore all real life events. But I'm not really that type of person, tbh.

We could all close our eyes and ignore thousands of people dying, ignore the doping scandals, ignore every bad thing Russia had done in modern history. But what about the people directly affected by this? do they deserve to see us comfortably having fun about a figure skating show ignoring the doping, and showing our main characters living and training in Russia, comfortably? with no mention of the inhumane actions of Russia, be they about the war or queer rights? really? is that something they deserve to see?

I see the people saying that maybe we can ignore the war, the way we ignored homophobia and eating disorders and bribing, but for the reasons above I really think we shouldn't.

I wish Russia had not done any of this, most of all because of all the deaths and destruction, but yes also bacause maybe that would have meant that maybe we could have had ice adolescence. However, we don't live in that world. And that still doesn't mean iceado had to be canceled.

4 - do not forgive or forget about MAPPA

I am not excusing mappa, okay? there is no way I will excuse or forgive mappa for ice adolescence. if they wanted to, they could have fixed this.

I've been thinking about this for maybe 20 minutes and I already have a solution, okay? and if I have a vague plan for how to handle this, then I am dead certain that a whole room full of people working for mappa could have figured it out. this is on the mappa execs, not the people doing the creative process. don't be fooled, the execs are probably just unwilling to try, if Russia's actions (and the actions of its athletes) are part of their reasoning.

5 - iceado could still exist even with everything russia has done

i think that the situation is rightfully delicate. but I also think that if a book like red white & royal blue (an openly gay book) could openly condemn US right wing politics and also portray the oppressive heteronormativity of the british royal family, without outright mentioning any real persons, then yoi s2 or ice ado could potray the figure skating scene in russia negatively and could have the characters leave the country.

they could show yakov as that one different coach in russian figure skating or maybe they could prove that he's your typical russian coach, which played a role in viktor's mental health getting worse and worse.

post-s1 scenes could be about viktor changing his mind and leaving russia, as a result of the doping scandal, or rising tensions internationally about Russia. the fact that we saw him and yuuri and yuri in st. petersburg didn't mean that decision was final. the pressures of a toxic environment could have made viktuuri leave, and whether or not yakov (or anyone) would follow them, or viktor would find another coach is something up for debate, yes, but there can be a debate. There can be a debate about yuri plisetsky about georgi and mila, about what this could mean for them.

iceado could condemn russian politics and the doping, the toxic community, and everything else really. in my opinion, the fact that this didn't happen speaks to mappa's unwillingness to try. im not educated in japan-russia relationships, to be frank, so I'm not sure how much backlash the show could possible face from the Japanese government for a decision like this one. Of course, this would insinuate that Japan is fine with the Ukraine invasion which is, well, not very good press to say the least (and naturally a violation of all sorts of human rights). I do however find it odd that we would never hear anything about talks debating this taking place, which means that once again mappa didn't try. And also, truthfully, just how plausible is it that Japan would go "no don't make more of that very lucrative anime because we don't want to condemn Russia's war / we don't want to condemn Russia's doping"? Because it doesn't sound that plausible to me.

6 - political yoi?

yes, this means that yoi would have become political, but when politics is about the right to live in your home without fear of death or invasion, why exactly shouldn't it get political?

and let's not forget that a world with no homophobia is already unfortunately political. because queer rights are not globally recognized, being pro or against queer rights (of which there are many so some are pro-same sex marriage but against trans rights which complicates things even more) is still a vital part of many many political parties' campaigns in a lot of countries.

yoi was already political in the sense that it showed a world of acceptance, because that's not a given.

what iceado had to do was show that acceptance does not mean ignoring inhumane, unethical actions.

this doesn't need to be the centric idea of iceado or yoi s2, either, by the way. simply showing something bad but realistic is enough. i wouldn't have needed 2 hours depicting the horrors of Russia ft. yuri on ice, but I would have loved to see 2 hours of teenage viktor trying to make it in this cutthroat world, with sporadic evidence of toxicity and too-much pressure, which are almost canon anyways. and any scenes taking place post-s1 could easily just show viktor make a number of realizations and choices that could lead to him leaving russia (to find a new coach or with yakov, with any of the russian skaters in yoi, or just with makkachin and yuuri, etc), which would show that yes they're not just ignoring russia's wrongdoings.

for being released in 2016-17, yoi was delightfully progressive in its queerness. but in 2024, asking the show to condemn doping and war on its way to show us viktor nikiforov's past is apparently too much to ask.

please give me your thoughts on this, yoi fandom, I'd love to see what everyone else thinks!

[kamy2425]

(Discworld Fanfic) The Meaning of Death: Chapter 11

*Living Biography Books~A School Field Trip To The University~Where IS That Cup Of Tea Death Mentioned?*

“So…um.”

SQUEAK!

Rincewind squinted at the creature, fairly certain he’d heard something vaguely intelligible beneath the squeaks. ���I don’t think I’ve got any cheese on me, no.”

The hooded rodent stomped its skeletal foot with impatience.

SQUEAK! SQUEAK!

Failing to make useful conversation, the Death of Rats tilted its head and pointed at a door with its miniature scythe.

“Right,” said Rincewind, chuckling nervously. “As if I’m going to follow a suspicious creature into the hallways of Death—”

The Luggage, ever the opportunist, bolted after the rat.

The Death of Rats lunged through a crack into the large, ominous door, with the Luggage crashing into it, attempting to wedge its bulk through.

“Are you quite finished?” Rincewind asked, giving the Luggage just a few seconds before its legs gave up, splayed pathetically on the floor. It glared at its owner with something between wounded pride and spite.

“I reckon it’s one of those doors you have to pull,” Rincewind said dryly.

The Luggage tilted its lid.

“Oh, don’t believe me, do you?” Rincewind muttered, stepping forward and grasping the handle. “Watch and learn—”

He froze mid-sentence, eyes darting through the now open door. The Luggage leaned forward as well, crowding behind him. A library. Not just any library—a vast expanse of books spiraling into infinity. It almost rivaled the Unseen University’s.

Almost.

But something was off. These books were... too well-behaved. No chains, no growling. No rebellious incantations trying to leap off the page. Not one book rebelling against their readers. Rincewind ran a hand along their spines and sensed something—importance. And oddly enough, they were all named after people.

“Biographies.” Rincewind muttered under his breath, “These must be books written by-wait no that’s not right.” He ran up with such energy, putting his finger breeze through the pages as his mind wandered into a world of words. 

“They’re alive.” he said, wide-eyed, “Each one of them is a person, and this is their life! Written here! Everything! This is fascinating I-”

No. Don’t. He told himself. Get a grip. You’ve done this before. 

That little curious spark inside him did him no good. Last time he got curious with a book was when he was a teenager and got dared into reading the Octavo. Long story short, it caused one of the spells to enter his head and prevented him from casting any magic. Even if he went to the whole trouble of taking it out, his magic abilities never came back. 

Just look. He told himself, no touch.

Closing his eyes, he could hear the faint, endless scribbling. The lives of millions, buzzing around him, their stories in constant conversation. But what about the others? The ones not glowing with gold lettering?

Rincewind’s gaze fell to the bottom shelf. He barely hovered a finger near one of the duller books when it began to crumble into dust. He stepped back, hand over his mouth, bumping into the Luggage.

“Sorry.”

The Luggage, as usual, showed no inclination to understand or care, already wandering off in search of the Death of Rats.

Rincewind frowned, deep in thought. If these books capture every second of a person’s life, they must also record... their last.

A sudden chill ran down his human spine. With much speed, he skimmed the titles of every book that started with the letter T. Rincewind scratched his head and turned over to the F section. 

“Ah, of course.” Rincewind sighed as his arm rose to a particular book and turned over the more recent pages. 

It reads:

2:30 pm, Twoflower is enjoying a peaceful lunch in the park. A blue butterfly lands delicately on his finger. He regrets leaving his iconograph at home.

Rincewind smiled. He could see it clearly. The non-existent pen scribbled on:

2:35 pm, Two-Flower found a coin on the ground. What a lucky day, he thought as he picked up the coin. He tossed it at a nearby fountain, closed his eyes and began to pray.

‘I hope my letter will arrive safely to him’. He wished, ‘Too bad I didn’t get a picture of that butterfly. I shall draw him one!’

Rincewind closed the book as though it were on fire. "Right. The letters…”

He cringed, picturing the pile of unopened letters stuffed under his mattress. It’s not that he disliked the guy. Quite the opposite. Twoflower was probably the only human alive who liked him. Who didn’t see him as a failed wizard or a coward. And that’s why... the letters stayed unopened. And Rincewind won’t even dare to write him back. Yup, that makes total sense.

Trying to distract himself, Rincewind decided to search for his own biography. Oddly enough, his was encased in glass, a worn, red-leather tome.

Well, that’s…ominous.

He lifted the glass and opened the book, noting the red bookmarks scattered through the pages. Just to be thorough, he flipped to page one:

“WOMAN RAN AWAY. THEN RINCEWIND WAS BORN.”

Yup. Sounds about right. The book didn’t even bother with the details. Rincewind had very few early memories, though he did recall one when he was about eight years old. Yes, that was when he first visited the University.

He visited the University as a school trip, you see. Children were lining up to place their little curious hands on an orb that measured their magical potential. On his turn, little Rincewind put up his palm on the device, which of course, caused it to break instantaneously. Having to be chased down by the staff and the students that didn’t get a turn, Rincewind hid behind the curtains for the rest of the day. Since then, the University didn’t quite remember as to why they had one more student in their faculty. And Rincewind stayed there ever since. 

It is safe to say, they never let another school trip to that place. It was, of course, for the safety of the wizards. 

He never thought much about his past. He never thought of a life outside being a wizard in general. But those little red bookmarks? They piqued his interest. As his hand touched one, the seam of gold thread flew from the book, manifesting a door in the wall. "Rincewind" was inscribed above it. The door swung open, beckoning.

A gentle force nudged him forward, but a familiar voice echoed behind him.

CURIOUS? asked Death.

The door slammed shut. Rincewind spun around, defensive.

“Curious? Me? Haha, that’s pretty much the OPPOSITE of what I do. Curious. haha.”

Death hummed as its flaming eyes looked over the non existent door,

HAVE YOU ENJOYED YOUR STAY?

“Not exactly my cup of tea,” Rincewind muttered.

WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?

Death handed Rincewind his much awaited drink.

“Erm, thanks.” Rincewind sipped.

Blast it. 

It was perfect. 

This tea really is to die for.

For the Fic!

[frost-queen]

Watch hour (Reader x Connor/RK800)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex–awesome–22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,   @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07

You tapped loudly on your computer, hitting enter loudly. You then pushed your chair back, stretching your arms up above your head. – “Done!” – you squealed loud while stretching those muscles. Connor quirking his eyebrow up. You glanced at him, rolling your chair over to his desk. Connor startled by you setting your elbows down on his desk to smile sweetly at him. – “Say Connor how about we do something fun after work?” – you suggested.

Connor chuckled briefly, setting his elbows closer to yours. – “Define ‘fun’.” – he answered, his LED flickering yellow. It made you smirk. You were about to answer when your chief called out to you. – “Lieutenant Y/n!” – you sighed deep, getting up from your chair to greet him. – “Yes sir.” – you responded while Connor rechecked if his tie was still straight.

The chief was looking at some files barely looking your way. – “You are on watch hour.” – he informed you. – “Tonight?” – you questioned loudly. The chief tilting his head up. – “Yes, tonight, Lieutenant. Didn’t I make myself clear?” – he asked in a stern voice. – “Yes sir.” – you answered lowering your head. Connor’s LED flickering as he took in your behavior.

