#you were made to be absolute and impartial

[sincerely-sofie]

*Skitters up to you on all fours and drops this in your lap, then scrambles up the walls and onto the ceiling and immediately falls asleep*

Comic time! Lucky wakes up in the middle of the night and has a chat with Sen in this one.

[starsofang]

simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: none!

When a certain John Price had recruited you under his own jurisdiction, you were cautious yet excited to be joining a new task force. It was an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up, and you’d be insane to say no. Price had promised you would fill in the gap that seemed to be missing from their team, and for the most part, he was absolutely correct.

Gaz and Johnny were the most welcoming in the beginning. Price was more the serious type with an occasional bad joke here and then, but all in all, everybody approved of you and had your back so long as you had theirs.

None of them seemed to mind when you’d have days where you’d be talkative on one, and quiet the next. They’d listen to your passionate ramblings on specific topics, or they’d allow you to sit in comfortable silence if they knew you needed it.

There was one person in particular who didn’t seem quite fond of you, and that would be Ghost – or Simon, as Johnny called him on occasion. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem to like you, no. He just seemed distant, purposefully keeping you at an arm’s length and only acknowledging you when necessary.

Johnny had told you not to worry about it, that he’d come around eventually. Simon was impartial to new people and it took him a while to open up.

You did notice, though, that Simon was someone who stared. One too many times, you’d catch those brooding eyes boring into you, as if trying to puzzle you together and figure out where the pieces fit. It would always cause a bit of anxiety to well in you when you’d find his eyes across the room, already locked in on you, and you would find yourself avoiding his stare as soon as you felt it.

It wasn’t until a particular mission had gone bad that you completely shut down. In the presence of your new task force, you had successfully masked yourself as much as possible. But now, when Johnny had nearly been killed, all due to an error in your own judgment, that mask was slipping off and you needed time to let it crumble on your own.

You thought that was all you needed – time. But time proved fruitless as you spent the next few days on lockdown, avoiding all conversation and interaction. Your eyes would stray to the ground, or you’d find yourself staring blankly at the walls of the mess hall with your nails picking at the skin around them from beneath the table.

You didn’t think anybody noticed. After all, everybody was on edge and decompressing from the failed mission, and they didn’t have the focus to see your mind eating you up.

Simon did, though.

He’d seen all the signs, from the way you picked at your nails, to the way you’d consistently tuck your hair behind your ear, even if it was already tucked, and to the way you’d tap your foot along the ground in a repetitive motion, leg bouncing wildly underneath the table during breakfast or debriefs.

At first, none of it made sense to him. He thought it was simple signs of anxiety, and for that, he truly thought that if one bad massion made you close up this much, you wouldn’t last long enough to see a second one. But when he returned to his quarters and searched up all of your stims that he’d taken mental notes of over the course of the week, things clicked.

He didn’t know much about autism. To his embarrassment, you were the first person with autism that he’d actively been around on a daily basis. Everything he’d seen made complete sense, and that last puzzle piece he was trying so hard to fit seemed to fall right into place.

Simon took it upon himself to educate himself. He, too, had his own struggles that not many people had an understanding of, and now that he knew what made sense, he didn’t want you to continue hiding yourself away for the sake of the rest of the team.

It started off small.

When Simon would notice you picking at your fingernails, he’d place a large hand over yours to stop you without sparing a glance in your direction. If he wasn’t there to stop you, he’d silently wrap your fingers up in cute bandages he purchased himself, because he noticed you liked them more than the typical brown ones.

If he noticed you zone out and lose a piece of yourself, where your eyes would find the walls and focus in on them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, he’d gently grab your shoulder with means to snap you out of it and remind you that he was there with you.

At first, you were surprised when Simon began showing you these subtle signs of companionship. He hadn’t shown any interest in you up until this point, but as time went on, you found yourself actively seeking out that safe space that Simon was slowly building for you.

You crawled your way out of that hole you found yourself in and began returning to normalcy; except now, you didn’t feel you had to mask all the time.

When you returned to your rambling moments, your hand would subconsciously find its way to Simon’s, grasping and fiddling with his fingers while you spoke. He’d never pull his hand away, and instead, he’d sit there quietly with his full attention on you, eyes soft and affectionate from beneath his mask.

Often times, when he’d head to the mess hall to grab a snack or a drink for himself, he began to bring you something back as well – cookies, chips, you name it. If he knew you liked it, he’d snag a couple of whatever it was and place it in front of you without a word (and would absolutely ignore Johnny’s childish whines of how he never did that for him).

This back and forth between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed, and when Gaz nudged Johnny when the three of them sat in the debrief room together, claiming that Simon had a crush, he didn’t blatantly deny it.

Simon wasn’t sure what it was he felt for you. He wanted to see you happy, that he knew for sure, but when Gaz and Johnny continued to feed into their teasing remarks, he was beginning to think that, okay, yeah, maybe he had a bit of a crush.

It took him months to even proclaim this confession to you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, or god forbid you didn’t feel the same way, didn’t want you to close up on him like you had with others before. Being your safe space was something he took pride in, and for a man who had no knowledge months ago on how to approach you in a way that showed he understood, he didn’t want to ruin that.

That wasn’t at all what happened, though. When he had the gall to tell you, you were practically bursting at the seams. Hands moving wildly, feet causing you to bounce with excitement as you eagerly confessed your own feelings for him. He was scared your lips were crack open from how widely you were smiling and babbling on about your affection.

And when he had the chance to kiss you? He did it with so much tenderness, keeping it as gentle as possible, hands only cupping your cheeks when you told him it was okay.

You had never met someone who was so passionate about you, that they’d learn everything about you. He knew your quirks, your hyperfixations, your interests, your stims. He knew more about you than he did himself at this point.

To have somebody cherish you in such a way that they’d go that far for you, even when they themselves aren’t partial to getting attached to people, it was all Simon ever hoped to make you feel, and it was all you ever wanted to feel understood and accepted.

Simon would happily assure you of that any day.

