#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.

[dsmutp]

Learning Curve (C!Charlie Slimecicle x Reader)

Teaching Charlie was a delight.

When Quackity had put you up to the job, you hadn’t been too sure about it. Teaching someone how to be human (whatever that entailed) seemed like more than you had signed up for when you had become a resident of Las Nevadas - just imagining long hours of helping someone learn the intricacies of human life made your head ache. But Quackity had insisted, and you really had nothing better to do.

Three months into the job though, and you were quite attached to Charlie.

He was a wonderful student - eager to learn and bright enough that it never took him too long to grasp new concepts (though, as with any student, some things came more naturally than others) - and an even more wonderful friend. It was amazing how a sentient piece of goo (though it was really hard for you to think of him like that anymore) could be more kind and caring than half of the actual people you knew. 

You were pleased to say that Charlie had become quite fond of you as well. Though you were only supposed to spend six hours a day with him, oftentimes you wound up just spending your days together, wandering around the unfinished Las Nevadas after you had completed his schooling for the day, talking about whatever crossed your minds. Charlie was always eager to hear stories from your day to day life, and the amount of history he had seen just from being around for that many years never failed to make you gaze at him with wonder. 

It wouldn’t have been a stretch to say that he had become your best friend.

You certainly liked him enough - that goofy smile never failed to brighten your mood, even on the worst days, and though the slight fluidity of his skin had been off putting at first, through the amount of daps you shared, you had gotten used to it - come to enjoy it even, something that was uniquely Charlie.

For all his wonderful attributes though, there were still some times that you got a little exasperated with him. 

“Nope.” You sighed, watching as his arm bent the wrong way again. “You can’t just bend the joint that way, Charlie, that’s not how bones work.”

“But you said to hit the lever behind me..?” Charlie asked, righting his arm again. 

“Right, but with humans, remember, the joints don’t bend all the way around because of the bones.” You reminded him. “Just because your body can bend that way, doesn’t mean mine can.”

Charlie nodded slowly, but the confused look was still hovering in his eyes. 

“Do you want to go over joints and movement again?” You asked. 

Charlie smiled sheepishly. “Yes please.”

You stepped forward, extending your arms. You had done this exercise a few times before, just to help Charlie learn which body parts worked together and which joints moved in which directions. It was easy for him to forget though - his body didn’t really have limits to movement, being slime - and he had a bad habit of just throwing human joint movements away in exchange for what was the most easy at the time. 

Charlie placed his hands on your elbows, and you bent your arms, letting him feel how the joints moved and worked. “See? One way.”

“Right.” Charlie said, nodding now. His hands moved to your shoulders. “But these ones go all the way around?”

You rolled your shoulders, moving the ball joint in a circle. “Correct.”

His hands wandered down to your wrists. “Same as these?”

You rolled your wrists, nodding. 

From there, Charlie’s hands found your hips. “But these ones only go forward and backward.”

“For walking.” You said, nodding. “They can go out, a little - nothing too far though.” 

Charlie nodded, his eyes wandering over your body innocently. The first few times you had done this with him, you had been a little uncomfortable - it was strange, to be treated like a scientific model, slightly slimy hands running up and down your skin, asking what each of your joints and muscles did. But over time, you had gotten used to it - Charlie was only curious to learn, after all, and you were more than willing to help.

A hand over your crotch startled you, and you broke out of your train of thought, raising an eyebrow at Charlie. He only blinked at you though, saying, “You never said what this part’s for.”

You closed your eyes, steeling yourself. You had known this day would come, eventually - sex was a large part of human life, after all. You didn’t really want to be having ‘the talk’ with a sentient piece of goo that you had come to know and love, but you supposed it had had to come at some point. 

“It’s for sex, Charlie.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You have a stripper pole on you?”

The comment was so out of place that you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “What?”

“A stripper pole.” Charlie repeated. “Like the one in the casino? Quackity said it was for sex-”

“No, no.” You said, cutting him off, still laughing. “Sex organs Charles, for the actual act. They’re part of basic human anatomy - everyone’s got some.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, and movement under his pants caught your eye - the fabric shifted and pulled until it filled out a little more - like his very skin was reshaping itself to include what you had just told him. 

It was then that you realized that Charlie might be the answer to every sexual fantasy you had ever had. 

---

It didn’t take much convincing to get Charlie into bed with you.

You had always known that he had had something of a puppy dog crush on you - just from the way that he hung on your every word, even when you weren’t teaching, and followed you around like a little duckling. You had stopped yourself from doing anything about it though, telling yourself that it would be wrong, that he was your student - but those sentiments had faded the more time you had spent together outside of the teaching. 

