#which is not the case as you can plainly see

[bluntblade]

There's something interesting that I haven't seen remarked on; both Cait and Vi's "coping" mechanisms in Act 2 turn out to be anything but, once you dig down. To me, they feel more like the two women punishing themselves.

Vi's case is the more obvious: her pit-fighter era is a red-misted oblivion. At first, the montage shows us a bravado-filled highlight reel, but as it goes on the focus starts to slide, and not just to the drinking. We see Vi being smacked down and biting dust as often as she wins. When she thinks of Caitlyn it's dreamy and peaceful for a second, only for that to shatter. Reality snaps back violently, and that violence means another wall between her and the rest of the world. Everything speaks to a loss of control - the same problem Vi has had before in her need to look after her loved ones, but now without even that focus. Her life is dictated by the schedule of matches, by her anger and by drunken, gut-level impulses. I was going to flippantly call it her Raging Butch era, and then realised the parallels to Lamotta's self-destructive slide in Raging Bull are actually painfully acute.

With Caitlyn, it's subtler. Her hairshirt is the cloak Ambessa drapes over her: Caitlyn is now enacting the occupation she wanted to avoid, after her more limited (yes, harmful, but more limited) method failed (and indeed caused harm in Piltover too when Jinx hijacked the Grey). She plainly dislikes it (just as she bridles against provocations by the Noxians) but there's also a sense that she's punishing herself, again, for her mother's death and her own previous failure (as she sees it). It would be easier to back down, or more comfortable... and in her current headspace, comfortable is wrong. She failed her mother already, fatally. She doesn't deserve comfort.

It's also there in her sleeping with Maddie. There's no real warmth there, and I think you can perceive a sense of guilt in Caitlyn around that. Again, I think it's plausible that she welcomes that sense of guilt. Especially as she leans away specifically from Maddie's displays of affection (leaving aside the fact of the little traitor being a little traitor).

And these are really the same flaws that led them making the mistakes they did during the raid. Caitlyn assumes as much responsibility as she can (and more than she can shoulder safely), while Vi lets herself be carried along as support, challenging Caitlyn too late to avoid the situation going horribly wrong.

So when they come back together, the thing which makes it work this time is that they let themselves want the things which they really need. Cait gives up her need to assume all the responsibility and all the choices, even as she looks as Jinx, sees someone swept up in the same cycle as her, and tries to break them both free. Vi finally acts for herself - she still fights for others, but it doesn't consume her own interests like it did before. Where they both got lost in loneliness, now they come together (no sniggering at the back!), and that's a real solace for the two of them.

[teka-chat]

how is it that each passing day i am becoming more depressed

ah lads. say it isn't so

[fairuzfan]

I'm to the point where if I hear you're endorsing/voting for Kamala Harris and you're publicly getting mad at people for not voting for her, I'm not even going to listen what you have to say, you've made it clear you have to strong principles to guide your decisions beyond "what's worse for me personally?" I think Harris voters have no actual ideologies to live by, despite claiming they do, and I fundamentally don't respect them for it. It's one thing to be angry at people who won't vote for Harris, but it's another thing to pretend you're doing it because you have some sort of moral authority and not basing it off pure selfishness. You think that solidarity is posting about things and that's it. You refuse to make yourself uncomfortable, even momentarily. And you get mad at people who are willing to go through discomfort for the sake of others. You call them names, ans claim that THEY are the selfish ones in this scenario. You've given up on making a change in the world for the better, or maybe you were never interested in it. All of your arguments pale in comparison to reality, because Harris is actively funding a genocide. She has even refused to acknowledge a reality in which she does not fund that genocide. Has made such a thing clearer and clearer. All my problems here in the imperial core are secondary to that. I'm about to go through multiple personal issues that are made increasingly hard by political factors and I still think that's nothing in comparison to what Palestinians and Lebanese are going through overseas. You've placed yourselves as the ultimate victims in the world and to me it's laughable and completely out of touch with just how fucked everyone else is because of the imperial beast that is Amerikkka. And speak nothing of the way the victims of Amerikkkan imperialism on Turtle Island bear the brunt of societies' woes for your personal comfort and refusal to make any meaningful change. Not ev baby steps! You think trump is an accidental anomaly and not a product of a larger issue within white amerikkkan politics. Is it not shocking to you that so many people here are voting for trump so enthusiastically?

Seeing things like the weaponization of personal identity, like "Muslims for Harris," used so plainly is an insult to the ideas of internationalism that you all claim to follow. What use is solidarity with the victims of imperialism if you refuse to acknowledge the entirety of the imperial complex? That includes the democrats you hold so dear as well as the Republicans? What use is any of this if you only think for yourself?

You claim to be thinking of others, and that's why you vote for Harris... but what is so incomprehensible to me is the comfort in which you accept the inevitability of Palestinian deaths. Why are you so willing to accept that reality? Why are you comfortable with that reality? It shocks me and disgusts me in a way that I can not really describe. You lot argue and argue and argue, but in the end, the difference between you and me is that I refuse to engage in a reality where Palestinians must die in any case. You have yet to refuse that. In actuality, you all refuse the baby steps, the bare minimum, of refusal to engage in continuation of that reality. And because of that, I do not take you seriously, nor do I view you as being moral in your decision to sacrifice Palestinians.

[medusaesque]

Kim's itchy trigger finger

So, Kim reaches for his gun often. Very often. sometimes for the most ridiculous reasons- opening the bear fridge, the experiment in the church, a note from Klaasje.

This one is just from being anxious going into the communist reading group. Kim doesn't want to be the kind of cop who draws his gun constantly, who shoots instinctively, but he is, or at the very least it's very difficult for him to stop himself from becoming one.

Perhaps the most horrifying example is with The Pigs-

Even if he KNOWS the gun isn't loaded, even if he knows it's safe, the instinctual muscle twitch could have ended in an unnecessary death. Kim is very well aware of that fact, and it's horrifying to him. @shufflerock-jam has this really good post about it, where they wonder how many of Kim's kills were unnecessary. "Something about a pair of traumatized cops, one fighting against shooting himself and one fighting against shooting everyone else".

At the end of The Pigs exchange, if Harry says she tried to kill him, Kim begins to interject, but stops himself and agree this situation could've been very bad. Then Empathy chimes in- 'He's trying not to think about how bad it could have been had the gun been loaded.' Which is the heart of the issue, right? that leads us to Eyes-

This is such a fascinating background to give Kim as a character- not just losing his partner, which gives him the trauma and survivor's guilt that lead to this unhealthy relationship with his gun and frankly with death in general, but losing his Eyes, and having that not interfere with his shooting. Kim doesn't need to see well to hit, he doesn't need to think. It's all in his hands, a reflex. A reflex that nearly took an innocent life. That might have taken one before.

His awareness of looming danger, to him and to his partner, is fueling his version of Hand/Eye Coordination to have him constantly on edge, his whole body is like a loaded spring, always prepared to make sure it doesn't happen again. Then it does-

In his nightmare scenario, leaning over his partner's bleeding body, Kim only needs one word to shoot without a second's hesitation. He's never not ready to take that shot. He doesn't need his Eyes.

Harry is distraught to discover he's killed before- his body remembers it. He wants a drink to soften the feeling. Kim however is impressed with how little he's killed- especially coming from the bloody murder unit. He wants to be 'one of the good ones' (Kim's adamant belief in the possibility of a Good Cop is a whole other can of worms) the kind of cop he would think highly of. Kim is disgusted by cops who kill like it's a game. Espirit gives us a vision of a cop exactly like that, who kills so often it doesn't feel like anything anymore. In a way that is completely mechanical- no thought, no feelings, just a thing your body does. Not unlike the way Kim shoots- like a spring unloaded. Kim has 6 confirmed kills before the tribunal, double the amount Harry has. He doesn't react the same way though-

It's doesn't bother Kim that he has killed, even if he declines to elaborate on it, and he seems to frown upon (or worry about) Harry's destructive coping mechanism. If they're unable to save Ruby, he says "Control your emotions. We did our job. This won't be the worst thing that happens on this case… believe me. You can't let this break you." When you wake up after the tribunal, he doesn't dwell on the lost lives on either side. Harry's skills call him a killer, a bloodstained killer, but when he tells Kim he also killed he simply nods. He's smoking though. I'm not saying that Kim is heartless or careless, he's rattled by nearly blowing The Pigs' head off, very sorry for the lives lost during the case, and clearly hunted by death, having been surrounded by it for his entire life. But I do think death is a part of the job for him- not just possible civilian causalities, but his own potential death. He speaks plainly about how he might die in the lie of duty, and he narrowly avoided it more than once, with others dying in his place..

He walked into the line of fire with harry expecting for of them to die, and his quick fingers on the trigger made it so they lived another day. Even if more ghost joined the list that hunts him in his sleep, he is alive. He goes on. He can't afford to fix this habit, as much as he wants to.

So it's so horrible and so touching that when Dros asks "What have you done?" Kim says-

It's a tragedy, really. A wartime orphan who wanted to be a revolutionary pilot and played with Franconigerian knights, who grew up to be a cop, a job that slowly shapes his body into a killing machine. And when you ask what he does, what you both do, he says keep people alive.

[seresinhangmanjake]

He Will Hope

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd is obsessed with his bride from the moment he sees her, but on their wedding night he finds out she might not feel the same. (Angst, but hopeful ending)

Warnings/Notes: Feyd POV, pre-smut and smutty-ish intentions (if that makes sense? idk, ignore me), instantly-in-love Feyd, unwanted marriage, baby(heir) talk, typos. Can absolutely be read alone, but also serves as something of a prequel to Do You Love? (same world, but big time skip), so I tried to kind of echo that with specific lines.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re so…beautiful. He didn’t expect a peace offering to be this perfect. Yes, he knew his bride would be a daughter of a Great House, but you are one of many sisters and Feyd did not imagine your father would send him the loveliest of his bunch. 

It’s a loveliness that has you sticking out like a sore thumb on Giedi Prime. Hair and makeup and wedding dress styled in the traditions of your home world glue all eyes to you as you walk down the aisle, and he likes that there is so much attention on you. It makes his inability to cease staring more acceptable. 

Harkonnens are not meant to be enthralled by their brides at first glance. Discouraged, even, from caring about their appearance at all. ‘Brides are meant for breeding,’ his uncle told him as a child, ‘It does not matter what they look like.’ But he was not told what to do or how to act in the event the bride makes his heart involuntarily skip a beat. 

Maybe if your heart was reacting in the same manner navigating this new feeling would be less intimidating, but the tears streaming down your cheeks suggest that's far from the case. You can barely look at him and he’s not sure you would be able to speak if it was required of you, but thankfully, verbal agreements are not part of marriage ceremonies on Giedi Prime. 

When he takes hold of your hand and slices your palm with his knife, you give no indication of pain. You are supposed to do the same to him but you seem nervous enough as it is, so he makes the three-inch long slash in his skin for you before pressing his palm against yours. The mixing of blood is a swearing of fidelity from husband to wife and wife to husband; a tradition and promise that wore down with time as concubines became more common. But he will not do that to you. You will be his one, his only, and if he can help it, he will be yours. 

He barely detects the words declaring you married. They're dull and bubbly in his ears as if he's sunk under the surface of his bath water because he's too focused on your mouth. Your plush lips are pink and plump and glistening, and he wants them. So he takes them before he's told to do so.

