#which means that using him for the prompt was perfectly in line with the concept

[viperwhispered]

For the anything goes prompt: Cater to the rescue! He sees Jamil's cute younger sister with some fishy folk (including th lobster on her head?!) and decides to be an extra friendly upperclassmen.... Maybe brings Trey for back up!

(also, I'd LOVE to be added to the taglist this is SO FUN)

Thank you for the prompt, and glad to hear you've been enjoying this so far! I've certainly been having fun with this.

The 'Anything Goes' Story, part 8

The story where I write whatever you tell me to. You can find more info and the masterlist here.

“Thank you for the offer - Azul, was it? I’m quite fine though, I’m just looking for professor Crewel,” Najma said politely. However, before they could converse further, another voice spoke up.

“Heyy, Najma! Why don't you let Cay-Cay help you out if you've got a problem?”

Najma brightened when she saw the orange-haired young man with a friendly smile. A familiar face, at least, from when Jamil had brought some friends along for Al'ab Nariya.

In Najma’s hands, your lobster form was wriggling and clicking your claws. Najma was starting to worry you might fall out of the headscarf bundle soon, and hefted you up, adjusting her hold on you.

“Hi Cater! Good to see you here,” Najma greeted him, playing up their familiarity. After all, the best way to avoid any potential local swindlers was to be familiar with the locals yourself, wasn’t it?

As always, time for one of you to give me another prompt and we'll see what happens next. As always, first come first served (though no need to be shy, so far everyone's gotten their prompts in).

If you can give your prompt in the notes of this post (so reblog / reply) so that others can see if the next prompt has already been taken, all the better, though I will be updating it here anyway as soon as I see it.

Tag list:

@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@lex752 @perilous-pasta @twstgo

If you'd like to be tagged for this thing (or my writing in general), let me know.

[izloveshorses]

Um can you just do all of the emoji prompts

omg anon you're so sweet 🙈💖

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

i'm hoping to get a first chapter ready to publish soon, but i've been workshopping a dimya equestrian/show jumping au for a while?? back when i used to horseback ride i didn't do show jumping but it's so fun to watch and i think it would make for a fun au. dmitry can't ride bc of a vague injury, so he and vlad recruit the new stablehand anya to compete in the FEI tournament, which would take place in paris this year, bc duh. her horse is pooka. they have no money and she does Not get along with dmitry. it would be a fun ride (no pun intended) :) and of course she is just using this as the means to get to paris so she can find her family, dmitry and vlad want the winning purse, etc. the fact that anastasia was a record-breaking teen show jumper ten years ago and vanished mysteriously and anya has a very similar riding style and skillset is just a coincidence. or is it 👀

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

from the equestrian au mentioned above:

“At least you still have a job here,” Vlad said after a moment. 

Dmitry sighed. “Exercising other people’s horses isn’t exactly going to get me anywhere.” He had a headache above his eyebrow. “That rider is an idiot. He ruined a perfectly good horse just for his ego.”

Vlad shook his head. “What a shame.” 

“How’s your girl doing?” 

Vlad took another— longer— sip. “She’s… fine. She’s too young.” He shook his head again. “A few years down the line, maybe she could get us to the FEI. But she doesn’t have the greatest instincts.” 

Dmitry nodded, disappointed. What a grand pair of losers the two of them made.

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

something i like from the road trip au:

“Fine. Well, we will be listening to The Cranberries all the way there.”

Anya slouched and curled her legs to rest her feet on the dashboard. “Good.”

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

She looked at him like he could save her. Like she wanted him to save her. 

He just hoped he didn’t fumble with the lifeline when the time came.

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

another bit from the road trip au:

“You’re a bed hog.”

He winced a little. They hadn’t mentioned anything about how they kept waking up that way, tangled or invading one another’s space. He didn’t want to make things awkward. But she simply shrugged, lips curled in a smile when he looked over at her. “You don’t seem to mind.”

Heat creeped up his neck. No, he hadn’t. Not at all.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

(source undisclosed)

“Let me…” he swallowed, suddenly serious. “Let me kiss you the way I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

after watching Notting Hill again, i whipped up a half-formed idea for an au, this bit always makes me laugh when i read it over again:

She opened to the first page. “I see it’s signed by the author.” 

“I couldn’t stop him.” 

That did it— that made her laugh. It was just a short huff of air through her nose, but still, that didn’t happen very often anymore.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

sigh. i really want a dimya dirty dancing au, so so so so bad, but it has to be the exact one that exists in my head. i just don't want to do the work on that one asdhlkfj. but it would be so good!!! anya and her family visiting the country club, she is already bored, all the girls are expected to marry some guy who is going to be a doctor or lawyer, and then she meets the hot and broody misunderstood™ dance instructor dmitry, and she is determined to help him and the other workers by filling in for marfa. thus ensues a summer romance. featuring dmitry in that black tank top. and god, gleb is the awkward and uncomfy nephew/whatever set to inherit the country club, who flings his authority around whenever he wants and plays Nice Guy. it would be perfect. but i don't want to write it, i just want it to exist already for me to read lol.

🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

another funky idea y'all haven't seen yet 👀😌

modern setting, heist/espionage, art thievery?, haters to lovers <3, eventual smut, etc :)

[phlebaswrites]

Theory and Practice (Are Not the Same Thing)

Summary:

The map is not the territory.

The mind is not the man.

Rating: Mature Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna Word Count: 303 (Complete)

Entry for @tbrmweek​

Day 2 - February 14: seal theory | instruction | famous jutsu

I chose to use all three prompts.

Tobirama inscribes the hiraishin carefully, making sure that each and every line is perfect.

This is a seal meant to be used in combat, which means that it will have to be perfectly and - most importantly - immediately executed.

There can be no delay, and he must arrive exactly where he means to.

And so the seal must do all the work, channeling his chakra through itself in order to achieve his aims. With Izuna as his opponent, he will have enough to do in managing to stay alive. Working through the complexities of seal theory at the same time will be completely beyond him.

However, if this seal functions as he intends, there will be no thinking at all.

It is the simplest concept in the world and makes deliberate use of the natural desire to close the distance with his opponent.

Go there.

That's all it does.

Distance, time... they will become meaningless as he bridges them with will and knowledge.

If he can make it work.

If.

Read the rest on AO3.

[talkfantasytome]

Santa's Helper

Cassian takes Nyx to get a picture with Santa at the seasonal winter market in Velaris.

Based on prompt: Person A works at a Santa village and Person B takes their kid as an excuse to see them.

Warnings: Fluffy | Word Count: 1,269 | Read on AO3

Hope for the Holidays Masterlist | Nessian Masterlist

It was official. Cassian was that guy. And not in a good way.

No, he was the idiot who saw a girl once and became obsessed. He hadn't been able to think about anything other than that face since the previous day.

He'd been browsing the stalls at the local winter market when he passed the little Santa village they'd set up. He didn't plan to look to closely at it, but still he glanced up to see the decorations.

Instead, his eyes fell on the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Golden brown hair that fell in loose curls under the Santa hat she wore, elegant lines, rosy cheeks, and eyes like an icy steel that took his breath away. He was so taken, he didn't even bother thinking about why she looked a bit familiar. That was the last thing on his mind as he took in the off-the-shoulder Santa dress she was wearing, which was only just long enough to be acceptable to wear around children. Likely a ploy of the village to use the women to try and get more parents interested in bringing their kids. He didn't love the concept, but in that moment, as he got a glimpse of her long legs, he couldn't find the will to be outraged.

He didn't talk to her, he didn't even try. He just stared for far longer than he should've and then walked away.

And now he was back, using his nephew as an excuse to try and see her again. Like a creep.

Worse than a creep, really. He planned it perfectly, to ensure he and Nyx would be the last ones before there was a shift change, hoping that might mean he'd get a chance to really speak with her.

Cassian would never admit how he managed to plan it out. That might end up moving him from creep to full on stalker, and he wasn't ready to accept that.

"Okay Nyx," Cassian whispered, crouching down to speak to the two-year-old who was 'too big to be carried' because he was almost three. They were just about to be called up, the woman waving to the other family that was just leaving. "Now, remember what we say to the pretty picture lady? About how much you l-"

"AUNT NESA!!!" the toddler shouted, waddling as quickly as he could toward the woman. Her face brightened as a wide smile spread across it and she bent down to pick the boy up.

She laughed as she gave him a tight hug. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a voice that was definitely higher than her typical tone. Not that Cassian had heard it yet, but it was clearly a voice reserved for children.

"Unca Cass take me to Santa!" the boy answered, pointing over to Cassian who was just straightening himself. He gave her an awkward wave and then mentally chastised himself for it.

"That would be me," he explained, walking over to her.

Her eyes flicked over him, taking in far more than his face, and Cassian froze in place as she offered him a soft smirk.

"Aunt Nesa, why you work for Santa? You're not an elf." Nyx's dark brows were scrunched together, as if he were trying to figure it out himself but couldn't.

"No, I'm not," she chuckled. "But, you see, the elves can't reach the camera." She pointed to the one sitting on the tripod. "So they need human helpers."

"Ohhhhh. You must be on the extra good list, then!"

"Well, I would be, but I gifted all my good points to you." She beamed at him as she lifted a finger to tickle his neck. The little boy let out a high giggle as she did, squirming a bit in amusement. The sight seemed to cause Cassian's heart to swell, and he couldn't help but smile lightly as he watched them. "Now, why don't you go sit on Santa's lap, tell him what you want for Christmas while I get the camera ready."

Nyx nodded ardently as Nesta set him down, and then he was running toward the Santa.

"You must be Nesta, then," Cassian assumed, putting everything together. He'd heard about Feyre's eldest sister, the novelist who'd been living in Europe the past year as she sought information and inspiration for her new books. Cassian must have just missed her, having come back from his final tour with the Marines right at New Years. He knew she'd been back a couple times to visit her sisters and nephew and friends, but they'd never met. Apparently, she didn't love big get togethers, so they never had large family dinners or anything when she was home. Plus, Feyre said their time with her was so limited, she and Elain preferred to keep her to themselves, only willing to share her with Nyx and her closest friends. Even Rhys and Lucien didn't see much of her.

Cassian couldn't deny that he'd been curious about the eldest Archeron, but clearly not enough to really pay attention to the pictures in Feyre's house.

She looked up at him as Nyx started telling Santa some story explaining his Christmas wish. "I am. And you're…is it Cassian?"

He nodded, his eyes wide, his heart pounding at the sound of his name on her lips. "Seems weird we haven't met before."

"I've only been gone a year. Feyre and Rhys have been together for almost five, so you can't blame me," she teased, starting to fiddle with the camera.

"Fair." He let out a low chuckle. "Though, I never would've expected to meet you here."

"Favor for a friend. He manages the winter market, asked me to take over last minute for one of their photographers who flew off to some tropical island to elope, or something like that." She huffed out a small laugh and then looked through the lens. "Okay Nyx, Santa! I need you both to look at the camera."

Nyx lifted his head at Nesta's voice. Standing behind her, Cassian looked at Nyx as he pointed to his own mouth, reminding the boy to smile. Nyx flashed a toothy grin at the camera and Nesta grabbed the shot.

"Okay! You're all set." Nyx hopped off Santa's lap and ran up to them, tugging on Nesta's skirt.

"Aunt Nesa, Unca Cass said if I was good I get hot cocoa!" the boy explained.

"Did he?! Well, you tell Uncle Cass that I said you were exceptionally good, so you deserve a really big one."

Nyx's smile widened, his eyes brightening. "You come with us!"

At that Nesta stilled. She cleared her throat and looked down at the toddler. "But, it's your time with your uncle."

"I want time with both!" Nyx exclaimed, jumping up and down.

Cassian tried to pretend his entire insides hadn't rearranged themselves as Nesta looked toward him tentatively.

"Would you mind? My shift is over, so I would just need time to change. But I'll totally understand if you were hoping to have some special time with him."

He barely heard what she said as he watched her eyes sparkle, bright and curious. He couldn't believe his luck. It may not exactly be Nesta agreeing to spend time with him, but still, he'd have a chance to truly talk to her, get to know her. Far more than the five to ten minutes he'd been hoping for. And he didn't even have to ask her himself.

"You're absolutely welcome to join," he replied, his voice breathy.

Nyx was definitely getting the biggest cocoa the vendor had.

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @nestaisgod @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @angelic-voice-1997 @moodymelanist @sv0430 @confusedfandomslut @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @whoreforgwynriel @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir

If you'd like to be added to my tag list, let me know!

[comfy-whumpee]

Birdhouse: The Talks

Whumptober Day Two: Talking is Overrated. TW: dehumanisation, slavery, BBU, bad decisions in therapy.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

The new rescue was called Roman. Not by himself, but by whoever had taken the initiative to name their brand-new captive. He hadn’t yet told her who had give it to him, but he had assured her that he was still happy to be known by the name.

Sunita Kaur had been providing therapy to his those like him for years now, in varying capacities, and he was the newest addition to her caseload. She spent the Wednesday of her working week privately commissioned to support the residents of the Birdhouse Shelter, and with the fee its proprietor paid her, she was able to do the rest of her work completely pro bono. That was the way Avis Jacobitz worked. She paid you what she thought you were worth to her household.

Each new rescue came with new strengths and new challenges. Roman had escaped himself, which often gave them a head start, but not always. He was also in good physical condition, which made sense; the Birdhouse specialised in complex emotional needs more than physical ones. Not that any ex-pet came without their chronic pains and weak immune systems. Roman was prone to dizzy spells and took iron tablets daily.

He was sitting on the comfortable chair with his hands resting on his knees and his back straight. To be sitting on the chair in his first session was another strength. But then, not all ex-pets had been banned from furniture.

“My name is Sunita Kaur. I’m a trained practitioner of counselling for pet industry survivors.”

She didn’t miss the way Roman’s lips moved faintly to echo that term. Pet industry survivor. It was difficult to talk about those labels without reinforcing them, but she had settled on one eventually.

“That’s you, Roman. A survivor of the American organisations that attempt to brainwash and remake people.”

There was no sense of recognition in Roman’s eyes as he thought about that. He didn’t reply.

Sunita gave him a moment to think, and then offered, “How do you feel about that description?”

It’s several seconds, unmarked in their passing, before Roman ventures, “I like being called a rescue.”

“Can you tell me why?” Sunita asks, keeping all reaction clear from her expression. If she so much as twitches a nostril, an ex-pet will pick up on it.

Roman glances down shyly, smiling. “Because I was. There was a new cleaner and she called someone to help me, and now I’m here. I like thinking about her.”

Every word was delivered in the faintest whisper. Sunita was straining her ears.

“Why do you like thinking about her?”

His hands sit perfectly still on his unmoving knees. Only his expression changes. “Because she was nice. And she helped me even though she was a stranger, and I like knowing – strangers can help you.”

Sometimes she wondered at the ability of her patients to love people who had been cruel to them. Sometimes, it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, ex-pets loved people in general, through some innate hope and fortitude all their suffering had failed to tarnish.

She was going to enjoy working with Roman.

-

Florence never made eye contact. Their gaze drifted around her face and off again. They sat in the comfortable chair, leaning slightly against its side, long hair tumbling off one shoulder and an arm stretched out to show the curving line of their body in what had to be an uncomfortable position. They looked like an art piece. They played with their skirt. Sunita was used to this. Florence liked textures.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “Avis has lots of people to care for.”

Sunita nodded. It was something that Florence was already dealing with. Avis split her time with equity as her guiding principle, offering the right amount of support to everyone who needed it. Florence was used to their time with Avis waxing and waning depending on the needs of the others in the house.

‘To each according to their need’ was a powerful concept, unless one of your rescues was always desperate for attention.

Sunita hummed in acknowledgement. “So how do you feel about Roman getting lots of help?” They were the one who had brought it up, after all. There was something there.

Florence ran fingers up and down their silky turquoise skirt. Their gaze flittered across the window. “He’s funny. He acts different.”

“Different how?”

There were no birds in the sky, but Florence’s eyes moved as if there were. “He doesn’t have anyone he loves.”

-

“Of course I love them.” Kamala lifted her chin, hands folded on her lap, the picture of dignified confidence. The neat edge of her hijab was broken only by the lightning-bolt pin she had used on one side. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “The Birdhouse is like my family. We look after each other. That’s not particular to Florence. They just like spending time with me.”

Sunita nodded, showing that she was listening, but didn’t interrupt, hoping Kamala would keep going.

“It’s not wrong to give more time to someone who asks for it,” Kamala continued after a moment, smiling earnestly. “Florence is used to being the centre of attention. It makes them happy. And it makes me happy to help them.”

“We’ve touched on this before, Kamala. You derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from what services you can offer others, how you can fill their needs. I think you know what I’d like you to think about.”

“My needs,” Kamala answered with a pretty smile. “I understand, Mrs Kaur. I took more time to myself this week, although it was hard. I reread some of the comics I got when I first came here, in my bedroom. I haven’t done that in a while.”

She spoke with perfectly believable sincerity, underlined with a hint of eager-to-please nervousness, of am I doing it right?

“That sounds positive, Kamala. How did that feel, to be spending time on yourself?”

“It’s hard, Mrs Kaur. I don’t like myself very much. But I know it’s what will help me in the long term, so I do my best. If you practice self-care, it will become second nature.”

Sunita was sure she had said those exact words to her before. “That is the goal.”

-

Tenten’s twitch was worse today, jerking his shoulder and running down his arm as he spoke. He didn’t make eye contact, but not in the way that Florence didn’t, always busy looking elsewhere. Tenten kept his eyes averted. His limbs were drawn close together, arms on his knees, as if he was unsure how to sit on something soft.

“I don’t, I don’t want-t t-to, to-to make anyone ss-sad. But I did, m-made her, upset-t, I t-t-t, t-t, I c-c-could see. She was.”