They were completely gone now, as you tossed Charlie’s pants over the side of the bed. Though you were both naked as the day you were born, he was perfectly comfortable, sprawled out on the pillows like he owned the place. 

“So, again,” He started. “You want me to put my dick inside you? But not detach it? And thats sex?”

“The basics of it.” You said. “Simple stuff, really. You tell me if you don’t like it though - I don’t know exactly how it’ll feel for you.”

Charlie nodded, arranging his arms underneath his head with a smile. “I am ready to sex.”

You laughed as you straddled his hips, gently wrapping a hand around his cock and aligning it with your hole, just pressing his tip against your entrance. “Promise you’ll tell me to stop if it feels bad, okay? Just because I wanted to try this doesn’t mean you have to suck it up for me.”

“Promise.” Charlie assured you. “I won’t pretend to like it just because you do- hhh.”

You sank down on his cock, reveling at the feeling - there was almost no stretch as he entered you, the slime of his body simply moving like a liquid, filling out your insides completely without having the painful stretch around your entrance. Every nerve ending in you lit up at the contact - the slime filled every space without pushing too far - Charlie’s cock had molded to you completely, hitting all your spots without even trying.

“Wow.” You breathed, placing the palms of your hands on Charlie’s chest. “This is- wow. How’re you feeling Charlie?”

Underneath you, Charlie was in a daze, eyes glazed over as he stared at some point past your shoulder. His mouth moved, but only a long string of syllables came out - more like a moan than any real words.

“Descriptors, love.” You prompted, shifting to place your hands on either side of his face. 

Charlie let out a breathy whimper, his hands finding purchase on your hips, squeezing the skin there. “Good.” He said. “Very very good, uh, sort of tingly? And warm? I-I don’t really know words for it…”

You smiled, caressing his hair. “Good.” You said. It was good to know that it felt pleasurable for him - you weren’t quite sure how slime anatomy worked, and if human sex was something that he would enjoy, but now that you knew it felt as good for him as it did for you, you had no intention of holding back.

You began to rock, slowly, rolling your hips over Charlie’s and letting his cock begin to rub against your walls. Charlie’s fingers dug into your hips more as his breathing canted upwards, instinct taking over as he bucked up into you a few times. You welcomed the movement, using the momentum to fuck yourself down on him harder, savoring the feeling of him running over your nerves, lighting you up from the inside. 

Charlie let out another whimper, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, still keeping your hands framed gently around his face. Charlie kissed back eagerly, releasing his little whimpers and moans into your mouth now, the hands at your hips moving up to your lower back, holding on for dear life.

“You’re doing so well.” You cooed, feeling that familiar coil begin to tighten in your gut. “You’re a natural, Charlie.”

“Really?” Charlie said, a grin overtaking his features. His slimy complexion really didn’t allow for a blush, but you could see the flushed pride just in his expression.

“Really.” You gasped out as a particularly good thrust made your head spin. Your hands fell from Charlie’s face as you instead buried your face into the crook of his neck with a groan, rolling your hips down with more intensity now, chasing your orgasm. Without the painful stretch in the beginning, you were reaching it so much more quickly now - though it probably also helped that Charlie’s cock had become a perfect fill for your insides too - leaving no nerve ending spared.

“Mmmm.” Charlie tipped his head back as he moaned, lips pressing together into a thin line. “It feels different now.” He said, voice shaky. “Bigger, I think?” He tried. 

“That’s supposed to happen.” You said, speeding up your thrusts, for both your sake and Charlie’s. You were getting to the brink of orgasm now, the pleasure making it’s way all the way down your legs and to your toes. It was only a moment more before you were shaking with it, the rolling of your hips slowing as you rode out your high. 

Charlie groaned underneath you, tipping his head back into the pillows as the slime inside you rippled, the sensation making you moan at the strangeness of it. You hadn’t really known what his orgasm was going to look (or feel) like, but you hadn’t been expecting that. 

For a moment, you just laid there, head still tucked under Charlie’s jaw as you both caught your breath, just feeling him breathe.

“That was pretty fun.” Charlie said. “It felt weird, but good weird.”

You sat up, rolling off him to sprawl out on the rest of the bed, his cock sliding out as easily as it had gone in. “Glad you liked it.” You said, letting yourself stretch out into a boneless heap. “For your first time ever, you were really good, Charlie.”