The chief went back in his office upstairs as you sighed loud letting yourself fall back in your chair. – “Sorry Connor looks like we’ll have to postpone ‘fun’ times.” – you told him bothered. Connor furrowing his brows while you gathered some files to stack.

“May… may I ask what watch hour is?” – he set his hand delicately on your desk. – “Boring stuff.” – you answered getting up to pack your things. Connor wasn’t clear on the answer. – “That is a very vague description, may I ask to specify it more so I can understand more what kind of work it requires.” – he asked again, eager to know. You took a deep breath, pausing your packing. – “It is just another word for surveillance watch.” – you informed him, looking for your keys in your bag.

“Basically all I have to do is sit in my car all night, observing the neighborhood and be on watch when there is a call.” – you continued, moving your bag over your shoulder. Connor shot up following you as you were set on leaving. – “Do… do you require my assistance?” – he asked coming to walk beside you. – “Oh Connor.” – you said coming briefly to a stop.

“I wouldn’t want to saddle you up with boring police work. I’m sure you have more important matters to attend then sitting in a car all night.” – looking over at him, you wondered what he would respond to it. He putted on a smile, moving his hand to his chest. – “I would be delighted to assist you in the matter. As your partner I believe it would be the best of interest if we handled this together.”

You chuckled. – “If you insist.” – you responded. Connor followed you to your car. – “I’m going to pick up a few things first before we start our shift.” – you told him getting behind the wheel. He gestured with his hand that it was alright. You drove away from the police station, riding into the cold Detroit air. Driving slow and safely as the snow was making the road slippery. You parked your car on the parking lot of an all open store.

“I’ll be right back.” – you told Connor as he nodded. The moment you left, he took out his coin, letting it flip in his hand to occupy himself. You were going through the aisles, taking stuff with you along the way. Smiling it sure was nice Connor was around. Otherwise it would be dreadfully boring to do watch hour. You always hated them as usually nothing happened. You returned to the car, knocking on the window to alert Connor. He caught his coin between his fingers, tugging it away before opening the door to your side.

You exhaled relieved coming to sit down, holding lot’s of things. – “I brought us coffee and snack enough to survive the night.” – you told him as Connor quirked up an eyebrow at the amount you bought. You started moving the items to the backseat, listing off what kind of snacks you bought. – “Are you already hungry?” – you asked him suddenly aware of what you said. – “Lieutenant.” – Connor spoke.

You started to laugh sheepishly at how silly you were. – “Oh sorry… I forgot for a moment you don’t require food. Apologies Connor.” – you said feeling a bit stupid. Connor smiled LED flickering. – “It is alright.” – he reassured you. You started the car once more, driving around the neighborhood. Connor looking observingly through the window while you drove. You took a round around the block. – “There. That would be a sufficient place to wait and surveillance. One point to keep in observation, the front while easily to ride off when an emergency is required of us.” – he said pointing to a place.

You drove over to it, parking the car. The lights dimmed as the silence took over. – “Now we wait.” – you said. Connor stared in front of him, patting his hands on his knees with a sturdy rhythm. You exhaled loud at how boring it already was and you had just started. You lowered yourself in your seat, crossing your arms annoyed. Connor peeked over at you, scanning you.

He concluded you were bothered. He moved in his seat more towards you. – “I detect you are bothered Lieutenant Y/n. Should I perhaps set on some music to ease your waiting?” – he offered already moving a hand to the radio. – “No!” – you called out, grabbing his hand to a stop. Connor’s LED flickering. – “If we turn on the radio, I won’t be able to hear anything coming through the walkie.” – you informed him.

“I see.” – Connor bowed his head, leaning back in his seat. You inhaled deep, turning your head to stare out of the window. Connor doing the same. Yet he couldn’t help himself but glance over at you. LED flickering yellow as he wondered what drew him so close to you. How it would be possible for him to feel a certain urge to keep you save at any cost.

He lowered his gaze to your hand that tapped a beat on your thigh with your fingers. Humming lowly. His LED still flickering as he wondered what might happen if he reached out to take it. What outcomes would present itself to him. How he could calculate it. Feeling brave he slowly reached for your hand, wanting to touch it. You gasped, startled pulling your hand back when Connor nearly touched it. Staring focused at the streets.

An alarm going off close by. You watched as a man stumbled out of a store carrying stolen goods. – “Thief!” – a woman screamed out in a panic. You shoved the door open as Connor was faster. Having come around the hood to run after the guy. Clenching your jaw, you went after Connor and the thief. Connor’s athletic body could easily keep up with him as you were slacking.

Panting out of breath, slowing down. – “Damn it!” – you mumbled out. You couldn’t slack now. Pushing yourself to keep running. You sighed exhausted seeing how easily Connor jumped over things. You knew you couldn’t do the same stunts Connor was doing so you had to come up with another plan. Taking a turn, moving away from Connor and the thief, you hoped to cut them off somewhere. If you kept going in the same direction. So hoping you weren’t making a stupid decision.

Huffing and puffing loud, you so hoped Connor might have already caught him. Going street in after street, you noticed you were making your way over to the bridge. – “I’ll… I’ll definitely ask for a raise after this.” – you told yourself as encouragement. You just weren’t built to do some tricky stunts like Connor did. Connor had taken a quick route as you needed to take the saver and slower route. The bridge was nearby as you rushed down the stairs, holding tight to the bar.

Jumping the few steps down, you couldn’t see any sight of Connor or the thief. Slowing a bit down, you looked from side to side. Perhaps you had just missed them. – “Look out!” – you heard before a firm force came crashing into you. The heavy weight pulling you down, making you groan in pain. The culprit had fallen upon you, bumping against you whilst looking over his shoulder at Connor speeding up.

Connor grabbed his arm, dragging him off you. – “Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked concerned, kneeling beside you. He held his finger up to you, seeing in the corner of his eye the thief was getting up, trying to take a run for it. – “Not so fast!” – Connor called out, grabbing him by the collar. The thief nearly choked, feeling the fabric of his collar push into his throat.

Connor pulled him down in search for handcuffs. He smiled seeing you offer them out of breath. With one smooth wink, he took the cuffs from you, putting it on the thief. Connor then helped you up to your feet, dusting your clothing off. – “Are you sure you are alright Y/n?” – he asked quickly scanning you for any pains. – “I’m fine Connor.” – you told him, moving your hand up to stop him from scanning you.

“Excellent work Lieutenant into capturing the thief.” – Connor complimented, pulling the thief up to his feet. You laughed. – “All I did was stand in the way.” – you answered. – “A sufficient way.” – he replied. You took a deep breath, walking over to the railing of the bridge. Snow falling down upon you. Connor turned his head staring in admiration at you.

 “Should… should I return to the car and pick you up here so for your comfort?” – he asked dutiful. You smiled turning back to him with a shake of your head. – “I don’t mind the walk.” – you approached him, setting a hand on his chest. You let it slide off him as you started walking. Connor looking your way. He gave the thief a shove, forcing it to walk with him.

Holding the thief with one hand, he came walking beside you. Observing the movement of your hand beside your body very carefully. His LED flickering between blue and yellow. Debating if he should take it. He furrowed his brows slightly letting his hand sway beside his body. Moving a bit closer till the back of his hand brushed against yours. 

It startled you for a second, hand flinching away. Connor tightened his expression taking your hand sturdily in his own. You chuckled at how strictly he demanded your hand. – “If you wanted to hold hands, you could’ve just asked.” – you told him slightly teasing. Connor chuckled nervously, a soft blue blush appearing on his cheeks.

The thief rolled his eyes with a loud groan. Connor’s LED flickering a bright red. – “No one asked you a thing!” – he called out, letting go of your hand to shove him. – “Alright whatever.” – the thief answered with a loud puff. Connor’s LED settled to a soft blue, taking your hand once more. – “It appears our watch hour was not that boring after all.” – Connor told you. – “Yeah.” – you answered.

“We did get to do something fun after all.” – letting your shoulder bump playfully against his. Connor smiling back at you. – “Sure pretend I am not here.” – the thief muttered out. Connor and you kept talking till you reached the car eventually. He put the thief in the back of the car, making sure he couldn’t take any of your bought goods. You went inside the store to inform the lady you had caught him and to return the stolen goods.

Connor shut the door, coming over to you. – “I’ll call for a patrol to come and take him so we can continue to be available at all times.” – you said to Connor. He nodded agreeing. – “Our night of watch hour is far from over. We still have exactly six more hours of us being on alert till the sun sets.” – Connor answered making you groan at how long it was going to take. He chuckled, LED flickering. – “I could always suggest to do something fun in the meantime.”  

You furrowed your brows. – “What then?” – you questioned. – “This.” – Connor spoke, cupping your cheeks. He closed his eyes, gently resting his lips on yours. It caught you off guard what he did, feeling the touch of his cold lips on yours. Taking him by his head, you tilted your head to show him how one kisses. Connor moved his head back, LED flickering yellow.

Taking in the information he just obtained. – “I see… something like this.” – he spoke, putting his lips on yours once more. This time he was copying your movement, deepening the meaning of the kiss. The loud honking of a car made Connor and you pull startled away. The thief pressing the horn with his foot. – “Get a room will ya!” – he shouted from inside the car, making Connor and you laugh.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[punks-never-die205]

Honeysuckle: Red

afab!reader x Vampire!Eustass Kid

cw: Vampire AU with blood, violence, gore, some very marginally dubious consent, 18+ only

Summary: Vampires are real, and the World Government has ways of maintaining the balance of power and peace between humans and Vampires. Most of it is simple extortion, but one person's desire for freedom threatens to upend the delicate balance and change the world completely.

Tag List: @keiva1000

Chapter 3: Hunger

You stayed seated on the couch. The master of the house had told you not to move and you intended to hold to that request as best as you could. You heard the door open and close and realized he had left you in his house, fully unattended as far as you could tell.

You were exhausted. It wasn’t just the run through the forest for hours that had done you in, it was the emotional rollercoaster that it had been from the moment you had stepped foot into this house. It was, in all ways, a sanctuary compared to what you had run from, but the experience was far more intense than you had expected.

You were neither injured, nor consumed, nor returned to the facility.

Now that relief was sinking into your body and your adrenaline was fading, there was very little keeping you awake or aware. The fire in the hearth was comforting, not too hot, and the flames were a little mesmerizing as you started to doze off sitting upright. Every crack and pop of the fire helped to keep you awake, every creak of a house you weren’t used to. Each noise hits your brain like the boots of marines breaking down the door to drag you back.

But you only have so much to give, and you’ve long since reached the limits of your stamina. Head lulling back, you sink into the couch and fall asleep.

It’s hard to say how long you dozed off, but you’re vaguely aware of the eyes on you before you open your own. Sitting across from you is the master of the house, looking unperturbed and relaxed.

“Enjoy your nap?” He asks, golden eyes glancing up from the book he’s reading to regard you for a moment before he returns to it.

“Y-yes, my apologies.” You groan, sitting up and trying to focus. You’re still bone-tired, so you couldn’t have slept for too long.

“You look like death warmed over, little flower.” He says, not even looking up at this point. “Fortunately for you, when I play with my food, I like it to be able to fight back.” He pauses, glancing up again.

“Sorry, play back.”

He lets the discomfort of the implication sink into you a little before returning back to his book. “Since you gifted yourself to me, I’m sure you can guess what that means.”

“Th-that-.”

“That I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he says, cutting you off. “I haven’t had an amusing distraction in long time, so I intend to make the most of you. With that in mind, you’re going to sleep.”

Quicker than you could see, he was beside you. One hand was under you, lifting you up and over his shoulder before he walked out of the room. “I’m going to put you in a room, and you’re going to stay in that room until I come get you.”