You taste different than the Harkonnen women he’s had. There is salt from tears, but something distinctly you seeps through. It's sweeter. A bit intoxicating. The kind of taste that collars and leashes the unruliest of men, and he wants more. Much more. But there are too many eyes, some of which are full of relief at the match finally solidified while others are prying and suspicious. If he keeps his lips on yours too long, questions will begin to form from certain witnesses—Does he like her? Does he want her? Can she be used? Can she control him?—and the answer will be plainly obvious.

When he breaks the kiss, your eyelashes flutter with the gentle opening of your eyes and he knows then that nothing—no convincing from advisors, no threats from his uncle, no hatred on your end—could ever have him willing to detach himself and use you for the sake of an heir only to discard you later. You are his wife now, you will be the Baroness upon his uncle’s death, and he will protect you from anyone who values you for the sole purpose of providing a child. 

—

He sees that your assigned servants have quickly learned to manage your hair and clothing. By the time they deliver you to him, the pins have been removed from the twist on your head, letting the strands hang loose to frame your face, and you’ve been unstitched from that heavy gown to be dressed in night clothes from your home. He provided you with a nightgown, so he wonders if wearing the thin dress was your choice or your parents' idea to make you undeniably enticing, but either way, it’s effective. 

What drapes over your body is nothing like the opaque blacks and straight lines of Harkonnen attire. It's intricate both in color and design; flowing fabric that shimmers when you make the slightest movements and, at the moment, does little to hide your shape and curves. 

As you stand in front of him, patiently awaiting instructions, he can only stare at what’s on display. Pebbled nipples, a plane of smooth skin down to your navel, your slit and the folds between your legs—he wants it all. All of you. Now. Here. Wherever he can have you. 

Rising from the chair where he’d been waiting, he dissolves the space between you. His arm snakes around your waist. His hand slides across your cheek to the back of your head. Lips slam into yours, chests meeting despite that sliver of fabric, and he tastes that taste again, instinctually feeling a need to lift his chin, bare his neck, and let you tighten that collar.

It takes you a few seconds but when your lips start to move, he kisses you harder, pulls you closer, weaves his fingers through your hair and lightly tugs. He guides you backward toward the bed, skin warming at the image of sliding the nightgown down your body. That warmth fans into pure fire and he can’t stop kissing you, can’t stop taking from you, collecting what little you’re willing to give him. Two of his fingers tuck themselves under one strap of the nightgown and begin to slip it down your shoulder. 

But then he stops. 

He stops because your lips freeze.

He stops because you're starting to shake under his fingertips.

He pulls back to look at you and it’s undeniable, so terribly undeniable, and he feels a bit ill. “You don’t want this,” he states. 

You don’t answer; you just stare up at him with those doe eyes that he can now see are full of fear, and his heart squeezes. His gut tightens. He suddenly has the urge to throw things, break things, watch things shatter to pieces because you don’t want him. His own wife doesn’t want his touch and he does not like this—not at all—but you’re scared, and he doesn’t like that even more. 

Sighing, he resets the strap on your shoulder, drops his hands from your body, and steps away. 

“I'll leave you alone,” he says. But as he passes by you, you grab onto his wrist. 

“We have to,” you rush out. “They'll know if we don't.”

He shakes his head. “They won't know anything that happens between us unless I allow it,” he tells you.

“B–But they expect an heir.”

“Yes. And eventually, we will have to produce one. That does not mean we have to share a bed tonight if that is not what you want, and it's clear that is not what you want,” he says a little too harshly. He isn’t trying to be snippy, none of this is your fault, but it hurts, and not in the way he enjoys.

You suck in a sharp breath as if preparing to argue, but then something shifts in your eyes. Instead, you say, “Where will you go?”

“The adjoining room,” he answers, nudging his head to the door on the opposite wall: the room for the concubines that he will never take. You turn to get a look.

“Oh,” you swallow. “O-Ok.” 

He grants himself a few more moments to study you, to soak in your soft and delicate features and the swollen lips he cannot have before he walks away, leaving you behind for the bed he had no intention of ever sleeping in. 

When he reaches the door, he glances over his shoulder to get one last look. You’re facing away from him, sitting on the mattress with your head low, your back arched forward and arms wrapped around your middle. You look small like that, slowly huddling into a ball, and he’d do anything to make it stop. Because you are his. His wife. His na-Baroness. He’s well aware he’ll fall for you in no time—it’s already begun—and he wants you to be happy with him. 

But you're not. And that already threatens the predictability of your future together. These foreign feelings he has for you are not guaranteed to be requited; something he isn't sure how to accept, and yet he may not have a choice. He cannot force your affection. He cannot demand you grow to love him. All he can do is try and hope that one day, he will win you over.

So that is what he does.

---

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart V

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You're sick

Ingrid knew there would be health issues throughout your life. She knew that routine doctor's appointments would happen every year for you. She knew that the medication you took lowered your immune system.

She knew that at some point, you'd get sick.

She didn't realise it would be this quickly.

You woke with the sniffles which turned into a sore throat and then a headache and a bad tummy. It all spiralled from there.

It started on the weekend.

Saturday was spent going to a check up. Sunday was game day but on the drive home, you threw up all over yourself.

Monday was a day off and it was clear that you had no hope of getting better quickly. You were sniffly and tearful and it was an all-around bad time for everyone.

They take it in shifts with you. Ingrid stays with you for one half of the night. Mapi takes the rest of it.

There's twenty minute powernaps fitted in between it all when they can manage but most of their time is spent up with you as you struggle to find sleep.

"Mapi!" Ingrid calls," Come on, we've got to get to the car!"

She paces the length of the apartment with you in her arms. Your nose is all stuffy and you've woken up with the worst case of blocked ears of your life.

It's clear your ears are giving you the most grief. You whine and huff and desperately pull at them as if it will dislodge the build up in them.

Mapi's getting changed from her evening shift with you and Ingrid can do nothing but pace and pat your back in the hope of settling you back down.

It's been another bad night. You slept in short half an hour bursts in between crying, puking and crying some more.

Mapi skids into the room, still in her socks as she throws things into your bag, stocking up on medicine and water and your favourite toys. She hops around the room as she forces her shoes onto her feet before practically sprinting out of the door.

You make it to training just on time despite your awful wails the entire journey.

Patri and Pina both wince as Ingrid walks in with your sobbing form.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's sick," Ingrid says plainly," Badly. The doctor said it's the flu."

As if to prove her point, you burst into a violent coughing fit and Mapi is instantly trying to soothe your throat with water as soon as it's over.

"Did you give her medicine?"

Ingrid angrily drops her bag into her cubby. "Oh, wow, Patri! What a revolutionary concept?! Giving medicine to my sick toddler! Why didn't we think of that?!" She snaps.

Ingrid sighs deeply as she looks at herself in the mirror.

"Sorry," She says after a long breadth of silence," I'm tired. I didn't mean to shout."

"No," Patri says quickly," You've clearly got a lot on your plate. I hope the little one feels better soon."

There's a respite briefly during training when you decide the hot Barcelona sun is perfect for napping in and you sleep under a tree nearby, wrapped up in a blanket despite the warm weather.

Mapi learnt very quickly not to fight you when you said you were cold despite the fever ravaging your body. All she can do is hope that the extra warmth breaks your fever so you can feel better when you wake up.

She's kind of happy with the outcome of your nap.

You've sweated out your fever which is good but you still feel bad. Your nose is still stuffy and you keep rubbing at your ears to unblock them.

The worst part of this now is that you've got clingier than ever before. You latch onto Mapi as soon as you see her and refuse to let go.

She's kind of glad all they're doing now is general fitness stuff because there's no way she could do anything technical with you still attached.

It's pushing it doing fitness stuff too but Mapi had come prepared.

It was an impulse purchase when you first fell sick and Ingrid had laughed until she cried when it arrived. Mapi was not dissuaded and she brought out her purchase, ignoring the snickering from Patri and Pina behind her.

With you still clingy and wanting nothing more than to crawl into Mami's skin, you let her manipulate your limbs into the toddler carrier.

She straps you in and then straps it to her chest.

She stands and has to find her balance quickly before triumphantly turning around to show everyone her solution.

They all laugh but Mapi doesn't care, not with the way you relax so easily against her and not when you fall into another fitful sleep.

[spencerlicious]

could i request emily x polyglot!reader? someone finds out r can speak multiple languages, so naturally derek challenges her and em to see who can speak the most languages

so emily and r get into a language competition (?) and the 2 make a bet of whoever wins, gets a special prize from the loser *wink wonk* pls? it starts with innocent foreign banyer then ends up gettin dirtier if that makes sense? top!em pls 😊

thank u for reading, if ur not comfortable its all good! :D

hi anon!! thank you for the request <3 this is a super good idea, i was very excited to write it. it kind of morphed from your request a bit, but the main idea is still there. i do want to specify that i am by no means fluent or even proficient in any of the languages used in this fic (besides english 😭) because let’s be real— 4 years of spanish did *not* stick with me, so i used quite a bit of google translate. you might want to keep it handy too! i hope you enjoy :)

p.s. this is my first fic in a very very long time, please be kind <3

love language

emily prentiss x fem!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: smut, cursing, oral (r receiving), fingering, dom!emily, i think that’s it?

w.c.: 1.3k

It was a long day for the members of the BAU. Back-to-back-to-back cases on short amounts of sleep were starting to wear on the team, and it didn’t help that the current case was stumping them.

“Oh, look at this, guys,” Morgan says, showing a picture from the newest crime scene. “Looks like there’s some writing in another language.”

You drop your head into your hands, taking a deep breath as you try to reset yourself and focus on the case.

“Looks like French, where’s Emily?” JJ asks.

You study the picture for a second before speaking up. “Dire la vérité— tell the truth.”

Morgan’s eyes cut to you. “Y/N, you speak French? And really, where is Prentiss?”

You’re about to respond as the door opens and Emily walks in from the bathroom. “Emily, did you know Y/N speaks French?”

Her face is surprised. “Huh. I didn’t. What else are you keeping from us?” She jokes.

Your eyebrows raise and you smile. “I speak a little bit more than French,” you say, not wanting to brag.

“What other languages do you speak?” Reid asks curiously.

“Well, French, and also Spanish, German, and Italian. Mostly Romance languages,” you say.

“Here’s a challenge,” Derek says. “Which one of you can speak in a different language for the longest?”

“¿Cómo no sabía que eras políglota?” Emily asks, effectively starting the competition.

“Nunca surgió en la conversación,” you respond plainly.

She laughs. “¡Podríamos haber estado teniendo conversaciones secretas todo este tiempo!”

“¿Qué tipo de conversaciones secretas te gustaría tener, Prentiss?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

She blushes slightly, flustered. She switches to French, trying to keep you on your toes. “Eh bien, je ne sais pas. Des trucs qu'on ne veut pas que Morgan écoute.” Her eyes flit to Morgan’s as she mentions him and he looks confused.

“What are the two of you talking about? And what are you saying about me?” He asks, looking between you and Emily.

You let out a small chuckle. “Tu ne veux juste pas que Derek m'entende te traiter de jolie et qu'il devienne jaloux, hmm?”

“This is all well and good, but shouldn’t we be getting back to the case?” Reid interjects.