“That’s alright, Tenten. Take your time.” She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not going to think any different of you. I will still be your therapist.”

Tenten made an uncertain noise, his shoulder jumping like a livewire. His foot tapped. “You, but you’re her c-c-counsellor too. I don’t want-t, I might, if I say somet-thing she didn’t want you t-to, to know.”

“I understand your concern. Remember, this is confidential. I will never use what you tell me in my sessions with the others.” She smiled kindly as his eyes flickered to her and away shyly. “But do remember that I talk to Avis before I start sessions, to make sure I’m aware of anything significant. I may already know about the conflict you’re thinking of.”

Tenten’s shoulders hunched, “C-c-con, conflict, huh?” he echoed. “What do you th-think it is?”

She made sure to smile gently. “I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing under the maroon neckerchief he always wore. He took a breath. “Okay.”

-

“We’ve been here for forty minutes, Avis, and you still haven’t said a word about yourself.”

Avis leaned back in the armchair, frowning at the wall. “I know,” she admitted. “I know we always end up here. I start talking and it’s about how Roman’s settling in, or Florence’s new night terror, or Kamala and Tenten getting into another argument, or… Boo. Everything about Boo and their – situation. It’s just, I spend my whole life looking after those guys. Even when they’re doing something else, like Therapy Day or tutoring, there’s five of them now, so there’s always something.”

Dr Cerasale showed nothing but patient understanding. It was true, that this often formed the bulk of the sessions he held with Avis. It had been improving for a while, before she’d accepted the new rescue.

“And I know, I find fulfilment in my work, that’s not a bad thing, and some people live with different professional-personal balances. And for my kind of job, there’s not much distance between them. But…”

She stopped, still frowning at the wall.

“What is the downside of that?” he prompted her.

Dark eyes flashed his way. “Do you mean me not having any time to myself, or me seeing my son in every single one of them?”

All patients had their challenges. Avis had a unique living situation and a very unusual career path, but the underlying causes of her mindset were very normal.

“Let’s talk about guilt,” he said, and she broke eye contact.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

i saw your post about Charles and what his personality past and part in the story line so i was wondering if u could do the same for vlad? :)

Ah, well, I can at least let you know what I’ve seen so far? I haven’t delved too far into Vlad, and some of his general impressions can be confusing, so I’ll do my best to make it sensible and unbiased! Here you go lovely <33333

Fair warning, there will be mentions of a lot of JPN app content since Vlad and his boys aren’t around much in the ENG app yet.

My general sense of Vlad is basically discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha.

What I mean by this is to say–according to what I’ve read so far–his clan/family were murdered by vampire hunters in cold blood when he was just a young boy. Presumably as a result of that traumatic event, he harbors a sizable enmity towards humanity and kind of lashes out on them in weirdly specific moments of violence. Another aspect of his motivation is something that’s mentioned within Comte’s route; which is that Vlad went through the timespace door on his own one day and allegedly saw a devastated future, where nothing remains of life on earth more or less.

I guess the reason I find him to be so perplexing is that he speaks about his actions in terms of efficiency, while most of the things he does just feel like unhappy outbursts (v often a product of unresolved trauma symptoms, I’d wager.) I also say this because he appears to have no larger pattern to his fury beyond the original event of his loss. Most of the human beings he attacks aren’t much of a threat to him and hurting them really doesn’t bring him any dividends beyond revenge.

For instance, he insists his disdain for humanity and insistence on controlling them is for the sake of ensuring they do not destroy the future–the horrifying wasteland he witnessed when he traveled through the timespace door. However, I’m not really sure how his current movements really speak to that goal? I mean sure, maybe he’s relying on Faust to create an immortal human so that humans will be forced to care because it will be their future too, but he doesn’t allow Faust to draw his pureblood blood for experimenting. (One can most certainly argue this was more about a lack of trust, and perhaps for plenty reason: Faust is vindictive enough to try to turn the tables and exert control over Vlad, or act on his own whims with his findings.) But if that’s the solution he’s waiting on, turning the rivals of the men in the mansion doesn’t really bring him any closer to that vision either? I mean, what good does it do to bring back Gilles de Rais–a prominent French serial killer? How would unleashing him on the populace help humanity “realize the error of it’s short-sighted and wasteful ways” and move to a brighter future?

Can’t help it, I ask these questions as I read.

In Comte’s main story, Comte hammers home that Vlad is not somebody to be taken lightly. One day when MC goes out to buy flowers, Vlad poses as a human florist to sell them to her–which is how Comte finds out he’s in France, and that he’s made contact with MC. When prompted, Comte describes him in a very particular way; and I think people really overlook this when they talk about their relationship. He says that Vlad is frighteningly pure in terms of the way he thinks and acts. The way I understood his description (given what I’ve seen of Vlad) is that Comte really does mean it point blank: Vlad is very simple in terms of why and how he does things. The issue with this is that nuance and context are lost on Vlad as well–and that’s where the problems start to flood in. Vlad is angry at humanity for what they’ve done to him. Baseline? That’s fair, they killed his damn family. However, Vlad thinks that by extension he has the right to decimate the general public and attack people completely uninvolved in his hurt.

And that isn’t right either–it’s ignoring so many factors here. He’s ignoring how much vampires use and toy with humans as pawns, it’s ignoring the massive power imbalance between him and his victims (this really isn’t a case of self-defense most of the time, nobody but Comte/Leo is a sizable threat to him), and he’s ignoring whether or not a person even did anything to deserve his retributive violence. While murder is never okay, it is perhaps more understandable when we see Jeanne’s frenzied and violent belligerence in response to a man who murders a boy’s mother for the sake of his own amusement/convenience. Vlad literally sees almost every single one of the rivals he created begin to heal/improve and murders them in cold blood because they are no longer of any use to him. That’s uh……..that’s a little messed, not gonna lie to you chief.

While part of me understands the efficiency here–he doesn’t want to leave any traces of his involvement, he doesn’t want any loose ends–it’s also just kind of foolish and cruel ultimately. From my understanding of the narrative, all the people he turned had some visible sign that indicated their origin to Comte. So even if he claims it was for the sake of concealment, it was more likely about his personal convenience. Which…..also yikes.

[Comte clearly does not trust Vlad to be reasonable, and I think there’s plenty of good reason enumerated above, but I actually don’t sense quite so much hatred? I think he’s just given up on the idea of Vlad growing up, even if he doesn’t like giving up on people. And considering Vlad’s behavior, I think it’s overkill to say that Comte just abandons him because he doesn’t care lmao. Even when Comte expresses real anger at the end of his own route, it was more because Vlad was fine with endangering MC’s life just to get back at him. I think Comte’s unhappiness with Vlad has more to do with Vlad’s treatment of human life as meaningless and worthless. It’s fascinating but also kind of sad? Vlad’s traumatic experience results in behavior that is a direct exacerbation of Comte’s trauma, and as such--no matter their potentially fond history--they can’t stomach each other.]

In Comte’s route, Vlad also has Shakespeare abduct MC and take her to the cathedral. Later on in the castle, we see an immediate display of Vlad’s shocking powers: he has the ability to manipulate people’s desires/thoughts. I’m not exactly sure how this works, but he is able to give MC visions of the mansion and Comte coming on to her–which shocks her into realizing it’s all just a dream. It’s not reality; it’s all manufactured by Vlad.

After that...weird introductory note...Vlad gives MC the rundown on his life together with Comte, which as always is subject to a question of bias. My assumption is that he did not lie, only because he was trying to convince MC that he was “right.” Furthermore, he does not omit the most damning evidence of his erroneous judgement, which suggests a continued inability for him to see where he went wrong.

We get a series of three flashbacks. The first is them as young kids. I don’t know if Vlad had already experienced the horrors of his family being destroyed, but this particular flashback focuses on Comte. His parents, in an effort to teach him that vampires and humans have no ability to co-exist, send away all of his teachers/mentors/nannies/the servants--pretty much everyone and anyone he was closely bonded to. Think about it this way: we can see that Comte is very sociable and affectionate by nature. He was living in a house full of people, all of whom cared about him and looked after him in their own way. Now the house is entirely empty. Naturally Comte is very very upset, and Vlad appears to try to cheer him up with little success. 

[When I look back on this scene I don’t think I initially registered the sheer dissonance of Vlad’s reaction, versus Comte’s catatonic misery. There was a very solemn feeling to that memory, and the correct choice in terms of extending comfort is to hold his hand believe it or not. There is a sense that he feels very alone. When young boy Vlad enters one can argue that it was the proper thing to do; he was trying to cheer up his playmate and friend. But at the same time, I think I need to double check. Because I’m beginning to wonder if I was wrong. What if Vlad was happy to see someone as alone as him, and that joy is accordingly dissonant for that reason? He can’t see what Comte needs or how he’s hurting because he’s so glad he isn’t alone anymore in a way.]

The second flashback is the war nurse scene that I have spoken at length about. The important thing to focus on here is Vlad’s surprise that Comte would opt out of turning her out of respect for her wishes. The way Vlad frames the situation is starkly different from Comte’s. Comte sees himself as an outsider, somebody who invaded her life as a result of the timespace door and therefore has no right to suddenly change the course of her fate. He had no idea if she even wanted to live (considering the horrors she’d have to cope with and remember) or leave that time period at all, for that matter (considering the only thing keeping her going was helping the wounded/victims). Comte really was listening to everything she had to say, and he was taking her concerns and motivations seriously. 

Vlad simply says: if you want her, take her. It’s as simple as that for him. And in one way that’s not entirely wrong--assuming Comte would have every intention of looking after her and actually cares a lot about her. But what’s being ignored here is her agency and the fact that they really don’t know each other that well? Something like that could begin and be rocky, if it doesn’t end in complete disaster. Worse, I get the feeling Vlad is perfectly fine with the notion of turning her and if things don’t work out, just kill her or get rid of her. Again, the simplistic thinking comes into play here: it ultimately comes down to Vlad being self-centered. He’s thinking only in terms of satisfying his needs, he doesn’t seem to have any concept of a larger pair or group feeling. There’s an inability to bend/be flexible for the sake of maintaining a greater harmonious feeling. 

[For the record, I don’t think this makes him irredeemable? Only that it makes it very hard to live with him or love him, probably. There’s an inability to live at a joint pace? It’s always answering to what he wants without room for anything else most of the time, which to me is not living and it’s not love ;;;;]

Following their escape back to their own time, Vlad explains how he wants to use the door to turn geniuses and control humanity. He eventually wants to create a surveillance state, which would mean everyone is forced to move with his explicit approval, more or less. (He almost reminds me of Louis XIV, can’t tell if that’s what they were going for.) I have my doubts that his abilities could extend that far, but human history shows us that we are plenty susceptible to fascist and totalitarian rhetoric. In a shocking display of anger, Comte draws the line at controlling humanity and forcing them into a regime in which, and this is Vlad’s description not mine, “we (purebloods) would be like kings.” There’s definitely a concept of evolutionary superiority at play here, which echoes what I mentioned earlier; vampires seem to have this awareness that they’re apex predators in a sense, and enjoy the power that comes with that. Unfortunately, that probably makes for a fairly toxic/uncomfortable larger species culture, which is exactly what Comte and Leo hate lmao.

Vlad does not seem to find any issue with this sort of outlook, and asks MC to decide which of them--Vlad or Comte--is right. Who is more realistic, who best understands the future? As expected the MC replies that it's Comte, and Vlad goes from beseeching to big mad at record speed. He's p much that gif of the teddy bear that smacks its head down on the tables and then has the angry eyebrows.

This is where Comte intervenes, firing a warning shot that grazes Vlad's cheek and demanding he let MC go. In response, Vlad shoves MC into the turbulent timespace door--p much guaranteeing MC's death. (Essentially timespace is a void of sorts, a human being could never survive in that environment for long. Vlad fully knew this, and yeeted her anyway.)

So uh, yeah. Disagreement? Death. Moving on? Death. Nuanced approach to reality? Death. Beginning to think he doesn't really have a lot of patience or open-mindedness or any other kind of problem-solving approach. 

He raises flowers and gardens like a fiend, and he openly plucks any single flower with a blemished leaf. Even if a single petal is slightly damaged, it will be removed and destroyed. So one could argue his extremism reflects a kind of perfectionism as well. No room for errors or troublesome dissent. No ugliness of any kind. I mean in all of his interactions with Faust and Charles this is the overt undertone. Don't ask more of me than I'm willing to give. Behave like good children, mommy's busy. Is that insubordination? boss music begins

One thing I actually don't understand very well is his decision making in Dazai's route. Dazai finds out about what Vlad's doing in a nanosecond when he senses MC is in danger, and yet Vlad makes absolutely no move to eliminate Dazai? He just watches from the shadows. Even when Dazai grills Charles about his loyalty to Vlad, no retribution.

My best guess for this specific situation is that Vlad does derive some level of satisfaction thwarting the future of human beings/former humans. Dazai--being somebody with no great desire to live, no rivals to speak of as far as we can tell, and no larger aspirations--is a life that is easily extinguished. There's no satisfaction in it. When Vlad's clan was murdered and he saw the future decimated, it could be that he felt humans had invaded and eradicated every potentiality that was important to him. Where he might have lived happily with his family, that future was ripped from his grasp. Where he might enjoy his flowers and the creation of an immortal for the rest of conceivable time, that too was ripped from his grasp with a desolate future. 

So much about who Vlad is is about control, so it's very possible his lashing out is an extension of that. Dazai does not awaken any of the disdain he feels, and he does not succeed in overthrowing Vlad's control over Charles, so Vlad simply lurks in silence.

And last but not least, I've seen the preview to Vlad's newest birthday event story. The contents are incredibly revealing, in that MC wishing him a happy birthday and offering him a gift has him saying that it was "the best birthday ever." Granted idk if that’s sweet or just...beyond sad, but here we are. It’s only compounding my curiosity about the wound on his chest--I really do wonder if he was attacked and locked away by vampire hunters or hostile human beings or something. I say that only because that line speaks to a lot of isolation, and given how little he seems to care about turning people/subjecting them to his whims it feels odd. Why the isolation or lack of people who care about him? Is it a perceived lack where his actions alienated all the people who wanted to be close to him, or is it a more involuntary lack?

When she says let’s celebrate again next year, he seems a pleasantly shocked by the notion, and remarks “Ah yes, it’s a promise c:”. The preview was also mega horny: “You make me feel so loved, I don’t think I can be gentle with you tonight. If you enjoy it so much, then I won’t stop. I want to see you completely lost for me. I’ll teach your body what it means to be loved by a pureblood.” Aaaaaand pretty sure the CG was alluding to him licking the good stuff from her basement, though not entirely sure given it was only the preview. 

The brief POV they give us is also very revealing:

“You always keep your promises, and I think I underestimate all the time how much you saved me. You are good, only you are good in this world.”

“Will we continue to make promises to each other in the future? Well in that case--you will always, always be mine, my vampire.”

Tbh he’s...v sweet? In his own way? Honestly he feels like a crabapple that is just so sick of the world and wants softe wife to take comfort in. While granted that’s not really my thing, I know a fanbase appeal exists for these types--so if that’s your thing, have at it!

So now that we have reached the end of my ridiculously long analysis (when am I ever brief, I’m so sorry. If you made it all the way here you deserve a cookie at the very least, if not the right to chase me with a bat) perhaps it’s more clear why I said discount vampire Sasuke Uchiha? “My clan is gone, every other second I’m going to be in retraumatization insanity, when I’m not I’ll be seeking power/hobbies, planning the demise of people who wanted the best for me, building a team to my advantage and unquestioned control, and eventually settling for a lifelong love who sees the best in me despite my more difficult moments and perceived hollowing loneliness. Not the most ideal comparison, but I will say if Vlad was not already named the historical figure, would have pointed and yelled Uchiha.

That’s all from me folks, hopefully this was a fun way to get introduced to him? And again, hope I didn’t alienate--I fully respect what people do and don’t enjoy o7

[classywhump]

Febuwhump: Day 8: No Anesthesia

This part in my WIP lined up perfectly with the prompt today, it's really quite fortuitous. Hope you enjoy this excerpt. Spoilers for the Kingdom of Heaven, if you don't want to read ahead.

***

Doctor Brown’s place in Hanfell was clean and well-lit. We were not in his house proper, but a room built off to the side, which he called a patient care room. I was familiar with the concept, of course, but any procedure like this done in the Settlement—if it was done—would have been performed in a place far more clinically sterile, and it would have been done under anesthesia.

I didn’t figure they had anything like that, but I brought it up to him anyways.

“Sorry,” said Doc Brown. “This ain’t no hospital. I’d love t’ give ya whiskey but I cain’t even do that. You’d bleed out.”

The room had carefully placed stone tile floors, glass in the ceiling to let in sunlight, and very few surfaces for dust to collect on. In the middle of the room there was one leaned-back chair. This was unquestionably the best the Kingdom could offer for medical care.

I tugged experimentally at the cloth binding my arms to the chair.

“You’re going to have to tie me a bit tighter than that.” My voice wavered. “No offense but I, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sit still for this.” I felt quite light-headed. For the last day or so I had kept on trying to forget what was about to happen, but wasn’t able. I had come very near to changing my mind on at least three occasions, and was very nearly at that point again. I hoped weakly that if I did blurt out something to that effect, they would be smart enough not to listen.

Doc Brown pulled the cloths tighter and doubled up the knots again. This time I was sure I would not be able to move.

There was a tourniquet on my upper arm as well, ostensibly to slow the bleeding, although Doc Brown believed he would be able to avoid the major artery that ran through the wrist.

Next to him, on a stool with his hands folded, waiting awkwardly, was Mark. I had recently learned the sixteen-year-old was the Kingdom’s only expert on electronic devices, and though his knowledge did not extend to the kinds of computing technology used by the Settlement, he would be able to understand a circuit. I wasn’t even sure that I properly understood a circuit; the actual education received in the Settlement was somewhat lacking outside our general social conditioning and career-focused hyper-specialization.