—

thank u for this idea anon!! i really hope it lived up to your standards, i tried to make it as accurate as possible while trying not to make the stims too specific and detailed since i know many people have different ones and that autism is not linear! <3 please enjoy fluffy simon because he’s my favorite

[box-number-two]

poland currently wins the political absurdity level so let me give you a run down of our recent presidential debate(s) from 11th april 2025

there are two main presidential election candidates who have realistic chances of winning: right wing Nawrocki (evil) and centrist Trzaskowski (lesser evil)

Nawrocki challenges Trzaskowski to a debate

Trzaskowski agrees and organises a debate in cooperation with multiple tv stations including public tv (yikes… is this even legal?) in a tiny town Końskie in bumfuck nowhere

Nawrocki says that if his party is not included in the debate organisation then he is not going

Nawrocki organises his own debate (alone? can there be a debate if you are alone?) in the same tiny town, 900m away from Trzaskowski's debate's studio, one hour before Trzaskowski's debate

one of the other many president candidates, Hołownia (the current parlament marshal), writes on social media that he's gonna show up uninvited to the debate. what are the gonna do? not let him in? the marshal?

other micro candidates say they gonna show up too

and they do show up to Nawrocki's debate

organisers scramble to squeeze multiple candidates on the podium. cards for drawing lots look like regular a4 paper sheets

left wing candidate Senyszyn shows up late and greets the extremely right wing crowd (remember, this is Nawrocki's debate, so the crowd is his too. people who live in Końskie later said they've never seen these people before)

Senyszyn acts mildly insane, like she knew beforehand what an absolute circus this is gonna be and she steals internet's heart with her meme behaviour

one of the lesser candidates who showed up says he's gonna build 6 nuclear power plants in 6 months

at some point Hołownia says they should all go to Trzaskowski's debate. what are they gonna do? not let them in?

there's dangerously little police force

the crowd of onlookers has a Moment and tries to storm the studio building, unsuccessfully, but it looked bad

more candidates join: Trzaskowski (obviously. it's his debate and he's been waiting for Nawrocki to finally show up), left-wing Biejat, and…. some dude?

one of the micro candidates asks this dude who he is and his answer is "just a little guy :)"

it later turns out that he indeed is one of the micro micro candidates but like, it could've been just a random person, for all we knew in the moment

there's pretty much no introduction to the candidates. who are these people?

Senyszyn continues to live in the moment. she draws (?) something in her notebook most of the time. she asks Nawrocki what he's gonna do about priests convicted of pedophilia when he goes to the Vatican after he wins the election (what did she mean by this?)

debate commentators eat popcorn from one bowl

one of the candidates who didn't show up tweets about jewish gollum

at some point Nawrocki places polish flag in front of him and lgbt flag in front of Trzaskowski, as some kind of dumb bait

Trzaskowski has a huge eyeroll moment and just puts the rainbow flag somewhere out of sight

in a stroke of absolute pure genius, Biejat says she can take the rainbow flag from him because she's not afraid to show support. let me remind you that Trzaskowski is the lesser evil, he's the guy queer people were supposed to vote for in 2nd round and now Biejat made him look like an absolute fool

and he already looked like a fool anyway, organising a possibly illegal debate

if he organised this debate with private tv only it would be no problem. i mean, why invite only Nawrocki (can you imagine all the toxic yaoi memes) but at least it would be legal. but he mixed public tv in there. for all we know he could be the one writing debate questions. on public tv which is supposed to be impartial

candidates who decided to not show up are furious. they made the seemingly correct choice but now it turns out they've missed out on The Defining Situation of the whole pre-election

at some point one of the lesser candidates just flat out asked Trzaskowski why the hell he decided to do this debate and Trzaskowski began his answer with "this is a very good question"

[pearlywritings]

A slip of the tongue

synopsis: as smart as Alhaitham is, sometimes he blurts out things without thinking twice. It's good, however, that your husband knows when an apology is due, even though it doesn't mean you (and your friend) won't come up with something to pay him back with~

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), little hurt/instant comfort, a bit suggestive, Kaveh is lowkey couple's marriage counselor

word count: 3.7k+ words

a/n: wow, finally releasing this one out of the basement!

Here is the second part btw

Your cheek starts hurting from how long the knuckles of your fist have been digging into it. Fingertips drum on your knee, as legs stay crossed and stare fixed on the figure before you, sitting on the chair across the table and not taking the eyes off of the book pages. The most infuriating part of it? The figure is talking.

"...and so you should be prepared for Rajkumar's endless questions. He might not have any relation to Haravatat or languages at all, but he has a bone to pick with me, so being my wife puts you in a position to attack. And you know how annoying it is to converse with an idiot."

Yeah, probably as much as hearing what you are already aware of. You love your husband, you truly do, but sometimes the urge to smack the back of his head and tell him to shut up is too tempting.

All you said was that you were a little nervous and mentioned that tomorrow is indeed one of the most important days for you. After all, you are going to defend your second thesis, one you spent years to complete and pass all sorts of verification, reviews and censorship. Having the Scribe as your husband had both its perks and drawbacks in the process - he could easily push your work forward to the necessary people in charge of all the mentioned above stages of approbation, but then the fact he was your spouse put a label on you for those who were aware, and it said “Needs to be examined more thoroughly”. Though come to think of it, it’s pretty illogical.

Fortunately you never had troubles with that - after all your brain was in place, and both topics of your first and now current papers were innovative. Moreso, many of your Haravatat professors agree on your academic success and some of them expressed their hope to see you in the role of their colleague in the future.

But it’s for the future. First you need to become the Dastur, and for that you need to defend your thesis in the present. You have absolutely everything ready, no one knows your topic better than you are (maybe only Alhaitham can come close, since he read and reread it multiple times, helping with editing and providing impartial perspective), and years at the Akademyia taught you how to withstand the piercing eyes and prickling words of the jury. You will be fine.

Or you thought so, before just one phrase of yours started this whole exchange that is now happening in your kitchen.

“...and remember the part in the third chapter we discussed with you. This will be the one they’ll claw at, since it’s a turning point in a whole theory and I heard some of them already criticizing it,” the male hums, turning another page, eyes scanning the words written on a yellowed from time piece of paper. This seems the last comment of his, as he falls silent, reaching for the cup of coffee you’ve made him - in the process of which you were short-sighted to voice your concern.

When a minute passes and you do not answer anyhow to any of the valuable advice he’s just given you, Alhaitham lowers his book and stares at you. You keep drumming your fingers on your knee, eyes boring into him and almost unblinking, and it’s not hard for such an observant man to notice a barely-veiled displeasure in your tired eyes and a scowl.

"You know you could've just said you are worried about tomorrow too, and leave it at that?"

Alhaitham blinks, hand frozen in the middle of lowering the mug back on the table. He is holding your gaze and you can practically see the thoughts running through his mind, he is clearly contemplating how to answer your bold statement.

“Why would I be worried?” He finally answers with a question on your own, putting the mug on the flat surface. “It’s just a thesis defense, and if you get rid of your nervousness you’ll see that you already have the Dastur title in your pocket. Tomorrow is just a formality for you.”