“Yes, definitely,” you say, straightening your hair and pulling yourself back into focus mode.

After some more discussion on the use of a foreign language at the crime scene, the team decides to break for lunch. You take a quick trip to the bathroom and end up washing your hands at the same time as Emily.

“So, what was that?” She asks.

You’re caught off guard. “What was what?”

“You think I’m pretty,” she replies. “You told me I’m pretty in French. What was that about?”

You stammer a bit. “Well, I do think you’re pretty, Emily. I think you’re beautiful,” you admit.

“It’s interesting,” she says, stepping closer to you and placing a hand on your waist. “You speak three romance languages, and while it’s not the same meaning, you picked the most romantic language to compliment me in. Even if I couldn’t tell from the long glances and the way your heart is pounding right now, that alone would’ve told me what I’m pretty sure I know,” she finishes, looking you dead in the eyes.

Her hand is heavy on your waist and your mind is racing. “And what do you know?”

Emily’s other hand trails from your shoulder to your jaw and pulls your chin up so you’re forced to look in her eyes. “You have feelings for me,” she states.

You hold her gaze for a second. “I hate profilers.” There’s a noticeable tension between the two of you before Emily smirks at you. You feel yourself inching closer to her and then you’re pressing your lips to hers. She reciprocates the kiss without hesitation, and you feel her hands pull you in by your hips.

The kiss gets broken and Emily rests her forehead on yours as you catch your breath. Your eyes meet and you share a smile. “Embrasse-moi encore, s'il te plaît,” you say softly.

“Oui chérie,” she replies, already leaning into kiss you again. Her lips meet yours in a passionate kiss and she pushes you up against the door of the bathroom. She flips the lock of the door. Emily doesn’t want anyone interrupting.

Emily’s breath was warm against your neck as she kissed the tender skin. Pulling the collar of your shirt aside, she sucks a deep purple mark into your collar bone, drawing soft whines from you. “Shhh baby, don’t want the others to hear you, right?” She says, kissing the skin she marked soothingly.

She switches languages again and whispers in your ear. “¿Que quieres, hermosa?”

You meet her eyes and can feel the lust practically radiating off of Emily. “Want you to touch me,” you respond.

Within seconds, she’s on the floor in front of you, unzipping your slacks. Her fingers trace you through your panties. “You’re soaked, baby,” she says.

“For you,” you say, bracing your hands on the wall behind you as she teases you.

Emily pulls your panties down and rests your leg on her shoulder as her fingers find your clit. It’s almost electric, the way she rubs tight circles into the bundle of nerves. “Emily,” you moan out her name.

Her ministrations stop, causing you to whine out again at the loss of contact. “What did I tell you? Not a sound, or I’ll stop completely.”

You nod, covering your mouth with one hand as Emily runs her tongue through your wet cunt. She groans at the taste. “You’re fucking delicious,” she says, voice deep and dripping with arousal. It’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as her lips close around your clit, teeth gently scraping, making your legs tremble.

Your hands find a home tangled in Emily’s hair as you hold her face close. Her tongue slides back from your clit to your entrance. Your teeth clamp down against your lower lip as Emily’s tongue plunges inside of you. Her face is wet with your slick as she tongue fucks you, the sight alone bringing you close to the edge.

Emily then licks back through your cunt, sucking on your clit as she pushes a finger inside of you. Clouded in pleasure, you can’t focus on anything except the need to cum as she adds another finger and your walls are clenching around her. “Squeezing me so good baby, you want to cum?” she asks.

Your head nods frantically. “Yes— please, wanna cum,” you say breathily.

Emily curls her fingers up to press against that spongy spot inside of you. “Cum for me,” she commands, returning to suck at your clit as she hits your G-spot over and over again.

Your body shakes as she sends you over the edge of your orgasm. Her name is falling from your lips in a quiet whisper as you soak her fingers and face.

“You did so good for me,” she says, standing up and kissing your temple.

Catching your breath feels difficult, but you begin to fix your clothes and look presentable.

“Это было так хорошо, озорная девчонка,” Emily says, fixing her lipstick in the bathroom mirror.

“You may have just rocked my world, Prentiss, but I did not gain the ability to speak Russian,” you laugh.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, which starts you both up laughing, when a knock sounds from the door. You freeze, flushing in embarrassment.

Emily unlocks the bathroom door, opens it, and finds an impatient JJ awaiting you. “What are the two of you doing? We have an unsub to catch,” she says, turning around and heading back to the rest of the team.

Emily throws you a wink and follows after JJ.

You’re pretty positive this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

[max1461]

I think that the average internet Marxist is actually not much of a materialist at all, in fact in their behavior and rhetoric they seem very concerned with moral purity, the redemptive power of suffering, and the ability of narrative to shape the actual world. As myriad as the senses of the word "materialist" have come to be, none of this would seem to comport well with any of them. This all feels very Christian.

In some cases I really do think there is a latent Christianity in it, but I think the stronger source of this trend is simply the leftist emphasis on sloganeering. Somewhere along the line, maybe with the Bolshevik policy of democratic centralism or maybe somewhere else, the importance of the slogan, the party line, the supreme power of the speech act seems to have been elevated for many leftists above all other concerns. From this follows the kind of disingenuous, obviously fallacious argument you so often see from the online ML left. The point is to say the magic words that have been carefully agreed upon, the magic incantation that will defeat all opposition.

Whether it's "I don't want to vote for a candidate who supports any amount of genocide" or "The Is-not-rael Zionist entity is on the edge of collapse!" or whatever else, a rational person can recognize the impotence of these words. They don't do anything. They're just words. But the feeling seems to be that once the perfect incantation is crafted—the incantation that makes your opponent sound maximally like a Nazi without engaging with their position in good faith, or the incantation which brushes aside all thoughts of defeat, or whatever else—once the perfect incantation is crafted, all that is left to do is say it and say it and say it, and make sure everyone else is saying it too.

This is not a materialist way of approaching politics. This is a mystical way of approaching politics.

I think it's also worth saying that this tendency in Marxism seems old, it certainly predates the internet. Lots of Marxists today are vocal critics of identity politics, of what they see as the liberal, insubstantive, and idealist Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion framework. I share this criticism to a significant degree, but I'm not very eager to let Marxists off the hook here. The modern DEI framework evolved directly out of a liberal/capitalist appropriation of earlier academic ideas about social justice from such sources as Queer Studies, Black Studies, academic Feminism and so on. I say this as a neutral, factual description of its history which I believe to be essentially accurate. In turn, disciplines like Queer Studies, Black Studies, and academic Feminism each owe a great intellectual dept to academic Marxism, and likewise to the social movements of the 1960s (here in the Anglosphere), which themselves were strongly influenced by Marxism.

Obviously as the place of these fields in the academy was cemented, they lost much (most) of their radical character in practice. To a significant degree however, I think their rhetorical or performative radicalism was retained, and was further fostered by the cloistered environment of academia. In this environment the already-extant Marxist tendency to sloganeering seems in my impression to have metastasized greatly. And so I think the political right is not actually wrong, or not wholly wrong, when they attribute the speech-act-centrism of modern American (and therefore, online) politics, its obsession with saying things right above doing things right and its constantly shifting maze of appropriate forms of expression, at least in part to Marxism.

Now I should say that I don't think the right is correct about much else in this critique, and I also don't think this is wholly attributable to Marxism. But I think there's plainly an intellectual dept there.

More than anything else, this is my genuine frustration with both Marxism as it exists today and with its intellectual legacy as a whole. I fundamentally do not believe in the great transformative power of speech acts, I do not believe in the importance of holding the correct line, I do not believe that the specifics of what you say or how you say it matter nearly as much as what you do. I do not think there is much to be gained from playing the kind of language games that Marxists often like to play, and I do not think that playing language games and calling it "materialist analysis" is a very compelling means of argument.

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 2

Part 2 - Anya's "Anya-isms"

I think Anya has one of the most interesting ways of speaking out of all the SxF characters. But like with Twilight's dialogue that I previously discussed, it can only be fully appreciated in the Japanese version. Probably the most noticeable thing about her dialogue is how it's written compared to the other characters.

Written Japanese is comprised of three different alphabets: ひらがな (hiragana) and カタカナ (katakana), which together are referred to as "kana," and 漢字 (kanji). Kanji are the characters that hold the meaning of words, while kana simply represent the various Japanese syllable sounds and don't have any meaning on their own (much like the letters of the English alphabet). There are only about 100-ish total unique kana symbols, however, there are over 2,000 kanji in common use today. So Japanese children will start out learning kana and then learn kanji gradually during their school years. This is why Japanese children's books are typically written only or mostly in kana. This is also why manga and books aimed at a younger audience will have kana "translations" of kanji written above kanji characters, which are called furigana.

With that in mind, it's not surprising that all of Anya's dialogue in the Japanese version of the SxF manga is written entirely in kana. Even though using kanji in her dialogue wouldn't necessarily mean she knows kanji, reading a character's dialogue only in kana definitely gives off childish vibes – it conveys feelings of youthfulness and innocence, like "they're speaking only in kana because they don't know the kanji for these words…they're just a little kid, after all." At least, that's the feeling I get when I read Anya's dialogue. Though I haven't read enough manga in Japanese to say for sure, it seems like this concept of making little kids speak only in kana is not unusual, as there's at least one other example I know of: a manga from the mid-2000s called Yotsuba also has a titular 5-year old whose dialogue is written only in kana.

What's also interesting is that all of the other Eden kids speak "normally," using kana and kanji properly in their dialogue. This helps to convey the fact that, despite Anya being roughly the same age as them, their "rich family" upbringing has forced them to grow up faster. In the below panel, you can see how Damian's dialogue uses kanji (with furigana translations) while Anya's uses only kana, even for words that have kanji.

Interestingly, I found at least two cases where Anya does use kanji in her dialogue: when she's calling out the name of her big "Arrow of Light, Seize the Star" move during the dodgeball game, and when she calls out her "Lighting Bolt, Deliver my Aid" move when she tries to throw Yor's weapon back on the deck in the cruise arc. As you can see in the below panels, the names of these "moves" is written in kanji (with furigana translations). This makes sense not only because this is parodying shonen series where the characters shout out the names of their moves, but because it emphasizes how determined Anya was at these moments.

But going back to how Anya's speech compares to the other kids, another thing that stands out is that she speaks very "plainly." Her grammar is (mostly) correct, except for a few mistakes you'd expect a little kid to make. But she uses pretty much no colloquialisms, almost as if she knows the language but lacks the experience for using it in normal social interactions. I don't think this is unusual for a kid her age who's still learning, but it definitely stands out when compared to her classmates. For example, in the below panel, Becky uses normal interjections and other colloquialisms in her speech, like "ne" (ね), "wa" (わ), and "yo" (よ), which are all standard Japanese linguistic devices for softening or emphasizing your sentences. However, Anya doesn't use things like this in her speech. Again, this makes her speech come off as very plain and abrupt, almost like she's not a native speaker.

She also refers to herself in third person all the time in the Japanese version. In fact, I don't recall her ever using an "I" or "me" pronoun. I don't know why the English version of the manga doesn't keep this characteristic of her speech. I think it's very important in highlighting the childish aspect of her personality.