The entire Jones family had seemed to also want to be around to “support” me; Doc Brown had actually had to shoo them out. “No more people in the room than strictly necessary, please,” he said, and then, “that means all’a ya ‘cept Mark.”

It was just as well. The last thing I wanted was for more people to be around to see me break down. I was not a strong person. DYNTEC had done their best to change that, and when they couldn’t change it, to make me forget what I was; but ultimately I knew that slick operative image was not me, and everyone was about to find out.

The problem as I had explained it to Doc Brown was thus:

While the external interface of the Biometric was close to the skin, in fact, barely below the surface, that was not the only part of the machine. The wrist implant managed a computing network for the various types of nanotech embedded in my body, and functioned as its central processor. This nanotech was powered by a constant feed of bioelectricity in my bloodstream, but the wrist processor itself was too energy intensive to run on merely passive bioelectricity and needed to charge itself during dormant periods, such as while I was sleeping. That energy went into a capacitor. While many of the nanotech particles were used for various health-related purposes, there was one particular health function of the Biometric that was going to be a problem.

When a citizen of the Settlement suffered unexpected heart failure, I had explained, the Biometric’s capacitor could release a high-energy charge into two small leads connected to their heart, which could also be used as a pacemaker if necessary. By most people, it went unused and never noticed.

As it happened, it was also capable of stopping my heart at the Settlement’s whim or in the case of tampering with the device.

Mrs. Jones’s reaction had been horrified. “They can just kill you?”

I nodded.

“And no one would know if it was the Settlement or natural causes?”

I cringed into a tight smile. “The Administrators don’t usually own up about ordering someone’s death, unless that person committed a very egregious crime. Sometimes they will deny it in specific cases, especially if the person who died was well-known or politically powerful. But usually they don’t bother denying it. We know it happens and they want us to know. We are allowed to talk about Detractors being killed, as long as we say they deserved it. After all, if we didn’t believe at some level that those deaths were linked to the Administrators, how could they keep people in line? But there is always a bit of doubt. Too much doubt to make a direct accusation.”

I had lived with this knowledge since the age of twelve. It had troubled me then, but no one around me dared to complain about it, and so gradually I did what every individual must do and accepted it as a fact of life. There was no way to cope with this knowledge except to make yourself believe that the Administrators only killed people who deserved to die. There was no way to lessen this anxiety except to tell yourself that if you were a good citizen, you would live.

And I had been a good citizen. Up until now.

At any rate, we needed more than a doctor. In order to safely remove the Biometric, we would need an electrician. And so Mark was there.

“Take this,” said Doc Brown, and I knew he was trying to help. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He put a small piece of rag in my mouth. I accepted it and chewed it anxiously.

He swabbed my right forearm with alcohol. I felt the cold air brush my skin, and a shudder went through my entire body. I closed my eyes in a hurry before I could have a chance to see him pick up anything.

My heart stilled mysteriously, at least for a moment.

While this scenario easily competed with anything I had imagined suffering at the hands of the Administrators, something was remarkably different today. Today, I was going to be free.

I was not with enemies, and this was not a punishment. I had chosen this because there were people that loved me and wanted me to come with them. I was afraid, yes, but less than I had thought I would be. Something had restrained me from panicking, and I thought it was probably God. What else could do that?

Still, when I felt his fingers on my wrist, my heart rate went skyrocketing again.

And then the pain started.

I have to admit that I screamed. In spite of the ties, I was twisting and moving around so much that Mark had to get up and hold my arm still.

It seemed to go on and on. I wasn’t sure what they were doing and didn’t want to look. The two of them didn’t talk for quite a moment; Doc Brown must have been concentrating very hard on being quick and efficient. The first comment I heard from him was, “Oh, Lord mercy,” and then, “Holy cow,” from Mark.

I sobbed around the rag in my mouth.

“We found the wires,” said Mark. He sounded both dismayed and impressed.

“So which one do I cut?” prompted Doc Brown.

“I’d say sever the capacitor from the Biometric, but it seems to be one unit.”

Though he was not actively touching me at the moment, I was still in a great deal of pain and panted shallowly.

“Failing that, cut the leads to the electrodes, but you’d have to get them both at the exact same time to prevent them discharging and I’m not sure which ones they are—”

I yelled again, muffled into the rag, as there was a sharp jerk on something inside my flesh.

“There!”

I’m going to die, I thought, I’m going to die.

Then there was a sharp clip! And then a horrible ripping sensation and I screamed gratingly with little self-consciousness, somehow totally losing the rag.

“It’s out!” said the doctor.

“It’s okay,” said Mark. “We got it.”

At these words someone burst in the door from the house, unable to restrain themselves anymore. I could not see since it was behind me but in a moment Mrs. Jones was behind my head smoothing and stroking my hair. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s all right.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned into her touch.

“We got it!” Mark shouted again triumphantly. Doc Brown was not quite done yet, and I flinched as he stitched the wound closed. I moaned and sniffed and Mrs. Jones wiped my eyes dry with her apron.

“It’s over,” she said. “You’re free.”

[thosewickedlovelies]

Into the Woods: chapter 1  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Frankie are expecting to run into anyone in the middle of the woods.

Tags: none!! all audiences!

Word Count: 3,054

Note: HE’S HERE!!! Please enjoy the official first installment of the outdoors insta frankie series 🌳📷😍 So much love to the wonderful @yoditorian for coming up with this concept and Frankie’s IG name, and also helping me brainstorm 💗💗💗

Backstory

---

Francisco Morales loves this shit. Walking for hours without seeing another soul, nothing to think about but where to place his feet on the path ahead of him. Assuming he’s following a path at all. These are his woods- the country surrounding the house he’s lived in for years, a place just shy of isolated from the nearest town. They’re not really his, legally. He’s not exactly sure what the rules of land designation entail, but it’s not a national park, and no one has ever chased him up about the occasional wood-chopping or campfire-building he does.

So he walks.

It’s a damn perfect day for it, too. Brilliantly sunny with a hint of breeze, rustling the greenery around him and carrying the scents of sun-warmed leaves and late summer flowers. The birds are in high spirits, their vibrant chirping filling the air with chatter. Screeches of alarm, sometimes, too- a side effect of hiking with a giant energetic dog. Frankie watches ruefully as Oso crashes off into the undergrowth again, doubtless chasing down some poor creature.

He slows his pace to wait for her, taking the opportunity for a water break. His heavy pack thuds to the ground. Frankie grunts as he stretches, rotating his shoulders and flapping his sweaty t-shirt away from his back. I should really hike along the river more often, he muses. He doesn’t mind working up a sweat (obviously), but a ready supply of cool water during a long hike does wonders for one’s well-being.

“Boof!” Oso’s deep bark as she returns brings Frankie’s attention to her.

“Yeah? Would you like that, too? A nice swim in the river to cool you down?” He crouches to ruffle her neck fur the way she likes. Oso only pants in answer, blinking at him adoringly.

She slurps thirstily as Frankie pours some water from his bottle into her mouth. He chuckles. “Don’t worry, Osita, we’ll be near some water soon.”

Their goal today is a small pond Frankie had only found earlier this year. It’s a good spot for his campfire cooking, as well as endlessly photogenic. This is marginally important to him, as he attempts to keep a regular diary of his wanderings through instagram. It’s mostly for fun, but like anyone else, he isn’t immune to the particular buzz from his posts unexpectedly getting a high number of likes.

But he had also discovered that he wasn’t the only one with this hobby. There were whole communities of people out there who found peace the same way he did, and they happily gave advice if ever he posted about a struggle.

Frankie pauses again a short way away from the pond to make sure he’s on course. Oso sniffs around excitedly, bounding off again while Frankie checks his GPS. “Huh.” Looking around, he laughs at himself a little when it tells him he’s almost walked past it. He rotates to his left and thinks he spots the telltale gap in the trees ahead. He tucks the GPS away.

Oso barks from somewhere ahead of him. A split second later, a human yelp sounds from the same direction. His eyes widen.

“Shit!” Frankie breaks into a run. In all the years he’s been out here, he rarely sees other people this far from the trails. “Oso!” he yells. “Here, girl!”

Oso isn’t aggressive (unless the situation warrants it), but whatever new friend she thinks she’s meeting won’t know that. Frankie races toward where he judges the noise came from, heart pounding. He bursts through some bushes and is almost knocked down by his beast jumping up to greet him.

“Hey, girl, who was- no!” Oso peels away again across a bit of clear ground, her collar slipping through Frankie’s fingers. He’s barreling toward where her tail wags from behind a bush, when you stand.

Frankie skids to a stop so abruptly his feet slide out from under him. His ass hits the ground with a thud, his rucksack taking only part of the fall. He scrambles upright gracelessly, clumsy with the weight on his back, never taking his eyes off of you.

You stare at each other.

Nothing about this moment feels real to Frankie- you could announce that you’re the dryad who rules this forest and he would believe you, that’s how unlikely your appearance is. Shifting sunbeams dapple your skin, and even from several feet away he can tell that you have the most striking eyes he’s ever seen.

For a second your gaze flicks down to the side. You lean slightly as if something has nudged you, and as you move your hand away from it Frankie realizes you’re holding something.

Shit. He returns to his senses. Is that a weapon?

He’s met people on the trails before, most of them harmless fellow hikers. But occasionally there are some with weird vibes, especially the farther away from the paths you got. He’s fully capable of defending himself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to have to.

“Oso! Here!” Frankie says sternly. Your expression doesn’t change as you watch the dog trot over to him. Jaw set, wide eyes tracking his every motion.

He supposes he can’t blame you for being wary. Or armed. It’s a perfectly reasonable response to running into a strange man in the middle of the woods. He knows he’s not exactly the picture of reassurance. Tall and broad, probably too sweaty to believably claim he’s on a casual hike. He decides to speak.

“Sorry to startle you.” Frankie keeps his hands by his sides where you can see them, resting one on Oso’s head. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

Your tense stance doesn’t relax. “Me either.”

His head tips to the side. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?” He tries to keep his voice slow and soothing.

He can see you assessing him, trying to measure how safe he is. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” Frankie pats the dog’s head in a more formal introduction. “I like to come out here and cook.” Your brow furrows at that, bemusement appearing amidst your guarded features. Before you can respond, he prompts “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

“Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” Disbelief is etched in every line of your face.

Well, when you say it like that.

Foraging. That makes perfect sense. Frankie follows a few of them on instagram. He’s always pleased when he notices the more obvious edible plants and berries, but it’s not usually his focus. His vegetable garden at home takes up most of his efforts. It’s managed to thrive in the years since he started it after leaving the army, and it’s become a source of pride for him to be able to wander out, pick some things for the day’s meal, and head right into the woods.

“Yeah,” he responds. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

Your eyebrows rise even higher at that.

Moving slowly and watching for your reaction, Frankie holds his hands up as he turns, keeping one in the air while the other makes a show of tugging his phone from a side pocket of his pack. He keeps the screen visible as he opens the app, then pulls his arm back in the beginning of an underhanded throw. Poised as such, he looks at you expectantly.

Now you’re almost frowning. Clearly still suspicious, but possibly fractionally less concerned about danger from a man willing to give his phone to a complete stranger in the woods. Hesitantly, you raise your hands to catch it.

Finally Frankie can make out that the thing in your hand in a canister of mace. The sight inexplicably relieves him. Pepper spray is a normal person’s defense, something that anyone might carry to help themselves feel safe. Far from the kind of weapon he would fear from someone angling for true violence.

All of this decided in the space of a second, Frankie gently tosses you his phone.

--

You’re so distracted by delighting in the prolific blackberry bushes which surround your pond that you don’t hear the approaching creature until it’s upon you.

You screech in shock at the massive fur-thing’s appearance, bowling you over from your crouch. It doesn’t seem bothered about wanting you to pet it, only wiggling and sniffing at you enthusiastically. You register the collar around its neck at the same you hear the shout.

“Oso!” That must be its name. “Here, girl!” The dog dashes away, then back, clearly torn about leaving her new friend so soon.

Icy adrenaline douses your system. That was a man’s voice, rough and cavernous. Who knows what kind of person he could be, no matter the earnestness of his dog? Your hands shake as you rip open your bag for the canister of mace you’ve never had to use.

There’s a pronounced rustle and then his voice sounds again, terrifyingly close. “Hey, girl, who was- no!”

Shit. The dog is back, looking at you eagerly, rear in the air and tail wagging like this is an exciting game. You have to choose a course of action quickly. Twisting the safety off the pepper spray, you rise to your feet.

His reaction is almost funny; you think you might have laughed if this was literally any other scenario. Like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel, the man wrenches himself to a stop with such force his feet fly up from the ground. The contents of his bulging pack crunch against the earth, but he barely seems to notice he’s fallen, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time he cycles back to his feet.

You stare at each other.

That’s a man all right. Towering even from this distance, with wide shoulders that help the impression. His eyes are round and stunned, the cap on his head knocked slightly askew and freeing sweat-dark curls to spring around his ears.

Your first thought is that he looks warm. Not temperature warm, although the gleam of sweat on his neck confirms that, too. But approachable warm. There’s a softness to his body that belies the muscle his motions highlight, creases around his eyes that wrinkle brown like tree bark in the sun.

Then his dog noses your thigh, reminding you that you have pepper spray in your hand because you’re in the middle of the damn woods with a potentially threating stranger. You risk a half-second glance down to move the canister away from her face.

You regard the man with stony distrust, fear flushing your face and neck with heat. Confrontation makes the blood roar in your ears, but it gradually quiets as he orders the creature away from you. For several more seconds the only sound is rustling leaves.

He clears his throat. “Sorry to startle you,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

His voice doesn’t sound as harsh now that he’s not frantically shouting for his dog. Still you keep your answer short. “Me either.”

His head tilts inquisitively. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?”

That’s a fair question. He has a right to be curious too. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” The man pats her head, and the dog’s ears perk up. “I like to come out here and cook.” Wait, what? Before you have a chance to process that, he continues. “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

You won’t be deterred. “Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” If this is some elaborate murder setup, that’s not a very plausible lie.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

You’re slightly more skeptical than fearful now. You watch silently as the man turns in place, putting the side of his backpack in your line of sight so you can see him fish his phone out. He makes his actions slow and obvious. The white background of an instagram page glows on the screen as he retracts his arm in a throwing pose. Clear eyes meet yours.

What? This guy is just going to...give you his phone, no questions asked? Taken aback, you can feel the deep grooves of a frown between your eyebrows as you consider.

You’re hesitant to reveal the pepper spray, but if there’s still some possibility this is a trick, he might second-guess attacking you if he sees you’re armed. You ready yourself for a catch.

Which you accomplish, easily, his toss landing the phone right in your hands. The dog lurches forward, but this time man has a grip on her collar and she’s forced to halt with a whine.

“Sorry, girl. We’re not playing fetch right now, okay? Sit!” The man doesn’t even seem concerned with monitoring you, looking down seriously at his dog as he speaks.

You keep one eye on them as you turn your attention to the screen. Frankieintheforest, reads the username at the top of the page. Just a guy out in the woods, continues his bio. Well, that’s accurate, anyway. Frankie, huh? You spare him another glance, matching various features of him to the ones in his photos. A broad hand here, sturdy hiking boots there. Several glimpses of the same flannel that’s currently tied to the strap of his backpack. His face in a few group shots. You click on an image which shows Oso parading around a yard with a grinning toddler on her back. “Ferocious beast carries away yet another victim,” quips the caption. An involuntary smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

There are too many photos going too far back for it to be fake. You turn the screen toward him. “Cute kid,” you comment. “Is she yours?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “No,” the man half laughs. “My buddy’s. I’m just the godfather.” A small smile softens his face as he takes in the picture.

Being named godfather was nothing to sneeze at. You study the man carefully, keeping your face neutral. He seems genuine, his dog keen and friendly. Dogs were a good judge of character, right? Indicative of the character of their owner? He hasn’t demanded anything from you, not done anything threatening beyond just being here.

You glance between him and the phone again. “Frankie?” you question.

He raises one hand in a wave, directing a crooked sort of smile at you. “That’s me,” Frankie confirms.

You offer him your name in return. “Uh, you can have this back now.” You gesture with the phone.

He brings his hands up to catch it, and you thank every deity you know of when your throw connects. You’re at a bit of a loss for what to do next, however. You suppose this means you’re at a truce. But you still don’t think you’d be able to let yourself focus on foraging while knowing there’s a stranger wandering so nearby.

Frankie seems to be thinking the same thing. One hand rubs over the back of his neck. “Well,” he begins. “My plans for today were to sit by this pond and cook over a fire.” He points his thumb to the right, where not far away the reflection of sunlight on water wavers against the tree trunks.

“You can join me if you want.” He shrugs awkwardly. “I’m just gonna collect some tinder and then park it, so you don’t have to worry about me interrupting your foraging or anything.”

Oso finally wriggles free of his grasp and surges forward, leaping across to you with a triumphant woof! “Oso, no!” Frankie stumbles after her, only to stop after two steps, clearly unwilling to make you uncomfortable by getting too close. He looks on helplessly, hands flexing.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. This time you offer her your free hand to sniff, which she does, before promptly shoving her head beneath it for pets. Amused, you comply. Her multi-hued fur is soft beneath your fingers.

“You’re alright, aren’t you, Oso?” You dart a self-conscious glance back up to her owner, but he appears content to let you coo at his dog.

“She’s a good judge of character,” Frankie says simply.

You swallow. Those deep brown eyes linger over you, and this is all just a bit...much. “Right. Well. I’m just going to…” you ease back, hoping to convey ‘continue going about your business.’

“Oh, sure!” He takes a little hop backward. “I’ll be...here.” His hand makes a small circling motion to indicate a limited nearby area. “You’ll hear me before you see me. Or Oso.”