Charlie beamed at the praise, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You were definitely going to be doing that again.

[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.

[gisellelx]

Consider this ask a general prompt for any nerding you would like to do for us re: linguistic thoughts about various Cullens. Also: any particular headcanons of how they've influenced each other's speech in general? (I was going to say re: Edward emulating Carlisle but that might not be the most interesting example)

Okay commence much belated nerding out. Relevant post.

Under a cut because sorry, I went to town here. tl;dr--the Cullens sound different to each other, and their backgrounds and relationships have affected the way they sound over time. But they all can sound exactly how they need to any time they need to.

Here are two useful things we know about why people do or do not change the way they talk.

Communities of practice: this is a concept which comes from education but which has gotten adopted in several adjacent fields, including sociology and linguistics. Basically, the idea is, the way you talk will reflect the kinds of relationships you want to have with people around you, and how you want to draw lines separating your group from other groups. My easiest-to-understand example of this is that my friends from college athletic bands had some terms and inside practices which arose because of our shared experience of playing in those bands. We were in band twenty years ago, but if you're having drinks with a few other bandos and leave the bar, someone will go "ohhhhh see ya!" like the cheer we yell when someone gets put in the penalty box at a hockey game.

Convergence and accommodation: Speakers often try to sound like people they want to connect with in more than just practices and inside jokes. The more you want to connect with someone (combined with your personality), the more likely you are to adopt their style of speaking. This is in the short term, which is accommodation (you start to speak more slowly because the person you're speaking with speaks more slowly) or dialect convergence (over time your whole way of sounding starts to shift toward other people's.) Some evidence that extroverts do this faster, but it also depends on how desirable the connection is.

Convergence is probably more influential for the Cullens than CoP, although I imagine there are some CoP kinds of things that happen to vampires more broadly and the Cullens specifically. In particular, I suspect (and write) that the Cullens have lots of euphemisms for things: they talk about "mistakes" to avoid talking about murder, about "Royce" and "Charles" to avoid uttering the word rape, Edward's rebellion is called The Time or Edward's Sojourn (that's Carlisle).

The bigger question is, how would they sound and how would they naturally converge (or not!) based on their personalities and relationship.

So. You have the Cullens. Kind of a rough-and-tumble rundown of their varieties:

Carlisle: I headcanon Boston Brahmin . In the 1700s, the London accent was /r/-full, so Carlisle would've arrived to the US sounding more like a current-day American speaker than we associate now with British English (received pronunciation usually being the exported one). He would've hobknobbed with the educated elite on the eastern seaboard and picked up what they sounded like at the time. He loves being American--this is where he found his purpose and his family. So shifting toward that accent makes sense for him.

Esme: Lower middle class US midlands. The central Ohio accent is often perceived to be extremely neutral. It's not--there are some truly funky features--but people think it is, so there's not much reason to move away from it. She might have tried her hand at a transatlantic accent, but she slides back into her middle Ohioan often, because it's easy and it's not usually considered "bad" anywhere. She makes fun of the way Carlisle says rather. He teases her about how bag and egg are the same sound for her.

Edward: Northern Cities Shifted Chicago. If you've ever heard a Chicagoan pronounce the word Chicago, well, there you go. I realize this probably fucks with the gentle, sexy attempt-at-American accent delivered by Robert Pattinson. Edward was born too late to have transatlantic imposed on him, and so his accent was probably left to be.

Rosalie: Another reason they hate each other--they sound alike. Rosalie is on the other side of the Great Lakes, was born not that much later, and Rochester is another major source of Northern Cities Shift. So she and Edward sound...pretty much the same. They're both upper middle class/upper class and are picking up the prestige version of the NCVS.

Emmett: Appalachian. Pretty much enough said. The post I linked at the outset lays out a few things from Appalachian speech.

Jasper: East Texan. Texas is not general southern--there are a handful of features which make it notably different than say, Louisiana.

Alice: Upper class Mississippian. Now, this is somewhat indistinguishable to a northern American or non-American ear--maaaaybe you notice sort of "high class southern" but it's subtle. She's got a bunch of features of southern English, though, but the more prestigious versions of them. Not quite To Kill a Mockingbird--that's Alabama-- but that's not a bad place to start to hear it.

So that's where they're starting. Where do they end up?

Carlisle: sticks with Brahmin. The moment he arrived in the US means a lot to him, and so he defaults back to that first major change, when he adopted an American identity.