Putting all this together – the fact that she doesn't use typical colloquial speech and refers to herself in third person – really emphasizes the childish, naive, and almost baby-like nature of her character. I'm curious if Endo made her speak this way simply to show what a little kid she is compared to her classmates, or if it will somehow tie back to whatever roots she has in classical languages that he keeps hinting at. Regardless, as I mentioned in my full Anya analysis, what she lacks in speech and school smarts, she makes up for in empathy and resourcefulness.

Besides all this, Anya does make typical speech mistakes a normal kid would make, like mishearing words or saying things wrong. She mostly uses casual speech, but does try to use keigo (polite speech) on occasion, though not always correctly. For example, she says "ohayaimasu" (おはやいます) for "good morning" instead of "ohaiyou gozaimasu" (おはようございます).

But the most consistent "mistake" she makes (though it's not really a mistake) is what she calls Loid and Yor – "chichi" (ちち) and "haha" (はは) respectively.

Japanese has many different words for relatives depending on whether you're talking about your own relatives or someone else's, and whether you're talking to them or about them. "Chichi" and "haha" are the general, neutral terms for "father" and "mother," and are also used when talking about your parents to someone else. However, they're not used when talking directly to your mother and father. There are many other words for that, the usual ones being "o-tou-san" (お父さん) and "o-kaa-san" (お母さん), or some variations of these with different honorifics. Damian refers to his dad as "chichi-ue" (父上) which is very formal, while Becky calls her dad the actual English word "papa" (パパ) which is very informal and normal for kids to use. But again, "chichi" and "haha" are typically only used when talking about your parents, not to them the way Anya uses them. This started from the very first chapter where Loid asks her to call him something that sounds "elite." He originally suggests the very formal "o-tou-sama" (お父さま), but when Anya says "chichi," he doesn't bother to correct her.

Hearing a little kid call her dad and mom "chichi" and "haha" is kind of like calling them "my father" and "my mother" even when speaking to them directly – it's not wrong necessarily, just strange. But again, this serves to further emphasize the childlike nature of Anya's character.

<- Return to Part 1

Continue to Part 3 ->

[jointherebellion215]

His Kiss, The Riot

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When you and your secret lover make plain to Feyd-Rautha your wishes for a life together, despite the proposed arranged marriage, he surprisingly acquiesces. But he can't let you go so easily, can he? Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha, arranged marriage, NONCON elements, gore, violence, she/her pronouns, female!reader, tragedy, star-crossed lovers, songfic, not quite a happy ending (oops), dark dark dark interpretations of Hadestown and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read If It's True and liked, reblogged, or commented. I appreciate every single one of you. As always, I would love some feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs if you can :)

This is Part Two to my Feydestown trilogy (I'm so sorry for the pun). You can read Part One here.

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

The devil takes this Orpheus

And his belladonna kiss

“So you wanna get married? Take away the woman I just offered my hand to, to whom I all but have legal claim?”

Your beloved’s replied words of affirmation to his words hold the slightest tremor, but like a dog to fresh meat, Feyd-Rautha sniffs this out immediately. Another smile graces his face. Feyd speaks to the crowd now, “Yes, I was promised the Lady’s hand in marriage. But! I am a benevolent figure, so I guess I’ll let the lovebirds go.”

The crowd starts to give polite applause, while your knees grow weak at the news. You can go? Has love really prevailed on this day?

“However,” and with that, your heart drops “I have some conditions for these… nuptials.”

You could sense the air growing thick with tension as the reality of the na-Baron’s ruling twists out of your favor.

“Conditions?” You whispered.

“Of course, my darling! I can’t make this too easy on you, now can I?” Feyd paces back and forth on the steps from which he speaks, making your eyes dart back and forth with each step he takes. Vigilance overtakes your body in case of any rash decisions.

“You two can leave the city, but it won’t be hand in hand. This pair will have to walk in single file, with the boy in the front and my darling Lady at least thirty paces behind. No ships, no speeders, no running. Walking.”

The energy of the room starts to grow more electric as the points of this term seem to set in.

“The Lady cannot speak out or make any indication of her following behind. You’ll be faced forward the whole journey. Once you reach the edge of the city and passed the threshold, you can be together for eternity.”

Your breath hitched. Seems easy enough, right?

“But, if the boy so much as turns his head to check and see if the Lady is following, the deal is off. She’ll return to me, and we will be married.”

Nothing makes a man so bold

As a woman’s smile and a hand to hold

“Is this a trick?” Your beloved asks plainly.

Feyd tilts his head, pacing down the steps to ground level. “Now, what makes you say that? I’m being generous. I’ve set my terms.” He is now nose-to-nose with the man attached to you. 

“Now meet them or face the consequences.”

The hand holding yours is now pooled with sweat. You quickly and subtly jerk the arm of your beloved when he starts to protest, not recognizing a gift when he sees one. You bow, the picture of poise and grace that you were raised to be. There is still time to leave with all of your limbs intact, you could not afford to slip up now.

“We offer our most sincere gratitude, my Lord na-Baron. Thank you for this most auspicious opportunity. We will not squander it.” 

Your beloved gives a clumsy bow to match yours. Feyd’s manic smile grows as he clasps his hands together. The sound echoes through the hall.

“So it shall begin!” 

But all alone his blood runs thin

And doubt—doubt comes in

The pair of you hold hands, side-by-side, at the entrance of the palace gates. A crowd has followed you to the edge, with onlookers from the outside spectating the unexpected appearance of a noble. Occurrences like this did not happen often, if ever.

“You heard the terms. The Lady must walk thirty steps behind. She must not speak to you.” Your hands reluctantly separate, following the orders you were given. You can feel your heart pounding with each step that you take away from each other.

“Some of my guard will accompany you, to ensure that you comply to the letter.” Four Harkonnen warriors step forward and encase you in a square formation, leaving the love of your life alone and vulnerable. He looks back towards you, fear and doubt creeping into his eyes. You nodded at him, believing that you could succeed in your task. That you would prevail.

“You may begin.” Feyd voices, and with that—you start your journey. Step by step, you walk further through the foliage that immediately surrounds the castle gates and into the city square.

Once you and your beloved reach the horizon, Feyd turns to walk past the crowd and back into the corridor.

Your father, the Duke, bows quickly and offers his gratitude, but is ignored as the younger Harkonnen goes to gather his blade and shield. With a yell, he summons his guards to formation. As Feyd checks the integrity of his weapon, one of the Baron’s advisors tentatively steps towards him.

“My Lord, perhaps you should consider letting them go—” In the blink of an eye, the man is silenced with a swift slash to the throat. Blood spills through the advisor’s hands as he struggles to put pressure on the opening. His body flops to the floor and Feyd carelessly steps over the writhing body to march forward.

“Let’s go fetch my bride.”

Dangerous this jack of hearts

It had been almost an hour of walking by this point. There had been almost a dozen times where you wanted to give any audible indication to your lover that you were here. A whisper, a whistle, a stomp of your foot. Anything. But now you could see the edge of the city, you could almost taste it. 

A life with your love was within reach. 

The guards accompanying you shifted inward, almost boxing you in. You were hopeful, but nerves were creeping in.

This was going well. Too well.

The grand arch signifying the edge of the city was above your lover now. The field that you used to meet at in secret lay just beyond it. You’re almost there. Just twenty more steps and you could be together, forever. 

He steps over the threshold, you see his shoulders lift and fall in an exhale. Then, the man you had fallen in love with— who you wholly believe in— slowly turns his head to lock eyes with you. A pale figure steps out from behind a pillar accompanying the arch.

The growing smile on your face immediately falls. You call out his name.

Oh no. 

The na-Baron tsked and shook his head, as if scolding a child. Harkonnen troops flanked the area, giving Feyd-Rautha enough berth to have his fun. The three of you were surrounded, but only one really had the advantage.

“You were so close!”

Your beloved held out a hand, “Wait, wait! I made it over!” He started to back away in fear, unarmed and exhausted from the long walk. Colorful, ripe foliage brushed his legs as he back into your field.

“Ah, but she didn’t. So, face the consequences.”

Then his blade pierced the man you love. 

Your ears started to ring, throat working itself raw as you wailed. Tears blurred your vision, you could hear the gurgles of the blood leaving your fiancé’s mouth and the slosh of his newly disemboweled entrails hitting the lush field before you.

With his kiss, the riot starts

His body made a sick thud on the floor, and your body jumped along with it. 

You ran towards your dead lover, cradling his face and sobbing for the soul that was just ripped away from you. He didn’t deserve such a violent end. His only crime was loving you and being loved in return.

A chuckle sounded from above you, and you turned your tear-stained face to the brutal Harkonnen. He was covered in the blood of your lover, his spoils of war staining his pale skin. Black teeth on full display, his shoulders gave a slight shake as he expressed his humor. His laughter sparked a rage in you like you’d never seen before. It didn’t matter what bonds you may or may not have formed over the conversations you had the last week. He’s a monster. He needs to pay for what he’s done. 

Red flooded your vision.

With a roar, you lunged for the man. His laugh grew more manic as you smacked, punched, kicked, and hit every visible part of him that you could identify. In your grief, every ounce of training that you received flew out the window. He took every blow with a smile, as if he enjoyed the punishment you were attempting to bestow on him.

“There we go, my darling. Show me your pain. Your rage!”

Your mind started to clear with the more hits you landed. With a quick swipe, you had the weapon that killed your beloved against the naBaron’s neck. The Harkonnen soldiers immediately stepped forward, but Feyd stopped them with a wave of his arm.

“Ah ah ah! Leave her be.” His grin almost split his face in half, specks of dried blood making a painting of his face. 

“Do it. Go ahead, come on.”

He pressed his neck forward, purposefully putting pressure on his own blade. Fresh blood started to trickle down his neck, adding to the gallons already spread all over his uniform. 

The shock of his willingness to put his life on the line made you hesitate, which made him cackle in your face. Your anger made you draw the blade back and slice it across his chest. A groan left Feyd’s mouth, 

“Good girl.”

An unexpected thunk to the head made your vision start to spin. Feyd’s arms braced around you, slowly lowering you to your knees and down to a lying position. He cradled your head as if you were a precious commodity, when he leaned forward and captured your limp lips with his. 

As black started swallowing your vision, you heard him say,

“Don’t worry, my darling bride. It’ll all be alright. You won’t feel a thing.”

[bluegiragi]

Really curious about this all MDNI thing which is really popular among authors lately.

Just in case — I'm 22.

I totally understand that authors don't want to deal with consequences if minors interact with their work (we all remember cod cosplayers) but does it really stop anyone? I mean, can you imagine a teen who's starting to learn more about how the world works, who tries to find themselves and feel rebellious and even cheeky, curious about stuff (because that's what happens when you're a teen) who then sees the MDNI warning and like... "Wow, there're four letters which prevent me from exploring sexual world with my favourite characters. I'm closing this blog."

Again, not judging anyone who's using the MDNI flag. I'm simply curious how you see this situation.

I see it as more of a personal responsiblity thing. By disclosing plainly that my blog is 18+ and I don't want minors interacting with my work, I've done my due diligence as an adult on the internet who engages with and creates mature art. If minors still interact with me despite my wishes, the onus is on them if they see something that they shouldn't.