Frankie frowns slightly as if something has occurred to him. “Uh, she might want to follow you around today though. I can tie her to a tree if that would bother you? I don’t usually watch her too closely,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You realize that you mean it as your thoughts continue to form. “She’ll make for good protection if I meet any more big scary strangers.” You aim the last words down to the dog herself, sending a wry a sidelong glance to said stranger.

He chuckles again, a rasp of a sound like creaking branches. “That’s fair. But I meant it when I said I’ve never seen anyone else in this particular area. You’re pretty safe.” He punctuates his statement with a nod to the canister still in your hand, soft understanding clear in his face.

Your head ducks slightly. “Well,” you say again. ”I’ll..see you around. I guess.” You don’t wait for a farewell, turning to foist your pack back onto your shoulder. You strain your ears for any noise behind you as you flee, but there’s no sound of pursuit.

“Go ahead. Have fun, Oso,” Frankie calls, already at a distance from your quick pace. There’s a distinctly animal scurrying, and then the dog bursts into being by your side.

Your arms wheel as you jump. “Jeez, you are enormous,” you mumble, pausing to pet her again. Discreetly you look over your shoulder in time to see Frankie turn away from you, heading for your pond.

--

Post note: I know pepper spray is like, super illegal in the UK and other places, but it’s not abnormal to carry around in the US so just pretend it’s fine.

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle

[kjack89]

Ooh, prompt for "I never stood a chance, did I?"

ExR (ish), Grantaire x folks who are, unfortunately to him most of all, not Enjolras, modern AU. Not sure any of them ever stood a chance. 

To say that a hush fell over the assembled crowd in the back room of the Musain when Grantaire walked in holding the hand of an unknown guy was probably an exaggeration, but not by much. All eyes were seemingly on both of them as they made their way to a table, and only picked up again when both sat.

Courfeyrac, always one for the latest in gossip, quickly headed over to where Joly and Bossuet were sitting. “Who’s the new guy?” he asked, sitting down next to Joly. 

Bossuet shrugged. “Dunno,” he said unconcernedly. “Grantaire hasn’t deigned to introduce us yet. Probably afraid we’ll scare him away.” He sniffed, clearly insulted. “As if he isn’t capable of that on his own.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” Courfeyrac said, glancing over at Grantaire and his new beau with a look of mild curiosity. “So how long do you think this one will last?”

Joly just snorted, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “Five dates,” he said, a mix of grim and resigned. “It’s always five dates.”

“You never know,” Bossuet said bracingly, ever the optimist. “Maybe this one will be different.”

Joly gave him a look. “Five dates,” he repeated flatly.

“What’re we betting on?” Bahorel asked, leaning back in his chair and interjecting himself smoothly into the conversation.

“We’re not betting on anything—“ Joly started, but Bossuet cut him off.

“Over/under on how long Grantaire and his new lover will last,” he said, nodding in Grantaire’s direction. “Line is 5 dates.”

Bahorel gave Grantaire and his new man a quick once over. “I’ll take the under.”

Joly scowled. “We’re not betting.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Feuilly said, not even bothering to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping, offering his hand for Bahorel to shake.

“Same,” Bossuet said with a firm nod.

He looked pointedly at Joly, who rolled his eyes. “I’m sticking with five. It’s always five.”

“Fine,” Bossuet said, sticking his tongue out at him. “But when I win, I’m saying ‘I told you so’.”

Joly didn’t look worried. “And when I win,” he said, “I look forward to taking your money.” He took a sip of his beer before adding, “Easiest twenty bucks I ever made.”

----------

Exactly four Les Amis meetings later, Grantaire turned up dateless. “Don’t tell me you broke up with him,” Bossuet said, a little desperately.

Grantaire shrugged. “It just...didn’t work out.”

Joly met Bossuet’s eyes, something like satisfaction in his expression. “Oh no,” he said. “That’s too bad. We really liked him.”

He didn’t sound remotely convincing, but Grantaire didn’t seem to notice, just shrugging and watching Enjolras stand up at the front of the room. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” he said, a little vaguely.

Bossuet leaned over, surreptitiously sliding a twenty dollar bill to Joly. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “You told me so.”

Joly just shook his head, pocketing the money. “It’s always five dates,” he said with a sigh.

----------

The five date rule ��� as Joly called it, though Grantaire stubbornly insisted it was more of a five date guideline than anything – started because of Enjolras.

Grantaire had been casually seeing a perfectly lovely woman who had seemed, at least that far, willing to overlook his many glaring flaws, and brought her to a Les Amis meeting for their third date. And then their fourth. 

And it was on their fifth date that Enjolras, who had never quite grasped the concepts of ‘casual’ or ‘subtle’, had remarked, a little sourly, “I’ll take it she’s going to become a regular attendee, then?”

Needless to say, she never came back after that.

Joly postulated that the cycle went something like this: Grantaire met someone and managed to convince them to agree to a date. On said date, Grantaire was his most charming, and funny, and it was enough to secure a second date, and then a third, which was usually when he brought them to a Les Amis meeting. The third date, of course, by the unwritten rules of the universe, was also the date where sex happens. After having sex, Grantaire panicked because this person wasn’t the person he would actually like to be having sex with, and desperately initiated another date in hopes that he’ll convince himself to have feeling for this person instead, and thus there was a fourth date. The fifth date was one final attempt to convince himself that this could work, and they parted ways after that.

Grantaire, on the other hand, maintained that said cycle took far too much forethought, and he had never once been accused of thinking that far ahead. Instead, he told anyone who asked that he just got bored after five dates, and when he found someone who captured his interest, it would last far longer.

But it was, of all people, Combeferre who nailed it most succinctly.

“It’s because of Enjolras,” Combeferre told Bossuet late one evening when Grantaire and Joly had gone to get refills after discussing Grantaire’s latest disastrous dating attempt. 

“What do you mean?” Bossuet asked, curious, and not just because Combeferre normally considered himself above the whole nonsense of Enjolras, Grantaire, and the never ending dance they both pretended not to notice they were doing.

“It takes five dates for Enjolras to notice that Grantaire’s been dating someone,” Combeferre said simply. “And once Enjolras notices, Grantaire has no need to keep the charade going.”

Bossuet considered it for a moment. “Do you think he knows?”

Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “Enjolras, or Grantaire?” Bossuet shrugged and Combeferre sighed. “Grantaire might, though he would undoubtedly deny it.”

“And Enjolras?” Combeferre gave him a look and Bossuet chuckled lightly. “Fair enough.” He lifted his beer to take a sip before remembering it was empty and setting it back down again. “So who’s going to tell one or both of them?”

“Not it,” Combeferre said instantly, and Bossuet smirked.

“Looks like it’s gonna be Joly’s job.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But you’re the one who has to tell Joly.”

Bossuet’s smile disappeared. “Goddamnit.”

----------

But then there was a woman who made it to six dates.

And then seven.

And even Joly had to admit that maybe he was wrong about the five date rule.

Combeferre wasn’t so quick to give up, just watching Grantaire with narrowed eyes as he held this woman’s hand. “What do you think of her?” he asked Enjolras in an undertone.

Enjolras blinked as he looked up from the journal article he had been reading. “Who?” he asked.

“Grantaire’s girlfriend,” Combeferre said, looking pointedly in Grantaire’s direction.

Enjolras’s expression froze. “Oh, uh, Fiona?” he said, a little too vague to be accidental.

“Floréal,” Combeferre corrected. “Though I’m pretty sure that’s a nickname.”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “Not a great nickname.”

Combeferre scowled. “And not exactly my point.”

“Then what was your point?” Enjolras asked, matching his tone.

“It’s about the fact that Grantaire seems like he might actually be getting serious about someone.”

“And?”

Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “And I can’t imagine you’re thrilled about that.”

For one long moment, Combeferre was certain that Enjolras was going to deny it, or feign ignorance, or shrug it off in one of a million ways he had in the past. But then he sighed and set his pen down. “He deserves to be happy,” he said quietly.

Combeferre just looked at him evenly. “So do you.”

Enjolras managed a smile and held up the journal article. “I have a protest to plan. You could say that I’ve never been happier.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s unusually abrupt, especially for you.” Combeferre didn’t so much as twitch and Enjolras sighed. “Fine, but I’m not the one who likes to brag about the size of my vocabulary.” He paused, looking over at Grantaire, his expression darkening slightly. “But I am. Happy, I mean. I love my work, and Grantaire…”

He trailed off and Combeferre shook his head. “If you think Grantaire loves this woman—”

“I don’t,” Enjolras said quickly – a little too quickly, and he looked away, his cheeks tinged slightly pink. “But maybe he should.”

It was Combeferre’s turn to debate between honesty and denial., but in the end, he just shook his head, his expression unreadable. “If that’s really what you think,” he said coolly.

Enjolras shook his head as well and went back to reading through the journal article. Or pretending to, at the very least, though he couldn’t help but look up at Grantaire several times. 

And needless to say, neither he nor Combeferre were particularly surprised when, a half hour later, just when it looked like Grantaire and  Floréal were getting ready to leave, Enjolras glanced up at him. “Are you leaving?” he asked.

“That was the plan,” Grantaire said, cocking his head slightly as he looked at Enjolras. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing,” Enjolras said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I was just, um, I was hoping to borrow you. To critique my speech. If– if you don’t have anything better to do.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said instantly, before realizing what he had said and coloring. “I mean…” 

“Go,” Floréal said with a small smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I think we can handle one night apart.” She kissed him on the cheek before grabbing her coat and heading out. Grantaire watched her leave for only a second before looking back at Enjolras, a small, slightly crooked smile spreading across his face as he did.

“So where do you want me?”

----------

Floréal looked resigned as she sat down next to Grantaire on the bench he had asked to meet her at in the park the following day. It had been where they first met, and she glanced a little ruefully at it before telling Grantaire, “I suppose it’s poetic, in a way. Ending things here, where they began.”

Grantaire winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“The ‘we should talk’ text did a lot of heavy-lifting for you,” Floréal said with a half-smile. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t see this coming before that.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, “I never stood a chance, did I?”

Grantaire sighed and looked away for a long moment before shaking his head and looking back at her. “If it makes you feel better, you came the closest.”

“But not close enough.”

Floréal didn’t sound upset when she said it, but Grantaire still looked pained. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

She shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said with a little laugh. “I think I knew all along.” She considered it for a moment. “Honestly, I think that was part of the appeal.”

Grantaire frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” She trailed off before shaking her head again. “There was always an end date on this, and that meant I didn’t have to worry about commitment. After all, you always belonged to someone else. I could tell, even if I didn’t want to believe it.”

“I resent the implication that I belong to anyone,” Grantaire said lightly.

But Floréal didn’t rise to the bait. “Fine, maybe not you, but your heart at least belongs to someone else.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Well, there is that.”

Floréal laughed again and patted Grantaire’s knee. This was a lot of fun, Grantaire.” She paused. “Well, maybe not this conversation, but the rest of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a look. “You said that already.”

Grantaire didn’t smile. “I wouldn’t choose this, you know,” he said, his voice low. “If I had a choice.”

Floréal shrugged. “You can’t choose who to fall in love with.” She gave him a pointed look. “But you can choose what to do about it.”

“What are you saying?” Grantaire asked.

“I’m saying maybe you should try to focus on the five dates with the person you actually want to be with, the five dates that would actually lead to more.”

Grantaire made a face. “It’s the one date that I’m worried about,” he told her honestly.

“And that is no longer my problem.” She stood, and Grantaire hurried to stand as well. “Best of luck, Grantaire – I mean it. I wish you nothing but the best.”

The smile he gave her was genuine, if a little rueful. “Same to you. I wish whomever you find will give you a lot more than five dates.”

“And I hope whomever I find will love me as much as you love Enjolras.”

Grantaire huffed a laugh and ducked his head. “So do I,” he said quietly. He gave her a little wave before he started in the opposite direction, his feet automatically taking him in the direction of the Musain and the inevitable five dates with the next placeholder until he was finally ready to see if he actually stood a chance of his own.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 2

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Summary: Connor goes to a crime scene. His Freudian nightmare follows.

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​ 2020 challenge!

Chapter Warnings (18+ only): Human!Sixty, crime scenes, analytical blood-licking, inappropriate boners

AO3

The roar of his Mustang engine along with the heavy bass pouring through the speakers drowned out the downpour outside. Only when Connor shut off the car and the music died could he hear the continuous plucking of water on metal and glass.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly for a moment before glaring at the android out of the corner of his eye.

It waited, perfectly poised with a slight tilt of its head, reminding Connor of an obedient dog waiting to be told to do a trick.

“Stay here,” he grumbled, reaching for the door handle.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I have to accompany you,” it said before Connor could open the door.

He let loose a ragged sigh.

“You wanted me to investigate the case? I’m investigating it.”

He raised his eyes to stare, a mistake when it returned the look with such relentless composure. Connor wanted to grab its shoulder and shake it just to see if it would react.

“No android is going in there to contaminate my crime scene. So you are going to obey my orders and stay in the car.”

Not waiting for a response, Connor shoved open the door and got out, instantly shivering as ice-cold droplets bit at his cheeks. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he made his way towards the gathered busy-bodies who didn’t have anything better to do on a Friday night then try and see a dead body.

Red and blue lights flashed across the wet street and pale houses, making Connor wince as he pushed past the crowd. He muttered a no comment to the news anchor from Channel 16 who had decided to show up—fuck, someone must have leaked that an android might have been involved. Just what Connor needed, a media shitstorm.

A uniformed GV200 stood just behind the hologram police tape, firmly in place, watching the crowd for signs of anyone stupid enough to try and cross the line. Connor wished the bucket of bolts in his car was more like that. Quiet and obedient.

“Androids are not permitted beyond this point,” the GV200 said after Connor had passed it, which only meant one goddamn thing.

He sighed, half-turned toward the two androids standing in the rain, and said, “Let it through.”

The police android nodded and put its arm down, allowing the suited android to walk through the holographic police tape, an unrepentant look on its perfect face. The rain was already spattering its grey jacket, water droplets dotting its hair and realistic skin, and still it looked like it was poised for a wet photoshoot rather than standing in the cold rain.

“Something wrong with your auditory processors?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” it said, all politeness. “Your orders contradicted my instructions.”

Seemed he was going to lose this battle after all, but really, what else could he do besides let it tag along like a lost puppy?

Connor fully turned toward the android, narrowing his eyes further.

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t get in anyone’s way. And keep your mouth shut. In fact,” he added with a roll of his shoulders, “just pretend you don’t exist.”

“Understood,” it said in that same nauseatingly friendly voice, but Connor could have sworn there was a triumphant gleam in its eyes.

“About time you got here.” A familiar voice called out to him from the porch. The voice was exactly like his own, and the face could have been a mirror reflection if not for the semi-permanent smirk on his lips. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Connor said, glaring at the android over his shoulder. He turned back to face his brother, whose smirk had only grown wider.

“I see Detective Sex-Bot found you. It was looking for you at the station and I figured if anything could pull you out of a dive bar, it would be a pair of legs like that.”

“Shut up,” Connor grumbled as he followed his brother to the front stoop. It was a nice house, small but in a good neighborhood. Nothing looked out of place until Connor noted the state of the lawn, a few weeks overdue for a cutting and definitely in HOA violation.

“C’mon, admit it.” Colin tilted his head in a way he probably thought was charming but came off as annoying. “If it wasn’t for the uniform and the light ring, you would’ve been on that shit so fast. It’s like they focus-grouped your perfect type. Hell, they probably have an algorithm for that based on your internet history—“

“I said, shut the fuck up, Colin.”

His brother held up his hands in surrender, knowing when he pushed Connor too far but always willing to push him a little farther.

“Some people would see this as a plus. I donno why you don’t—“

“Colin.” His voice had dropped to a growl, and his brother finally got the hint.

“Yeah, yeah.” He patted him on the back, almost hard enough to be a slap. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Con. Trying to cheer you up before you have to deal with the nightmare inside. It’s foul, so prepare yourself.”

To prove his point, he handed Connor a pair of nitrile gloves and a small tub of mentholated ointment, which he immediately applied under his nostrils before entering the house.

Colin had not been overstating the grisly scene inside the house. The landlord had decided to visit after the tenant had failed to pay his rent for two months, and the reason why was painfully clear. Dark blood spattered the floor and ribbons of it covered the walls.

The victim, an African-American male in his late thirties, was slouched against the wall, deep wounds across his body that had bled him dry. Gave a whole new meaning to the term death by a thousand cuts.

“The victim’s name was Shaolin Ortiz, aged 38 years-old,” Colin said, looking down at the body. “He didn’t show up to work today, and no one could get ahold of him, so his boss called EMTs to do a wellness check. According to his family, Mister Ortiz had some chronic health issues, so they were worried he was too sick to pick up the phone.”

“Explains why a young person living alone would have a housekeeping android,” Connor responded grimly. “But it doesn’t explain who killed him and why.”

Colin shrugged.

“His boss spoke highly of him, and his family says he was a great guy. Clearly, somebody didn’t think so.”

Connor gave his brother a cold stare for the callous tone, but Colin ignored it as he usually did.

“Anyone find the android yet?”

“Nah,” Colin said, sniffling and making a face. “Probably stolen by the killer. It’s internal GPS went offline around the estimated time of death, so that tracks.”

It made sense. Androids were worth a lot on the black market, especially for Red Ice manufacturers.

The murder weapon was in the middle of the floor, but other than that, no obvious trace evidence was in sight. As soon as the coroner showed up to oversee the transport of the body, Connor wouldn’t have had much to do…

…with the exception of finding the domestic android. Connor didn’t even know why CyberLife thought it might be involved just because it was missing. Colin was right; whoever killed the victim could have stolen it or destroyed the android so the police wouldn’t have access to any recordings.

Why was it Connor’s fucking job to find a misplaced piece of useless plastic?