“Y-yes, but um… b-bathroom?” The heat of his hand against your thigh is making your face red. Aside from the earlier man-handling as he jerked you around in the dark, you weren’t really used to physical touch. Aside from medical exams and blood-typing, there wasn’t much interaction even between your fellow honeysuckles.

“There’s one connected to the guest room.” He says, walking through the dark mansion. “Leave the drapes closed, keep the lights low. If you get cold, sleep, don’t light a fuckin’ fire.”

Walking into a room he tosses you off his shoulder. You yelp as you land on the bed, and once you’re done bouncing against the mattress he grabs your face, squishing your cheeks, and turning your face in one direction. “Bathroom.”

Letting go of your face he glares down at you for a moment. “You’re exhausted, repeat the rules. I want to know you heard me.”

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t light a fire. D-don’t touch the drapes?” You answer, rubbing your jaw a little.

“… and the lights?”

“A-and the lights, er, keep the lights low.” You repeat back.

“Good. There’s more behind those eyes than fairy tales.” He says, crooked smile on his face.

“… I’m not naïve.” You grumble, sitting up.

A heavy force shoves you into the bed, and after your brain catches up with what’s happened you’re almost nose to nose with the vampire. Golden eyes hold your gaze as his fingers twitch against your hands. He forces your hands to your sides, a grin splitting his face as you reflexively struggle.

“You are terribly, deliciously, painfully naïve, little flower.” He assures you, head tilting as you can feel his breath against your neck. “The pleasures I could find in you don’t even begin with the euphoria of drinking you dry.” You can feel his fangs tease the small hairs on your body, not even truly touching your skin.

The sensation and situation have your heart pounding, in fear you think, but you felt fear when the marines knocked at the door, and this wasn’t that. Your body aches to move, but as pinned as you are you can’t even twitch. Your face is red, and your breathing is coming out wet and heavy, and you aren’t sure you could hear him over the sound of your own breathing, but you didn’t miss a word.

“The sounds you don’t even know you can make.” He promises you as he shifts again, catching your attention with his eyes. “Yet.”

You feel the weight of his knee come up onto the bed and begin to shake so much you’re almost hyperventilating.

“Shh, shh, shh, breathe little flower.” He coos, and something in his gaze and the sound of his voice forces your entire being to calm down. You’re still nervous and trembling, but you aren’t on the verge of panicking yourself into a coma.

The air around you shifts entirely as he lets you go and steps away. “Piss in the bed and you’ll be sleeping in it.” He grumbles, walking out of the room.

Minutes pass by as you lay in the bed. You’re afraid if you move too suddenly you’ll throw up from the mix of nerves, fear, adrenaline, and arousal. As terrifying as he looked, he was beautiful, and you hated that.

Once you collect yourself you make your way slowly to the bathroom and clean up a little. Looking through cabinets and closets you find enough workable pieces of clothing to cover yourself in clean clothes after a brief shower. Even brief, the warm shower did a lot to help calm you down, and by the time you climbed into the bed you were well beyond what you thought were your last legs.

It had been barely dark when you had run from the facility. It was barely light as you drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow was a new day, for the first time in your life you slept in a different bed, and you’d wake to a world outside the facility. For now the other details were irrelevant. Your small victory was still itself a victory, and you would appreciate it.

. . . .

Tomorrow also brought a new sensation you weren’t used to.

Hunger.

Your stomach knotted in strange ways as you woke up, and at first you thought you were ill. The burning sensation in your muscles, especially your legs, and the tension in your back were reminders of all that you had gone through the night before. Time you usually spent resting had instead been spent running, or being terrified, and the carefully curated meals of the facility were not crafted for such exertion.

Even though your meals had been bigger than most others once the physicians realized that you were losing weight, it still wasn’t enough to off-set the events of yesterday. You had been so nervous when they were trying to discover why you were suddenly losing weight, fearful that your deceit and plans would be washed away by a single checkup. Fortunately, it had been written off as you simply developing a higher metabolism.

They did a few more extra tests, monitored your new food adjustments, and seemed perfectly happy when things leveled out again. You were very careful not to over-work yourself after that first scare.

Clamoring out of the bed, you walk around the room. Daylight reflected into the room through the curtains enough to allow you to see easily. There wasn’t much else in the room aside from the bed. An overstuffed chair sat near the fireplace you weren’t allowed to light, and there were only a couple oil lamps you could even hope to reach, but you weren’t supposed to use those either.

You were fairly certain that the rules of last night had been to keep from giving away that there was someone in the manor in need of light. Even so, you weren’t uncomfortably cold, and you didn’t need any more light than you already had.

The gurgle of your stomach was weird, and while it wasn’t painful, it was irritating. A new sensation, sure, but you weren’t in the right state of mind to appreciate it’s newness.

Since you weren’t supposed to leave the room, you decided to distract yourself by digging through the closet. There had been a surprising amount of clothing in there, and maybe you could find something that would fit.

The only clothes you owned, after all, were nearly in shreds. You were a decent hand at embroidery, but you weren’t sure that you could mend them.

You find a pair of linen pants and a loose shirt that you manage to hold in place with a sash easily enough. With a little adjustment you even found some undergarments to wear. It took almost an hour, but in the end you make yourself a functional, and comfortable outfit. It wasn’t like you had fashioned clothes from thread you spun yourself, but it still had you feeling resourceful.

You didn’t want to climb back into bed with your day clothes on, so you leaned against the wall by the curtains and looked outside through the small gap. There’s not much to see in the tiny sliver of area you have available, but it’s more than you ever saw from your own room before, and you drink it all in.

The exterior of the house is a light blue-grey color, with dark navy trim. It looked almost entirely black last night, but it wasn’t a scary color in the daylight. You wondered what the rest of the manor looked like with the sun up, but as you understood how vampires lived, the master of the house wouldn’t be around to get you until the sun began to set.

It was a long time to go without food, but you could miss a day without concern.

So you assumed.

It wasn’t necessarily the hunger that was hard to face, it was the hunger without anything to distract yourself. There weren’t any books in the room, or parchment. None of the sweet distractions you were used to, and you didn’t want to jog in circles. You didn’t know when you were you were going to eat next, and wasting what energy you had seemed like a bad idea.

The sun had moved across the sky some distance, and your curiosity won out over the rest of you. The doors opened in and weren’t locked, so you listened by the keyhole for a moment before carefully opening the one side. If there was someone else in the manor you didn’t want to create a problem, but you needed to at least look out in the hall before the sun set.

You looked down the hall from inside the room, and stuck your head out of the doorway enough to look down the hall in the other direction. Long stone halls with thick, blood-red carpeting. Suits of armor lined the hall, and heavy, menacing looking weapons were on display. The ceiling was high and arched, and there were murals painted on it, but you didn’t look at them long enough to sort out any details. What caught your attention was a single tray outside the door with a covered plate in the middle of it. You could reach it easily from where you were – without even having to leave the room – and so you hooked a finger on the lip of the tray and pulled it into the room.

Dried meats and fruits, a slice of bread and some bits of cheese. It was hardly a feast, but it was a load more than you expected to have. You forced yourself to eat a little slower than you would’ve liked, but despite your attempt you still cleaned the plate in under twenty minutes.

Opening the door to put the tray back you nearly fell onto your ass at the site of him standing in the doorway. The sun wasn’t setting yet, but it also wasn’t like there was any direct sunlight in the hallway either.

“Naïve. Little. Mouse.” He clicks his tongue, reaching out and taking the tray from you, lifting the lid and glancing over at you. “Didn’t even stop to think that I could’ve done something to the food.”

You pale, taking a step back. “I… you…”

“Oh, I’m perfectly capable.” He assures you, dropping the empty tray out into the hall as he steps into the room. “Terrible, monstrous, evil, blood-sucking vampire.”

“Y-You haven’t been t-terrible.” You try to keep your voice steady, but some part of you is worried you really did eat drugged food. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, since you had very few options available as it was. “Con-considering everything you-you’ve been… g-generous.”

“Mm, not kind, huh? Interesting.” He licks his lips and practically looms over you. “I’m still not sure just how naïve you are. You didn’t touch the drapes, didn’t leave the room – even slept like the dead too.

“Comfortable enough to bathe and use clothes that aren’t yours, and scared enough you can’t even meet my gaze.” You look up at him at that and he quirks an eyebrow. “There’s fear in your eyes, but that’s not all.”

He crouches down to be at eye level with you, if not a little lower, and grins. The expression is a mix of amusement and hunger. You almost shrink back from it, but manage to keep yourself still.

“Give me your name, little gift.” There’s a command in his voice, despite the ease of his body language and the grin on his face.

“(Y/N).” You say softly.

“Eustass Kid.” He offers. “Master of this manor.” He reaches out and barely runs his thumb over your lips. “I fed you, you should show your appreciation.”

“Th-thank you for the food.” You say it as clearly as you can, but you already know that’s not what he’s referring to. The heat rising in your face is certainly giving you away as well.

“Mmm. Naïve. Little. Mouse.” He muses again. “I’ll close my eyes for you, why don’t you try again.” He says, closing his eyes. “I’m being very generous, so don’t take too long.”

Swallowing heavily, you lean in before embarrassment can slow you down and kiss him on the cheek. You barely manage to pull away when he starts laughing. He laughs for so long you start to feel a little indignant. He tries to talk a couple times and devolves into laughter again and again before he manages to get himself under control, even walking into the hall for a moment to try and compose himself.

“Well played.” He says finally, holding your chin in his hand and tilting your gaze up to his. “Very amusing, little morsel.”

[xx-lemon-drop-xx]

Warnings: gn reader, Azul talking down on himself, talk of tentacles.

Request: Yes.

Words: 808.

•°Tell Me You Love Me°•

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

“It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

Azul saw your lips part, your head slowly shaking in disagreement to his words. If anything, he was beautiful. The way his tentacles bulked only to shrill down into a fine point had you wanting to touch him.

Azul undoubtedly noticed this curiosity, it shined in your eyes like the sun. From the large tub he was in in Octaveinelle you’d caught sight of the tentacles moving, and the popping from them suction cupping to the sides of the tub.

"..Do you want to touch them?” 

He asked, swallowing thickly. His normal smug confidence was gone, replaced by a softer, more delicate version of himself. And, as his lover, this was one of the specialties you got to see from him more often than most. Jade and Floyd also had the specialty, but it was something you got to witness the most.

His true self was awkward and insecure. Though Azul was wonderfully good at treating you right. You never had to worry about more than you could handle: because he was there to help you through it. 

"I-I.. I'd love too-!! But are you sure you'd want me touching you in this state? I don't want to make you feel-" 

Your words were cut off by him, and the soft sigh he gave. 

"I am insecure about my merform, but you were going to see it one day. Therefore, I have to get used to you and others seeing it." 

"But seeing is different from touching, Azul." 

You took a few steps forwards, joining him by the side of the tank he was resting in. You eyed his tentacles, wondering how they would feel. Though, you did have a vague idea on how they would feel. Jade had told you they were squishy before. 

"Touch them." 

Azul murmured, watching you reach out to brush your fingers up against the top part of one of his tentacles. He flinched from it at first, though seeing how happy you were to be touching one of his tentacles like this had him sighing. How could someone see his merform as something other than hideous? 

"I don't understand." 

Azul murmured, and you looked up at him, sliding your hand along the large purple appendage, watching it move in the tub. 

"What don't you understand?" 

"How can someone like you.. like someone as hideous as me?" 

"You're not hideous Azul, not at all." 

You said softly, reaching up to wrap an arm around him, pulling him safely into your chest. You didn't mind your shirt getting wet from him, your fingers gently sliding through his hair. 