In the past, I think I maybe wasn't as clear/vigilant about this age limit as I should've been. I once mistakenly retweeted something while scrolling from an account before who didnt want any nsfw artists to interact, and I un-retweeted it as soon as I was notified, but some people took that as evidence I wasn't sincere about my age limit. So i do just want to apologise and reiterate - yes, i've been burned before, and now I'm very serious about the fact that if you're younger than 18, I hope you'll respect my wishes and not interact with me.

[girls-alias]

Necklace. Robert Chase

Title: Necklace

Words: 1,265

Relations: Robert Chase X Reader

TW: Fluff.

Masterlist

Context:

Y/N works in House's team, she's a good doctor, but the lines of morals are blurred and clearly has some issues which thankfully no one addresses. Chase and her have a crush on each other, everyone's favourite pastime is pointing his feelings out but she has a good enough poker face that everyone assumes it's not reciprocated.

I sat at the glass table, legs crossed as I looked over the files that had been clearly thrown down. Foreman was already sitting at the table looking at the files puzzled. We'd exchanged greetings but fallen silent as we read. I bit down on my lip slightly as I wondered about the case, studying it to memorise as much as I could as well as to build some theories.

I didn't look up as I recognised the clacking of shoes to be Cameron's slightly heeled shoes. "Morning," I said plainly, my attention still on the file. She groaned as she took a seat beside me. I chuckled as I finally glanced at her.

"I do not want to be here today," She commented so I scoffed as I nodded. I know the feeling. Working on the team is great, House is too much sometimes but he's bearable.

"Could say that again," Foreman chimed in. I chuckled, my attention going back to the file. I was in a world of my own. Foreman and Cameron discuss the case in the background. I jumped slightly when a small, brown paper bag was placed in front of me. I looked up confused seeing Chase walking towards his seat. I looked at him confused as he placed his bag on the back of his chair. The room fell silent.

"What?" Chase asked innocently, looking at each of us wondering why we were all confused.

"What's in the bag?" Foreman asked, sitting forward trying to peak inside from across the table.

"It's just a little gift," Chase shrugged moving away to go to the counter and start making himself a coffee. Foreman looked completely perplexed, I glanced at Cameron who simply shrugged. My eyebrows furrowed as I grabbed the bag from the table and put it in my lap as I reached inside. I looked in to see a small baggy, I pulled it out recognising it was a necklace. I looked at Chase confused as he focused on making his coffee. He glanced at me and widened his eyes. "Oh, do you want one?" He asked gesturing to his mug, clearly misunderstanding my confusion.

"Why did you get me a necklace?" I asked but he shrugged, grabbing another mug from the cupboard.

"I went to a market over the weekend and thought it would look good on you," He explained innocently. Foreman smirked as he sat back. I rolled my eyes at Foreman as I knew he was going to tease him about it. Chase isn't good at hiding that he has a crush on me, I, however, am great at hiding my crush for him. There have been times when I was close to confessing just to shut Foreman and House up about me being out of Chase's league and him not having a chance.

House entered the office abruptly with a groan. "What we got?" He asked also looking fed up with being here. I chuckled before putting the little bag with the necklace in my pocket.

"Chase got Y/L/N a necklace," Foreman announced making me sigh and roll my eyes. I saw House grinning out of the corner of my eye.

"Aww, how cute," House commented his tone matching a teenage girl pining for a guy. I rolled my eyes again as I shook my head.

"It's just a necklace," Chase sighed as he approached the table, he placed a mug of tea in front of me as he took a seat.

"And a cup of tea," House commented. Chase groaned.

"She asked for it," Chase argued but Foreman chuckled.

"No, you asked if she wanted one, she didn't reply," Foreman explained.

"Thank you, Chase. I appreciate the necklace and the tea," I commented as I grabbed the mug and took a sip. He makes the best tea.

"Not enough to wear the necklace," House commented with a grin trying to annoy me. I glared at him for being a dick.

"Can we focus on the differential?" Cameron asked clearly done with the conversation. I smiled, thankful for her change in topic.

"Yeah, Chase's pining is getting boring now. Hasn't a chance, poor guy," House commented. I rolled my eyes, once again wanting to put him in his place and make everyone well aware of my mutual pining for him.

We got on with the differential, concluding the patient needed an MRI and tox screen.

"Chase and Y/L/N, do the MRI," House instructed, I gave him a bitch face knowing he just wants us locked in a room together, it's his favourite thing to do other than taking Vicodin. I rolled my eyes as I got up and we all began leaving the office, "No sleeping together in the box," House called after us. I put my finger up at him as I passed the glass walls. He was grinning widely, clearly amusing himself. Chase followed me as we made our way to the patient's room.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have given it to you in front of them," He expressed as he pushed his hair out of his face.

"You don't have to apologise for their behaviour but why did you get me the necklace?" I asked, looking at him as we waited for the elevator. He seemed a little awkward.

"I saw it and thought of you," He shrugged innocently. I smiled.

"Thank you, I can't wait to have a look at it," I grinned before walking into the elevator as the doors opened. I watched as Chase smirked slightly as he walked in. He's adorable! We focused on the case as we introduced ourselves to the patient and got them prepped for the MRI. Chase had just finished setting them up when he came into the observation room to join me. We set the machine off and sat a little silent. The MRI is a long process so we're going to be here a while.

I took the small baggy from my pocket, Chase must have noticed my movement out of the corner of his eye as he looked at me, watching my movements. He seemed a little awkward as to where to look. I pulled the drawstring bag open and grabbed the chain, I pulled the necklace out of the bag and smiled brightly. On the silver chain was a handmade (Favourite Colour) gem held on the necklace with metal strips twisted around it. I looked at Chase happily, admiring him as he smiled at me.

"I love it, thank you," I expressed as I opened the clasp to put it on. Chase quickly stood from his chair, I smiled as I stood up recognising that he was wanting to put it on me. I handed him the open necklace and moved my hair out of the way once he had passed the necklace over my head. I grinned as I waited. He fastened the necklace, and I could feel his breath on my neck sending shivers down my spine. He lowered the chain so it sat on my neck. His fingers lingered on my skin making both of our breath quicken a little. I let my hair down and touched the gem as I turned around to smile at Chase as he looked at me deeply. My smile widened as I leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," I added before smiling innocently and moving to sit back down.

Chase stayed stood for a few moments before taking his seat and tucking it in. "You're welcome," He smiled, glancing at me as I smiled at him. God, he's so cute.

Masterlist

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Alt Assistant AU - Game Night

“Hey.”

Kara lets herself into Lena’s office, her greeting pulling her girlfriend’s attention to her.

“Hey,” Lena returns. At this hour, she should be tired, but there’s not a trace of exhaustion in the focused gaze that meets hers with a smile. “How’d it go?”

Kara grins. “I signed my contract with CatCo forty-three minutes ago.” 

Lena’s smile widens to beaming. “I knew you’d wow them.” She rises from her seat and leans in to press a kiss to Kara’s lips. “Congratulations, love.”

Lifting the bag of Big Belly in her hand, Kara shrugs her eyebrows invitingly. “Dinner to celebrate?”

Without a further word, Lena moves with her to the couch. Though she brings a stack of contracts with her, she holds off on reviewing them until after their burgers are devoured and the leftover fries long cold. Kara doesn’t mind Lena’s preoccupation– it gives her an opportunity to study Lena in profile, from the line of her jaw to the curve of her nose. 

“Hey,” Kara murmurs. 

“Hmmm?” Lena hums back, not quite looking away from the pages in her lap. Kara smiles.

“I’m hosting game night tomorrow.” Her declaration is met with a nod and another hum. “Wanna join?”

“Not really.” 

That’s another difference of this reality– this Lena declines invitations just as often as the old Lena used to, but not out of self-preservation. She simply feels no need to commit herself to something she’s not interested in. Most times, Kara admires her forthright, but tonight she can’t help the disappointment that courses through her.

Lena senses the change in her mood, and sets the contract down to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you to come,” Kara returns plainly. 

Lena’s brow furrows. “Why?”

It’s not an unreasonable question– Kara’s been hosting game not regularly since the reality reset, eager to reclaim one of the few things that helped her feel like nothing had changed. Lena has never expressed interest in attending, and Kara hasn’t extended the invite until now. But something has changed.

“My friends will be there,” Kara says. She lets her fingers trace the seam of the back couch cushion. She keeps her eyes on Lena’s. “I want you to meet them.”

Lena’s chin tilts to one side. “I see.”

“All of you are important to me,” Kara continues. “I want you all to know each other.”

She’s lived separate lives before– she has no interest in suffering similarly in this reality.

Lena’s pink lips twist into a smile. Her gaze teasingly turns askance, even as she gracefully scoots herself closer to Kara. “Well,” she purrs. “In that case…”

She leans in, and Kara closes the distance, capturing her lips– still tasting faintly of grease– in another kiss. 

“I suppose I can make the time.”

—

Game night is better than Kara could have imagined. In the previous reality, Lena’s first three game nights had seen her stiff and reticent, coiled tightly as though expecting a physical blow. But current Lena… Lena is on full display. All of her magnetism that draws investors in like moths to flame now brings Kara’s friends into easy conversation, her features bright and open.

She absolutely dominates at Monopoly, of course. And Trivial Pursuit. Kara cherishes every cheer of excitement when Lena succeeds, be it collecting rent or a correct, obscure answer. Lena’s clearly enjoying herself, which was Kara’s secondary goal for the night. Joining the two halves of her life will only work if both sides have fun.

The night ends when Lena heads out first. “Early meeting,” she explains, but Kara suspects she’s bowing out– at least in part– to give them time to report in and render judgement. 

When the door closes behind Lena, Kara takes a moment to deliver a load of dishes to the kitchen. She can’t help the grin that spreads her features– she can’t wait to hear her friends’ approval. But when she turns back to the line of solemn features lined up before her, her stomach drops.

“What? That– things went great! I thought—” She scans their faces. Alex, she can kind of understand. As her sister, she’s predisposed to being protective. Brainy, less so, but to Kara he seemed to be demurring to his own girlfriend, on whom Kara locks her gaze. 

“Nia?”

Nia at least, she expected to be receptive to Lena. They’d been friends in the previous reality, to Kara’s recollection, and her easy-going nature surely would have left her primed to adore Lena.

Except Nia’s grimace is widest of them all.

“I dunno…” She draws out the word, stretching it into an audible apology. “She’s nice, I guess, but… she’s also a little… intense?”

Kara blinks in surprise. “Intense? How do you mean?”

Lena can be intense. Kara knows this. She wouldn’t be a good executive if she wasn’t. Nor would she be able to go head-to-head in a male-dominated industry. But Kara hadn’t seen that intensity tonight. She’s genuinely confused, and waits for Nia to elaborate. 

“Well…” Nia seems at a loss for words, and she shoots a glance at the others for support. “She’s, uhh…”

“Obsessed with winning, for one,” Alex delivers bluntly.

Kara stares at her sister. “You’re mad because she… won?”

“It’s more than that,” Nia follows up quickly. “I don’t know how to really explain it, but she just doesn’t seem to… fit.”

“She has nothing in common,” Alex continues. “And I don’t like how she treats you.”

“Like what?”

“You waited on her hand and foot the entire night! Like you were her assistant!”

“It just felt like there wasn’t space for anyone else when you’re talking to her,” Nia says softly. “It might just be me, but…”

“It’s not.” Alex all but scowls. “All of us felt it, and the fact neither of you picked up on how uncomfortable we were says more than it doesn’t.”