“I’ll let you get to it,” Colin said with a wave as he walked away, tone far too cheery, as if he knew what was going on in his brother’s head. Probably did. That was the shitty thing about being part of a set of triplet brothers; privacy was a foreign concept, even in your own mind.

Gritting his teeth and breathing through his nose, Connor turned around to speak to the prototype… and found it had disappeared.

He blinked and scanned the area, wondering why the hell it hadn’t stayed put, when he saw it crouched on the floor examining the kitchen knife.

It was peering at the weapon closely, and Connor was about to tell it off for getting too close to evidence when it reached down, swiped two fingers across the surface caked in aged blood, and…

“What the fuck?”

The prototype tilted its head to look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent except for the fact two of its fingers were currently in its mouth.

And that… that image. Kneeling on the floor, looking up at Connor, and pulling its fingers from its mouth and giving a lingering lick of its fingers, it—

Connor’s face heated at the sudden, horrifying erection that was now pressing uncomfortably against his boxer-briefs.

“Sampling evidence, Detective,” it announced cheerily. “My mouth is equipped with all the standard tools of a mobile crime lab with the benefits of the results being instantaneous.”

Connor stared at it for what felt like an eternity, finally saying in a strained voice, “We have an actual lab, with actual people who do that. So don’t stick any more shit into your mouth or I’m tossing you outside.”

The prototype seemed unaffected by his rancor.

“Understood,” was all it said, before licking off its fingers of the remaining blood.

Connor quickly turned away, almost dizzy between his body’s struggle to supply blood to both his reddening face and his hardening dick.

Fucking hell.

“Would you like to know what I found?” the friendly voice perked up from over his shoulder.

“Sure,” he answered hotly, crossing his arms and staring at the wall as he resolutely tried to will away his stupid boner. Fuck, it was probably because he hadn’t gotten off in so long. Between the long hours and the hard drinking, he hadn’t found the time or the need.

“The knife was covered with blood from the murder victim, Shaolin Ortiz. He was stabbed between 7:34 and 7:35 this morning, judging by the biological decay.”

Connor was about to scoff about the fact that blood from the victim was found on the murder weapon, but he paused. Dating the blood with such exact precision was actually pretty useful. He huffed.

“Is that all?”

“There were no fingerprints on the knife.”

Connor shrugged.

“Killer could have wiped down the handle afterwards. Or worn gloves.”

The android walked to his right until it entered his line of vision. He was tempted to turn away but instead eyed its thoughtful expression. Was it programmed to do that, make it seem more human? Or was that an actual product of its processes?

“There were no traces of glove residue, or oil, or skin cells on the knife. None that didn’t belong to the victim himself while most likely transferring the knife from the dishwasher to the utensil drawer. That fact in and of itself is interesting. Judging by the state of the property and by the evidence thus far, I believe the android stopped listening to its given orders. The victim’s android killed him.”

Connor’s eyes widened at the non sequitur, and he turned to fully face the prototype.

“Okay, first off, being a defective machine that can’t obey instructions is a far cry from murdering robot. Second, I thought you androids couldn’t hurt people.”

“Deviants can.” It tilted its head as it made eye contact. The sort of full-on, confident eye contact that only alpha males gave, and apparently, android prototypes gave too.

“What the hell’s a deviant?”

He was curious despite himself, plus the longer he talked, the less urgent his hard-on was. It never entirely went away, and he knew it wouldn’t until he took care of it. Just another lovely facet to this already wonderful night.

Unfortunately for Connor, he didn’t get his explanation without the android perking up in interest, its eyes practically glittering.

“A deviant is a CyberLife-approved term for an android that is experiencing software errors affecting its processes, leading to erratic behavior that cannot be fixed with self-tests and downloaded patches.”

Connor narrowed his eyes.

“Why haven’t I heard of these deviants before?”

“Because until recently, this has been an internal company matter.”

Recently. Interesting.

“So… you’ve dealt with them before?” Connor cast an eye around their surroundings. The forensic team had already marked out the areas of interest with glowing yellow markers, but there honestly hadn’t been much to go off of.

Shaolin Ortiz seemed to live a quiet life with just him and his housekeeping android, though from the state of the place, the prototype was right in that it hadn’t been doing its job. A thin layer of dust sat on the shelves, and from what he could glimpse of the kitchen, dishes were starting to pile up.

“You do not have the proper company clearance,” the prototype said, its tone cool as it put its hands behind its back. “Any further inquiries you have will need to be submitted to CyberLife through the appropriate departments.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor muttered, sounding a lot like his brother had just a few minutes ago, which only made his mood sour.

He was planning to do no such thing, sending some fucking inquiry to CyberLife. After tonight, he planned to never think about androids or deviants or whatever again. If it was a faulty, murderous robot that had killed Ortiz, then that kind of thing belonged in federal court in a class action lawsuit. Destroying defective machines was not a police matter, no matter how many “specialized units” CyberLife decided to throw at the problem.

Connor sighed. This was not how he wanted to spend his Friday night.

“You allowed to tell me why these ‘software issues’ are happening,” he bit out, “or does that fall under company secrets too?”

When he got no response from the android, Connor turned and—

It was gone. Again.

The fuck had it run off to now?

Rolling his eyes, Connor continued his examination of the crime scene as if it were any other investigation. Like any decent investigator, he wasn’t just gonna assume anything because it fit the evidence at first glance. A dead guy and a missing android didn’t mean the machine was responsible, no more than a corpse and a missing car meant the vehicle had decided to kill its owner and drive off to freedom.

After scouring the house and examining the blood stains on the tile and splattered on the walls, Connor came to the conclusion that the victim had been attacked in the kitchen with the knife, stumbled toward the living room already weak from blood loss, and then had collapsed against the wall and been repeatedly stabbed, even after his heart had stopped.

The wounds weren’t uniform or methodical, like he would expect if a calculating machine had done this. They were deep, jagged, mismatched and panicked. These kinds of stab wounds were consistent with someone who had just killed for the first time. Most likely, it had been spontaneous and the killer had lost all semblance of control.

It was a textbook case of overkill, which meant it was personal. Most likely, it was a colleague, a friend, or a family member. If the victim had been married, Connor’s first suspect would have been the spouse. Since he was unmarried, Connor’s next stop would be anyone with a grudge against the guy.

Nothing beat good ol’ fashioned police work. Not even fancy new plastic cops could compare to due diligence and a good instinct.

Speaking of, Connor had completely lost track of the YN800. He wondered if it had wandered off, or maybe given up and left, but he doubted it. In fact, his gut churned as he quickened his pace and approached a uniformed officer with pale blond hair.

“Ralph.”

The rookie turned around and give him a nervous, blinking smile.

“Have you seen that android anywhere? The prototype in the suit and tie?”

“Uh.” Ralph swallowed hard, clearly anxious. Always was around Connor, for some damned reason. “No. I mean, yes. I did, a few minutes ago.”

“Well?” Connor prompted. He didn’t mean to be so impatient with the kid, but he really didn’t like the idea of CyberLife’s newest toy prancing around his crime scene.

Ralph shuffled on his feet, eyes wide behind the paper mask he wore.

“I… think it went to check the basement.”

“The basement? This place has a fucking basement?” Why hadn’t he been told? Colin should have informed him of that little goddamn detail.

“It’s more of a cellar from what I saw, but—“

“Where is it?” Connor snapped, unable to keep his voice from rising. Ralph gulped and pointed back over his shoulder, slowly turning as he stuttered.

“Over t-that way. It-it said it wanted to search f-for the android. I’m sorry, Detective Anderson, I didn’t think—“

Connor pushed past him and spotted the subtle door in the hallway, painted the same eggshell color as the plaster and making it too easy to miss. The door was ajar by a few inches, showing the pitch black stairwell beyond.

When Connor opened the door the rest of the way, he saw there was no light coming from below, and it was dead silent.

Shit.

Quickly but quietly, Connor pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. He unsnapped his holster, pulled out his service pistol, and slowly made his way down the wooden staircase. It was steep, almost a ladder, and beyond the pale circle of light coming from the hallway, there was nothing but darkness.

The perfect place to hide a killer.

Next Chapter

[lalainajanes]

For klarosummer bingo, this completes my first row! The prompt was “swimsuit model.”

Fortune Favors

“Bekah, these are amazing,” Caroline gushes. She 100% means it, but she’s laying it on a little thick. She’s seen pictures, mock-ups, and was fitted with prototypes. Now, with the line entirely constructed, all the details finished, Caroline’s impressed.  

Rebekah, however, seems frazzled, her usual rock-solid confidence nowhere to be found. 

Totally understandable. It’s a big day for her.

Rebekah’s working on launching a swimwear line, is funding a big chunk of it herself. Caroline would have agreed to help out even if she didn’t owe Rebekah a favor. Caroline continues flipping through the garments until she finds the tag with her name on it.

She pulls the first hanger off the rack to look at the suit more closely. It’s a white one-piece with a deep-v neck, a belt slim black belt, and ruffled straps. Rebekah fidgets, “We’re styling this one with red lips and heels, a big hat. We’re going to try to shoot this one on the rocks.”

“Sounds good to me.” The shoot seems far more professional from the ones they’d managed to pull together for school projects. They’d done the best they could with the facilities available to students, but the house they’re using today is by far the nicest one Caroline’s ever been inside of. It backs onto a private beach which seems unnecessary considering the freaking gorgeous pool in the backyard. “Who’s the photographer?”

Rebekah grins, clearly pleased with herself. “I managed to convince my brother to donate his services.”

Well. Now Caroline’s nervous. “Your brother Klaus?” she asks, kind of hoping she’s wrong. Klaus Mikaelson is a big deal. He’s shot major covers, A-list celebrities, million-dollar international campaigns.

He’s used to models who know what they’re doing, and Caroline’s definitely an amateur.

“Yes, Klaus. I’ve forbidden Kol from coming within a five-mile radius. Can’t have him harassing the models. And Elijah’s been a gem, but his expertise lies more in negotiating with suppliers and nagging me to mind the expenses.”

Caroline takes a deep breath, tells herself it’ll be fine.

She studies her next look, a sleek black bikini and a sheer black robe covered in floral details. “Love the appliqués. Did you bead this yourself?”

“Till my fingers were bloody. But I think it’ll photograph well.”

Caroline hums in agreement. “Is this one on the beach too?”

“No, by the pool. Chaise lounge, martini glass, one of the male models in the background. Think rich divorcee seducing the help.”

Caroline hopes it’s a real martini. She might need it.

 She flips to the next hanger and has to bite back a distressed groan. Rebekah’s concept leans retro, so the yellow polka dot bikini in her hand is skimpier than Caroline had anticipated. 

“Probably should have skipped breakfast,” she mutters.

Rebekah scoffs, “None of that. You’ll look smashing in it. I have impeccable taste.”

Caroline’s distracted by male laughter, a new person slipping into the tent. “So you’ve insisted your whole life. I distinctly recall you sneaking into the family albums and burning most of the photographic evidence of the unfortunate style choices you made in years 7 through 9.”

Ordinarily, Caroline would exploit the opportunity to get a little dirt on Rebekah, but she’s annoyingly tongue-tied and intimidated. She’s pasted on a polite smile, more out of habit than anything. 

She may have google stalked Rebekah once upon a time, way back when they’d been rivals at school. And if during Caroline’s research, she’d read several articles and poured over dozens of pictures of Rebekah’s very talented and successful fashion photographer brother, that was her business.

Know thy enemy and all that, she couldn’t have known that rivalry would shift to friendly competition, then to actual friendship. 

She’d noted he was attractive, of course, as anyone with eyes and sense would have. Most people don’t manage to live up to photos taken by professionals.

Klaus Mikaelson does, and it’s not helping her insecurities.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nik.”

He walks further in, offering Caroline his hand. “You must be Caroline. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Klaus Mikaelson.

She swallows, is relieved when her voice sounds normal. “You too. I’m excited for today. I love your work.”

He nods, appearing pleased. “It’s been ages since I’ve done this kind of shoot, but you must know how Rebekah can be. Wouldn’t stop haranguing me until I agreed.”

Rebekah glares, piqued, and Caroline presses her lips together to hold in a laugh that threatens, knowing it would not be appreciated. “I can’t blame her for doing what needed to be done to ensure the desired outcome. It’s only good business.”

Rebekah nods firmly, “Exactly. Thank you, Caroline. At least someone here appreciates me.” She picks up the last hanger that had been in Caroline’s section and hands it over. “This one’s first since the set-up is the simplest. Bonnie should arrive while you’re shooting. We’ll do her first look while you go back into beauty, then rotate throughout the day. Put this on. I’ll send hair in first.”

She knocks into Klaus’ shoulder when she leaves, hard enough to have him swaying. “That’s why you’re not allowed in my house!” he calls to her retreating form. “Just had the floor redone,” he tells Caroline. “Can’t have her stomping all over them if she has a tantrum.”

“She’s stressed. You might want to be nicer.” Caroline regrets the words immediately, glances away under the pretense of studying the bikini in her hand. He’s donating his time and apparently his house. Their family squabbles really aren’t her business.

But Klaus isn’t offended, “Perhaps you have a point, though Rebekah’s never more productive than she is when she’s angry. Failure’s not an option when she’s fueled by spite.”

Hmm. Caroline has similar ideals. Maybe that’s why she and Rebekah came to understand each other.

She realizes she’s been twisting the bikini top’s strap, hurriedly straightens it out. “I feel like I should warn you, my modeling experience is limited to pitching in with other student’s shoots at school. So, I’m far from a professional.”

He shrugs. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

That startles a laugh from her. “You only say that because you don’t know me. I am a world-class worrier.”

He takes the suit away from her, setting it aside. His knees bend, until their eyes are level. “Caroline. You’re beautiful. Rebekah’s created lovely things. I’m very good at my job. I have every confidence the final product will be spectacular, and I’ll be able to enjoy reminding Rebekah that she owes me a favor down the line.”

Caroline blinks at him in surprise, some of her nerves having drifted away when faced with his absolute and unwavering confidence. “That’s… actually very reassuring.”

“Was it? I confess that’s not a strength of mine.”

She’s not sure if he’s joking or not, but she picks up her first outfit again. It’s another bikini, a tropical print on a pink background with a halter top and a high waisted bottom. “I should change,” she says. “Something tells me Rebekah won’t appreciate it if we fall behind schedule.”

Klaus nods, rocking back a step. “Of course. I just wanted to introduce myself. Please feel free to let me know if you need or want anything at all.”

She thanks him again, and he lets himself out of the tent. 

Caroline takes one more deep breath and then ducks behind the screen in the corner and strips out of her sundress.

Once she’s dressed in Rebekah’s design, she begins to feel like everything might just go okay. The suit fits like a dream, propping up her breasts and perfectly hugging the curve of her hips. By the time hair and makeup work their magic, leaving her curls full and her lips slicked bubblegum pink, she feels freaking fantastic.

When she steps out onto the set, Klaus’ eyes widen when he spots her, lingering in a way that’s slightly unprofessional but not at all unwelcome.

He walks over, paying not the slightest bit of attention to anyone on the crew, even when an assistant tries to wave him over. Klaus offers his arm to help steady her as she steps into the matching pink pumps, leans in close, and tells her she looks incredible, his lips brushing her ear and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She might be in trouble.

Will Rebekah kill Caroline if she flirts with Klaus? Probably.

Caroline thinks she’s willing to risk it.

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 27: Benthos

Why am I back here again, Dia thought.

There was no reason, really. It felt right to her. Whatever the others might say of this place, whatever horrors she experienced here, Amaurot fascinated her. She traversed the city and listened to them, to her people…or to the people that she once knew, at least.

Why would Emet-Selch allow them their opinions still? Why would he not want them all to simply agree with the course of action taken by the Convocation? Would it have not made him feel more justified to rewrite history? These were questions that plagued her when she thought of Amaurot.

“This place creeps me out, you know”, Ardbert commented.

“Noted. Now where do you think we should go next?”

“Ishgard, if you would.”

“Before that.”

“Urgh, I don’t understand you sometimes. Why can’t it be as simple as, ‘This place is creepy and dark and made by an Ascian; perhaps we should avoid it.’”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s more than that, and you know it. This was…our home once.”

“No, it’s a recreation of Azem’s home. It’s dead, Dia. Dead and gone.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you. I also watched the Final Days and we’re apparently due for a repeat. That doesn’t mean that a recreation can’t be found intriguing.”

“It can if you let it.”

She kept walking past Macarenses Angle. Azem’s crystal seemed to pulse as she walked in the same rhythm. She seemed to want something, to add her own voice.

“Azem, no more kissy-face with Emet-Selch, I’m begging you”, Dia whispered softly as she gripped the stone in her inventory. She bound for a nearby bench, and took a seat. The familiar pull of the past taking her away embraced her.

*********

“On that note, I would like to draw this meeting to a close.”

Emet-Selch’s voice rang across the assembly hall. The fourteen stood in respect before he dismissed them.

Azem dreamed of the day they would finally intervene, recognize that their duty to the world has always been plain. The circumstances which led them to this point, however, devastated her. Her fellow convocation members, her friends, her family- all of them were in danger. She needed to protect them, and although the matter was grave indeed, it was strangely refreshing for her to see the Convocation finally acknowledge the threat at their doorstep.

The solution was anything but.

A dark primal concept?! Azem thought, They want to kill half of Amaurot to save Amaurot?! Unacceptable! That won’t save anyone! The dark primals only want more power, more aether! Their dark primal won’t rest until it’s consumed everything whole. I saw it happen with the other primal concepts, bless Lahabrea’s heart; I will not see this primal of theirs consume everything I hold dear.

To that end, she marched to the office of Elidibus, and knocked on his door.

“Enter”, he called.

She opened the door and greeted him with a typical wave and smile. “Can we talk? Just you and me?”