"You're so beautiful. Sometimes… Sometimes I wonder how you chose me over everyone else to love. But God. God do I love loving you and being loved by you back. Sometimes I solely believe I don't deserve someone like you, because not only are you beautiful, but you treat me like I'm royalty. But I love being loved by you, Azul. You're so so pretty too. No one can hold a candle to your beauty, Azul." 

Azul hummed, reaching up to fiddle with your hair. He shook his head, sighing. 

"You deserve all the love I've given you. And I'd love to believe your words but I suppose my self hatred can't get over what I think of myself." 

He spoke in a soft murmur, leaning his head on top of yours. Your eyes peered up at him, half lidded. 

"Then just keep in mind when those intrusive thoughts come back that someone truly does love you." 

Your whisper breathed over his ear as Azul climbed out of the tub, grabbing the towel to wrap around himself for when he dries. Later that day he held you on his bed, reading a book with his other hand as you dozed against his chest. 

The extra work in Monstro Lounge was finished and he could tell you we're tired. His fingers found their way back into your hair, fiddling with it to his heart's content. 

"Azul?" 

"Hmm? What is it, darling?" 

Azul asked with a soft mumble, looking over at you once marking his place he was in in the book. He always did have remarkable memory. 

 "I love you." 

A smile teased at his lips at your words, and he stared down at you fondly, his eyes softening. Leaning down he placed a chaste kiss against your forehead, sliding the bookmark into place and setting his book to the side on the nightstand. 

"I love you too." 

He whispered, laying down and holding you close to him. Now it was time to love and be loved. And he loved being loved. Especially when you loved everything about him, including his 'freakish' merform. 

[invisibleraven]

Compliments! Your smile lights up a room, sweet tarts

"Alright people, pleaces please!" the PA called out, and Carrie took in one last deep breath before she struck her pose. Modelling wasn't the top of her list for life ambitions, but it paid the bills, and it was only until she could get Dirty Candi their record deal.

Plus, well, it did come with some perks. The free clothes and swag was always nice, and it wasn't like she minded all the attention.

But it was the cute photographer that kept getting assigned to her shoots that she really liked.

Reggie had been the one to shoot her first campaign; a fall ad for GAP that was shot on the hottest day of summer, with her frolicking in fake leafs all bundled in wool and tweed. But he brought something out in her, and that first shot was what netted her job after job.

"Come on Carrie, let's see those pearly whites!" he called. "You smile lights up a room doll, so let 'em see it!"

Carrie giggled despite herself and smiled all the wider, circulating through the crowd for the Dior ad, wearing a dress that made her feel like a million bucks. Quite an upgrade from the GAP anyways.

Snap after snap, pose after pose, Carrie kept smiling, letting her mind drift to when all this would be a funny anecdote she told people. When she had her name in lights due to her talent and not just her looks.

"Alright, everyone, we're going to change lenses and readjust the lighting, so take 5!" the PA called out.

Carrie sighed, letting her posture slump, and kicked off the awful pinchy shoes. Those she would donate if they offered them to her, make no mistake.

"Great job doll," Reggie said, offering her a water bottle.

"Thanks," she said, sipping at it delicately, not wanting to have to do much make up adjustment. "You booked to do the Vogue shoot next month too?"

"Alas I have a conference with National Geographic then, so I think you'll have to put up with Brett for that one," Reggie said apologetically.

Carrie wrinkled her nose. Brett was alright, but he didn't have Reggie's skill and he always smelled vaguely homeless (and high). "Wait, National Geographic?"

"Yeah, I do more than ads you know, I contain multitudes," Reggie sassed. "But honestly I did one of those genetic tester kits and found out I'm like 3% Ashkenazi Jewish, so I did a photo essay on rediscovering my roots."

"You're Jewish?" Carrie clarified.

"Non-practicing," Reggie said with a half shrug. "Unless my MeeMaw is visiting."

"That project sounds so cool. My dad always said he wanted to do something similar to go find his roots in the Philippines," Carrie said wistfully, and when Reggie sent her an odd look she grinned. "I'm adopted."

"Oh cool, so am I!" Reggie exclaimed. "My parents weren't the best kind of people, and my grandparents weren't equipped to handle a teenager, so my friend Julie and her family took her in. Ray Molina is the best dad a guy could ask for, he's the one who got me into photography."

"Wait... your dad is Ray Molina?" Carrie clarified. "Dad to superstar Julie Molina?"

"I mean, yeah?"

"I would kill to meet her. See if she has tips on getting signed. Also ask for embarrassing Reggie stories," Carrie gushed.

Reggie blushed. "Well next time she's in town I'll introduce you."

"Places!"

"Maybe after the shoot I could even tell you some of those stories myself?" Reggie offered. "Over pizza and beer if you're allowed?"

"I am owed a cheat day," Carrie hummed. "Sounds perfect."

With that she kissed his cheek and dashed off to fix her lipstick and take her place. And there was no need to fake her smile while she was facing the camera. Especially not with Reggie's equally blinding one looking right back at her.

[spuddlespud]

Find the Word Tag

Thanks to my lovely friends for the tags, sorry it's taken me a couple of weeks to get round to it. There's a couple of these from bits of writing that never went anywhere so I wanted to share bigger chunks.

@untethereddreams - Light, Rain, Rich, Grime, and Stack

@winterandwords - talk, wait, remember, and something.

@ahordeofwasps- guide, lied, sighed, pride, and collide!

I'm tagging: @littlepatchofhell @inkspellangel @eccaiia @talesofsorrowandofruin @aohendo @lady-grace-pens @writingamongther0ses @primroseprime2019 @azriel-alexander-holmes @bardic-tales @sapphsoon @gloriafrimpong

Your words should you choose to accept them are: tree, mirror, footstep, hand, hair

LIGHT - ???

Everything suddenly went black. The sirens screamed in response, repeating their competing jingles to each other in an endless cycle. Fantastic. A power cut. She stumbled over to the dresser, tearing through and tossing things on the floor until she found it. The light came on after a few turns of the handle and she descended the stairs feeling like Florence Nightingale.

RAIN - a Workers Guide to Demonology

The bus stop itself is nothing remarkable. It smells faintly of piss, but thats just humanity for you. A group of dour faced people stand silently staring at their phones. One of them swears when a drip of mossy rainwater falls on their head from a crack in the bus shelter roof.

RICH - ???

Scowl deepening, she tugged angrily at her cuffs, trying several times to slide the sodden discoloured sleeves up her arms, eventually giving up and rolling them. "And what do you think you're laughing at." She yelled up a the mocking figure. "Trust me, if you could see your face right now, you'd be laughing too." This was followed by even more laughter which devolved into snorts. Molly definitely wasn't a delicate giggler.

Having successfully rolled up her sleeves, Beth began to scale the hill, pulling on tree roots with a grunt. "That's pretty rich coming from someone who starts snorting like a pig every time she finds something vaguely amusing." "I am pretty rich, I've got you visiting every day haven't I?" Beth finally made the last few feet up and over the ridge of the hill. Despite her breath catching in her throat from the beauty of the woman in front of her (and also from scaling a massive fuck off hill), she still managed to paste an unimpressed look on her face. "That is the biggest load of tripe I've ever heard!" Of course this earned nothing but another undaunted giggle. The woman moved closer. She was an inch or two taller than Beth (not something she ever let Beth forget). Her simple green dress was covered in a multitude of different stains, each one Beth well knew was related to some kind of mishap with one or other of Molly's potions. 

GRIME - none

STACK - Dragonsbreath and Skelefellas

"Fine, I'll go get it from the back." She looked over to where Andrew was poking his skull head from behind a stack of haunted books. "And behave, you!"

TALK - The Bite

She took a big swig of bitter coffee, letting it out half a sigh at Charlie’s next words “I was bitten by a werewolf.”

Of course werewolves were the next step. It was only a matter of time. “It’s too early in the morning for this Charlie, can we talk about it this evening once I’ve got a pint in me?”

WAIT - Old Inn Door

The bullet barely grazed her skin as she'd carefully aimed at the closest brute. His fellow soldier just looked confused as she carefully positioned herself so that he followed his friend in a pile on the floor., her bonds loosening with every shot. Not waiting for his body to hit the floor, she rushed to the door, clumsily using her shoulder to shut the bolt behind the door, even as angry footsteps sounded in the hallway.

REMEMBER - A Workers Guide to Demonology

Outfits have changes much since I was last on this wretched rock. All three are dressed similarly enough to make it clear that that is the current fashion. Their black pointy hats are tall, and I have no idea what purpose they would serve. Their dresses are much shorter than I remember them being.

SOMETHING - ??? (I'm sharing a big section because it's something that never became something and I think it's cute)

This floor wasn't going to get the best of her. She'd decided that as soon as she'd slammed the bucket down and seen the wave of soapy mess slop onto the floot. The burning smell of lime was already starting to make her feel dizzy and every scrape of the brush against the floor sent a pain shooting down her raw rubbed knuckles. A thick layer of sweat was building up under the coarse material that covered her back. But this floor wasn't going to get the best of her.

She dropped the brush for a second, sitting back into kneeling position. She tried to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face with the back of her hand, sighing when it determinedly bounced right back into it's previous position.

"Here, watch out" a gruff voice said as a hand reached down to pull the strand of hair back and tuck it behind her ear, just below where her cap sat.

She smiled up at the figure standing above her, the gentle touch of calloused fingers against her cheek sending a giddy thrill through her. In other circumstances the looming figure could have been interpreted as intimidating, but Meredith had come to know that slightly lopsided smile well over the last two years she'd been in this house. She'd never seen those large hands raised in anger, neither had she heard that gruff voice raised above a speaking level. Jack was undoubtedly the softest soul Meredith had ever known.

Jack smiled back, a shy smile but gentle none the less.

Meredith stood up, intending to say something clever and inspiring like "How's your day?"

Unfortunately she never got to finish the question as in the process of getting up she stepped on a particularly soapy patch of floor, sending her foot slipping back from under her, her back slamming into the ground in the process, knocking over the brimming bucket of limewater.

Jack had instinctively reached out to grab her as her tumultuous decent had begun, and had leaned over fast enough for the falling bucket to knock her off her feet and tumbling down after Meredith. Landing in a heap. Jack's large frame gained an "oof" from Meredith as she practically fell on top of her. GUIDE - The Familiarity Between the Owl and the Pussycat

"...and then I saved that ungrateful runt, at great personal risk. And you know how he thanks me? Instead of coming back here to stay safe, he's back out playing at hunting. Are you even listening to me?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Séamus" Bathsheba sighed "You know what Midnight's like, you're the much older, and obviously much wiser and much cleverer one. It's upto you to guide him."

The response from Séamus could almost be described as a snort, but she new she'd managed to placate him a little.

LIE - A Worker's Guide to Demonology

Except that as I'm drifiting off one of the stupid humans decides it's the perfect time to start pounding on the bedroom door. "Ellie! Ellie! You need to get up. You're late for work."

Knowing how stupid mortals are I decide on mubling a minimal effort lie. "It's okay, I have the day off."

Ha! Got her. Easy as pie, whatever that means. Time once more for sleep, glorious sleep.

"You don't have the day off. You told me you had to train the new staff member this week."

SIGHED - ??? (I think I've posted this one before)

Belle fake sighed, finishing the last bite of her biscuit. "Fine, what can it hurt. But we've got to have all the protective measures in place before there's any funny business. I'm not having a repeat of the time we summoned the banshee."

PRIDE - Dragonbreath and Skelefellas

It was always nice to see Skully without their official skull  make up on. There was a red tinge to their cheek from rushing down the  tower stairs and their hair was practically standing on end, proving  that whatever they had been working on had distracted them from any  hairbrushing since they woke up. Damn did they look good though.