Anger starts to build in Kara’s belly, but the hurt in her chest tamps it down. A lump lifts to her throat when she looks to the one person who hasn’t weighed in yet. 

“Brainy?”

His expression is pensive. “I too noticed the magnitude of Miss Luthor’s presence, which perhaps may not be well suited to such intimate evenings between friends.”

Kara presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath, then a second. Once she’s sure she can speak without her voice breaking, she swallows thickly. 

“I see.”

“Kara…” Nia trails off when Kara lifts her hand.

“I know you all must be tired. I’ll clean up,” she says. Nia opens her mouth to protest, but Alex places a hand on her shoulder. The younger woman slumps minutely as she quietly sighs. 

“Okay.” Nia rises from her seat, tugging Brainy towards the door. “I’m sorry, Kara. I just worry–”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Kara clips out. It effectively silences Nia, who glances sadly at her before she and Brainy slip out of the apartment. It leaves Kara alone with her sister, whose gaze she studiously avoids. 

“I’m not going to apologize,” Alex states. “She wasn’t the only one in the room tonight, and she was too full of herself to see that the rest of us weren’t gelling. And you deserve better than someone who treats you like the help.”

Kara doesn’t respond or look up from the knot of wood in her butcher block table. 

“I know it’s not what you want to hear–”

“I need to get up early tomorrow,” Kara grinds out. She’s heard enough. “Please leave.”

Alex doesn’t push any further. She nods, reaching for her jacket.

“Call if you need anything.”

Kara doesn’t breathe again until the door clicks shut. Only then does she release the pressure in her chest with a gasp, as the tears splash onto her cheeks.

—

Kara had lied about the early morning, but she finds herself sleepless regardless. She waits until the sun rises before she finally texts Lena.

What’re you up to? She sends, doing her best to sound casual and unaffected. She thinks she might have succeeded when Lena’s pending response immediately appears in the form of three pulsing dots.

Work, comes the quick reply. Seoul needs some cajoling.

Kara sends a sympathetic emoji back.

Should have everything handled in a few hours. Meet me at the office at 10? We can go to brunch.

Despite the gloom hanging heavy in her thoughts, Kara finds herself smiling. 

Absolutely.

She’s in front of LuthorCorp twenty minutes to ten, and sends a querying question mark to see if Lena’s already on her way down. Unsurprisingly, she gets a ‘ten more minutes’ in response. Kara decides to spend the wait inside, and makes her way up to Lena’s office. As the elevator lifts higher, Kara’s stomach sinks lower.

She won’t be able to hide this from Lena. Lena knows her too well, and besides that it wouldn’t be fair to let Lena believe something that wasn’t true. Still, Kara plasters on a smile before pushing the final door open.

Lena looks up, and her eyes spark with joy at the sight of her. She rises from her seat, meeting Kara halfway to the desk to greet her with a brief, sweet kiss. 

“Hey,” Lena says. “I just wrapped up the call. I just need to document what was discussed and then we can leave.  They were ornery, but I’m persistent, so they eventually came around.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Kara returns. She watches Lena return to her seat and soon the soft clicking of rapid typing filled the air.

“Last night was fun,” Lena says, glancing briefly up to catch Kara’s gaze. Her eyes are bright, betraying the honesty of her words. “And your friends are nice. I like them.”

“Yeah,” Kara breathes. Her fingers reflexively reach up to adjust her glasses. Lena’s typing pauses. She looks up at Kara for a poignant moment, and Kara can see the moment her walls shutter into place behind her eyes.

“Ah.”

Lena’s gaze returns to the computer screen, and her long fingers resume their typing. Her tone is even, but the neutrality in it is clue enough that she’s more affected than she wants Kara to know. 

“It… It’s not that they didn’t like you–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lena says coolly. “I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“What I mean is–”

“It’s fine, Kara,” Lena cuts her off, irritation leaking through her facade. “It doesn’t matter–”

“It does to me!” Kara blurts. Her vision wobbles through angry tears. Her throat aches, but with the truth hanging between them the dam has broken. “It matters to me.”

Lena’s fingers fall still. Her gaze softens as her eyes find Kara’s. After a moment, she pushes her chair back and rises. Crossing around her desk, she leans back against it, arms folding over her chest. Lena studies the ground at her feet for a long moment before lifting her chin.

“Is it something I can fix?”

The question is plain yet loaded with thinly veiled hurt, and it breaks Kara’s heart to hear it. Then in the next heartbeat, anger flares in Kara’s chest. The one thing she admired most about Lena in this reality, the one thing she was never forced to do here, was to remake herself into something she wasn’t. To change herself to be more palatable to others.

And here she is, offering to do just that.

For Kara.

“No,” Kara croaks. Then, stronger, “no.”

Lena takes a deep breath. “Kara, I can see how much it means to you, to live your life as a singular whole. And I get it– I do. But I’ve seen this before. I know if it comes down to a choice between them and me… I know I won’t be the one to keep you.”

Her voice cracks, and Kara’s heart stutters to see the sudden tears in Lena’s eyes. Her own cheeks are already damp, and her breath hitches in her chest. Lena pushes towards her at the sound of it. Her palms frame Kara’s cheeks so gently Kara only sobs again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers, lips quivering. “Kara...”

“You’re not.” Kara swallows, her hands coming to rest on Lena’s waist. The contact grounds her, lending her the strength that drained out of her the night before. It bolsters her, drying her tears even as Lena’s thumbs brush them from her cheeks. “You won’t.”

Kara leans in and kisses Lena firmly on the mouth. Then she wraps her arms around her, hugging her close enough to whisper low in Lena’s ear. 

“I love you, Lena.”

Lena’s arms tighten around her waist, burrowing her face against Kara’s neck.

“You will never lose me,” Kara vows. Her jaw tightens. “Never again.”

She pulls away with another fierce kiss. Lena lets her go, but her touch lingers as they disengage. Kara backs up, keeping her gaze on Lena for a long moment. 

“I have to go. But I’ll be back.” She smiles. “And brunch’ll be on me.”

Lena does her best to smirk, and it almost reaches her eyes. “Promise?”

Kara knows it’s meant to be a suggestive tease, but the nod she gives in return is as solemn as a vow.

“I promise.”

—

Kara issues only a short text to the group.

My place. Now.

If any of them had other plans, her tone plainly supercedes them, as fifteen minutes later her friends are all sitting on her couch watching her glare at them.

“I am angry,” she states, unnecessarily. “With all of you.”

Nia is the only one to quail at her tone. “Kara…”

“You are so indescribably selfish, each and every one of you. And you have the gall to say Lena is full of herself?”

Alex’s mouth opens in defiance, but Kara doesn’t give her the chance to speak. 

“But you’re right about one thing– last night was a test. Lena might have failed yours… but you failed mine.”

Nia and Brainy look at each other, but Alex’s features don’t soften a bit. It only rankles Kara further.

“So what if she wins at all the games? None of you can pretend you wouldn’t do the same in her place.” 

Brainy’s head tilts in concession, but her focus is caught once more by Alex once more drawing breath to protest.

“And the fact that I wait on her, as you so aptly put it?” she barks. “That I refilled her glass and kept her snacks topped up? What you conveniently failed to notice is that she didn’t ask me to do any of that!”

“No, she just expected it–!”

“I did it because I wanted to! Because I wanted her to be comfortable around my friends! Because I love her!”

Her voice rings out sharply in the sudden quiet. Kara hadn’t meant to admit it to them, not here, not now, but she refuses to take it back. She lets her scowl deepen.

“I love her,” she repeats, this time calmer. She looks at each of them. “I introduced you to the woman I love, and all you could think of were yourselves.”

Nia’s guilt visibly deepens, her shoulders bowing in on themselves. Brainy’s chin lifts, suffering the accusation stoically without denial. Only Alex remains unrepentant.

“Lena is kind and confident, and wonderful. She’s also stubborn, strong, and ruthless when she needs to be. I will not let her compromise any part of who she is just because you can’t handle who and what she is.”

A beat of silence follows, before Alex sighs.

“She was your boss, Kara,” she points out. Her tone, at least, has softened. “A boss you hated. And now she’s got you wrapped around her little finger? I don’t buy it. I don’t buy whatever she’s told you about how she’s changed, just to get you into bed–”

“Enough!” Kara shouts. Her hand slices through the air, silencing her sister, if only for a moment. She trembles with rage. “Don’t you dare say anything about something you know nothing about–”

“I’m your sister,” Alex fires back, “I know plenty–”

“She’s not the one who changed!” Kara cries, finally shocking Alex to a standstill. “You say you know me, but I’m the one who changed. For months, I’ve been different, and none of you have noticed.” She glares at her sister. “Not even you.”

None of them seem to know what to say. Even Brainy, astute and perceptive as he is, seems perplexed. She continues to glare at them, but ultimately reaches for her purse to leave. She’s done with this conversation. 

“Lock up after yourselves,” she snaps. “I’ve got brunch to get to.”

She leaves them all where they sit, gaping after her until she slams the door shut behind her.

[selarina]

Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

Content Warnings: oral sex(f!receiving), exhibitionism Minors DNI

You’re resting your back uncomfortably against the bed. Your hair was mussed and your eyes droopy. Shoko almost feels bad for waking you up, but business is business.

“Hey,” Shoko walks in, a shadow against the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. “Have you seen Satoru around?”

“Nope,” your voice, parched as your throat was, comes out hoarse and high pitched as you reshuffle the thick blanket over your legs. “Why would I know where he is?”

“Well,” she ventured as her fingers grazed the slope of her nose. “You two have been hanging out a lot recently.”

“We’ve all been hanging out a lot recently,” you murmured.

“Right,” she said, a hesitant nod punctuating her response. “In any case, if you do see him — tell him Yaga wants to see him sometime today. So he needs to stop ignoring him and answer his phone.”

"Understood," you managed, just about muffling a yelp.

“Also,” she say, contemplatively. You wish she would just leave soon. It was your fault for prolonging the conversation this far in the first place. Why’d you have to ask her questions?

“I’m only saying this because I don’t think I'll live long enough to see this play out but I’m pretty sure Satoru is in love with you.”

Your form stills, eyes widening, as a myriad of questions wait on the edge of your lips, waiting to just tremble their way right out. How do you know? How long have you known? Why? Did he tell you? Why?

But you think there’s no point if the man will refute the accusation just as quickly as they slipped out of her mouth.

“Make of that what you will,” she concluded plainly as she made her exit.

At the sound of the door hitting close, the weight beneath you starts to shuffle, causing you to let out a soft repressed moan.

"Satoru," you whimpered. "How can you just continue—"

“Weren’t you just begging me to make you come?” He looks up, his eyes alight, his lips glistening with the residue of spit and come.

"I never— Ugh. Did you not hear what she just said?"

“What about it?” he inquired, nonchalant, as he continued his ministrations unabated, peppering soft kisses ticklish kisses onto your stomach and your thighs.

You stared back, incredulous as he goes on and on, licking into your cunt. And he’s messy with it too, despite your many protests.

He never half asses sex, he had exclaimed with a grin, to which you often retorted — I wish you wouldn’t half ass the fucking dishes. You found an odd sense of joy in saying that, you thought you sounded like one of those old married couples, like you knew him for a millenniums.

“What do you mean ‘What about it’?” you asked, though the words trembled as you spoke. Were you even prepared to face the end of his response? "Are you...?"