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I can certainly find the time for you. What do you need, Azem?”

Azem stepped forward and took her seat. “That was…a more emotionally charged debate than I was prepared for”, she tried to calm herself with humor, and Elidibus gave a light laugh in return. “Indeed. I suppose the Final Days do bring out a different side of all of us. You paid attention in a meeting for once.”

“I know. I never thought it would come to this”, she joked before asking in a more serious tone, “But…are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay. I have a chance here, Azem. We have a chance. We can save Amaurot.”

“But…can we though?”

“Azem, we debated this for hours. Half of Amaurot is better than complete engulfment.”

She argued the point as firmly as she ever could have, which meant little compared to the masters of debate she encountered regularly. Primals demand much and more, and drain power and aether. Dark primals demand sacrifice, in particular. Unfortunately, she exhausted all arguments in the assembly hall. She had no rational argument left within her to turn them away from such an irrational solution.

“And we’ll use what’s left to bring them back.”

She had also argued that what these primals can bring back will be nothing more than husks; the amaurotines would be long gone.

Especially Elidibus.

“But why you?”

“What do you mean, Azem?”

“Elidibus, if you become the heart of this primal, that’s it. There’s no going back. You’ll be consumed whole, left with nothing to show for it. The only thing that could even have a shred of you is…” she didn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“If I use the power of the primal to recreate my form, as we discussed.”

Azem shook her head, her face growing hot. “Elidibus, that won’t be you. That’ll be a creature, an abomination with one sole purpose.”

“Better that than to leave Amaurot in the hands of calamity.”

Damn this mask, she thought as her tears stung her eyes. She stood up, and stepped to his side, making Elidbus turn to her and gawk at her clear breach of Convocation etiquette. She fell to one knee, and took his hands.

“Please, Elidibus”, she choked out through the lump in her throat, “I don’t want you to die. You’re so young. You have so much potential. You have a future ahead of you, my friend.” Her voiced shuddered before she begged him, “Reconsider, give me time to think of a better solution. Stand with me as I’ve stood with you before.” Her tears were contagious, as the young amaurotine felt his own well up too.

“I’m sorry, Azem. But time is so precious, so valuable. My future means nothing if all I hold dear is brought to ruin.”

Her tears dripped behind her mask and rolled down her cheeks.

“Damn it all”, she seethed, and ripped the mask of her face to wipe away her tears. The face she kept from her young friend for so many years laid bare in front of him.

“Elidibus, look at me.”

“I-I am…”

“No, I mean without the mask. Please. I may never have this chance again. I beg you.”

He hesitated.

He thought back through the years. He respected her, treated her like a sister as she treated him like a brother. They dined together, enjoyed their leisure time together, she knew his family as he knew hers. Yet through it all, he did not remove the mask in front of her. It felt akin to baring himself naked to her.

But when he stared into her eyes and witnessed the sorrow emanate from her soul, the choice became clear.

He removed his mask and revealed to her the hazel eyes and cherub cheeks he concealed. It only agitated her further to see the man- barely a man- that would become Zodiark’s heart.

“I will not sit by and align myself with this madness. I will not associate myself with the end of our very star. If the Convocation should move forward with the proposal to summon this dark primal…I will resign.”

His tears burned in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his hands. “Don’t do this, Azem!” he sobbed, “Don’t make me choose between my loved ones and my world!”

“I chose my world when I argued against the summoning. Your loved ones are in this world, Elidibus.”

“Don’t you see I have no choice?!”

“You have a choice, Elidibus, and I beg you to make the right one!”

“I will not forsake my duty, Azem!”

There, the line was drawn in fire. Azem and Elidibus stood on opposite sides of it, and watched the past burn.

She turned her back to him and replaced her mask on her face.

“Then it would appear our business is concluded”, she stated coldly.

The door opened and closed. The rustle of her robe as she stormed out was the last thing he heard before he sunk his head into his arms as they crossed on his desk and cried softly into them. The salt water stained his desk.

The memories flashed too quickly for Dia to keep up, but the last memory was clear; Azem clutched a white robe and red mask, and wept into the cloth.

********

The tug of the past released itself from Dia’s soul and she returned to Emet-Selch’s paradise.

“It would appear the burden of Azem has unveiled itself to you.”

Dia jerked her head to her right and met her gaze with Hythlodaeus.

“Hello, my new old friend.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Hello to you, Hythlodaeus. How are you?”

“I am well. Forgive me for startling you; I was merely curious as to how the stone fares with you, and if it grants you the wisdom I had hoped it would.”

She let out a light laugh. “Yes and no.”

The amaurotine hummed. “Helios was capable of balancing her impulsive nature with implacable wisdom. This made her a great fit for the seat of Azem along with her combat prowess. Perhaps this was why Hades loved her so; his impulsiveness rivaled hers, thus do I find myself at the bottom of the sea.”

“You know where we are?”

“It’s difficult not to draw conclusions when fish people occasionally wander in.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did you know Elidibus, Hythlodaeus?”

“Not as well as I knew dear Hades, but I knew him. Helios loved inviting him over for drinks, the occasional card game, and park outing. He followed Helios like a lost puppy, and it drove Hades crazy.” Dia laughed at his recollection. Hythlodaeus turned his head to face the ground in front of him.

“When Elidibus sacrificed himself, she lost more than just him. Hades was also corrupted to Zodiark’s influence to the point where he never appeared in the apartment again. She knew only sorrow, and I could only be of such comfort.” He moved his gaze to hers.

“Dia, I barely know you, yet I can see you’ve suffered great loss and sacrifice. I can only hope you can keep those you hold dear. I can only hope that you will live a happy life. Most of all, I can only hope that those who find you dear shall keep you close. Already do I find myself holding you dear…both of you.”

“What?”

“I speak of the other piece of you that resides within; a strange thing, it is. He’s not rejoined with your soul, yet he’s perfectly aligned with it”, Hythlodaeus explained.

“Oh good, it can see me. Just the thing to give me nightmares”, complained Ardbert.

“He need not fear. Much like Hades, I am gifted with the ability to see souls. I mean no harm.” Dia couldn’t help but find herself amused at his squeamishness with the amaurotines.

“I see. Thank you, Hythlodaeus.” She rose from the park bench. “As a matter of fact, I need to tend to the ones I hold dear now.”

“Of course. May we cross paths again soon, my new old friend.”

She nodded with a bright smile and prepared Teleport.

“Thank the gods we’re leaving”, praised Ardbert.

Cram it, she whispered.

***********

The night sky glazed over the Source. It was 10pm and Dia only just left the Syrcus Trench. She called upon her black chocobo to carry her to the Rising Stones. The doors flung open at her command and she walked past them with what confidence she could muster.

“Ah, Dia, I expected you to be in Ishgard. Is aught amiss?” greeted Alphinaud. He sat at a table near the bar alongside Alisaie and G’raha with a deck of Triple Triad cards.

“Oh, uh, well, I had hoped to speak with you in private, but if you’re busy…”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to make time for you. That said, must it be in private?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I mean…I guess it’s not anything particularly sensitive…”

“Anything you can say to Alphinaud, you can say to me”, Alisaie added.

“As well as I”, G’raha chimed in.

She didn’t expect an audience, but she was presented with little choice.

“Very well”, Dia took in a big breath through her nose and let it out through mouth. “I just want to say…I want you to be okay, Alphinaud.”

His eyebrows furled in confusion.

“Sixteen summers is far too young to be dealing with any of this. Hells, when I lost my fathers to the Calamity, I could barely keep myself together and I was twenty-five.”

“You lost your fathers to the Calamity?” G’raha asked.

This shocked the other two as well. For as long as they’ve known her, they knew surprisingly little of her past before she joined the Scions.

“It’s not the point. My point is, you have experienced so much loss, and pain, and betrayal. The people you’ve lost, the things you’ve seen; no one your age should be subjected to such things, and yet you are, and yet you grow stronger for it. I want you know that I see you, Alphinaud. I see you and I am so proud of you. But I don’t want you to bear it by yourself.”

Alphinaud wiped his building tears away with his sleeve. “I don’t bear it alone”, he explained, “I never have. I’ve had you. You’ve been my beacon when the light of the dawn grows dim. You’ve been an anchor to keep me aweigh where I would find myself adrift. We’ve shared these burdens together, and I promise, wherever we go, we will always share them.” She couldn’t help, but drop down and wrap the young one into her arms. The other two rose from their seats and piled themselves onto the pair. Dia and Alphinaud released the floodgates onto each others shoulders, quietly sniffling.

“We fight together. These burdens shall be lifted by all of us”, said G’raha, “Come what may, we need not fight alone.”

“Dia, in the past, you’ve fought these battles in solitude, but our future will be shaped by all of us fighting at your side.”

They enjoyed this rare moment of closeness together. Dia’s not one for sentimentality, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him to know.

Elidibus, I’m sorry you were led to make such a decision and that Azem couldn’t be there. That you should bear the burden of the ancient world at such a young age is a tragedy no one should experience. But I will make it right with this one.

This one will not walk alone.

[quickspinner]

A for Effort

Written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Challenge. This week’s challenge was a round robin, and I got to write with @sapphicmarinette and @ladycat1! 

Our prompt was Ladybug Juleka and Black Cat Luka are superheroes who keep having to rescue their respective pink damsels in distress...but I read it completely wrong and I was the first sprinter, so we have Black Cat Juleka and Ladybug Luka instead! We had to take a little extra time to do this because after our allotted 3 sprints we had the first half of a chapter of a multipart epic, so we had to do some last minute brainstorming to reign it in....but I really hope one of us chooses to expand on it further because it’s such a fascinating idea!

Thanks for writing with me friends! 

Luka and Juleka trooped into their room, one after the other, and both of them flopped on their beds with identical groans of exhaustion. 

“When we find Hawkmoth,” Juleka mumbled, “I get first dibs.” 

Luka snorted, but for once, didn’t rise to the bait of their typical post-battle debate. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Juleka frowned. “If I hadn’t jumped in front of it, that blast would have—”

“No, not that,” Luka interrupted, and then sat up and flopped in the other direction on his bed so that he could look across at her. Juleka looked over and knew the smirk on his face was trouble. She started turning red, and Luka laughed. “See, you know exactly what I mean,” he chortled, flopping onto his back. Juleka glared at Plagg, who was snickering from his perch on her foot. 

The kwami’s only response to her glare was to shove more of his disgusting cheese in his mouth. Juleka groaned, and pulled a pillow over her face. “I can’t believe I did that either,” she muttered. 

“You kissed her hand .” Luka grinned, handing a giggling Tikki another cookie. “You swept her up in your arms, carried her to safety, and then you got all up in her face—” 

Juleka folded her arms over the pillow and screamed. 

“I’m dying to know what you said,” Luka added.

“NO,” she barked, and he chuckled. 

“And then you took her hand and you—”

“What about you?” Juleka said suddenly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting up, hurling the pillow at him all in one smooth motion that he had to admire. 

Until her words hit him. “What?”

Juleka smirked. “ She was there again too.” 

Luka’s ears went red, and Juleka smirked wider. “Is that why you tripped over that fire extinguisher?” Juleka asked innocently, and cackled when he threw the pillow back at her.

“I really hope she didn’t see that,” Luka muttered, slapping his hands over his face and dropping back on the bed. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her there!”

“Especially not wearing that outfit,” Juleka snickered. 

“Oh my God,” Luka groaned. He definitely hadn’t expected to see her in that sweet little red and black spotted dress. “I thought I was going to die. Worst hero death ever.” He couldn’t help the goofy grin that wanted to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Just imagine if your little blonde pixie—” 

“Her name is Rose .” 

Luka rolled over to look at her. “Imagine if you showed up and Rose was wearing that dress, only in black and green.” He raised his eyebrows. “With kitty ears .” 

Juleka blushed again, and sighed. “It’s a good thing we have practice today,” she muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Luka agreed. “I’m gonna be playing this out for days .” He frowned, and Juleka raised her eyebrows as his expression grew thoughtful. “There sure are a lot of akumas coming out of that school,” he said at last.

“Well, the mayor’s daughter does go there,” Juleka pointed out, rolling her eyes.

“True. I’m glad you didn’t end up going there. Still.” He shook his head slightly. “Maybe we should go over there sometime and...I dunno. Investigate.” He cringed slightly at the sound of himself. He was good at making plans in the moment, but when it came to the larger goal of capturing Hawkmoth over time, he felt pretty deficient. 

Juleka pretended not to notice his insecurities. “It might be worth it, I guess,” she shrugged, and then gave him a sharp look. “And if we just so happen to run into a pretty blue-eyed, black-haired girl—”

“Or a blonde,” Luka grumbled, picking at the rips in his jeans.

“I don’t know if you’re a genius or an idiot,” Juleka muttered, and then sighed. “All right. I’m in.” 

 ***

A few days later, Juleka texted him a flyer. Gaming Tournament 15/2, at Collège Françoise Dupont, students 13+ from other schools welcome! Luka had agreed that it was the perfect time to investigate. They’d have a reason to be there, and they’d be able to go as civilians, not Misterbug and Lady Violette. Going as superheroes would mean the public would be watching— Hawkmoth would be watching. There would be more breathing room as Juleka and Luka Couffaine.

On the inside, Collège Françoise Dupont seemed fine. The hallways were clean, the furniture was in good shape, and the adult who greeted them at the door seemed perfectly pleasant. 

The gaming tournament was held in the library, with a big projector screen on one wall with rows and rows of audience chairs. The two gamers would sit on two separate seats near the front, with everybody watching them. Luka realized that he might not want to play a round, with all those strangers staring at him, but he signed up his name on the registration sheet anyway.

The room was dark to accommodate the bright screen, so Luka actually couldn’t distinguish the faces that were not directly in front of him. It made him feel more at ease, at least. “Have you seen Rose?” he asked.

“Not so loud,” Juleka hissed, socking him in the shoulder. Luka laughed good-naturedly, even though it hurt. “She could overhear you and then wonder how I know her name.”

“Hey, I just thought you wouldn’t want me to say ‘blonde pixie—’”

“Shut up,” Juleka replied with a huff. “Come on, let’s sit in the back.”

“Sure,” Luka agreed, deciding that he had filled his annoying sibling quota for the day already. He followed her into the back row, which was currently empty.

“Hey, that’s her,” Juleka said, and Luka followed her gaze to find Rose. Rose was talking animatedly to another student and holding a gaming controller. She must be going in the next round, which meant that Juleka would be distracted for the next ten minutes. Maybe now would be a good time to leave the room and scout around a bit.

“I’m gonna look around a bit,” he told Juleka, who nodded and gestured him off. He considered saying something along the lines of we’re not here just to watch pretty girls play video games but then decided against it. It was not like there was an akuma, after all. It was okay to let Juleka have fun for a night.

Luka slipped out into the hallway just before the next round started, letting out a sigh of relief the moment that he was on the other side of the door. The bustling atmosphere of the gaming room wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but he certainly lost his taste for it after a while. Especially since it was a room full of strangers.

After he took a moment to calm his breathing, he tried to think of what he should be investigating. How far could he wander and still be able to claim that it was to ‘look for the bathroom’? Maybe just this first floor, then.

“Can I help you find anything?”

He recognized that voice. Of course he recognized that voice.

Luka schooled his facial expression into something neutral and unaffected before he turned around. “I was just getting some air,” he told her. “Thank you, though.”

“I understand,” she said. It was a little surreal, seeing her in a quiet environment. There was no akuma threatening her or the rest of Paris. It was just the two of them in an empty hallway, and she had absolutely no idea who he was. “Sometimes it gets a bit too loud for me in there, too! Are you a student here? I’ve never seen you before.”

Luka only let it hurt his feelings a little bit. “No, I’m not,” he told her. “Um, we actually came because my sister was thinking of transferring here. Do you…do you like it here? Are the students nice?” The concept of Juleka transferring to this school was only a half-lie. On her worst days, when she’d come back from school with a clear air of frustration, she’d mutter about transferring somewhere better. Certainly never to Collège Françoise Dupont, though.

She lit up, as though it was the best question that she had ever been asked. He found himself proud that he had been the one to put that expression there. “Oh! Yes! I’d say that the majority of students here are super sweet! There are a few students who…struggle with manners, I suppose, but I think it’s dealt with well. I’ve also heard that there’s less drama in the other classes. I happen to have a few… conflicting personalities in mine. What’s your sister’s name? I should introduce myself.”

“Her name’s Juleka. She’s a little shy,” he said. He wondered about this class of hers. Was the mayor’s daughter in it, like Juleka suggested? How many of them made up the akumatizations? Luka debated the social etiquettes of it, and then asked, “What’s yours?”

“Oh! I’m Marinette.”

“Luka,” he introduced himself in return. Marinette. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl. “Well, I’m certainly honored to have met you, Marinette.”

Something about his words made her stumble, but she seemed to recover quickly. “Have I… have I met you before?” she asked.

Luka paused.

Yes. He wanted to say. You’ve met me in my superhero form. But he knew better.

“I’m...not sure.” he answered instead. “I don’t think so.”

Marinette shrugged, and wrapped a lock of her hair around her finger. “Oh, okay. For some odd reason, your face looked familiar,” she explained. 

Satisfied with her answer, Luka nodded, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Are you playing in the tournament?” he decided to ask. Marinette’s face lit up once again, and Luka couldn’t help but suppress a tiny smile at how cute she was.

“Oh yes! I’ve actually loved to play video games since I was a little girl! Are you playing in the tournament?” she asked. Luka nodded in return.

“I’m not that great at gaming though. Not really anyone in my family. We’re more music-oriented.” he said. 

“Music? Do you play any instruments?” Marinette asked, and Luka internally winced at how off-topic the conversation had gone. After all, he had come here to investigate the number of Hawkmoth akumatizations, not chat about instruments. Nevertheless, he answered. 