“So you are not coming to watch me tomorrow?” Your scowl and frown deepens, fingers stopping abusing your knee and curling in a fist instead. Your husband sighs, marking the page with a bookmark you’ve made for him and closing the volume he’s been on for the past week. Then his captivating eyes are back on you.

“Scribe isn’t required to attend. Besides-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know my work enough to not hear anything new in my presentation,” you interrupt him and he can clearly hear rising anger in your voice that wasn’t there before. It actually manages to shut him up. “As my husband, as my support, are you going to come?”

The man feels a twinge of guilt in his heart. He always prided himself of his intelligence and attentiveness, yet just now he failed to assume what exactly you expected of his presence. Of course he’d want to give you a peace of mind by being there, but it seems he is too used to uttering the same phrase every single time someone asks him to come, that it was out faster than he had a moment to think it over properly.

He sees a bit too late how your face drops when he doesn’t give you an answer immediately - it looks like his pause appeared to be hesitance to you. He slightly panics when you lower your gaze and move to uncross your legs to stand up, having an almost iron grip on the back of the chair.

“Wait- Dear, I will come,” at that your eyes flicker at him, with doubt on display in your beautiful orbs. “I promise, I’ll be there.”

“I thought you didn’t like to be around idiots the whole day,” you huff, crossing your arms, reminding him of how unflattering his words towards some of his colleagues were. You do not mean to act childish, but tomorrow is really important to you, and obviously you’d want to have your husband be there to share it with you.

Alhaitham puts the book aside and stands up as well, rounding the table and coming closer to you. His fingers deftly touch your elbow, and you will yourself not to jerk it, some annoyance still bubbling in your system.

“That is correct. However, you are not one of them,” he murmurs, caressing your arm. You huff again, but this time your posture is more relaxed. “Besides, all you need is to be confident, and if my presence can assure you that, then I’ll be more than happy to be there for you.”

You give him a long stare. Your drilling eyes to his bewitching ones, searching for the truth in the greenish depths, while he stands still, waiting patiently, expecting your verdict silently. It’s as your frown softens, he knows you’ve found what you’ve been looking for in this kind of staring contest.

“Oh Archons, Alhaitham…” You shake your head with a small smile and the man feels relief washing over him. You are no longer mad at him. At least, it seems so. That is definitely good. “We’ve been married for years and it still surprises me how you can be a jerk - affectionately - one moment, and a completely sweet guy another.”

“Maybe just as quick you are switching from fuming to forgiving,” his palms are warm as they slide up your arms, featherly resting on your shoulders. Your smile widens a little and you meet him in the middle when he leans to press his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, yeah… But to your credit you were quick to fix your attitude, and as long as it’s sincere, I am grateful.”

“It is sincere,” he says with emphasis. “You know I am not the one to change my mind lightly.

Or rather realizing when an apology is due.

You hum, content with his answer. Yet, a mischievous glint finds its place in your eyes.

“Even though you are forgiven, I am still complaining to Kaveh about the mean and heartless husband of mine.”

“Of course you are,” he rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. He knows it too, and the shift in the mood is apparent, and he is thankful for its course to the positive destination. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be glaring at you murderously. Much.”

Alhaitham only sighs at your giggles. He could care less of what the blond architect would say about him, so he’ll survive some annoyed buzzing from the senior, and if the little exchange which is about to occur makes you happy - he doesn’t mind. Plus it will be good for you to take your mind off of tomorrow.

“I’ll trust you on that,” he finally says, slowly leaning back. You smile, patting the back of his hand still resting on your shoulder in reassurance. With a promise to collect you from your ‘girlish talk’ (you swat his shoulder at that) in a couple of hours, your husband helps you to make a new pot of tea. It’s quite ironic that this one is gonna be emptied while he’s the main focus of the conversation.

Minutes later, when you leave the kitchen with a tray, Alhaitham can faintly hear the knocks on the other end of the house, and the door opening not a minute later, the voice of the man you two have been housing for months coming clear and concerned. Kaveh remained your friend even when he and Alhaitham got in a horrible fight over their beliefs and you were partially the reason why the Haravatat graduate was convinced to let the blonde stay. Though loud, flamboyant and snarky, there is some perks of having him around - even if the architect always complains how he didn’t sign up to be a marriage counselor, he’s never let you or your husband be in a conflict for long (fortunately it happened really rarely), being your shoulder to tear up on or begrudgingly becoming an ear to be talked of by the other man and the foot that would kick Alhaitham into action or the hand that would gently nudge you in the right direction.

Or, just like tonight, simply be ‘your girl’ to chat with.

Alhaitham, as promised, lets you be for a couple of hours, meanwhile busying himself with his book. To outsiders this scene may appear weird and paint the Scribe in an awful light as a husband - but it is just like that with this man. And the strange dynamic the three of you have while staying under one roof: a wife, a husband and their… loquacious canary-like-therapist.

Only when it’s close to the time you usually go to sleep, does he also end up before the door of Kaveh’s temporary room, and firmly knocks three times.

“What?” Unsurprisingly it's the blonde’s voice, and by the tone of it he is pissed. The ash-haired male chooses to ignore him.

“Darling, let’s go to bed,” he calls for you softly. 

Alhaitham hears shuffling and muffled curses the architect surely prepared for him and some short, but incomprehensible conversation happening between you two. Not a moment later though, the door opens revealing your face, and your husband can’t help but feel extra weight lifted off his shoulders. No line reappeared between your eyebrows, no pout and no distress is written on your face. Quite the contrary, when your eyes meet, you give him the same warm smile you graced him with back in the kitchen.

“Sure, let’s go. It’s quite late already and we need to wake up early tomorrow,” you hum, exiting the room. Through the gap Alhaitham spots Kaveh sitting over some blueprints with two mugs on the table and a chair placed on the opposite side of the fine piece of furniture. When the architect lifts his eyes to glare at him, the Scribe slams the door closed. To your bedroom you returned with arms linked.

The silence of your shared space is comforting and is only disturbed by your light steps and rustle of changed clothes. The Scribe glances at you every two minutes, still a tiny bit concerned about that animatic exchange you had back in the kitchen.

“You know I will come, right?” The man suddenly asks you, as you’re fluffing the pillows. Your eyes slightly widen for a brief moment, so quickly that he almost misses it, but then they soften again as you chuckle.

“Yes, I know, dear. Sorry I reacted the way I did initially. It seems I really was pent up after all.”

“I could tell. You looked like you could bite my head o- ow!” He gasps when you throw your pillow into his face, which he catches at the last second.