Edward: Probably goes without saying, but he sounds exactly like Carlisle. He shifted his default as soon as he was able, and his intense adoration of Carlisle means he converged on Carlisle's variety. He also picks up Carlisle's idiolect--particular phrases and verbal tics--again, because he wants to be like Carlisle in any way he can. "Oh my God will you quit; you're not Carlisle" is a phrase that gets uttered in annoyance often.

Esme: Keeps her central Ohio accent. She loves Carlisle more than anything, but there's nothing particularly stigmatized about her variety. So she keeps it. She's happy to be her own person.

Rosalie: Does not wish to be a part of this family and regrets her change. She certainly does not converge toward Carlisle's style, but the pressure of sounding anything like Edward, even if his dialect has shifted, is also grating. She brings her NCVS a little more toward Esme's Ohio variety over time.

Emmett: This man killed a bear* with his bare hands in the Smoky Mountains. He's real proud of being a mountain man and he sounds like one. He also has a healthy disdain for the upper-crustness of Carlisle and Rosalie and Edward and is determined to bring them back down to earth. Over time the most obvious parts of his dialect do fade--he doesn't use "a huntin'" very often, for instance. But he can shift into full on Appalachian on a dime and often does. It's fun for him.

Jasper: Stays East Texas. He's very proud of his cowboy identity, and is the least connected to the Cullen family as a community of practice. He can sound like whatever his paperwork says he does, but in default, he's still got the same Houston variety he's had for two centuries. I don't love darlin' darlin' Jasper in fic but I chalk that more up to writers learning how to have a light hand with dialect rather than it being something he fundamentally wouldn't say--he absolutely does say it. Also says bless your heart.

Alice: Biloxi is not that far from Houston, and she and Jasper, who are wound around each other, pick up each other's verbal mannerisms and reinforce subtle aspects of each other's gulf of Mexico accents. She both mellows Jasper's Texas English while also moving her own English toward his.

So in "default" mode, the Cullens sound a little different to each other. But there's no way a Twipire would somehow be unable to move perfectly and seamlessly between multiple English accents as they needed to. There's no reason to think that any of them showed up at Forks High School sounding like anything but exactly what their paperwork said their dialectal background ought to be.

*by the way this would've been a black bear, not a grizzly. I'm sure he loves grizzlies, but he wasn't fighting a grizzly in the Smokies. He probably got tangled up with a really mad mama bear. This is a pet peeve of mine, I admit.

[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.”

[stygiusfic]

hey i have a question for u if u feel like looking into it but no pressure at all, what do u think than means in his and zag’s romance scene when he says “you have no concept of which impulses to act upon, and which to keep in check”? im kind of confused but im also stupid

Thank you for the ask! I love talking about characterization. Here's the way I understand that line.

Overall, as a character, Zagreus is very much someone who follows his feelings. If a particular course of action feels right, he will pursue it without balking at the difficulties: take for instance his constant efforts to reunite both Orpheus/Eurydice and Achilles/Patroclus, despite the initial hesitance of the actual people involved, or, most notably, how he decides to escape the Underworld despite being told there's no escape, because throwing himself against that wall over and over again is the right thing to do to honor his feelings.

But while he's somewhat impulsive, he's not inconsiderate. In fact I think (and this is my own impression) that he is very much attentive to other people's wants and needs and tries to read into their words and gestures, always polite, because he has an ingrained desire to please those around him who he feels have never treated him or his loved ones poorly. (This is why Hades and often Alecto get his temper rather than his kindness; Alecto for badmouthing Meg and Hades for being, well, possibly the worst parent ever.)

That leads me back to the relationship with Than. Throughout the interactions with Thanatos, Zag expresses his interest in a way very respectful of Than's boundaries, saying effectively: it feels right to be completely honest about the way I feel and so I'm going to let you know repeatedly, but I'm not going to push you until you're ready to address whatever this is between us. He's very conscientious about it while still being perfectly clear, and I think Than gets more than a little overwhelmed by his own Feelings™ (and more than that, by the necessity to address them, how do?? this is so far out of his comfort zone, help!!) and that's why he often ends the conversations by bamfing away.