Trying  to maintain the annoyance on her face, after all she did have some  pride, Saph pointedly rearranged her now diminished workspace on the  table so that they were’t in any danger of more knives falling off.

Skully  slammed their hands down on top of their immense pile of books.  “Saphire. My darling. The light of my life. You love me, more than  anything right?”

This couldn’t be good. Saph sighed, mentally  waving goodbye to her dream of spending the afternoon training and  having tea with Andrew.

COLLIDE - nothing

[jargonautical]

Recce

KRZYSZTOF ISN’T TOO surprised when Winter Street starts filling up before the season really gets underway. There’s still a couple of weeks to go before the Easter tours start dropping coach-loads of cantankerous pensioners at the north end car park and dispatching them in search of cream teas and postcards, but he’s already seen the usual uptick in traffic thanks to conference season. Business has been brisk all weekend, and he’s barely had time to straighten up a bit before the bell over the door is jangling yet again. 

It’s immediately evident they’ve come via Jen’s shop, since half of them are clutching the retro candy-striped paper bags she uses to dispense pear drops and humbugs from the glass jars on the shelf behind her. Before the bell has even finished jangling, he pointedly clears his throat and pushes the ‘Patrons Are Kindly Requested Not to Eat or Drink in the Shop’ sign an inch further forward on the counter, and a couple of guilty hands shrink back and put the sweets away into pockets and bags. Satisfied, he nods a vague welcome and returns to his book, occasionally letting his eyes flick up to see what they’re doing. Kids like these rarely buy anything, they just waste his time raking through everything and making a mess for him to straighten up after they leave. 

He’s unwillingly intrigued though; if they’re anything to do with the conferences, they’re far from the usual demographic. Far too young for a start, barely out of their teens some of them, all skinny jeans and floppy hair and scuffed rucksacks slung carelessly over one shoulder.  First in he mentally names Ponytail, for the thick brown hair pulled back off his broad forehead and hanging down his back. Behind him is another youngster with a distinctly indoor look about him, pale to the point of being pasty and dark eyes filled with resignation, like a teenager dragged unwillingly away from his Xbox to take a nice walk in the fresh air. Krzysztof quietly chuckles at how he touches the door handle as he comes in, fingertips delicately extended as if trying not to catch anything. He knows for a fact it’s spotless, since he personally polished the bloody thing to a shine only this morning. Third in line is something of a switch up, slightly older or a superior of some kind - or perhaps that’s the effect of how he’s dressed; a pale pink dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up a little way, blue jeans pressed to sharp creases, polished brown brogues. Dark hair dips in a perfect glossy wave over his forehead, impeccably styled, and meets thick sideburns shading to a neatly trimmed beard. He looks nothing like an academic, student or otherwise; he looks more like the junior doctors up at the county hospital, well-educated and whip-smart Indian boys putting in their residency on this backwater rotation until they can get a placement somewhere more lively. 

Last through the door is a shorter figure of indeterminate gender. A black knitted hat, a ragged fringe of ashy-pale hair and a thick scarf wound double around their neck hide the majority of their face, and an oversized sweater in broad stripes of black and grey covers their shape entirely down to the knees. Skinny legs encased in dull grey jeans end in scuffed black leather boots haphazardly laced up halfway. This one can’t be anything other than a student, not dressed like that. 

Gradually the book occupies less and less of his attention, not that they’d know it - the haphazard placement of framed maps and posters around the shop is actually carefully designed to give the cash a view of almost the whole shop floor without turning. The smart young man eventually disappears down between the bookshelves where he can be heard exclaiming occasionally over some of the titles, while the other two wander round peering curiously into the glass-fronted displays and turning over the boxes of cheaper curios. 

Finally the sour-faced one comes up to the counter with a small handful of flint arrowheads. 

“Are these all found locally?”. 

“Indeed they are, up on the edge of the moor. Kids pick them up when they’re up there playing.”. 

That clearly wasn’t the answer the boy was hoping for; his face rearranges into a displeased frown. “You shouldn’t let people just take artefacts away from a site, you know. Ruins the archaeology. Very irresponsible.”. 

Krzysztof leans back a little and widens his eyes in fake dismay. “Oh, is that right? I’m very sorry, I’m sure. I’ll be sure and tell the kids whose families have been here since Doomsday that they aren’t allowed to turn over rocks any more. I can’t promise it’ll go down too well, seeing as I’m not from around here myself.”. 

He plays up his accent to full effect, ending the sentence with a friendly smile. Ponytail calls over from his corner, “We’ve talked about this Aaron, no lecturing the locals. Leave that to Viktor.”. 

The sour one grins ruefully at the correction. “Good point. Sorry, and I’ll take them please. Oh, and a gemstone lucky dip as well.”. 

Throughout the whole process the last of the group hasn’t said a word, just loitering by the counter idly looking through the rack of carved soapstone pendants. He likes to think he’s good with youngsters even at that difficult age, so he goes for the upsell. 

“What about you, young man - nothing take your fancy today? Must be something on there that suits your style. Souvenir for your mum perhaps? Good value, only £2.99.”. 

The face crinkles into what’s probably a smile under the swathes of fabric. For a split second he’s reminded of the boss, the warming of the lad’s expression making him feel momentarily like a better version of himself. The questing hand turns over several of the designs on offer before there’s a quiet ‘huh’ of triumph and he extracts one with a pale stripe and geometric design. 

“Oh, good choice.”, twinkles Krzysztof as he wraps it in tissue paper and secures it with a tab of sticky tape. “This one is my favourite.”. 

It’s not, but it’s a useful sales spiel he’s employed on many occasions. Make them feel good about it, just like the boss says. The transaction is completed in silence, the child handing over a handful of still-warm coins extracted from a pocket hidden somewhere under the jumper, but he nods thanks as the neat package is placed in his hand. 

“Nice kid.”, Krzysztof mutters to himself as the shop empties and the bell finally stops swinging. 

.............................................................................

Beryl had just decided she could get away with nipping out back for a smoke when the cafe door rattles in its frame, signalling that someone has just fallen foul of the sticky latch. She’s told Andy a dozen times that he needs to get that fixed, and he’s waved his hands in his typical excitable way and assured her that it’ll be done by the time the season starts. Well, he’s the boss - but she’s the person who has to soothe the customers who’ve bashed their heads against the door when it failed to open the first time. She almost turns tail again seeing the four young people filing in. Bet they take forever to go through the menu, and then they’ll order four diet Cokes and a piece of cake to share. But they’ve seen her, one of them giving her a friendly smile while he grabs four laminated menus from the stand by the till, and she busies herself tidying the cutlery tray until they make a decision. 

It does take a while, but she’s pleasantly surprised. Two plates of chips, three sandwiches, tea for four, and on top of that they one by one wander up to the display to review the selection of cakes. Healthy appetites and decent manners, who’d have thought? More than you can say for a lot of so-called adults, especially the old folk who waste her time bitching about extra jam portions. 

As soon as she heads back to the kitchen they crowd together again and strike up a lively conversation. It’s incomprehensible for the most part, full of side-eye and sniggering, whatever it is that’s amusing them so much. In between snatches of conversation they’re glued to their phones as well, apparently carrying on several interleaved conversations at once with absent friends. 

In their group chat however, the topic is far more focused. 

The burst of laughter that greets this startles Beryl, whipping round to stare at them suspiciously. She wonders if they’re laughing at her somehow, even though they haven’t spared her a second glance. But when they get up to leave they’re politeness itself, even going so far as to stack their dirty plates and sweep up crumbs while the tall lad with the ponytail comes over to pay the bill. Clearing the dishes, she even finds a neat stack of coins in one of the untouched saucers – the unanticipated tip.

[hollie911]

This is not my work. It is by the user constantwriter85 whose account had been deactivated on tumblr and ao3 and i am just sharing their work

The devil you know

Vampire!Jefferson x reader

Part 7/10

Chapter Warning: **18+** Smut, Blood Drinking, Vampirism, Fluff

Jefferson sat at the computer, researching and trying to ignore the horrible squelching of innards and the whir of the bone saw from across the room. Y/N may be a kind and gentle soul, but she had a cast iron stomach and nerves of steel to do what she did. Still, he couldn’t help but watch her despite the grisly scene laid out in front of her.

Dear God, woman, you’re as terrifying as you are beautiful.

Jefferson smiled, utterly distracted by her.

He watched her long, delicate fingers as she handled the scalpel, her eyes narrowed in concentration. A lock of hair had fallen onto her forehead, but she seemed oblivious to that as well as everything else in the room. She was so smart and so incredibly beautiful, both inside and out.

More and more, Jefferson found himself daydreaming about a life with her. As a human, once again…able to walk in daylight, to hold her hand and stroll through the park like normal people, to lie in bed with her, the sun warm on their skin and both their hearts beating together as one as they made love for hours.

Jefferson hadn’t forgotten about Grace—oh, no. But if he were able to reverse the curse, he would still have a long life ahead of him before he was finally laid to rest. A long, mortal life. One that he could spend, maybe, with her.

If she’d have him.

Because he surely wanted her, in every way possible…and he wanted to give himself to her as well. His mind was made up. He wanted to bond with her and take her as his mate, not just as a means of protection, but as an expression of his true love.

He closed his eyes, listening to the slow, steady cadence of her heartbeat. He inhaled, marveling at how good she smelled. How easy it was for him to separate the scent of her from everything else. After all, some of her blood already flowed through his veins, and Jefferson felt his fangs sharpen at the thought of more.

The sound of Y/N switching off the tape recorder startled him from his reverie, and he blinked in surprise.

Now, where was I?

Jefferson had to admit, he was completely lost. Technology wasn’t exactly his forte—okay, he was hopeless with it. She’d showed him how to use the internet, and the typing—well, it was just like a typewriter, but he was still a bit lost when it came to the mouse and all the clicking.

Instead, he propped his chin on his hand and watched as she scrubbed down after cleaning her workspace.

“Finished already, love?” he called.

She shrugged. “Seventy-five-year-old who smoked for over sixty years…you don’t exactly have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out.”

“Good,” he said. “I mean…good that you’re done, not good about the…you know.”

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the corpse. Y/N laughed.

“It’s okay, Jefferson. I knew what you meant. How’s your search coming?”

He shuffled the papers and made a face. “Erm…well. I uh…I logged onto Google, but after that I admit I got a little lost…and distracted.”

“Distracted?”

Jefferson fixed her with a smoldering stare, and she bit her lip, suppressing a pleased grin. By god, if they weren’t here in her place of work he’d bend her right over that table and take her now, the little minx.

“Come,” he said, patting his leg. “Sit on my lap and show me how to double-click the mouse.”

“Jefferson!”

He laughed, grinning up at her. “I’m teasing!”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about computers.”

“I don’t…but I find modern sexual euphemisms fascinating.”

“You’re impossible,” she smirked.

They sat together at the computer while Y/N led the search for a key to the runes. Jefferson tried to pay attention, but he was very easily distracted. He paged through the book, drew little doodles on desk blotter, and alphabetized the reference books on the shelf behind them. He had just finished braiding her hair when she cried out.

“Jefferson! I think I found it!”

He huddled next to her as she pointed out an article on the screen.

“The symbols are an ancient Romanian secret language,” she said excitedly. “The symbols were used in recent centuries as embroidery patterns on clothing, but way, way before that they were used in secret cults.”

“Satanic?”

“No. Pagan Romanian cults, mostly representing the worship of the sun and the moon.”

“ Copiii soarelui și lunii,” Jefferson read in a hushed voice, looking at the screen.

“You speak Romanian?”