“Oh, shut it, or I might get mad again,” but there is no anger in your eyes, only hardly veiled mischief. He drops your weapon of choice back onto bed and raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay, point taken. Any way I can make it up to you?”

At that your eyes strangely glint, and the scholar can’t place his finger on what exactly feels off about it. But it does.

“Actually you can. I’d like you to wake me up when you do, and let me use the shower first.”

And that’s it? Well, odd, but not disturbingly odd. Surely you wouldn’t go as far as to play some pranks on him by mixing something in his shampoo - you are way too intelligent for that. Also not one for revenge. 

“Of course. I will wake you when I do so myself, and let you use the bathroom first.”

Even if the mornings are not Alhaitham’s forte, he still opens his eyes disgustingly early, so sleeping for a bit more while you are at your morning routine sounds nice. Not as nice as doing it with you in his arms, but still quite nice.

“Thank you, dear. Now, if you are going to read-”

“Not tonight. You need sleep,” to that you smile warmly, crawling under the blankets, which he is quick to follow. You do not deny his embrace, and willingly scoot closer, extending an arm to put around his waist, as he does the same. Nor you turn away from a kiss he places on your forehead, pecking his chin in response.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

True to his word, your husband pulls you out of the dreamland just moments later after exiting it himself. Cerulean eyes drink in your sleepy face contorting in displeasure, arms reaching over your head, and body arching in a morning stretch. He can’t help himself, leaning close and pressing a kiss just above the hem of your chemise, relishing the feeling of your heart thumping against his lips. You yawn, reaching a hand into his hair, but your breath hitches, when his mouth is suddenly on your throat, peppering it with soft pecks.

“Mmm… If you are trying to make up for yesterday you are a bit late,” your groggy voice is so adorable to the man. With you he tends to forget how to rationalize things. Yesterday was one of the times when his ‘Alhaitham for anyone else but his wife’ slipped into his interaction with you, the behavior he’s been trying for years to suppress when it comes to you. Now he knows he should’ve acted differently, and regrets his unique way of trying to give you reassurance. If only he-

“Are you overthinking again?” 

Your question makes him emerge back to reality. Eyes meet, and his heart skips a beat when you smile at him. Archons, you are beautiful.

“You know I am joking? Yesterday was yesterday, and you are already making it up to me, right?”

Words can’t describe how much he loves you, and at this moment he feels like he’ll never be able to express it fully.

“Right. Shower is all yours. Also,” he leans in again, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “good morning.”

Your smile gets wider and you wrap your arms around his frame to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Haitham.”

With you gone to the shower, the man buries himself in your pillow, inhaling the lingering scent. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. Your husband is intelligent enough to evaluate his own deeds and behavior, so he knows he is far from perfect to be someone’s partner. Yet, here you are, loving and accepting all his flaws - not without some complaint, but you are trying.

He might come off as arrogant to some people, but in arguments with you, he can tell when it’s his fault and not blame you for giving him a cold shoulder and requesting some space. He might look like he doesn’t care, but he cares for you, for your well-being, for your likes and dislikes, for your opinion, carefully storing all this valuable information in his brain, to show how much you mean to him. He is aware he has a long road ahead of him to get rid of all of his annoying conversing habits, but he is willing to keep trying for you. He seems to not show gratitude to anyone, but he is so grateful that you remain by his side, going as far as telling him you are proud to be his wife.

He wants you to know that it’s mutual.

That being said, Alhaitham is a smart man, but when he himself exits the bathroom after his shower time, his brain is reduced to just one thought.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

His gaze is chained to your pretty fingers, rolling the long, dark green stocking up your left leg. His throat bobs, when the elastic hem of it snaps against your skin, squeezing the flesh of your thigh a little. Then you take the second one, elegantly lifting the other leg and repeating the taunting process, but this time he is here to watch it from the beginning to the very end.

You happily hum, observing your work, and, satisfied, get on your feet, adjusting the band of your panties a little. Archons, you are wearing a matching set of the richest green shade. Lace leaves little to imagination, as his eyes flicker up to your chest, noting the pretty, natural swell of it and the outline of your nipples, and then down, as you turn around and bend to grab the shirt from the bed, demonstrating to him your ass and thighs.

His hand almost reaches out to touch you, to get a hold of the round globe, to sink his lithe fingers in your flesh. After all, your husband is not above earthly pleasures.

But your voice snaps him out of it.

"My love, if you keep standing like this in the middle of the room with just a towel on and no intention to dress, you might be late for breakfast," you chide him not even turning around and throw on the shirt, hiding the bra and some of the lower half, yet still leaving a bit of an appetizing view for an eye.

Alhaitham wills himself to tear the almost burning gaze away from you and redirect it to his own clothes, already prepared and neatly hanging on a chair. You mischievously smile as he takes a step to move past your figure. He's kept alarmingly silent and you are dying to know what reaction he has for your little plan. 

The man has just a second to react when you abruptly turn around and stumble into him. Big palms instantly grab your hips to steady you against his chest, and the heart quickens at the feeling of soft lace under his fingertips, peeking from beneath the hem of the shirt he accidentally crumpled in the process. Your hands on his chest are so warm, put out just in time to catch yourself, and Alhaitham finds himself thinking of how would've it felt if your chests collided - maybe the thin material of the only layer of clothes you have on paired with some flimsy bra would not make any difference from direct skin to skin contact?

"Ah, sorry, 'haithy," you sheepishly smile up at him, eyes soft and staring innocently, "Are you alright? I haven't heard you speak ever since you left for the shower…"

Archons, please, don't let his voice betray him.

"I'm," he quickly clears his throat, "alright. Was just about to start dressing."

You hum, pushing onto his pectorals to move away and continue with your own - though slightly changed - routine, but strong fingers flex, keeping you in place by the sheer hold on your hips. You look at him inquiringly, ignoring how the very tips of his thumbs just barely slip under the thin material of your panties to caress your hip bones. It's almost an absentminded action.

"What's with this lingerie?" He finally drops the question swirling on his tongue ever since he first laid his eyes on the tantalizing sight. It's hard to hold back a smirk - you admit you were a bit doubtful if it'd actually grab your husband's attention. Who knew the stoic man was into it…

"Oh, this?" Nonchalantly you tug on the collar of your shirt and Alhaitham sharply inhales upon catching a glimpse of your barely covered breast again. "Do not worry, habibi, it is not to seduce you," he is not that sure about it. 

Taking his hands in yours, you pry them off of your body and put them back to his sides, gracing his waist just above the towel with your touch. He shivers.