And then he finally gets his act together and decides to be as proactive as Zag has been (with some encouragement from Meg, as mentioned in a variant of the scene), and he arrives in Zag's room ready to ride on the coat-tails of Zag's enthusiasm—and Zag, once again, is very conscientious of his boundaries ("I don't want to push you, Than"). And Thanatos is immediately frustrated, because why is Zag holding back for his sake now, of all times, can't he see now is the time to follow whatever impulse got them this far? That's what I think he's feeling when he says, "You have no concept of which impulses to act upon, and which to keep in check". And he needs reassurance, because he's put himself in this very new and vulnerable situation and he's probably starting to feel insecure seeing that Zag is still giving him space, not realizing that he's not crossing any lines that Thanatos doesn't want him to cross. That prompts the famous, "What are you waiting for? I'm here, already... right?" And that's when it clicks for Zagreus, all of it, and he says, "you're right", and approaches him. They're finally on the same page. FTB!

I hope that helps, anon, or that you enjoyed reading it regardless!

[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.

[imagine-loki]

Green

TITLE: Green CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-shot AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki getting offended because he has been forced to share a loved one’s attention with… Baby Groot.

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Honestly, this is such a stupid concept, but it flashed into my mind and made me laugh so damn hard that I had to write it. Language! Yelling and subsequently apologizing to a child. Punching. Severe timeline issues (who gives a crap that this doesn’t make sense? I did it for the lol’s). 

SUMMARY: Loki is not used to having friends. Loki is not used to sharing friends. Loki is just a soft boi. That’s it. That’s the fic. 

But, seriously, apologize to kids when you do something wrong. 

=

Loki deepened the lines of his frown into a more intimidating scowl. The expression seemed to do little to sway the enthusiasm of the little twig, barely out of his flowering pot, as he clambered on the couch and gurgled his words.

“I am Groot,” said the little one, scaling up Loki’s trousers to tug at the casual green tunic, hoping to get the demigod’s attention. “Groooooot. I am Groot.”

“No,” Loki snapped, making the tree cower back just the slightest. “I am not in the mood to play. Now, get lost.”

“Groot?”

“If I fetch you your glass of water will you leave me alone?”

The tree nodded, eyes wide and bright as he stared at Loki with rapt fascination while he conjured a cup of water. The enthusiastic, wooden applause he received for such a feat was even more endearing, but Loki would not allow himself to dwell on the cuteness of this… this manipulating thief.

Loki had began his week much like everyone else at the Tower had.

The team piled into one of the conference rooms where they were met with a talking raccoon and a green-tinged woman who hastily left the seedling in their care, claiming they were off to a battle they couldn’t take him along for. Everyone had cooed and aww'ed at the little ceiba tree who waved enthusiastically and giggled his one phrase at the attention. Loki thought the little one was rather cute, and being versed in All-Speak meant that he could easily understand what the child was saying, and he didn’t seem particularly irritating. He would even admit that he sort of looked forward to spending time with someone who did not stare at him as though he were a plague.

It wasn’t until his carers had left that problems truly began.

Lily had skidded into the conference room fifteen minutes later in her familiar fashion of being tragically late to everything. Her cheeks rosy from having jogged five floors up to get to them, but her blue doe eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Stark had likely sent her a text to inform her of their new, temporary ward, and Lily being Lily… well, the woman seldom let an opportunity to interact with plants pass her by. Her face split into a brilliant smile as she bent over just enough to be eye-level with the little tree on the table.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she cooed, offering her hand to him.

Groot had gripped her index finger with his fist and her veins sparked green at the contact. He gasped excitedly at the change. “I am Groot!”

“Aw, you’re so sweet. I’m happy you’re here, too. Do you want to go play upstairs?” The tree nodded effusively and jumped straight into her waiting arms. Lily had barely glanced in Loki’s direction as she left.

Now, Loki was a creature of habit. It wasn’t that he was irritated that Lily was spending every waking moment with the creature or that she used such a soft and soothing voice to talk to him. It wasn’t even that she so easily gave the seedling little nuggets of affection that were just a little sweeter than what she afforded anyone else… No, it was that his perfectly crafted routine was thrown for a loop. That was all.

A gasp broke Loki from his reverie.

“Groot!”

Loki growled as more than half of the contents of the cup he had just given the child flooded his lap. Groot looked more than apologetic, that childlike worry flooding his features before quietly apologizing again. That didn’t deter the annoyance from the past few days from bubbling over inside of Loki. His rage worked to disguise whatever other emotion he was trying to suppress.

“All you had to do was sit still. How bloody hard is that to do!?”

The child’s lower lip trembled. “I-I am Groot–”

“Loki!” Cold fear doused the god of mischief’s spine at the voice. “I was barely gone for three minutes. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. He spilled water on me–”

Lily’s attention was already diverted away from him as she kneeled in front of the tree and tried to pacify him. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry!” Groot managed to fit a few words between little hiccupping sobs. “No, Loki doesn’t hate you. Why would Loki hate a tiny little sapling?” The last of the question was hissed with a dark scowl thrown over her shoulder in Loki’s direction. “No. He just has a tummy ache and it’s making him a little testy. In fact, he and I are going to go to the hallway so I can give him his medicine. OK?”