“I’ve had all the time in the world, my dear, I speak several languages.” He smiled and nodded at the screen. “It means, ‘Children of the Sun and the Moon.’ These cults were thought to be the forerunners to the Legend of Dracula and Van Helsing.”

Y/N turned and plucked the sheets off the printer that depicted several rune diagrams. “So, do you think you could translate it with these?”

Jefferson’s brow furrowed as he looked over the pages, cross-referencing several symbols. He laughed, seeing that she was absolutely right. For the first time, a cure was within his grasp.

“Yes, I believe it’s possible.” He beamed at her. “You’ve figured it out, Y/N, you…you’ve done what’s taken me over a century. You’re amazing, darling.”

Jefferson pulled her onto his lap, cupping her face with his hands. Light kisses against her lips, the tip of her nose, her forehead.

“Te iubesc, sângele inimii mele,”he whispered against her skin. He smiled at the deep blush that crept into her cheeks, and at the look of radiant adoration in her beautiful eyes.

“It means, I love you, blood of my heart.”

Her lips parted slightly, and she blushed. Jefferson rubbed his nose against hers and trailed his lips across her cheekbone and down her jaw, delighting in the way her breath hitched at his touch.

“Tell me more,” she murmured.

"Lumina vieții mele, vreau să vă dau totul.”

Jefferson kissed the soft spot behind her ear. He drew her earlobe between his teeth, biting down gently. She gasped, and he whispered softly.

“Light of my life, I want to give you everything.”

His hands smoothed down her sides, gripping her hips and pulling her tighter to him. Lips grazed down her throat, pausing at her pulse point and feeling the rush of blood just beneath the surface.

“Vreau sa te fac al meu.”

He bit down lightly on the tender skin there, feeling her pulse quicken in response.

“I want to make you mine.”

Jefferson looked up at her and was surprised to see the carnal hunger in her eyes. She looked as though she would devour him on the spot. Bending down, she placed feather-light kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his brow.

“I want to be yours. Only yours,” she murmured.

The coil in his belly tightened as he felt her thighs squeeze his waist, and he gasped as she gripped his chestnut locks, tilting his head back so she could lavish attention to his throat. Jefferson’s hands snaked up her back and pulled her closer as they became lost in one another.

***

Two eyes peered through the low window that looked into the basement morgue, crimson lips sliding into a snarl. Watching in silent fury as the couple exchanged soft kisses and gentle caresses, less than ten feet from her.

Jefferson. Walking, talking, and very much alive, right in front of her. Kissing that lying little bitch of a coroner. Regina had been fooled again, and this time by a talentless human girl. Lied to and deceived, even after Regina had done her very best to put the fear of the devil in her.

Regina stood and dusted off her pantsuit. Well, her little protector wouldn’t be able to save her this time.

Regina had followed up on the coroner’s paperwork, trying to track down Jefferson’s body…only to find that both the paperwork and the autopsy had been faked. The police were none the wiser—to them there was no way the body could be anything but dead and gone. Regina knew better, though.

Jefferson was proving to be as slippery as an eel. He had tricked her at every turn, and now he had her spell book. And not just any book—the Cartea Morților,some of the darkest and deadliest spells were in that spell book. It was one of her favorites.

Apparently, he hadn’t learned his lesson with Grace. Perhaps it was time to take someone he loved from right in front of him. Make him watch as she suffered…use her as leverage to get what she needed from him.

And then, Regina would make Jefferson watch as she killed her.

As she faded back into the surrounding woods, Regina began to plot. She would need to get the girl away from him somehow—there was no way she would be able to get to her with Jefferson around. The man had no stomach for violence, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight to the death to protect the woman he loved. The curse had made him stronger and faster than her…and a potentially lethal adversary.

Regina got in her car, as slow smile spreading across her face. She wasn’t worried. She would track them and find a way to get the girl alone.

Then she would make them both pay.

***

“Love? There’s something I want to ask you.”

You hummed, looking up at him. Sprawled across the couch with Jefferson, your head nestled against his chest, you floated in utter bliss, staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. His long fingers grazed down the side of your face, his index finger sliding over your bottom lip.

He seemed lost in thought, and a little apprehensive.

“What is it, Jefferson? What’s wrong?”

He smiled. “Nothing’s wrong, I just…I’ve been doing some thinking, and reading…”

“About what?”

“A way to keep you safe…a way for us to look out for each other.”

You must have looked confused, because he carefully sat you up, pulling the Cartea Morților onto both your laps. He paged through the book until he found what he was looking for.

A wild heat erupted in your core the same moment you flushed in embarrassment. The page was in Romanian, of course, but the illustrations left little to the imagination. They looked like they belonged in The Joy of Sex…if Bram Stoker had written it. It appeared to be detailed instructions for a vampire mating ritual.

Jefferson caught your look, and he chuckled nervously. “Yes, ah…it’s…I know it’s a bit, erm…descriptive, but it’s…”

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “The mating ritual is not just sexual, it’s used to form a bonded pair. That is, between two vampires after they’ve imprinted on one another…or a vampire and a human.”

You had to admit, just the thought of bonding with Jefferson in that way warmed your heart…as well as somewhere further south. Still, you had questions.

“Will it…will it hurt? Am I going to turn into a—”

“No!” Jefferson grabbed both your hands, clutching them with urgency. “I would never, never do anything to hurt you or…or taint you like that.”

He said it with such disgust that you immediately felt bad for even asking.

“Don’t,” he said as if he could read your thoughts. “You have questions, as you should. I…I only bring it up because it is a means of protection. After we’re bonded we’ll be able to sense when the other is in danger, feel each other’s emotions. A bonded pair will always find each other.”

“So it’s just for protection?”

“No. Not just that it’s…it’s something I want with you, very, very much.”

Your breath hitched in your chest, and your heart fluttered.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined a future with Jefferson. What he was offering, while slightly different, seemed more intimate and…lasting. You knew he loved you, but you had no idea he felt as strongly as you did. He was sitting there, watching you, waiting for your answer.

You nodded, and Jefferson broke into such a radiant and genuine smile that it melted your heart. He cradled your face, kissing you deeply. His nose rubbed against your cheek as he whispered into your ear.

“I love you, Y/N.” He smiled and pulled back, his blue eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “Do you want this, darling? Truly? I don’t want to make you—”

You silenced him with a kiss, and he moaned.

“I want to be yours, Jefferson. I want this.”

Jefferson drew you into his arms, nuzzling your hair. The fire was starting to die down as he helped you to your feet, holding your hand tightly as you ascended the stairs to his bedroom. He shut the door and stood there, fidgeting and staring at the floor.

Now that you were in his room, Jefferson seemed nervous. He was trembling, and he looked at you as if you were made of porcelain.

“Jefferson, what’s wrong?”

“I…I want to do this, I really do.” His lips trembled. “I just—I don’t want to hurt you.”

He looked at you, his eyes miserable. “And I could. Hurt you. I—you have no idea what it’s like. How much I constantly struggle to control myself with you. How long I’ve dreamed of this very moment with you. How much I want it, but I’m so afraid I’m not strong enough to stop myself.”

Jefferson looked at you, his eyes darkening with desire. He leaned in, kissing you gently as his fingers traced down your neck, stopping at the hollow of your throat. His palm flattened against your chest and he closed his eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of the organ beneath.

“I can hear your heart beating, did you know that? Always. Sometimes it beats softly in the background, a white noise I hardly notice.” He took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered open, feeling your heart start to pound beneath his hand.

“Other times, though, like this…it’s everywhere. It’s all around me. It’s inside me, I can almost feel it. It’s so alive…so beautiful…so you.It’s almost more than I can stand.”

He was staring at you now, his eyes blown black with a carnal need.

“I can smell it…your blood. God, it smells so sweet, so intoxicating.” Jefferson licked his lips, barely suppressing a shudder. “Your heart is racing, it’s pounding in my head. I can hear the liquid rush calling to me, and I can smell how much you want it.”

Jefferson ghosted his lips over the pulse point in your throat, and you could feel the light drag of his fangs against your skin. Wetness pooled at your core, and he groaned. You knew he could smell that as well.

“God help me, I want it too. I want it, but once I have that first taste, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.”

Jefferson seemed to come back to himself, and laid back on the bed with a sigh. “It won’t be like before, it’s…it’s…I’ll try to be gentle, but you have to understand, I’ll be at the very limit of my control.”

He looked up at you, miserably tormented by his conflicting emotions. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

You unbuttoned your dress, letting it fall silently to the floor as you climbed onto the bed, facing him. Jefferson stared at you as you crawled over to him, your fingers slowly untying his scarf.

“It’s okay, Jefferson, I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

His breath hitched as you unbuttoned his shirt and ran your hands down his sculpted chest. He felt cold, and you remembered he hadn’t fed yet today. Heat coiled in your belly at the thought.

Jefferson reached up with trembling hands and lightly traced the vein in your throat, all the way down your chest, pausing over your heart. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your bra, running softly over your breasts and making your nipples hard. His eyes flashed darkly, but he was exceedingly gentle as he pulled off your undergarments.

His pants and shirt soon joined them on the floor, and he sat back, staring at you as if seeing you for the first time. It seemed like the calm before the storm. He was painfully hard, and you were almost shaking in anticipation as you felt the wetness of your arousal leak down your leg.

“So beautiful,” he said as he took your face in his hands, “and all mine.”

He laid you back against the bed, his mouth never leaving yours. For a moment you were both so still, laying skin against skin, your heart pounding so hard you felt it shaking both your bodies. Jefferson’s breath shuddered against your lips.

“Te iubesc, dragă,”he murmured. “So much.”

“I love you too, Jefferson.”

His tongue licked against your bottom lip, requesting permission. Jefferson groaned loudly as he entered your mouth, and he slid on top of your body possessively. He left wet, open-mouthed kisses down your front, whispering against your skin.

“I’m going to make you mine, darling, but first…first I’m going to make you scream with pleasure.”

His eyes found yours as his fingers found your core. He started slowly, gently, rubbing lightly over your clit as he suckled your breast. You sighed in contentment, a sight that turned into a gasp as he slipped a finger inside you and bit down on your nipple.

You cried out as his sinful tongue explored your body. He slipped a second and a third finger inside, pumping hard and rubbing your sensitive spot into a frenzy. Jefferson bit your ear, fisting your hair and holding you tightly against his body.

“Come for me, my petal. I want to hear you.”

His voice was a low growl, intensively possessive. It might have been that alone that sent you over the edge, but the moment he rubbed hard against your clit you came with a scream.

Jefferson didn’t even let you come down. Flipping you over, he grabbed your hips, drawing you up and back as he pushed in with a single hard thrust. You groaned obscenely. His hands gripped you tighter and he pushed against you, hard and quick, your name a breathless moan on his lips.

It was rough. It was animalistic and possessive. You could barely breathe with the sheer masculinity he exuded.

You came again, clenching down on him. His thrusts became erratic, and he slammed into you as he came with a choked shout. Jefferson’s hand reached up and grabbed your throat lightly, pulling you back into his chest. He panted into your shoulder, and you could still feel him twitching inside you.

Your head was buzzing with aftershock. Still, Jefferson was far from done with you. He smiled as he gently laid you down, his eyes wide and bright with adoration. He balanced his weight on his arms, his taught stomach against yours and his still-hard cock between your legs. Once again, you marveled at the sheer beauty of him.

A kiss as he entered you again, gentler this time but no less insistently. Slower thrusts this time…deeper. Taking his time now that all the frantic, needy energy had been expended from you both.

Your legs wrapped around his hips as his eyes bored into yours, and you found yourself mesmerized by their intensity. Then his lips were on yours again, the heat building slowly.