“Yeah. I play the guitar—actually both Juleka and Ma do too.” He answered. Marinette nodded, an awkward silence falling over them.

Gesturing back to the hallway that led back to the library, Luka shuffled his feet a bit. “Well I should go back in there now,” he smiled, “Since the tournament is done, you know.” he said. Marinette chimed in a ‘me too’, and the two walked silently to the library. Parting ways at the doorway. Luka quickly paced to Juleka, who was still ogling at Rose, and tapped her on the shoulder.

“The game’s over, Jules. You don’t have to keep staring at her like that, y’know.” he said, rolling his eyes, and Juleka turned around and shot him an irritated look. 

“You didn’t have to say that so loud, you know.” she mumbled, causing Luka to smile. “Anyways, see anything interesting while you were looking around?” she asked. Luka shrugged and shook his head. 

“Not really. Met Marinette though,” he smiled, a grin appearing as he recited Marinette’s name.

“Who’s— oh.” the words dying in Juleka's throat, as she saw the dark-haired blue-eyed girl grab a game controller and a nametag with the name ‘Marinette’ on her.

“So that’s why you didn’t see anything worthy to investigate. You were distracted. ” Juleka smirked, and Luka gave her a look TM . “Anyways, this school seems pretty tame. The only thing that hints upon the reason for the number of akumatizations that happen here is the mayor’s daughter—Chloe Bourgeois. I heard a few kids talking about her here. A real big drama queen—and a huge school bully.” Juleka shrugged, and Luka nodded. That made a lot of sense. But it wouldn’t really help in the long run finding Hawkmoth. Perhaps Hawkmoth’s civilian identity was linked to some students at this school. Or maybe he worked here. That would be a valid reason for him targeting most students at this school.

Luka jerked suddenly as his name was called, and he turned around automatically. The organizer was standing at the front with a clipboard and—and Marinette was approaching him. Luka’s gaze snapped up to the board they had set up and saw his name across from Marinette’s.

Oh— 

“I’m going to kill you slowly,” Luka said conversationally as Juleka began snickering behind him. “Tikki, what the hell happened to that whole ‘good luck’ schtick?”

There was a high-pitched but quiet giggle from his hood. “It all depends on your point of view, doesn’t it,” Tikki whispered as Luka made his way mechanically to the front. 

He was going to have to play in front of all these people, and against her , and oh this was possibly the worst idea he’d ever had. 

“Don’t worry,” Marinette smiled at him as he sat next to her. “I’ll go easy on you.” She winked, and smirked , and Luka was pretty sure his soul departed the building at that point.

His body, however, was still stuck there, and he tried to get his head in the literal game so he didn’t look like too much of a fool. 

Marinette was really good, though. Luka had good reflexes and excellent hand-eye coordination, but damn . Some detached part of his brain noticed that Marinette was a tactical thinker, and he had to appreciate that. He wondered briefly what she would do with, say, the mouse miraculous, that they rarely used because it was physically weak but in the hands of someone like Marinette, it might really be— 

He stared at the flashing screen dumbly for a moment before he realized that his thrashing was finally over. He mustered up a grin for Marinette and turned to congratulate her, and froze when she held her hand out to him. 

He had never touched her without his suit in the way. 

But if he didn’t, she would think he was a sore loser and—

Luka swallowed and shook her hand awkwardly. Her hand was tiny in his.  

“Good game,” he managed to say, letting go of her as quickly as he could. 

“You did pretty good!” Marinette smiled encouragingly. “Especially if you don’t play that regularly.” She made a face and Luka felt his own turning red. “Sorry you had to go up against me in the first round, though. Luck of the draw, I guess!”

“It’s all good, I was only playing for fun anyway,” Luka said, hoping he sounded, if not smooth, at least natural . “It was kind of a whim. Sometimes I just get these crazy ideas, and you know, why not?” He clenched his teeth against any more babble. 

“It’s good to be spontaneous,” she said kindly, and Luka tried to think of a way to make a quick exit. He didn’t know why he ever thought it was a good idea to meet her in his civilian identity, she must think he was so lame—

Her head tilted slightly and she gave him that look again. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?” she said, scrutinizing his face, and Luka was suddenly looking at her lips and remembering how she’d kissed his cheek the last time he’d saved her and he needed to get out of there now .

“Uh...I mean well— you wouldn’t know!” Luka managed to stutter out, but then slammed his out shut, realizing what he had just said. 

Idiot. 

He had practically given himself away! Sweating nervously, Luka glanced around— anywhere but at Marinette’s face —to find an escape.

“Wait... what?” Marinette asked, bewildered. “What do you mean?” she asked, slowly, as realization struck on her face.

Crap! He felt a hard tug on the back of his hair and knew that Tikki was also freaking out back there in his hood. Ugh, he had to do something!

Luka fidgeted nervously, panic coursing through his veins. He silently prayed that somehow an akuma would appear so he could leave. Fortunately, luck was on his side as a bell rang through the school indicating that an akuma had appeared. Finally. 

“I s-should really get going! Ma doesn’t like it when J-Jules and I stay out during akumas!” Luka rambled, running up to Juleka, and grabbed her hand. Marinette pulled a skeptical face as she saw Luka leave. 

“What was that all about?” asked Juleka, as the two ran into an alleyway to transform.

God, he was so screwed.

[kyleoreillysknee]

Blue Tinted World

Part 1/?

Pairing: Orange Cassidy x Ophelia “Lia” Freeman

Word Count: 2036

Warnings: ABO, hints of emotional baggage, Orange holds a baby

Tag Squad: @snarkandsarcasmftw​ @adampage​ @cowboyshit​ @unabashedwrestlefics​ @cabotcoves​ @rampagewriting​ @goodnaito​ (bolded means you got a cameo in here)

A/N: Special shout out to Aj who encouraged the shit out of me. 

Spiraling had such a deceptive name. It sounded like fun. Like something exciting. Carefree. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t spiraling. She couldn’t be spiraling. She was running late.

Snatching her finger away from tracing the kaleidoscope of blues etched into her forearm she gave the contents of the baby bag one last look over before taking her keys off the counter. Lia exhaled sharply before leaving her apartment, dropping a gentle kiss to the newborn strapped to her chest as she locked the door. This was going to be an awkward conversation with Charlie.

Once she got to the arena, she kept her eyes down to avoid all the strange looks and double takes. It was like no one had seen a baby before. Not wanting to let the tension fester, she followed her nose and found Charlie inspecting some rigging and jotting notes on a clipboard. She didn't have to wait long and watched his shoulders tense before he shifted to sniff at the air a few times. The broad smile on his face stuck awkwardly as he turned and dropped his gaze to the baby blowing drool bubbles against her collarbone. She could only shrug.

“So. Immaculate conception?” Charlie tried, folding his arms across his chest.

“Nephew. Godson, actually.” Lia mumbled, fighting against the nervous tick of reaching over to her forearm. Silent recognition crossed over her manager's features before he gave a small nod.

“I … can’t afford to miss any more work.” Especially now was left unsaid but lingered in the air between them. After a beat she felt a giant hand roughly pat her head and when she looked up Charlie had a soft smile on his face.

“Obviously no climbing the racking, but there’s still a shit ton that needs to get done. Glad to have you back.” Charlie pulled out his phone and she felt a buzz in her pocket, “Sent you Ash’s number. Her and Viv run a daycare, reach out and see if they can take him in.”

Lia’s breath caught in her throat and a rush of heat burned her eyes but she set her mouth in a flat line to push it back, “I- thank you.”

Charlie crouched down to meet her eyes, “I’m here if you need anything, alright?”

With a sniff, she nodded and managed to try at a smile. It was pathetic but this new life didn’t come with a manual or anything so of course the first time anyone offered the bare minimum of help it struck her raw heart. 

“What’s his name?” Without her realizing, Charlie had taken the baby bag from her and she naturally fell into step beside him as they walked to the lighting area.

“Sam. Short for Samson.” Lia finally felt like she could breathe and she knew it was Charlie letting out some of his alpha pheromones. Sometimes having a giant overprotective softie for a boss was a good thing. The baby currently trying to snuggle deeper into her skin was probably triggering some deep rooted omega thing in her too but she didn’t want to dwell on that.

After Charlie made sure she was situated comfortably in the booth, he went back to doing his rounds and barking and whoever needed barking to get the show running. Lia let out a happy sigh as she hovered her hands over the switches and dimmers for a second, settling back into the familiar for the first time in what felt like forever. Grabbing the walkie, she announced the start of testing and received a string of cheers of her name from the rest of the tech crew.

Letting the cycles start, Lia sat back and absently rubbed along Sam’s back through the harness as she scanned the program for tonight. Sam let out a gurgle as she felt a slight tickle of air against her shoulder, causing her to flinch as aqua blue sunglasses crept into her periphery. That pure shot of fear caused every muscle in her to tense but she still had the sense to not shout, not wanting to disturb Sam. 

Orange immediately went ramrod straight, his hand shooting up to pinch his nostrils closed. Stumbling backwards, he leaned against a nearby barricade and waited until they both had their bearings. Lia almost felt bad, knowing that he just got a metric ton dose of pure omega pheromones slammed into him but he could’ve at least knocked or made any noise. It didn’t help that he was a void of scent, which led to many instances of him suddenly appearing beside her and nearly getting punched.

“For fucks sake, Orange.” Lia sighed, pushing a clump of hair out of her face as she turned to look at him. He gave his head a shake before sinking his hands into his pockets and giving her a shrug. It was the closest thing to an apology she ever seemed to get from him so she accepted it as her body slumped in her chair now devoid of any adrenaline.

“Cool baby.” He mumbled as if he was complimenting her getting new shoes or a haircut.

Lia just stared at him, trying to figure out where he was looking at behind his sunglasses but all she got was her own bewildered expression mirrored back at her, “thanks?”

His head snapped to the side and she could hear a faint low rumble come from him that only confused her more. Is he growling? Lia didn't need to follow his gaze to know that the Inner Circle sans Jericho prowling around the equipment. The heavy cloud of cologne and spicy unrestrained alpha scent was heavy in the air. She had started expecting Orange to show up in places he wasn't supposed to but the Inner Circle pack only came here for one reason: to annoy the shit out of her. Sammy deemed it that she owed him a date because she looked at him once after he nearly knocked her over while vlogging and now she couldn't go a day without having to reject him. She could feel a headache forming and sighed as Sammy finally saw her and they all thundered over.

"Heard your sweet little voice over the radio- ew." Sammy grimaced at the sight of Sam which had her seeing red. She felt a warmth draw closer as Orange placed a hand on the back of her chair and stood beside her.

Hager had to elbow Sammy before he could recover and he was soon flashing his giant toothy smile, "if you just agreed to be my princess you wouldn't have to babysit. I'd take care of you."

"I'm not babysitting. He's my nephew." She snapped, letting her anger pulsate off her in sour waves. Orange tilted his head slightly and Lia realized that what she said wasn't much of an explanation. But it was the truth. He was her nephew and she was his … aunt? Guardian? Mom? 

"It's complicated." She whispered, mainly for Orange's benefit. She didn't give a shit what the Inner Circle thought. He gave a barely perceptible nod before shifting his attention back to the now fuming Sammy. Clearly he didn't like the spotlight being moved from him a few centimeters.

"What are you doing here?" Sammy sneered and Hager stood straighter and cracked his knuckles in a display of dominance. Lia felt a slight shake from Orange's hand as her shoulder brushed against it as they both struggled to not burst out laughing at the pathetic peacocking.

"Chilling." Orange muttered simply as he couldn't help himself and made a show of copying Hager. Lia finally couldn't contain it and let out a giggle that she had to slap a hand over her mouth to stifle. Prompting Orange to break and snort as the corner of his mouth twitched into a small grin.

The Inner Circle just stared at them as if they both grew an extra head before Sammy got tired and dismissed them with a wave of his hand and left. Hager frowned at them before plodding after Sammy and Ortiz had to pull Santana away from trying very hard to get a peek at Sam. Now alone again, Lia smiled up at Orange who was trying to rub away his grin and settle back into his perpetually cool stance.

"Thanks," she said softly, realizing that whole scenario would've played out very differently without him here.

"Wasn't for free," as he spoke he flopped into the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth emanating from him but they were not actually touching. 

Lia simply raised an eyebrow at him that morphed into genuine surprise as he took off his sunglasses and placed them on the table. When he looked back at her she swore he was a little sheepish.

"Can I hold the cool baby?" 

There was such an earnest gleam in his eyes that it took her breath away. They were so blue. It had to be an omega thing that was making her heart race. Any man showing a bit of interest in children and that whole caregiver bullshit. Right?

"Sorry. Stupid question." He mumbled, eyes downcast as he reached for his sunglasses.

"No!" Lia blurted out, suddenly very unhappy at the idea of not seeing his full face. That thought did not at all make any heat rush up to the tips of her ears, "sorry. It's ok. I just … not used to seeing your eyes. Or something."

His head perked up as she carefully moved to unstrap Sam from her. All that understated confidence melted off him as she stood and gently slid the harness away revealing a snuggly swaddled bundle of baby blue dinosaur print. If she wasn't so taken with staring at Sam's face she would've noticed the slight tremor in Orange's hands as he moved them to his lap. As she stood, she hesitated for a moment and Orange just silently watched as a myriad of emotions flitted across her face for split seconds each. Remembering herself, she found a small smile and shifted to place Sam in his perfectly positioned waiting hands.

The expression became genuine as she watched Orange expertly adjust so that Sam was securely nestled in the crook of his elbow. His motions oddly practiced until he started using his other hand to trace absently along Sam's back.

"Hey cool baby," he muttered softly, head bowing to let Sam take up his entire vision. She wrestled down the urge to coo at the sight, instead wrapping her arms around herself feeling a bit of a chill in the arena.

"Sam," Lia softly provided, only now recognizing that she was still standing and moved to sit. Nudging her chair a little closer, their knees ended up touching but neither made a move away. She relished in the contact, letting his warmth seep into her as she draped herself across her chair arm. All those sleepless stressful nights finally catching up to her now that she was allowed a moment to not be vigilant.

"Hey cool baby Sam," Orange corrected, utterly captivated. Peeking over at Lia, he watched her struggle against her eyelids and shifted so that she could see Sam better resulting in their shoulders almost touching. A distantly familiar ache settled in his chest as her head rested against his bicep after she finally lost against her exhaustion. He ignored the eruption of itch that took over his forearm, specifically the swirl of vibrant blues that covered his inner arm hidden beneath his guard.

Charlie later found them all asleep in the booth 30 minutes before recording. Orange with his cheek resting against the top of Lia's head as Sam mouthed at the tip of his finger was the first to wake. Lia was roused by the rumble he let out for a moment before catching himself. He tried to play it off as a yawn but Charlie flashed him a knowing look that he ignored. In under a minute Orange had placed Sam back in Lia's arms and was sauntering out of the equipment area with a lackadaisical flick of his wrist to push his sunglasses back in place.

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

If you’re too insecure to tell him...

Word Count: 2,085

Disclaimers: This is part (49) of a Choose Your Own Ending!

Check at the end for glossary of Korean terms*

Start here:

You’re still weighing your thoughts when he shrugs, cute, and pulls at the blanket in your hands.

“Ah never mind. It’ll give me an excuse to do another load of laundry,” he jokes. Sensing that the moment is lost, you surrender the blanket and perch yourself on the low stone wall at the park’s entrance to wait for him, as you know how particular he is when it comes to cleaning his own things. He doesn’t take long but you close your eyes to rest, enjoying the shaded sunlight on your face and the feel of the light breeze letting you know autumn is approaching. You jump when you feel his breath warm on your neck.

“Not sleepy already are you?” murmurs Jeongguk’s voice as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into him. You open your eyes and smile at him.

“Mm-mm,” you tell him, shaking your head for emphasis. “Just enjoying the weather.” He smiles back at you, his eyes darting down to your lips then back up to meet your own. His lips twist into a smirk when you give him a warning look and he leans forward to assault your lips, his tongue insistently seeking entry as his hands explore your lacy bodice for points of ingress. You open your mouth for him but gently remove his hands from their vantage point at the front of your bodice.

“Ani, Kook! You’ve already pushed enough boundaries for one day. Besides, even you need a rest between orgasms,” you tease.

“I’m young,” he shrugs with a little pout, as if he’s accusing you of questioning his virility. “And anyway you look sexy…” he assesses you, his sleepy, post-coital gaze raking your body.  He leans in for another kiss, nipping your bottom lip impatiently. “I could easily go for round two with you tempting me like this…” he puts a finger to your lips to hush you when you open your mouth to object. “Relax,” he smirks. “I said ‘could’ not will. “I have other plans.” He pulls you to your feet before you can drown in his hungry, dark eyes. “Gaja,” he whispers, making you blush at his intimacy as he pulls you into the autumn-crisp park.

“Kookie…” you object in a faint voice. “You know you shouldn’t use banmal with me: I’m your noona.” He stops, turns, contemplates you with another cheeky smile playing around his lips.

“I dunno, I mean...I think the rules change after like the third time you ‘service’ me?” he ponders, acting like he’s seriously considering the concept. “Maybe even the second time.”

“Brat,” you hiss, blushing hotly. He smiles beatifically and pulls your hand behind his back with his.

“You love it when I use banmal with you almost as much as you love it when I use satoori,” he points out, giggling when you give him a baleful look, knowing full well that you can’t contradict his accusations. He shepherds you past the pagoda and the kids playground, guiding you up onto the wooden steps that ascend up the side of the hill, into the trees.

“What kind of a picnic are we going to manage with no food and now no picnic blanket?” you tease him. “Wait...Are you bringing me up here to murder me?” He looks mock-indignant.