Groot nodded reluctantly, wiping at his eyes with still-green fingers.

Lily beamed at the tree and stroked away the tear tracks on his cheeks before rising to her full height. Without even looking back, she grabbed Loki by the scruff of his jumper all but dragged him behind her to the empty hall.

“Now, before you start yelling at–oof”

Loki doubled over as he hugged his stomach. For such a small, slight creature, Lily could definitely pack one hell of a punch. When he managed to wrench his eyes open, there was green fading from her veins and she was shaking out her left fist which looked suspiciously like a tree stump for a moment.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“He was being a bother and a brat–”

“He’s a sapling, Loki. A baby. Babies drop things. His hands are the size of an acorn, what the fuck do you expect?” Loki had enough sense not to reply, instead choosing to take great interest in his shoes in a sheepish manner. “Why the hell do you hate him? Did trees do you some great harm? Is keeping you alive by giving you oxygen such a great fucking burden on you?”

Loki scoffed. “Yes, yes. It’s always me. I’m always wrong. I’ll go up to my rooms and you don’t have to hear from me again, if it’s such a bother! I’m sure you’ll have much more fun with–” He snapped his jaw shut at once, his mouth having run just a little further than he would have liked.

“Are you jealous? Is all of this just because your stupid ass is jealous?”

“Well, you certainly like him more than me–”

“He’s a talking tree, Loki. I am a plant mutant. Of course I was curious how our connection would work. Also, and I cannot stress this enough, he’s a baby who needs to be watched and we’re the only ones who speak his language!”

Lily swallowed the remainder of her rant at the sight of Loki blinking rapidly to keep his green eyes from overflowing with tears. She sighed, releasing whatever tension she had locked in her shoulders with an exhale. This was about so much more than just Groot tagging along for the week, she knew. Her hands reached for and gripped at his charcoal jumper, her touch more gentler than a second before. With a light tug, she brought him close and wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his chest. It took a moment for Loki to realize he was safe and return the hug.

“You’re still my favorite person, Loki,” she admitted, vaguely feeling him nod and rest his cheek on her crown. “I am capable of taking care of Groot and still have you be my best friend. I’m complex that way,” she joked.

“I was being stupid, I know,” he whispered. “I yelled at him. He’s only a child.”

“Yeah, but you can go apologize and mean it.” Loki nodded once more and Lily released him. She gestured back the direction they came from and silently ordered him to go apologize.

Loki swallowed whatever pride he had left rattling inside his chest and marched back into the lounge. With a sigh, Loki kneeled in front of the sofa, his frame relaxed and every trace of ever being cross forgotten from his features. Groot glanced up wearily at the Prince, fidgeting slightly in his seat.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper, little one. I wasn’t feeling well–not that that gives me any excuse. I should not have done it and I hope you can forgive me.”

“I am Groot?” The sapling’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Something hurt inside Loki’s chest and he knew he would be feeling the brunt of guilt for a long time to come. “No, Groot. You did not do anything wrong. It was all my fault. I apologize.”

Groot nodded, but still looked uncomfortable.

Loki worked his hands in a circular motion until there was a clear orb suspended between them. The orb undulated and splashed in place–water kept in place by magic. Gripping it lightly between his thumb and index, his held it out to the tree.

“Here. This way, if you drop your water, it won’t spill and you can carry it a little easier.”

“Groot!” Flexible little branches closed around the orb and brought it up to wooden lips for a sip. After a moment the sapling laughed and chattered away about the wonder of the orb and Loki found himself unexpectedly puffing up with pride.

From the doorway, Lily knocked lightly on the frame, prompting them both to turn their attentions toward her. A small, knowing smile barely pulled at the corners of her mouth as she watched Groot clamber over onto Loki and hold onto his neck.

“Do you want to show Loki the flowers you grew?”

“I am Groot! I am Groot!”

“OK. Let’s go then,” she settled, waiting for Loki to join her at the doorway.

As they walked together towards the garden, Lily searched for Loki’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze. His half-startled, half-hopeful gaze lingered on her until she reluctantly let him go to open the double doors to the indoor garden and his senses flooded with fresh, vibrant rainbow hues, instead. Perhaps there were better colors than envy green.