Jefferson cradled your head, lifting you up and tilting your head back slightly. His lips grazed your pulse point and you felt his breath, warm against your skin.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Two sharp pinches at your throat, and your eyes flew open as you gasped at the pain. Blood gushed up from the wound. Jefferson’s mouth pressed to your jugular as his fangs sank in deeper, and the pain disappeared, gone as suddenly as it came.

A great wave of euphoria washed over you, and you clutched at his shoulders. Jefferson drank, great long pulls as he continued to thrust into you. He moaned, his throat working at your vein. You felt your heart slow, each beat almost a painful thud against your chest. Jefferson moaned again in response, his thrusts growing harder and more desperate as he drank.

His skin was liquid fire against yours, and you swore you were both glowing. The room dimmed. You couldn’t breathe, the intensity of your previous orgasms washing into the now and making your head spin. Your body tensed and your back arched as your nails raked his back. Jefferson’s hips snapped against you once more and you came again, your vision fading to black as he released inside you.

You drifted, floating away on a cloud of ecstasy. Dimly, you were aware of Jefferson’s fangs withdrawing. His tongue slid over the wound on your throat, and he cradled you against his chest.

“Y/N? Darling, open your eyes…I need you to tell me you’re okay.”

His voice was hoarse and thick with emotion. It didn’t worry you though, nothing did. You couldn’t feel anything except for him—your world began and ended in his arms.

Your hand fell limply onto the sheets.

Worried hands at your face, and your eyes sleepily blinked open. You felt so exhausted, so…thoroughly sated. Lazy with afterglow. You smiled up at Jefferson, reaching up to caress his face.

“…so pretty…so…you’re so…beautiful…”

Blue eyes looking concerned now, lifting your head.

“Y/N, listen to me. You have to drink now, you’re too weak.”

Jefferson bit down on his wrist. Blood immediately welled from the wound, running down his forearm and dripping onto the sheets. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and he held his injured arm to your lips.

“Please, love…you have to take some from me now…I know it’s…”

His words faded to a gasp as your lips found the wound at his wrist, and you began to drink.

It was far from disgusting. It was a bit salty with a coppery hint, but it was rich and warm and somehow, it tasted like him. Jefferson shuddered and gasped, pulling you close and cradling your head against his chest as he fed you.

The haziness retreated, replaced by a startling clarity. Your eyes fluttered open. The colors of the room were brighter, your hearing sharper. You could sense Jefferson’s every feeling, every movement, your hypersensitivity completely in tune with his body.

All too soon he gently pulled his wrist away, licking the wound closed. You laid back, sighing deeply. Your body was thrumming with sudden energy. With life.

You rolled over, staring at him, feeling an immense and visceral pull. Jefferson looked at you, his eyes shining with devotion. You could feel his love, tempered with lingering concern.

Suddenly, you wanted him again. You needed him.

You pressed him back against the bed, raising his arms above his head and pinning him down. You knew he could easily overpower him, but at that moment, something otherworldly was driving you to dominate him. To make him yours.

Jefferson growled up at you, his eyes flashing with desire as your lips met his in a bruising kiss. Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head back as you bit his throat, sucking his skin between your teeth as he whimpered submissively.

You bit his lip and tasted his blood again, and it was all over after that. Jefferson groaned as you sank down on him, taking his hands and placing them on your hips. His head tilted back and he cried out as you rode him.

Neither of you lasted long this time, toppling over the edge together with a mutual shout. You collapsed against his heaving chest, your strength utterly spent. Jefferson curled his arms around you. Legs wrapped around his waist, you held him, neither of you wanting to let the other go.

Now it was time for sweet kisses and lingering touches, the heat of your passion burning low but still just as bright. You stared at each other with new eyes. Hands caressed gentle curves and taught muscle, each of you breathless with love for the other.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of kissing you,” you said, sighing dreamily as his lips found yours yet again.

Jefferson laughed, a light and carefree sound. “Then I’ll make it my life’s mission to make sure you get your fill, from sun up to sun down.”

You looked at him, realizing what he had just said.

“I mean it, Y/N. If…if we’re able to pull this off, to reverse the curse and make me human again, I’d like to court you…properly.”

You giggled. “I don’t think they call it courting anymore, Jefferson.”

“Well, dating then,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you call it, I’d like the chance to live a mortal life with you, if you’ll have me.”

After everything you’d just done, everything you’d been through together, he was still unsure.

“You already have me Jefferson,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’m yours, in this life and the next. I’m never leaving you.”

Jefferson exhaled sharply, and he blinked. Tears spilled over as he drew you into his chest in a bone-crushing hug and peppered kisses all over your face and neck until you were giggling again.

Soon the first hints of rose began to peek over the horizon as dawn approached. Jefferson looked up at you apologetically.

“It’s okay, Jefferson. I’m exhausted too. Let’s just go to sleep, we’ll need our strength for tomorrow.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

Despite the fatigue, his eyes twinkled in anticipation. Tomorrow you would begin to translate the runes and gather the materials needed for the potion. Tomorrow you would take the first steps towards turning him human once more.

You curled into Jefferson as his arm wrapped protectively around you, and you watched as his eyes grew heavy…long, dark lashes resting against his cheekbones. His breathing slowed, and as the first glimpse of the sun peeked over the horizon, he let out a small sigh. His chest didn’t rise again.

You knew what to expect with the dawn, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch. You held Jefferson tightly as the last bit of warmth left his body.

Soon, love. Soon, you won’t have to live like this anymore.

Tags:

@learisa

[hachibani]

hi hachi!! im really interested in hearing your thoughts on 5, 14, 29!

hi hi!! i forgot to check inbox again after rblogging that oops

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

I think i post everything except artbook/commission work and most of my art this year has been commissions so... i guess it's 30/70 proportion

I want to return to a 90/10 proportion next year though, i have ideas and I'd like to post more bc my online presence has been almost none in comparison I miss the internet...

14. Any favorite motifs

Contrasts... that's vague but yeah

As a whole I like touching in art and I wish for my art to reach certain level of intimacy if there's interaction between characters who care about each other TCH that's so long of an explanation... I like thinking on how to make hands touching, mouths touching, tails touching (thanks to most comms i get i learned to draw catppl LOL) and not make it look silly but that can convey closeness like friendship or romance

Also as hypocrite as I am for saying this I adore insects in art more than irl they are so aesthetically interesting... irl they are so delicate or outright harmful/annoying but I'm sure they feel the same way about us humans ANYWays I like them bc they kind of remind me of fairies (most of the winged ones) or of illness/fear/death (most parasitic, flies, maggots). I love contrasts and the fact insects can mean so many contradicting things is very cool to me

extra I like some of them irl too I'm just not good at handling them u_u

I also like mythology and fairytale motifs :] i'm ignorant of most literature so I cannot recognize many references when I encounter them but I like seeing fanart or comics of books I know and I'm taking this chance to plug gianni de luca's shakespeare comics bc they do feel like watching a play

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

I was legit going to reply with music but just this month I unironically wanted to draw OC animatics. To TSwift and Avril and Carly Rae Jepsen songs. I wasn't as unhinged as i wanted as a teenager and it shows now

I'm gonna answer with found footage style films!! they are my not guilty at all pleasure and I love LOOOVE media that replicates that style in art or videogames/ARGs etc but they don't really inspire my art, maybe if i tried doing some horror they would but that's not on my current plans sooo

[harmonyhealinghub]

The Clockmaker's Secret Shaina Tranquilino September 5, 2024

The scent of polished wood and the ticking of countless clocks filled the air as Samuel Delaney stepped into his father’s workshop. The room was a symphony of time, each clock contributing its own steady beat to the overall rhythm, a chorus that had been the backdrop of Samuel’s childhood.

His father, Elias Delaney, was a master clockmaker, known throughout the region for his precision and skill. People came from miles around to have their timepieces repaired or to commission a custom creation. But there was something else about Elias, something unspoken, that had always shrouded him in mystery. It was in the way he would sometimes disappear for hours into the depths of the workshop, leaving Samuel to tend to the customers. When questioned, Elias would offer a quiet smile and a vague explanation about delicate work requiring solitude.

Samuel, now in his twenties, had begun to take on more responsibilities in the workshop, his own hands becoming adept at the delicate work of clockmaking. Yet, his curiosity about his father’s secretive behavior had grown over the years. One day, when Elias was out running errands, Samuel found himself alone in the workshop, the ticking of the clocks more ominous than usual.

He wandered through the familiar space, his fingers brushing over the worn surfaces of workbenches and tools, until he reached the far wall. Here, a large, ornate grandfather clock stood sentinel, its polished face gleaming in the dim light. It was a magnificent piece, one Elias had always been particularly protective of, discouraging Samuel from tampering with it.

But today, something was different. Samuel noticed a faint scratch in the wood at the base of the clock, a detail that seemed out of place in the otherwise immaculate workshop. Curiosity piqued, he knelt down to inspect it more closely. His hand traced the outline of the scratch, and to his surprise, the base of the clock shifted slightly.

With a mix of apprehension and excitement, Samuel pushed harder, and the clock swung away from the wall with a soft creak, revealing a narrow, hidden door behind it. His heart raced as he reached for the brass handle, a hundred questions swirling in his mind. What could his father possibly be hiding?

The door opened into darkness. Samuel hesitated, then reached for a lantern from the workbench and lit it. The warm glow revealed a spiral staircase descending into the unknown. Gathering his courage, Samuel began his descent, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

At the bottom, he found himself in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with old, dusty books, strange mechanical parts, and objects Samuel couldn’t immediately identify. In the centre of the room stood a large worktable, its surface cluttered with blueprints and tools unlike any Samuel had ever seen.

But what caught his attention most was the large, intricately designed clock dominating the far wall. It was unlike any clock Samuel had ever encountered. Its face was covered in mysterious symbols, and its hands moved in erratic patterns, seemingly disconnected from the normal flow of time.

As Samuel approached the clock, he noticed a leather-bound journal lying open on the table. He picked it up and began to read, the words revealing a story he could hardly believe.

The journal detailed his father’s secret life as a member of an ancient order of clockmakers, guardians of time itself. They were not just craftsmen but protectors of the very fabric of reality, ensuring that time flowed smoothly and without disruption. The strange clock on the wall was no ordinary timepiece but a device capable of manipulating time, a tool his father had been tasked with safeguarding.

Samuel’s mind raced as he read about his father’s adventures, battles fought in the shadows to prevent those who would misuse the power of time from bringing about chaos. But there were darker entries too, hints of a betrayal within the order, and of a looming danger that had driven Elias to hide the clock and its secrets.

Suddenly, the ticking of the mysterious clock grew louder, more insistent. Samuel looked up just in time to see the hands of the clock align, and the symbols on its face begin to glow. The room around him seemed to warp, the air thickening as if time itself was being distorted.

In that moment, Samuel understood the true weight of his father’s burden. Elias had been protecting not just the town or their family, but the entire world from forces that sought to unravel time itself. And now, with the discovery of the hidden room, that responsibility was falling to Samuel.

As the clock’s ticking reached a crescendo, Samuel felt a strange sensation, as if he were being pulled in multiple directions at once. Then, with a final, deafening tick, the clock stopped, and the room plunged into silence.

When Samuel opened his eyes, he found himself back in the workshop, the hidden door behind the grandfather clock sealed once more. The journal was still in his hand, its leather cover cool against his skin. The clocks in the workshop ticked in unison, the familiar sound somehow comforting amidst the unsettling revelations.

Elias returned later that day, his face betraying nothing of the extraordinary events that had transpired. But when Samuel handed him the journal, their eyes met, and in that moment, a silent understanding passed between father and son.