"I know it's different from what I usually wear, especially to work," you admit, turning around again, to grab the robes of the Akademyia's scholar. "But I really-really loved this one I purchased a couple of weeks ago on that outing with the girls. I feel so beautiful in it," fuck, you are. "And today is a special day. Want to have some confidence, you know?"

And as the rest of your body disappears under the long article of clothing, Alhaitham is finally aware of what this whole thing is about.

It's going to be an agonizingly endless day, where the only thing he can do is watch.

[tom-failure]

New Mononoke films are worse

So recently I watched Mononoke.

It happened almost acidentally, beause I randomly stumbled across the Phantom in the Rain (Karakasa) film, and it was so beautiful and so obviously loaded with subtle references and little meaningful elements, that it was enough to get me hooked. I'm a sucker for when a film respects the viewer and treats them as a smart person, not explaining everything to the letter and letting them make their own judgements and derive their own conclusions.

So as the perfectionist/completionist freak I am, I started from the very beginning, from the Ayakashi anthology. I figured that the multitude little references, everything that was going on in every single frame of the film, would be more easily readable and understandable if I immersed myself fully. Then was the original 2007 anime. Honestly, I was shaken. I started watching it admittedly for the striking visuals and for the word 'horror' in the description. And, well, Mononoke isn't a horror in the sense that I'm normally looking for, but it's a different kind of horror, not less, but I daresay MORE rewarding. Mononoke stroke me with the contrast of lush, beautiful art, delightful with its classical style, and the utter minimalism of the story, which was so brilliantly told that it left me shaken for a while.

Mononoke is a sort of everyday, mundane horror, where the terrifying element is the normal people and their everyday lives in the society (honestly I joked that this is the 'horror of being a woman, especially in 19th-century Japan', and, well, it is). Without being didactic or moralising, but with unwavering confidence, the original Mononoke (and honestly the Ayakashi anthology, too) revealed the real horror: hell is here, the demons are around you. On the stunning backdrops of its art, the anime never once romanticised what was happening on screen. While weaving its mystical storylines, it never once said more than was absolutely necessary.

The stoic, detached, yet inexplicably charming Kusuriuri, like a mixture of an insightful therapist and a skilled surgeon, opened up truths, observed them, and then let them go. His character was as fascinating as he was enigmatic, with obviously caring more for the 'demon' souls of the wronged (and maybe the odd woman he wished the best for), but always keeping at a metaphorical arm's length. Honestly, it was good not to know who he was, not to know any story of his, or any of his true feelings. Everything that was truly important, you could already see.

The morals of the stories were also unexpectedly refreshing. I didn't think I'd watch a heavily classically-flavoured anime that would tell me 'selling yourself out for the sake of others is bad' (as a woman, no less!), or 'seeking constant approval and validation will lead to your downfall', or even 'brothels are fucked up places' (incredible to see a non-romanticised view of prostitution in ANY media, to be quite honest with you). And I will reiterate: its study of the treatment of women was extremely interesting. Yes, many women were victims, and yet they were never there to titillate and be ogled. The show was honest about their place in society and what those women's life was like as a result. What it turned them into. How it disposed of them.

Everything was so simple yet so intricate. It kept you looking closely and thinking about meanings. It was also a more or less impartial look at history, especially how women fared. So really, after the anime, I was excited to finally watch the movie from start to finish. I mean, it promised to continue in the best traditions of the anime, set in an absolutely horrifying place rendered in heartstoppingly beautiful art, and followed women trying to find their place in that, again, horrifying world.

And... yeah, the Phantom in the Rain is worse. They cranked the beauty of everything out to the max... but then in the process, they lost the core of what made the story so special, so experimental, so original.

Don't get me wrong, it's stunning. The animation is breathtaking. The visual style is divine. Every single frame is a work of art that you could stare at for days and still not find everything that's hidden in there. But I think in creation of all this beauty, the stripped-down, brutally honest quality of the original story was lost.

The anime was highly successful in striking the balance of making everything beautiful without romanticising. They used the art to amplify the emotions, and those emotions were often far from great, but they were... well, successfully amplified. The original Mononoke was full of creeping disgust and existential terror, and the art tastefully made it that much more poignant.

The film watered down the emotions for the sake of enjoying the beauty, and in that, it also failed in being impartial. It couldn't resist romanticising. It couldn't help admiring. It couldn't stop itself from being self-indulgent. And so, the story, while still impactful, stopped hitting right for the heart and started enjoying itself. And so the sheer horror of the original was lost.

And don't get me started on the new Kusuriuri. And I don't even mean how I immensely dislike knowing his lore, and having his new incarnation be so human. The moment of 'slaying'/freeing the mononoke in the film was the biggest letdown in a while. The unsheathing of the sword in the original anime was not about actually 'slaying' anything, striking anything down. It was a culmination of the next terrible, terrible story that had run its course and that could finally come to its end and lie to rest. And Kusuriuri's solemn way of doing his duty was, paradoxically, much more emotional and impactful without it needing to be a 'fight'. There was no real 'sword', no real 'battle', but those moments were always so hard-hitting. The film traded that for an action scene topped off with a shounen-flavoured 'sorry' that honestly felt cheap. That sealed it for me: I won't be watching the other two. 'Sorry'.

The Mononoke films have lost what Mononoke was about. It feels like the writers had a great idea of how the original *looks* with no idea of how it *feels* and what makes it so impactful. It's a perfect form, but the substance is lacking. I don't know why that is. But I can't shake the feeling. Did the movie have its strong sides? Of course. I liked watching it on its own. But after watching the orginal anime and as a part of the universe, it falls short and feels flat. And the vibrance and overwhelm of its art doesn't save it.

[gemissleeping]

Velveteen|Theodore Nott

"He knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else."

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: As the last surviving witch with ties to an ancient form of magic, Dumbledore has you tracking down horcrux hotspots.

Length: 2.2k

Notes: Angst mostly, some fluff. Blood, swearing, smoking. Percy Weasley hate (valid). This is just a little something I had the urge to write. May or may not continue as a series at this stage.

Fuck trees, fuck trolls, and fuck that smug little Weasley auror from the Ministry. He was a rat in y/n's eyes. A scheming, conniving rodent of a man. How he had even tracked her out there was beyond her. She'd made sure to take all of the precautions Snape had given her.

She'd apparated out with Professor Dumbledore. A good fifty kilometres from the point of interest too, might she add. Fifty kilometres she'd had to trek over two days to remain undetected. On foot. All for nothing in the end thanks to Percy.

Bootlicker.

There was no worse feeling than a failed task. Especially when it was one of her most important to date. The map was atrocious really, they clearly had no idea what they were looking for. Just that y/n should be able to sense it. Sniff it out as though she were some kind of blood hound.