“Am I what?” He looks back up again, his eyes a bit hazy as his hand comes up to wipe his lips.

His eyes flip back to your face, maintaining eye contact. “In love with me?” you ask, and it comes out as a mere whisper.

His response arrives swiftly, devoid of any hesitation. "Of course," he affirms, “You think I like to cut my sleep short just to put you to sleep?”

Your eyes go wide, gulping you speak up. “Yes... ?”

“No, stupid," he chides, his fingers reaching to pinch your thighs, eliciting a muted yelp from you.

He looks back at you now, his eyes droopy and low, his lips curved into a soft smile and his face beautiful, like the moon. He says, "I love you.”

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he chuckles. "Now, do you want to come or not?”

"Uh, yes. Please," you smile. "And Satoru..."

He hums, holding your gaze with an intensity that had been missing for as long as you knew him. And so, you say, "I love you too."

“I love you,” he repeats, and you think the more he says it, the more you can believe him.

[aces-and-angels]

URGENT PSA: DELETED GFMS UPDATE- PLEASE READ

the detective hat is screwed on tight gang- i just remembered that the wayback machine exists and have been able to gather some additional information regarding the deleted gfm campaigns for omar, raina, and iman:

all the info is under the cut

---

see the info on the site yourselves by using the following links:

iman: https://www.gofundme.com/f/jhcjrv-help-imans-family-find-safety omar: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-me-to-evacuate-from-the-genocide ran/raina: https://www.gofundme.com/f/displaced-gaza-family-seeks-help-after-war-destroys-lives

my hunch was correct: these campaigns were not formatted in the way gfm requires in order to stay operational. i detailed the common reasons why gfm's may be terminated in a response post to @rubashabansblog but i will include it again here:

ruba- i have figured out the following info from my own research. there are several issues that can result in a gfm being suspended. the biggest issue comes from how the actual campaign is written. the key is being transparent. that means everyone that is benefiting from the campaign must be listed out by name (there may be a rule about specifying any minors/kids' ages as well) + locations. the issue also may be linked to whoever is organizing these campaigns on behalf of these families. another part that needs to be addressed fully is who will be handling the money. essentially if at any point in the transfer of funds someone is responsible for holding the money raised, they need to be listed on the account plainly and on the actual donation page as well. example: person a is organizing this fundraiser on behalf of person b. the last issue i can think of from everything i've read involves keeping an accurate account of the family's expenses. meaning that you need to write down everything that you are spending the money on. since there's no way to print actual receipts- gfm is asking people to write everything down on their notes app with their phones. these notes count as "receipts" and the total amount must always equal the amount the person/people are trying to raise. example: say i am raising $10K to evacuate, but am planning on putting aside $3K for other future living expenses like rent -> all of that needs to be documented fully. basically- as long as goal amounts match up to your expense report- the campaign should be fine. i understand that some families may need to keep raising their goals in order to cover the cost of living before they are able to evacuate. if that is the case- each time they raise/decrease the goal- i believe they need to update their gfm page to address the new total costs for their fundraiser. please forward this information to the affected families when you get the chance 🖤 perhaps this new info can help them solve the problem on their end *edit: another problem i forgot to mention- the currencies must match between the fundraiser and the bank account it is linked to. this means that if the fundraiser is in euros-- the bank tied to the account must also be in a country that uses euros as their primary currency. a US-based bank account would not work if the fundraiser is in euros.

all three campaigns have the same characteristics: not enough info is being disclosed in the fundraisers. another common theme: they are all recently made (may 2024). the decision to evacuate is a painful choice for families to make as none of want to be displaced yet again- but the situation in gaza has prompted many families to make this decision in an attempt to save themselves + their loved ones. the issue is that many of those who are now choosing to make campaigns are not aware of the ins and outs of how to properly start a gfm (+ i'm most certain there are other factors at play as to why this keeps happening to families in desperate need of aid).

this is bound to happen again and again unless this information is being spread widely. which is why i am also asking for this:

please share this w/ anyone who is fluent in arabic that can translate this in its entirety (DO NOT TRY TO USE GOOGLE TRANSLATE). i have a lot of new followers from 🇵🇸, some of them with newly made gfm pages that may be at risk of being frozen if they do not correct the issues i've addressed above. this information is vital to ensuring they are able to continue fundraising.

i have seen campaigns launched in june formatted similarly to the three that have been abruptly terminated. obtaining a stable internet connection in gaza requires people to put themselves at greater risk as they travel to locations with a working signal. people have been brutally murdered by just trying to activate the e-sims being sent over. so it makes sense that these newer campaigns made by these families would not have all the necessary info required- as these guidelines may be difficult to obtain on their end/may be worded in a way they cannot understand (you try reading the terms and policies of gfm yourself and tell me how fast your brain shuts off- and you're doing so in the comfort of your own homes. imagine what it's like to do so while facing constant bombardment).

a mutual of mine has already tried to contact gfm on behalf of omar- and they have informed me of gfm's response to their question:

Omar has already contacted them and is apparently in contact with the team according to the person i chatted with. they cannot disclose to me *why* the fundraiser was terminated they said they are working with Omar to solve the issue. if the issue cannot be solved, the money will be refunded to everyone... ^ this "contact" is likely using the same chatbox the rest of us need to use in order to even speak to a representative at gfm one-on-one. a very annoying system, but unless someone has a direct line to gfm- it is our only option.

we need to mobilize right now and put pressure on gfm to give these families the time they need to rework their campaign pages.

through the wayback machine i was able to figure out the organizers for each campaign.

omar is the organizer for his own -> says he is located in vienna but that is in direct conflict w/ the location he says he is in under the fundraiser info (displaced in rafah). i'm unsure if he has a contact in vienna that is actually the one responsible for holding/transferring the money, but this information needs to get to them so they can try to fix the issue ASAP

the other two have beneficiaries listed, but there could be additional problems with how that whole thing is currently set up.

i still do not know the emails for raina/iman's gfm's (and the wayback machine doesn't let you see the contact info on the archived pages 😓) but- we can try to mobilize right now for omar. he is absolutely devastated and has lost hope that he will be able to recuperate the money he has already raised. this is not the time for the rest of us to lose faith in his cause.

for anyone interested in helping out- i have laid out all this information so you can question gfm directly. if you come in knowing your stuff, they may be more receptive in their responses than the first initial attempts. please contact me directly if you wish to email on omar's behalf so i can forward you his email linked to the gfm account.

tagging for more reach: @appsa @palms-upturned @malcriada

[armandclocksitall]

Object of Your Pursuit (Chapter 2)

Armand x gn! reader (no y/n used)

Warnings: mentions of suicide, depictions of death

Read Chapter 1 Here

“You want to see me again?” they said with disbelief. “You were trying to kill me literally 24 hours ago.”

“I didn’t try to kill you, I simply planned to.” He spoke plainly. “And then I chose not to.”

They were taken aback. “Those are,” they paused for emphasis, “the exact same thing.” Their eyes were wide with bewilderment at what they were hearing.

“They aren’t. ‘Trying’ insinuates that I went to attack you. I never did that, I just observed you throughout the night and discovered I had no use in taking your life.”

“You were hunting me. You hunted me like an animal, and then for some–” they were at a loss for words, grasping at air to make their point, “crazy mysterious unknown reason, you just let me live. Which I would seriously appreciate some clarification on that by the way. That doesn’t seem like something that you just switch up on after a second's thought.” Their hair was wild, sticking up in every direction after being run through repeatedly with their hands.

“I don’t see why the reasoning matters.” Armand was unimpressed. “Human life means nothing to me, so it’s nothing for me to choose to spare a life when I see fit.”

“If human life means nothing to you then it would’ve been nothing to kill me.” The student’s anger and frustration seeped into their words.

“Did you wish for me to kill you then?”

“I just want answers.” Their eyes narrowed, “And I still don’t see why you would want to see me again after you tried– sorry planned to kill me. Why would I agree to see you after that?” Their arms were crossed over their chest, the stance giving off a facade of stubbornness.

“I will provide answers in due time, when I know you can be trusted.” He stepped closer, matching position. “And why wouldn’t you? You invited me into your home, you demand explanations. You don’t fear me.”

“You were going to–”

He interrupted. “Kill you? Yes, you’ve said that already. But again, you do not fear me. You wish to know me.” His eyes scanned their face emotionlessly, “As I wish to know more about you.”

He was right, they realized. Despite their pushback to meet again, they couldn’t deny how badly they wanted to figure him out. He could very well be some monstrous serial killer; but the way he spoke, even the way his body moved, signaled that he was more than that. He was something much more sinister and they wanted to be consumed by it. When he left them on the steps of the church last night, they could think of nothing else. Nobody else. What made him spare their life? The man standing in their living room inspired a million questions. For the second night in a row they came to the terrifying realization that though this decision could lead to their demise, they would accept.

Armand was smug overhearing their thoughts. He knew it would come to this. Humans always hunger for more; more money, more sex, and in this case, more knowledge.

The student’s eyes were hard staring into his own. He was right and they hated it. “When do you want to meet up again?” They were oblivious to his intrusion on their mind, putting up the front that they weren’t desperate for the slightest information he could give them.

“A week from tonight. Let’s meet in the park around 11pm. You know which park I’m referring to, yes? The one you went through to get to the church, with the bridge?”

He had seen them in the park. The thought sent a shiver down their spine, recalling that as they approached the church the previous night they had thought he was nowhere near them. They hadn’t seen him at all that night, but they became increasingly aware that he without a doubt saw them.

“Yeah, I know the one.” Their resolve was shaken with the realization. “I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful,” he grinned. The look in his eye was slightly unhinged. He had something planned. A test. How far could he bend this human before they broke? “I should be leaving now, enjoy the rest of your evening and until we meet again.”

They were glued to the spot as he bowed out the door saying his farewells. It was a full minute before they could move again, peeking out the window to try and catch a glimpse of his retreating figure in the street below. He was gone, without a trace, just like the night before. They had a week to figure out what to ask him, a week to wonder what he was, and a week to figure out why he wanted to know them so badly.

The week dragged on, and every new day felt like it spanned a decade. The student had come no closer to figuring out why their life had been spared. He claimed he wanted to know more about them, but why? They were no different from any other person in this town, they didn't lead an exciting life, they didn’t have an exciting job, not even their work at school was anything to fawn over; so why them? It haunted them to know every night he was out there. Was he killing other people? Was he sparing other people? Was this his own fucked up social experiment? The only conclusion they came to is that he was no ordinary human. He looked like one and at times moved like one but there was something very dangerous lurking right below the surface of who he was.

They laid up at night wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t allowed them to live that night. The way in which he would kill them. He didn’t come off as the type to leave a large mess. Would he kidnap them? Slice them into bits and feed them to the fish? Would he torture them for days before finally delivering that killing blow? All these possibilities should’ve scared them straight. Don’t go to that park. Use the money. Leave town. Don’t look back. It could only end in disaster but the thing they most desired was to know what would happen next.

The student was preparing to leave and set out for the park when they caught sight of their own reflection in the mirror. They had pulled themselves together from the mess of frustration they had been when he left their apartment a week prior. Hair had finally laid in its right place, skin had scabbed and healed from where they picked at it in a nervous habit. Yet their eyes, still a wild inquisitiveness, sat behind their irises. They would get their answers tonight. They would get them, even if it killed them. They were a slave to their curiosity and it would take them out the door that night.