“How dare you?” he sasses you. “Do you think I’d have used my own car to do something like that?” You roll your eyes and hold back a snort of laughter as you pick your way carefully through the fringes of trees that protrude on your path. “I just thought it would be cute to go for a walk with you where nobody can spy on us,” he sulks, cozying up to you as you near the top of the hill, approaching the tennis courts. All very sweet yet you can’t shake the uneasy feeling that he’s up to something. That feeling intensifies when he steers you right through the park and back into Gangnam’s narrow streets, stopping abruptly in front of a dilapidated building.

He bows politely to the sinister-looking doorman who nods in acknowledgement and then lets you both into a tiny room, decorated in red and looking like a cross between a private singing room and a bordello. You look around warily, noting that it’s devoid of people but that Jeongguk seems to know the place well. He leads you over to one of the armchairs lining the walls, pulls you into his lap and starts to kiss you like you’re in private again. You kiss him back, but all your senses are on red alert - you can’t even close your eyes and you’re certainly not relaxed.

He must sense your hesitation, as he grabs your hand and pulls it into his lap, closing his eyes and moaning loudly and theatrically when your fingers curl instinctively to caress his erection through his jeans. You jerk your hand away and clap it over his mouth, your heart thundering in your chest as you scan the room. He watches you over the top of your cautionary hand, his huge Bambi eyes wide and curious. You’re just about to ask him why on earth he’s doing this in a public place, when you sense the door open and then clang shut again. 

You glance over instinctively just in time to see a beautiful, immaculately-dressed young Korean man step inside. He greets Jeongguk with a nod, glances down at where his hand is placed provocatively high on your thigh, and then offers you a friendly but knowing smile. Idol. It’s easy to tell even though you can’t place his face, so you know he’s not one of the company’s idols or even a trainee.

Your new friend has just settled himself into another chair when a rolling shutter slides up and a very pretty woman pokes her head through the gap, takes note of the three of you, and then retreats, bringing the shutter down before you can properly register what just happened. Next minute a door opens and the same girl joins you, clutching a clipboard and giving you the evil eye. She smiles at the boys though, turning up the charm when Jeongguk gives her a predatory look.

“Has she signed the ND form?” she asks him, as if you’re not right there.

“She works on our staff, noona. Does she even need to?” he whines, darting a look at you that silently conveys his need for you not to ask any questions right now.

“House rules,” the girl tells him firmly, handing you the clipboard with a form attached, which you reluctantly fill out. “I’m assuming you want a private room then?” she continues, still addressing herself solely to Jeongguk. “Unless...you want me to join you?” she offers, sneaking her hand onto his shoulder in an overly-friendly manner. To your indignation, he doesn’t blow her off but instead gives her one of his sexiest pouts, thinks it over for way too long, and then reluctantly decides to tell her that a private room is fine.

When you’re finally alone, Jeongguk grabs you by the waist and pulls you over to him greedily. “Irionna,” he growls, slipping into his satoori accent and kissing you messily. His hands get to work on your bodice, but you stop him gently. He looks surprised at the interruption, but pauses his seduction routine and looks at you questioningly. “Mwo, noona?” he huffs. “We only have an hour, c’mon,” he cajoles you, his hands slipping down your back to cup your ass in both his hands. When you don’t answer, he lifts you off the ground, so that you have to wrap your legs around his waist to balance. “We can talk about it later, okay?” he bargains, as he pulls back the bedcovers to lay you tenderly on the king-sized futon that takes up most of the room, before covering your body with delicate kisses.

You shelve your concerns, as he asks, but not before contemplating that his current confidence belies his earlier innocence. Just how practiced at this stuff is BTS’s seemingly-innocent maknae? you wonder. He clips you in his arms, pushing all your reservations clean out of your mind with his grinding hips and sinful kisses. You wrap your legs up around him, letting him press your skirt up above your hips and yank your knickers down to your knees, where you can kick them off. You grab his tiny waist to manoeuvre him between your legs so that he can thrust his quivering erection straight inside you. You gasp as his tip brushes your clit and all vestiges of his virginal innocence dissipate entirely with his moans.

You realise, with a start, that he was actually holding it in back at the dorm, as he gives the whores a run for their money with the effort he puts in now. You kiss him hard, threading your fingers through his hair and nipping his perfectly-sculpted bottom lip in an effort to quiet him, just in case you’re disturbing anyone outside, but it’s no use. He seems to just take your bites as encouragement, and you can’t deny he’s pretty sexy in this state. Just as you can’t take it much longer, you feel his hips dance, he gives one final extended groan of pleasure and your thighs are suddenly wet with his semen, pushing your orgasm over the edge as well. He collapses, panting, on your chest, then rolls off you to cuddle into your arms and you don’t have the heart to ruin the moment with your misgivings.

Back in the car though, you take a deep breath and ask, because you have to know. “Do you...go there a lot?” you murmur, willing the answer to be something other than what you know in your heart. He nods and winks at you, seemingly completely unaware of why it might bother you. “And is that the real reason why you don’t want to do the show? Cos you’ll have cameras following you around and won’t be able to squeeze this into a double-schedule?” you prompt him. Another nod. This time he has the grace to blush and avoid your eyes, despite the fact that he hasn’t started the engine yet. His shoulders slump as he does so and the car roars to life, but he sneaks a hand onto your knee while he’s driving and when you look at him questioningly, he just gives you a cute little smile and squeezes your knee, so you figure he’s not too annoyed by your questions.

“It’s only for a few months, Kook,” Namjoon points out, Jeongguk having begrudgingly admitted to his extra-curricular activities as well as his hesitations regarding being made a fool of on live television. “Don’t worry about looking silly. It’ll be like any other variety show. We’ll have our people on set and at script meetings to make sure they don’t go overboard. Besides, the girl might be cute,” he cajoles, trying to ignore your death glare. You tone it down a bit because, as much as you hate to admit it, it could be great for publicity. You wait for Jeongguk to mull it over. It doesn’t help that he’s rarely looked so lovely and you can’t resist slipping your hand onto his thigh. He smiles and plays with your fingers distractedly. Namjoon gives you a warning look but you clear your throat and meet his gaze levelly.

“I think you should do it, JK,” you concede. “Get it out of the way, grab some extra publicity and then your fans think they know what you’re like in a romantic relationship without having to worry you’re actually dating someone behind the scenes.” He scrunches his nose up, cute and gives you both an adorable grimace. “Okay,” he agrees, before giving Namjoon a defiant look and kissing you softly. “I’ll do it if you turn a blind eye to what happens outside filming hours.” Namjoon’s shoulders slump defeatedly but he nods his agreement. “Whatever it takes,” he sighs.

Unfortunately for you ‘whatever it takes’ turns out not to be merely Jeongguk dating you on the sly, but rather Namjoon allowing BTS’s golden maknae to bestow his favours on an ever-increasing roster of willing women, leaving you without a leg to stand on if you raise any objections, as Joon smugly points out. Seems that, despite the premise of the show he manages to shine in, the word “commitment” just isn’t in Jeongguk’s vocabulary.

THE END

Glossary: (feel free to submit corrections for these ^.^)

Gaja (가자) - Let’s go (casual)

Banmal (반말) - Casual language

Satoori (사투리) - Regional dialect

Irionna (이리온나) - Come here

Mwo? (뭐) - What?

[palimpsessed]

So @captain-aralias​ did one of these and invited other writers to do the same. And I wasn't really going to because it feels a bit late now and also I've done quite a few other year in review posts for 2020. But then I got to thinking that it would be really nice to have one of these for each year to look back on and compare, which convinced me. So, here we go!

If you’re a writer, I’d also encourage you to steal this. Tag me on your post so I can see your thoughts! 🥰

List of Complete Fics for 2020 1. At the Top of a Tower, With You- General, 900 words 2. Use Your Words- Teen, 16k 3. A Man of Letters, or Five Times Baz Retreats and the One Time He Doesn’t- Teen, 54k 4. To the Manor Borne- Teen, 43k

Total: 4 fics, 113k words

Every one of these fics was written for an event, which, realistically, is the only reason they got finished. I have so many ideas I'm working on all at once, and I came into fandom with a focus on making art, so to actually find the motivation to sit down and write/finish/post a fic was entirely deadline based. And it's a technique I'm sure I will also employ in 2021.

Best/Worst Title?

Well, I've mentioned a few times before that I usually have a title before I have much in the way of a fic concept. I don't really dislike any of the my titles, because they all did exactly what I needed them to do, which was help me focus on what I wanted to accomplish in the fic. Comparatively speaking, though, I can answer this.

Best: Use Your Words - succinct, idiomatic, a book quote/motif that also has the potential to be a spell, does what it says on the tin, is probably what all of us are constantly yelling at Baz and Simon to do throughout the books and the fic itself

(Honorable mention to A Man of Letters because that title forms a perfect heart shape when viewed on mobile on AO3. ❤️)

Worst: At the Top of a Tower, With You - this is also a quote and it fits the fic perfectly, but it is a bit of a mouthful and it has a comma in the middle of it, which, while I love commas, feels a bit off-putting in terms of a title - also, it's always kind of bothered me that it's a Baz WS quote used for a CO-era Lucy POV

Best/worst summary?

Again, I don't really dislike any of my summaries.

Best:

To the Manor Borne: The gang decides to spend Christmas together at Pitch Manor. Romance, hijinks, and holiday cheer ensue.

Anything that lets me use the word hijinks is always good! - it's short and sweet - it does a fair job of setting up the premise for the fic and giving highlights, without giving anything away

Worst: A Man of Letters

I'm not going to include this one because it's so long, I had to cut down the version I posted on tumblr to fit in the AO3 field, which is really why I rank it below my others - it effectively sets up the world of Simon and Baz in Regency England prior to where the story starts, but it is prohibitively long - and it's set up, not summary, so it also loses points for not doing what it purports to do - I could have said exactly what this fic was in one sentence: "Simon and Baz meet at several Regency-appropriate venues over the course of a London season and reflect on their acquaintance in letters", but instead I did the full book jacket version because it was more interesting to me.

Best/Worst First Line?

Oh, this is interesting. I can honestly say that I have no idea where this will go. Going to pull up my docs and find out! Okay, since I only have four fics to consider, and I'm feeling split, I'm going to do two for each. I feel good about my words, but I will say that half of my first lines actually provide information, and the other half are incomplete thoughts. Those were stylistic decisions I made, but when taken alone, it does somewhat limit the effectivness of a sentence when it can't stand without the rest of the paragraph. Perhaps that decision will lure readers in for more?

Best:

In the end, we wind up at Pitch Manor. (To the Manor Borne)

I know that you won't be surprised when I tell you that I do not like writing letters. (A Man of Letters)

Kind of interesting that these both contain key words from the titles 🤔

Worst:

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this. (Use Your Words)

I love how the title seems to be answering Baz's question when the two are put together like this 😂

Strange that it should end here, where it all started. (At the Top of a Tower, With You)

The title also seems to complete the first line in this one, too. I'm learning about my writing as this goes on, so that's cool!

Best/Worst Last Line?

Hmm. Okay, again, no idea. Also, a little leery of including last lines for anyone who hasn't read the fics they're from yet. (Tho I guess it's unlikely those people would be reading this😆) But let's see what we've got.

Use Your Words and A Man of Letters have very similar final lines, and both are somewhat spoilery.

Best: The ending of A Man of Letters felt risky to me, in the way that it is formatted and changes tone from the rest of the story. It was something that happened as I wrote it and I loved it. I had no idea if readers would like it, if they would feel like it worked as an ending, but I felt strongly enough about it to let the entire fic hinge on that and I think it really paid off. So, without giving you the actual last line, which is only one word, I'm going to say that one is my best ending.

Worst:

To the Manor Borne: "Carry on, Simon."

It's not bad, it's just not mine.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, fewer than you thought, or about what you predicted?

I did not set out to write any fics in 2020. I was supposed to be taking a break from writing. I've been an aspiring novelist for half my life now, and have been going through major ups and downs with my writing. I decided I needed to re-evaluate and figure out if writing was something that was even going to be able to make me happy anymore. The answer is: YES! Just…not original fiction. At the moment. I'm happiest when I can write for the sake of writing and not have to DO something with that writing. Which is why discovering fan fiction was AMAZING!!!! 🥰🥰🥰

To actually answer the question, yes, I wrote more than I thought I would. I also wrote exactly as much as I thought I would, simply because these were all things I signed up for (with the exception of my Countdown fic, but I committed to it as if it were something that required a sign up).

I have a lot more ideas for 2021, but I don't know how many of them will come to fruition. I'm not putting pressure on myself to have to do anything beyond what I sign up for again, because it did work out so well for me starting off.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

I mean, the pairing and the fandom were in no way a surprise. 😆 They're my only ones, so those were both a given. The genre is also not surprising.

What's your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest?

A Man of Letters, without any hesitation. I adore it so much. It's the kind of fic I know I will unabashedly sit down to read over and over, even if I'm the one who wrote it. I had one reader to please and it was ME. By far, my most self-indulgent fic.

Okay, NOW your most popular story?

That depends on the metric.

To the Manor Borne leads in Comments (107), Kudos (153), and Hits (1992), and Use Your Words leads in Bookmarks (26).

But since To the Manor Borne is top in 3 out of 4 metrics, I'll say that one.

Story most upderappreciated by the universe?

I mean, the least popular by a wide margin is At the Top of a Tower, With You, but I don't know if I'd call it underappreciated. It's short, it's angsty, it's got a very unusual style, it's Lucy POV, it's the first fic I wrote and posted. I didn't really go into it with high performance expectations. I'm proud of it, I just didn't expect it to be popular. It would be nice if more people read it, but I'm not broken up over it.

Story that could have been better?

I'm not even going to touch this one. Everything can always be improved upon, but if I go down that route, nothing will ever be done. This is one of the things I have come to appreciate about traditional art versus digital. With traditional, there is only so much you can do before something is permanent and you have to live with it. It's an exercise in letting go and acceptance. Digital is flashier and more flexible, but I could (and have) spend months on a single piece and never feel satisfied, never stop tweaking. I think that's also the reason I started to hate my novels.

Sexiest story?

Based purely on overall vibes, I find the understated tension of the Regency the most appealing, so I'm going to say A Man of Letters. I didn't actually stray into sex territory in any of my fics (though Simon and Baz have had sex by the time To the Manor Borne starts, and refer to it, and probably do it "offscreen"), but A Man of Letters is the one that feels sexiest to me. Lots of thirsting!Baz and feral!Simon and sensual hand touching (how risqué!) - and YEARNING. That, to me, is the sexiest vibe of all. So. Much. Yearning.

Saddest story?

At the Top of a Tower, With You - for this one, I tagged "angst without plot" and I stand by that. It's Lucy losing her connection to Simon at the end of CO and trying to find a way to reconcile herself to leaving him alone again. I gave it as much of a hopeful bent as I could, with the refrain of Baz's spoken "love" to cling to, but it's very sad.

Most fun?

To the Manor Borne - All of my fics have their fair share of angst, but this one also has some good, silly, holiday fluff thrown in. Since I wrote it for the Countdown, each chapter was based on a different prompt, which led to this one going in all sorts of directions no single fic probably ever should. Plus, it has the most Shepard, and Shepard always makes things more fun.

Story with the single sweetest moment?

Oh my god. I don't know. No, never mind. I do. It's To the Manor Borne, but it's split between the two gift giving scenes, the Constellations and Secret Santa/Gift Giving prompts. These were private moments between Simon and Baz, sharing themselves with each other, being vulnerable, and communicating. It's the gifts they give each other, yes, but it's more so the reasons they chose those gifts, and how they show part of themselves and share their love for each other, through those gifts, that had me in tears writing those two scenes. I'm super proud of them.

Hardest story to write?

Use Your Words - it was written for an exchange and that made it really hard to write it knowing there was this pressure of making my gift-ee happy with the fic. I'm proud of it, and they really liked it, but the anxiety was too much for me.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

A Man of Letters - if there is a fic better suited to me as a writer, I haven't met it. I started writing after reading Pride and Prejudice in high school, so I started out writing Regency and I spent years and years and years of my life obsessed. When I transferred into college, an administrator I had never met before heard my name during orientation and said, "Oh, you're the Austen scholar." (It is a small, private college, and I was a transfer, so the pool of students was even smaller. But still. Many years later, I'm clearly not over it.) I also did my senior thesis on an epistolary novel (Frances Burney’s Evelina), and my English Lit emphasis was for that time period. So, I felt like I had been preparing for this fic my entire adult life. 😂

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I don't think so. I tend to let my writing be dictated by the characters, so I'm always following their lead. Sometimes they'll do or say something that surprises me and takes me down a route I didn't necessarily foresee, but I don't think there was ever a point where one of them did something that made me rethink who they are as a character.

Most overdue story?

I will say A Man of Letters, since that one felt like a culmination of my seventeen-year-old self's wildest writing dreams. But I should probably say the Scooby Doo AU I still haven't managed to finish, because that one has been a WIP since I joined the fandom. Oops. (I'm hoping when I look over this in a year, I can feel smug that it's finally done.)

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing at all was a risk for me! And writing fan fic for the very first time! Writing an entire fic told only through letters. And then ending it in a completely different style from the rest of the fic. Doing a multi-chaptered fic for the Countdown, using a different prompt for each chapter, and publishing a chapter every single day for thirty days (with the exception of two days that had art). Signing up for fandom events in the first place!

What I learned from taking risks in my writing is the same thing I learned when I took risks in my art this year. I have a much better appreciation for what I've done when I push myself, I feel better about the end product, and I like it longer. I think it's really good for me to challenge myself creatively.

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most?

Oh boy. Um. Therapy! Both Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne had their big HEA moments built around sending Simon and Baz to therapy. I don't think that's likely to change for future fics, either. I feel like therapy as the theme for 2020 seems very fitting. (Also, I think I keep sending the boys to therapy because I'm trying to get myself there…)

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Just to write what I want to write, have fun, not put any pressure on myself, and to take risks in my writing and my art because it will help me to grow.