Percy she had sensed. Thankfully she had gotten out before he'd seen her face, or the sea cave entrance she'd been eyeing on the cliffs below. She'd have to go back now. Which was absolutely wonderful and definitely did not make her want to tear her hair out.

Merlin, she thought she might hit the next Weasley she came across just for looking like him if she didn't calm down soon. Not Ginny of course, Ginny was lovely. Ronald was fair game though. Fred she would also be impartial to.

To top things off, y/n now found herself fleeing from the edge of the Forbidden Forest towards the castle. She'd missed the welcome dinner, which was a shame. But in all honesty, may have been a small mercy at this point. At least this way most of the students would be asleep, and she could get into the castle undetected.

It wasn't Dumbledore's fault that the end location of the Portkey had seemingly been inhabited by a troll since he had selected it. But how hard was it to check up on, really? Especially knowing she was wandless and unable to cast any regular spells. She'd blasted it to bits, of course. Not before it had gotten one good shot at her though, flinging her into the nearest pine tree.

It was just rather inconsiderate she thought.

The dizziness was setting in as she entered the castle via the Viaduct Bridge, snaking her way down to the dungeons. Making sure to grip every railing or wall available to her. Merlin was on her side that night, not one Professor crossed her path while she had floated through the dim halls. Once the concrete snake had appeared, revealing the door, she almost fell over with relief

The stairs felt so horrifically long, but finally she reached the dim, candle-lit depths of the Slytherin common room. Keeling forward for a moment, y/n placed her hands on her knees as she tried to calm her breathing. Her left palm came away bloodied. There was a tear in her stockings, and a huge gash across her knee.

y/n groaned, making her way around the corner to the couches her friends had claimed in third year. She couldn't wait to fall into one, maybe never wake if she had her way. And she did fall, only into Theodore Nott's eyeline. He looked as though he'd been waiting there for hours from the sweltering anger on his face. She took a deep breath, knowing she was about to get her ass handed to her for a second time that night.

"Nice of you to notify me of your delay."

"Does it look as though I planned on it?" y/n mumbled, sinking into the green velvet couch across from him. She sighed as her tension eased for the first time in days. Head lolling against the couch's back. Her hands shielding her eyes as a headache set in. While Theodore sat deathly still, awaiting further explanation with a burdened gaze. Something told y/n the burden was her.

"Mind if I borrow your wand?" y/n groaned from behind her palms.

There was only silence for a moment, before she heard him shift across from her. When she lifted her head his wand was resting on the table between them. He was pissed, beyond apprehension. But he had softened at her shattered appearance, the blood on her knee. Which she had now unknowingly painted on her cheek.

"Thank you," y/n sighed in relief, half expecting to have to fight for it. She worked quickly, sealing up the gash and cleansing the blood, pine needles, and dirt from her skin. Finishing by stitching her stockings together again. When she finally glanced back up, Theodore was frowning. His eyes sweeping her body up and down as she finished her work. He looked up from the closing threads of her stockings as they meshed around her knee, one eyebrow raised.

"Have something you'd like to say?" y/n grumbled, holding his wand out for him to take. He wasn't a fan of that question, or her attitude. His expression soured once again, all past concern pushed away. y/n brushed more pine needles off of her skirt, too tired and sore to care. She was spent, so completely crushed from the past two days. The knowledge that she had no choice but to continue until she succeeded wasn't helping.

"Have you always behaved like this, or do you just enjoying making me worry insufferably?" Theo leaned forward, and took the wand from her outstretched hand. His fingertips gently brushing her grazed knuckles.

"It's nice to see you too, Teddy," y/n laughed tiredly, shedding more pine needles as she picked them from her stockings. If she shut her eyes now, she worried they were so heavy she might fall asleep sitting up.

"Where have you been? I searched the whole train up and down for you. You missed the Sorting Ceremony," Theo hissed.

"It's a good thing we already know what house I'm in then, isn't it?"

"That's not funny y/n." He scolded, the concern in his voice thinly veiled by the frown he was wearing. She had no idea what it had been like for him, these past few hours especially.

"I need a cigarette before we get into it," y/n sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Everything was aching, she would find solace in a smoke or two. He didn't move. "Please?"

"It's late."

"You're awake," she countered, a hopeful look on her face that he knew he wouldn't be able to dissapoint.

"Because of you," he grumbled, running his hands through his messy curls.

"I'll take that as a yes, be right back," and she was off, disappearing into the dormitories.

"Do as you please, you always do," Theodore huffed under his breath.

He needed one too if he was honest. He felt as though he'd aged a few decades from the fear he'd been wearing all evening while he fretted over her disappearance.

She reappeared a minute or so later, the heavy overcoat he'd brought her for her birthday last year hanging off of her shoulders. The pair took their usual route until they found themselves at the top of the hill just outside the grounds, overlooking Hagrid's hut. y/n stood, overlooking the moonlit valley beneath them. The peace quickly disintegrating into swearing as the wind prevented her from sparking up. Theo had been hanging behind slightly, still not having forgiven her. But upon hearing the quiet curses falling from her lips, he couldn't help but walk over.

"You shield, I'll light it," he instructed, y/n doing as she was told and holding the sides of her coat up.

He closed the open space with his chest in two gentle steps. His thumb running over the flint of the lighter as the wind went quiet and y/n's face grew warm. He brought it to her lips, unable to keep himself from looking as he lit the cigarette between them. She took a relieved drag as the flame took. Theo got out his own cigarette, leaning down to press its tip to hers. He inhaled, spreading the flame between them. The grass was dewey beneath them as they smoked. Theo looked over to y/n, trailing over her body just to make sure.

"You've got pine needles in your hair, by the way," Theo murmured as he took another drag. His eyes flickering from hers, to the ground as he tapped his cigarette.

"Oh for fuck's sake," y/n heaved, tilting her head back in exasperation. She began ripping the hair ties from her two braids and brushing her fingers through them to shake the needles loose. Balancing her cigarette between her lips as she did.

"Still there," Theo mused, studying her with an amused expression as her frustration grew.

She passed him her cigarette wordlessly, which he took. She'd have rather not set herself alight on top of everything today. Then tipped her head forward, carelessly dragging her fingertips through it to rid herself of them. Once she was done, she flung her hair back. Raising an eyebrow in Theo's direction. He only gave her a saccharine smile as he took a drag from her cigarette, keeping it lit.

"Still?" y/n asked in disbelief, taking her cigarette from his lips and placing it between her own.