11:08pm. He was late. Not too late yet, but still late. They sat on a bench under a glaring streetlight in silence. Maybe this was another case of him observing. The thought unsettled them again, prompting them to survey their surroundings once more. There were plenty of bushes and trees along the walkway that he could be hiding in, waiting, watching.

They wiped the sweat from their hands on their jeans before deciding to make their way to the very same bridge they stood on just over a week ago. They recalled their thoughts from that night. If they had disappeared how long would it be before anyone had taken notice? With how flighty they had been recently they had wondered if people would just assume they had up and left for another city without warning. A fresh start had sounded like heaven to them in recent weeks, though they’d settle for a swift end just as well. They knew this thinking wasn’t healthy but it came to them so easily.

Their thoughts were cut off by a scuffling in the distance. It was a hurried noise that couldn’t have possibly come from– him. A week since that night in their apartment and they still hadn’t even learned his name, yet they knew he’d never move in a way that would signal fear. The source of the struggled noise came apparent when a boy just about their age came barreling through the park towards them, a panicked look in his eye.

They gasped as he tumbled into them, grabbing their shoulders. “Please–” he was heaving. “Please, you gotta help me. There’s someone after me.” Tears were welling in the boy’s eyes. “He’s gonna kill me. He’s after me and whenever I think I’ve lost him, he’s always right there. I can’t die tonight, please, call for help!” He begged, grabbing onto the student’s shirt.

They stuttered, unable to put together a sentence before deciding a frantic nod would do the trick and pulled out their phone beginning to dial.

Tears were now streaming down the face of the boy, thanking the student profusely for saving him. His gratitude was cut short when he stared in blank terror over their shoulder. They stopped dialing, their hands shaking as they turned to see what stopped him.

11:23pm. There he was.

Leaning against a streetlight, his long dark coat waving slowly around him in the cool night breeze. This statue of a man, devoid of impurity, devoid of emotion there, staring back at the boy who was quickly falling backwards. A startled noise left his mouth as he clung to the stone beneath him stumbling away. “That’s him!” he screamed. “He’s gonna kill me!” He choked on a sob.

The student was frozen in place. Their brain, short circuiting on what to do. He floated towards the two unbothered by the screaming that exited the boy’s mouth. He stopped in front of them, examining their features. Only the slightest bits of fear, not nearly the amount he was used to seeing in a human that could be facing their imminent undoing. They had expected to die tonight just as they did the night they first met. His eyes wandered to the blubbering boy again.

He was now speaking in hoarse whispers. “Please don’t kill me; I don’t wanna die. I won’t tell anyone about this, just let me go.”

Armand tipped his head sideways mockingly, approaching the boy. “If I don’t kill you then who else should I feed on tonight? It’s very important that I remain fed, the consequences of me going hungry could be quite dire.” He squatted next to him.

The boy's eyes widened in horror before coming to a quick solution. His arm shot up with a pointed finger at its end, “Them! Kill them! Let me live and I’ll never speak of this night again!”

The student broke from their trance upon hearing his suggestion. “Kill me?” They were offended. “I tried to save you!” They would not be condemned to death due to the poor decisions of someone who knew nothing of them. They knew in doing so they condemned him just the same but if he had made the exact deal they had all those nights ago, he knew the terms of it and accepted them with all the risks in consideration.

Armand tutted, sucking on his front teeth and ran his hand down the boy’s face smoothly. “Unfortunately Ethan, that’s simply not an option. I can’t kill them.” He turned briefly to look at the student, “At least not yet, not until I figure something out.”

The boy, Ethan, started shaking. His tears resumed. “I can’t die like this.”

“No, no.” Armand’s words were soft, caring almost. “It’s okay. I know you’re scared but you have no reason to be.” The words were hypnotic, like a song working its way into your ear. “You’ve worked so hard to make it this far, it’s not your fault that you didn’t quite end up where you wanted to be. Not everyone is destined for greatness, or a long prosperous life. A young death is nothing to fear or be ashamed of. It’ll be a warm welcome, I promise.” The boy’s tears quieted as his thumb softly brushed his cheek back and forth, back and forth. The feeling lulled him into a silent acceptance. “It’ll be like the first warm day after a long, cold winter. Sweet like the piece of halloween candy you saved for last to savor the most. A long awaited rest after a lifetime of sleepless nights. There will be no pain.” Armand softly tugged the boy’s head to his shoulder.

“No pain,” Ethan whispered, giving himself fully to the vampire.

The student again frozen on the spot watched as the man they so wished to know tore into the boy’s neck. They watched in silent horror the ritual as he lured him into his own suicide. They imagined plenty of ways that he could’ve killed them that night but never did they imagine this. They watched as the blood drained from the boy’s face, his jerking body had grown still. It was in morbid fascination they watched as he pulled away from the boy’s throat, a single drop of blood at the corner of his mouth quickly licked away with a darting tongue. Fear was not present.

The boy’s now lifeless body fell to the gravel below as the creature slowly rose to its feet and turned to the student. Tears sprung to their eyes as a sick feeling rose in their throat. They could not move, alarm bells were ringing in their mind screaming at them to run and get as far away from this thing as they possibly could but they could not shift an inch. This was not fear. It was sadness. It was vulnerability. He could see all the negative thoughts that plagued that boy and used them to put him to a calm and soothing death. Did he see that in them?

Once again, Armand was fascinated by this human’s lack of fear. This was a new side to them he had not seen outwardly portrayed before. This was a crack in the facade, a peek into how they viewed life and just how sorrowful it made them. He grabbed their hands in his own, rubbing soothing circles across their knuckles.

“You have questions. I feel now I can provide you with answers. Let me clean this up and I will meet you back at your apartment so we may speak.”

They nodded numbly, not daring to glance down at the body just feet away from them. They had seen enough and could not bear to face their feelings. They weren’t scared, not of the man at least. Maybe only scared at the fact that despite seeing him kill somebody, they still wanted to know everything about him. The lone walk back to their apartment was silent, their mind completely quieted.

They sat in their living room on the couch staring into nothingness. An hour of stillness passed as they waited for his arrival. A quiet knock came from the door, and they gulped before slowly standing and shakily making their way to answer it. He stood there, casual as ever waiting to be invited in before they slowly shuffled out of his way.

They sat back down where they had been for the past hour, silent once again but now observing the man’s movement. It was like he wasn’t walking but gliding smoothly to his intended destination. It was inhuman. Since the murder, they could not think of a single question to ask him. All thought had ceased to exist in their mind. They could not help but to just stare up at him in petrified awe.

Armand realized they were not going to break the silence and decided to address the basics of his existence that he knew they wished to learn. “I am the vampire Armand. I am 514 years old. I feed off of human blood, that is what you witnessed tonight.”

The student blinked. They were dazed at his confession. “What you did tonight,” they could not bring their voice above a struggled whisper, “is that how you planned to kill me? Before you spared me?”

Armand rolled the question over in his mind. “Yes. It’s how I kill most of my victims. I prefer to bring death quietly when I can. I usually pick them if they are committing some atrocity in the world, though if I cannot find someone like that I usually prey on those who have their foot in the grave already.”

“Is that why you picked me that night?”

“Originally, I had thought you were like any other human with a death wish. You had a general distaste for living and seemed like a simple victim. I had heard your thoughts that night though. Death was your easy way out but it’s not what you desired. You didn’t wish to be dead, you wished to have something to live for. The idea captivated me; I so rarely meet mortals who think in such a way so I chose to spare you.”

They were clutching themselves in a self soothing embrace hearing his words. They had felt completely seen and for the first time since meeting him, fear struck in their heart. How could he possibly understand them so quickly?

He answered their unspoken question, “I understand because I’ve felt this way before.” He allowed himself to be vulnerable for only a second before steeling himself again.

“You said you heard my thoughts?” they questioned.

“Yes, it’s one of the many abilities I possess as a vampire.”

They shakily nodded, attempting to wrap their mind around all this new information. Vampires are real. Armand. His name was Armand. He can read minds; he has read their mind. They shivered feeling the slightest bit violated now knowing of his intrusion.

“I can stop reading your mind if you wish. I didn’t realize it would upset you like this.” he interrupted their thoughts.

“Have you been reading my mind this whole time?” Their arms dropped from their shoulders, now sitting up straight and disgruntled.

He shrugged now, sheepishly. “You think very loud.”

The student’s jaw dropped. “I think loud? What does that even mean? How do you ‘think loud’?” They scoffed.

“I just mean your thoughts are very unguarded. If you’d like I could teach you to at least somewhat block them from being read. And like I previously offered, I could stop reading your mind if you’d prefer that.”

“Yes. I would prefer that, thank you.” The words were short. They think loud. The comment was bothering them much more than they’d like it to as they felt their face fall into a pout. “Wait. you said you could teach me to block my mind? So you would see me again?”

“I would like to see you again, only if it is your wish though. If you wouldn’t like that I can leave.”

“No!” The word tumbled from their mouth. “No. I’d like to see you again. I have more questions, if that’s alright. I just can’t ask them tonight. What you did– what I saw was a lot and I need time to work through that I think. But I would very much like it if we could meet again.”

The corners of Armand’s mouth quirked up the tiniest bit in a smile that was almost warm. “Of course, I’ll allow you a few days to think on it and we can meet again. Same spot?”

The spot where he killed someone? “Yeah, same spot.” They stood from the couch meeting his gaze. “I should probably get to bed now.”

He nodded, understanding it was time for him to leave. Before he opened the door to make his exit he turned back towards the student. “Goodnight. I’ll see you again soon.”

They nodded before pausing to glance back at him. He stood there completely still. Like a statue, like a painting. His skin was smooth like well blended strokes of a paintbrush, and he was pretty. As pretty as a Botticelli angel. They had wondered if all vampires had ethereal beauty or if it was exclusive to him. The thought was interrupted once more by a clearing of the man’s throat. Heat rose to their cheeks as the comment appeared in their mind once more. They think too loud. “Goodnight Armand,” they stuttered as he shut the door.

“Like a painting.” Armand stood in the street below, their subconscious words echoing in his own mind. They couldn’t have possibly known the relevance of that statement. The power it held. He hadn’t been painted in centuries, the last one to do so– He couldn’t bring himself to think on it, they couldn’t have meant anything by it. It was a simple observation on their part and he needed to move past it.

With one haunting thought came another. What was he doing? The ancient laws meant nothing to him tonight as he revealed his being to this human. He thought of Louis’ interview with Daniel now on its way to print. He thought his former lover was being reckless, a kind of begging for death. He wanted no part in that interview but gave in thinking it would crumble Daniel’s resolve to no avail. And now here he was, his old ways out the window. He had made a fledgling of the journalist, his words were in that book to be published, he was sparing the life of a human and revealing himself to them. He even had a moment of vulnerability towards them, this was unheard of for him. He had told himself he spared their life based on a kinship for their ways of thinking but what if there was more to it? If there was more than even he knew?

(A/N): And that’s chapter 2! Please let me know if you enjoyed it because I really do love talking to you guys. I’m gonna be off at a friend’s house for the next week and then I’m starting classes right after so it might be a little before I’m able to put out a third chapter but I promise you guys I’m working as quickly as possible