The clockmaker’s secret was now theirs to keep, and the duty to protect the flow of time had been passed on to the next generation.

Samuel knew that his life would never be the same, but he also knew that he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, armed with the knowledge his father had fought so hard to preserve. The legacy of the Delaney clockmakers would continue, and with it, the world would remain safe from the unseen forces that sought to unravel it.

[miyamorana]

July Fic Recs

Here are the fics that I’ve really liked this past month. All of these are complete. Enjoy!

Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender (3), Baldur's Gate 3 (1), Boku no Hero Academia (8), Harry Potter (2), Merlin (1), Percy Jackson & Related Fandoms (1)

Find June's Recs here or browse my fanfic recs tag.

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Title: Amateur Theatrics Author: Haicrescendo Pairing: None Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2,540 Summary: [“Draw a portrait, Sparky,” she says, “It’ll last longer.”

Zuko does not draw a portrait. Zuko gets up and disappears to wherever he’s been sleeping (alone and far away, like he’s hiding, even though sound carries too well in this temple for him to keep his screaming nightmares to himself), and Toph thinks for a moment that she’s run him off. She hasn’t run him off.

Zuko returns in a matter of minutes, holding what’s clearly a book in his hands.

“Hasn’t…” he begins, anxious without fail every time he brings attention to himself, “Hasn’t anyone ever read to you?”]

Or,

Toph thinks books are stupid. Zuko disagrees.

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Title: Make No Apology Author: Haicrescendo Pairing: None Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 6,909 Summary: [Aang’s the one who brings it to him. It’s tea, obviously, but it doesn’t smell like any tea that Zuko’s ever had. Spicy but also kind of...sour?

Zuko stares down at his cup with a sort of vague concern. He doesn’t want to drink this.

Aang’s staring up at him so earnestly, though, and Zuko’s never been able to say no to cute, googly eyes. It’s not right. He doesn’t want anything to do with Aang’s weird, spicy tea.]

Or,

In which Zuko isn’t poisoned, but in fact finds himself at the tender mercies of a truth serum. In retrospect, maybe being poisoned would have been more pleasant.

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Title: Foundations of Good Diplomacy  Author: Haicrescendo Pairing: Hakoda/Zuko Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15,571 Summary: [Zuko doesn’t know how he got here.

Actually, that’s a total lie—he knows perfectly well how he got here. Fire Lord Zuko hasn’t slept in anything longer than a quick catnap in three days— the first two because of a somewhat routine, but excessively bloody, botched assassination attempt and the third because of the envoy from the South Pole. Relations between the other nations have warmed drastically since the end of the war, but Zuko will be apologizing for his country until the day he dies, and matters still need to be handled delicately.

And if said matters involve his best friend’s father, well.

There are some secrets that should be kept to oneself.]

Or,

Sokka’s dad’s got Zuko down bad.

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Title: Perceived Impressions Author: Acinonyx1 Pairing: Astarion/Haslin Rating: Explicit Word Count: 45,260 Summary: When Astarion awakens in the aftermath of the Nautiloid crash, it is not to a friendly face but the press of goblin steel against his cheek.

Now a captive of the Absolute, he is left starving and huddled in the corner, waiting for the beast that shares his cell to finally strike.

Bears, after all, are not known to be the most gracious killers.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: Q. A. B. Author: jihnari Pairing: Kaminari Denki/Toga Himiko (mostly background) Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 21,050 Series: Part 1 of how to (accidentally) start a cult (Words: 149,807 - Works: 4) Summary:

One month after @hawks_unofficial's initial viral post, the blog titled "Quirk Analysis Blog for the Future", otherwise known as "Q. A. B.", has gone from an average of 10 views per post to an average of 20,000 views per post. Midoriya Izuku does not know how to view the impressions analysis for his suddenly popular blog, and only notices that sometimes, people actually comment on his posts now. He does not google himself or his moniker and thus does not see the rise in online articles and speculation. He is unaware that the "kyuu-ei-bee" he begins to hear about in passing refers to his own blog. He does not have a Twitter account. At the time, Midoriya Izuku is 15 years old.

Izuku (accidentally) starts a cult.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: the shadows on my wall don't sleep Authors: achievingelysium and the_crownless_queen Pairing: None Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 2,589 Summary: “Sensei! Please don’t move!”

Shinsou’s voice snapped him back to attention, and Shouta forced his eyes open despite the pain.

“What happened?” he croaked out.

Shinsou’s face came into blurry focus. “The building came down on us,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m beginning to think your class is cursed, sensei.”

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: class pets  Author: beeclaws Pairing: None Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 1,362 Summary: “Right now there are three cats to a ratio of four people,” Todoroki says. “Any more, and we all get less time per cat.”

“That’s not a very heroic attitude, Todoroki,” Tsuyu points out.

Todoroki continues scritching his favourite kitten’s chin: the black one with white feet, mentally dubbed ‘boots cat.’ (There had been a sub-meeting about naming the kittens, which determined it would be too heartbreaking to do this until they were reasonably sure they weren’t going to be made to give them away tomorrow). “It’s just math,” he adds softly.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: testing, testing Author: beeclaws Pairing: None Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 10,646 Summary: Izuku swallows. “My plans would have…gotten civilians killed?”

Aizawa stares at him for another long moment, then breaks off and rubs at his eyes. “Your plans had an excellent chance of preserving civilian lives.”

Izuku waits, uncomprehending.

“However,” Aizawa continues, “I’d say on average, there was about a 30% chance your suggested course of action would have gotten you killed.”

Izuku fails a test and Aizawa issues an ultimatum.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: to work, to rest Author: beeclaws Pairing: None Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2,797 Summary: Three times Eri falls asleep on Aizawa.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: Memezawa  Author: RayShippouUchiha Pairing: Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2,177 Summary: Shōta slumps his way out of bed, the top sheet draped over his head and clutched together underneath his chin, and drags himself to the kitchen.

“Stop,” Shōta mutters as he does his best to avoid Bastard and Trash as they wind around his ankles, “I coulda dropped my croissant.”

Shōta pauses for a split second, something about that sentence not sitting right with him, before he shrugs and continues to ooze his way towards the fresh cup of coffee he knows Hizashi will have waiting for him.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: belonging  Author: beeclaws Pairing: None Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 3,596 Summary: Izuku is hit by a quirk that temporarily erases more than two years of his memories. Aizawa helps him fill in some missing pieces.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Title: The Future Forged in Our Palms  Author: nolov (louscr) Pairing: None Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 14,725 Series: Part 1 of our trust shot full of holes (Words: 27,879 - Works: 4) Summary: The deep breath Izuku takes is steadying, a comfort. Hope newly fostered in his heart is too difficult to stifle.

mightdoriya [4:27] want to play again tomorrow?

There is so much fear in asking, shredding and heavy at his lungs, and it only grows as minutes pass. Izuku has been alone for so long and wariness, in all the forms he knows it, has been etched into his very bones and soul.

Fandom: Harry Potter Title: passageways to windows that don't close Author: basketofnovas (slashmarks) Pairing: None Rating: Mature Word Count: 11,567 Series: Part 1 of what's holding up her face (Words: 19,290 - Works: 2) Summary: After Tonks is kidnapped by Walburga as a child, certain relatives are determined not to let history repeat itself. But the aftermath doesn't end with the kidnappers' deaths. A thank you gift for a beta.

Fandom: Harry Potter Title: i won't just survive (no you will see me thrive)  Author: EclipseWing Pairing: None Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 77,395 Summary: In which James Potter isn't as dead as everyone thought and Harry has a strong mistrust of all adults. Reconnecting with his son isn't going to be easy, not just because Harry's in Slytherin.

Fandom: Merlin Title: Empty My Heart  Author: athena_crikey Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 10,401 Summary: The dragon stares down, gaze heavy. “Understand this, Arthur. To find the strength to save you, Merlin has shaken the foundations of this world. He has drawn from nature that which does not belong to him, has filled himself to bursting with the magic of this land. That can only be put right by returning it.”

Fandom: Percy Jackson Series, The Kane Chronicles Title: Summer Heat and Gentler Love  Author: ShadeCrawler  Pairing: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson/Carter Kane Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 37,50 Summary: The time has come for Carter Kane to take on the crown of Egypt. With that and his GED looming in the background, Carter has no time for any distractions. Enter Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson; the world's best distractions.

Or: Five times Carter Kane was asked on a date and one time he asked his partners on one.

[princepsumbra]

@lionscion sent:

Sat on what were once a much grander set of steps leading to the upper floors, Ares kept his ears open for the sound of footsteps. The flutter-flop of delicate and sopping pages was the only other thing keeping silence at bay in the meantime, carefully leafing through each to try and introduce some dry air to this tome's margins.

Noticing the formulae and arcane sigils filling it was inevitable when he had nowhere else to look without risking a tear, and the more he flipped past, the more pieces seemed to stand out to him. Notes from his reason classes, he realized, were where this vague sense of familiarity came from. Forced on him as mandatory for graduation, and thus dutifully attended, he nevertheless struggled on tests no matter how much he studied. The only thing keeping his grade afloat was the type of magic Ares recognized as what this tome belonged to.

Something he saw in no hands besides those of the filthiest Lords he had the displeasure of serving as a mercenary. That history, and a desire to understand the enemy's weapons of choice, were what he used to justify why understanding it came so much easier to him than other magics, and cast aside any more questions that came to him while he waited.

Finally the sound of footsteps creaked out of the library entrance, and Ares stood with book in hand to meet them. "Professor," Ares called, holding the book up as he approached. "We found this amongst the refuse in the cellar. Is it yours?" Ares dared not risk pages fusing together, so it sat open, eyes unable to keep from drifting to the sigils again.

Though he was only in the lower level classes, he had still learned enough to know this tome was far more advanced. "I tried to save what pages I could," he explained as he balanced its spine on one hand, "But I wouldn't know how to judge its condition for battle--"

Suddenly, for the briefest of moments, a chunk of the tome's text flashed a deep, purple glow -- the same section Ares had been reading to himself as he spoke. It was one of the simpler sections he recognized from classes as the beginning of an incantation.

No other signs of life sprung from the pages after that, and after a moment he returned a confused but curious gaze to Leo. "Perhaps it can still be of use after all." In any case, he offered it to the other.

He needs a break from all the dust.

A tall order, given the decay of their surroundings, but holding his collar over his mouth and nose only does so much. He hopes the other two don't see the lingering fear behind his eyes, or the jump of his throat every time he swallows.

She'd been swift with that dagger. Blurred the lines between mercy and duty as it bit into skin and severed.

Fingers twitch with the urge to run his neck. Fascinating, how quickly a nervous habit is born under the right set of circumstances. He latches onto what passes for a door handle a little too forcefully, and for a moment, he imagines it's Kleio's neck.

Blinking away the image, he lets the door creak open and fall a few inches shy of closed as he exits. The familiar sound of pages rustling greets him. He follows it a few paces to his left, prepared for a fight if necessary.

He's pleasantly surprised to find Ares sitting on the worn steps, tome in hand. "Ares," Leo greets, eyeing the book. He can't quite make it out from here, though judging from the color, it's not one of his.

Before he can say anything else, purple light erupts outward, bathing the space with an arcane glow. Leo's quick to grab the tome from Ares, jamming a thumb onto the open page before it falls closed with a wet thump.

"Let's not alert any unsavory eyes or ears to our presence. Magic in Fodlan is different enough from the tome-based spells I grew up with; there's no telling how it works here."

Now he reads the front cover, deciphering the sigils for Bohr. An interesting piece of magic indeed. "And this was lying in the cellars?" He's even more relieved that Brynhildr miraculously remained by his side, instead of suffering this damp fate.

"Thank you, Ares. I'm sure I'll find a use for this."