"Come here, sit," He shook his head, as though she was the most useless creature he'd ever seen. Theo walked over to the steps nearby, sitting on the top one. She followed suit, tucking her coat beneath her and taking a seat two steps down. She dipped her head back, leaning on her elbows. Her head resting between his knees. Theo couldn't help but admire the way her hair fell, even in its current mess.

Pressing the nub of his cigarette into the grass after one final drag, Theo brushed his hands off. His fingers quickly lacing through her hair in gentle streams as he dragged out the remaining pine needles. Christ there were a lot of them. He ran his fingers through it again, carefully to ensure he didn't snag anything. He did it again, and again. The pine needles were long gone. But her breathing had grown steady, and her shoulders relaxed. And that mattered far more to him than some pine needles.

"All clear?" She whispered sleepily, her head falling all the way back to meet his eyes.

"All clear," Theo echoed, the dried blood beneath her eye making him wince. "You missed this though," he reached out, pressing his thumb to his tongue and running it under her eye to brush the blood away.

"Ew," y/n gasped, but if she was honest, she was too tired to care. She swatted his hand away gently. Taking another drag from her cigarette which had been resting beneath her knuckles.

"Need I remind you that you once sneezed in my mouth?" Theo chimed, knowing it was his trump card, and likely would be for eternity.

"That was literally in First Year and it was an accident," she mumbled.

"Still stands." He shrugged.

"You loved it, don't lie." That got a smile out of him, however unwillingly.

"You're foul. Now tell me why you came in several hours late, looking like a troll dragged you through a bush backwards."

y/n's eyes widened slightly at his statement, choking on the dregs of her cigarette in disbelief. His smile vanished, eyes flickering between her own as he gauged her reaction. His jaw clenched as she sat up swiftly.

"Tell me you're joking."

"I think it's bedtime," y/n breathed, going to push herself up and off of the steps. But Theo's hand found her wrist like a vice, pulling her back down before she had a chance. He leant forward as she stumbled closer to him from the force. She just managed to catch herself from falling straight into him.

"I don't think so. What was that?" He said lowly, staring into her eyes. She was eternally fucked now. He could always tell when she lied, and he never tolerated it.

"Just leave it Theo, please," she pleaded, not having the energy.

"I left it all Summer. All of your disappearances, all of your little quests. You promised me it would be done by the end of the Summer. I have it in fucking writing, so don't tell me to leave it. What is going on?" He seethed, and y/n found herself unable to meet his eyes.

"Teddy, you know I can't-"

"God I'm so sick of hearing that." He laughed, a cruel sound, not his usual light-hearted teasing. "The Professors have you off, running around like some toy soldier, but you're not allowed to tell me what for. Then they're not even there to help you when things go wrong?"

"It's-"

"Despicable is what it is."

"Would you listen to me?"

"I would, but it's not like you'd be able to tell me anything, is it?"

The words left y/n silent, because they were true. She wished so terribly that they weren't. That she hadn't done it.

"I've always told you everything, y/n. I don't understand why-"

"I made the unbreakable vow."

The words rushed out of her as though she were going to be sick. The silence that followed her confession only made it more probable. Theo's features had darkened as her confession sunk in. He let go of her wrist, his hand wound into a fist as he looked out at the treeline of the forbidden forest. He stayed that way for a few moments as y/n stood before him, silently begging him to say something.

"Dumbledore," he breathed out finally, his voice straining with the effort of evenness, "you made the unbreakable vow, with Dumbledore?"

"I had to Theo, it was too important. They can't take any risks. Not until everything is done. I wanted to tell you, more than anything. I still want to-"

"Do you suppose he's ever made Potter make one?" Theo turned to her, looking as though he was about to set them both alight.

Her explanations fell dead on her tongue. They both knew he hadn't. Both knew what Dumbledore was scared of when it came to her.

"I didn't think so either," Theo conceded to her silence, his voice turning hollow. y/n felt something within her crack at the truth of his words. He was wrong, or at least she wanted him to be.

"It's different."

"I'm not sure it is," Theo countered, and he knew he was right in saying it.

Because it wasn't any different. The difference was trust. They were using her up and once they were done they would spit her out, or worse. He wasn't going to be able to sleep easily now.

"You should get to bed, I'll see you at practice tomorrow," he huffed, staring out to the forest again.

y/n stood there for a moment, hoping she could think of something to make it better. But as Theo lit another cigarette, the only thing she felt was tired.

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the amazingly talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 👹

Gods and Demons (Preview)

Damian's preparations for departure were almost complete when Superman hailed him down. For a moment, Damian considered pretending he had not seen him, but ultimately rose to meet the two men who had now landed gracefully beside him and Goliath. He was familiar with the man known as Superman, but the second man was a stranger to him. He was tall with wavy dark locks framing a sharp jawline and piercing steely grey-blue eyes, he bore a resemblance to the other man. He had a pretty good idea now of who he might be. The man's attire was peculiar though, causing Damian to wrinkle his nose slightly in disapproval. He wore a black suit adorned with shimmering silver stars, his deep crimson colored cloak billowing behind him. The most unnerving part of his uniform however, was the obvious missing "S" shield in the center of his chest, leaving the skin underneath exposed for all to see. Damian quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on Superman. “What’s this?” Damian's features contorted in suspicion as Superman extended a piece of paper towards him.

“An olive branch” he replied calmly, then motioned to the tall figure standing next to him, Kal-El cleared his throat, “this is my son, Zod-El. He will be stationed in Tibet with you for the foreseeable future.” There was a moment of tense silence as if to allow for Damian to process the information. Then, Superman spoke again, breaking the stillness. "Consider him an ambassador of good faith," he said firmly.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms, “Tt. More like a spy to make sure I behave," he retorted with a sharp edge to his voice. The Justice League's true intentions were clear, they had their own agenda, but he intended to manipulate it to his advantage. Despite their lack of trust in Damian's ability to change the League of Assassins, it gave them an excuse to keep him under observation and under their protection. They needed to keep Damian alive regardless of his intentions because the absolute worst case scenario for them would be for him to lose control. It was an obvious choice, he was the only option with ties to the Justice League and a genuine desire to make the world better, even if his methods had not been received well by them. He could only stand to benefit from such a relationship, nonetheless, he’d make them work for it.

Superman let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in exhaustion, “you agreed to observation after the attempts on your life," he reminded Damian sternly. The mention of those close calls made Damian flinch slightly, the memories still fresh and painful. Ever since his grandfather’s passing things had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, with everyone with even the slightest of claims coming out of the woodworks, but he survived and he’d continue to do so. Of course, some extra protection would be prudent, even though he had managed to reunite his family giving him the most claim, the attacks still occurred. His mother had even begun to express concern, certain that there was a rat among his inner circle. Damian didn’t want to consider that, the notion that the people he cared for most wanted him dead. Although it was a reality that he hated to admit, he could probably benefit from an impartial set of eyes and ears. Yet, Damian was proud if nothing else and he refused to allow anyone to think him weak.

"That may be," Damian huffed, "but I never agreed to an indefinite placement and certainly not from one of your B-list cast offs." His lip curled teasingly as he surveyed the man clad in black in front of him. He was curious to see how he would react.

The man grit his teeth and extended a hand with a forced smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dam-”

Damian interrupted firmly, his piercing gaze fixed on the man's face. “You may call me The Demon’s Head.”

The man chuckled nervously as he pushed back some unruly curls from his forehead. “No offense but...” he hesitated before continuing, “I’d rather call you anything else.”

Damian's lips curled into a menacing smile, his pearly whites barred behind a mask of feigned politeness. "Then, may I have the pleasure of calling you Jonathan?" The man remained silent, his expression guarded. Damian pressed on. "surprised that I know your other name?"

He cleared his throat, his voice betraying forced calmness as he responded, "Not really...and it's just Jon."

The smile fell from Damian's face, replaced by a look of disdain, "I'd rather call you anything else." The lack of push back from his opponent was slightly off-putting, it was simply no fun if they just stood there and took it. But then again, what did he really expect from the son of the Big Blue Boy Scout, always so righteous and obedient.

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to dissipate. Goliath finally broke the awkward silence with a restless shift, his large frame causing the ground to tremble beneath him. "I see there's no point in arguing with you," he grumbled, casting a patronizing look at Jon. "If Super Slut is ready to depart, then we shall." With the grace of a seasoned rider, Damian pulled himself up and swung himself onto his fiery red companion, feeling the heat emanating from its powerful body. Beside him, Jon effortlessly lifted himself off the ground and into the air. The bat dragon spread its massive wings and with a few strong flaps they ascended into the sky.

[r-memberme]

blood | k.m

⎯⎯"What are you suggesting? A blood beauty contest?”

warnings: blood

Klaus leaned casually against the kitchen counter, sipping a glass of blood like it was a fine Bordeaux. His gaze flickered to you as you rummaged through the cabinets, looking for a snack.

“You know,” he began, in that slow, deliberate tone that always meant he was about to say something absolutely ridiculous, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no,” you muttered, not even looking up. “What now?”

He ignored your sarcasm, swirling the blood in his glass like a sommelier. “My blood is… superior.”

You froze mid-reach for the chips, turning to face him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me,” he said, his lips curving into that signature smirk that always made you want to simultaneously kiss and slap him. “My blood—Mikaelson blood—is undeniably more beautiful than yours. It’s a more luscious red.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or throw something. “You’re actually serious right now?”

“Completely,” he said, setting his glass down with an air of finality. “It’s a simple matter of lineage, really. Superior genetics.”

“Oh, superior genetics, huh?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “This from the guy who’s had more sibling feuds than an entire season of The Real Housewives.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes, though there was a flicker of amusement in them. “Mock all you like, love, but the facts remain. My blood is the epitome of perfection.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Because nothing says ‘perfect’ like a millennium of baggage and anger issues.”

He took a slow step toward you, his smirk widening. “Care to test the theory?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to be distracted by how unfairly good he looked when he was being insufferable. “What are you suggesting? A blood beauty contest?”

“Precisely,” he said, as if this was the most logical idea in the world.

You stared at him, half-expecting him to burst out laughing and admit he was joking. But no—this was Klaus Mikaelson, master of dramatics and apparently, blood aesthetics.

“Okay, fine,” you said, grabbing a knife from the counter and pointing it at him. “Let’s settle this. But when my blood is objectively prettier than yours, you’re doing the dishes for a week.”

“Agreed,” Klaus said smoothly, grabbing another knife. “And when I win, you’ll admit, in front of everyone, that I am unparalleled in all things.”

“Deal,” you said, though you couldn’t help but grin at his ridiculousness.

༊*·˚

A few minutes later, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, two drops of blood side by side on a pristine white plate. You leaned closer, inspecting the deep crimson droplets.

“Well?” Klaus asked, his tone smug as ever.

You squinted. “Honestly? They look exactly the same.”

“Impossible,” he said, leaning in beside you. “Mine is clearly richer. More vibrant.”

“Vibrant?” you echoed, snorting. “It’s blood, Klaus. Not a shade of lipstick.”

He shot you a look, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re just too proud to admit defeat.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “If anyone here has an ego problem, it’s the guy who once declared himself king of an entire city.”

“King of a magnificent city,” he corrected, sitting back with a smirk.

“Still doesn’t change the fact that your blood isn’t prettier than mine,” you shot back.

Klaus leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Shall we bring in an impartial judge, then?”

“And who exactly are you thinking?” you asked, laughing despite yourself. “Elijah? Pretty sure he’d side with me just to annoy you.”

He chuckled, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Perhaps I’ll let this one go. But only because I find your stubbornness… endearing.”

“Endearing?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Though it’s infuriating at times.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, “here you are, indulging my ridiculousness.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, your voice softening, “someone has to keep you humble.”

Klaus laughed, a warm, rich sound that made your heart skip a beat. “Good luck with that, love.”

As the two of you sat there, the plate of blood forgotten, you couldn’t help but think that, despite his endless dramatics, there was no one else you’d rather share these ridiculous moments with.

its time to feed you guys again with more fics

[conron]

android! wolf x reader

note: hello all don’t be surprised. i literally just got bored and scrawled this drabble on the first doc i saw. no shared burns because i hate EVERYONE (joke)

tags: android wolf!, female reader, first meetings, this is so stuoid, 1.4k words wasted on this, oc is your friend, you’re like a college student about, so sorry yall, not getting another chapter unless someone begs me or i give in lol

androids were okay.

you don’t need an android and you weren’t all that interested in them. you were impartial to androids, they were okay but you preferred doing most things by yourself others than chatgpt for school assignments.

you were going to college and had moved into a decent apartment. it was okay, not in a terrible area and had enough space for you to live alone.

your friend was an idiot who spent her money haphazardly. giggling as she made idiotic financial decisions that she’d regret maybe a day later and come crying to you about.

when your birthday rolled around in your first year of college, you had complained that you don’t have enough time to indulge in any hobbies. it was something you vaguely wanted but simply did not have the will or funds to do it.

what was wrong with a little bed rotting anyway?

it was basically all you did….

you friend listened with a helpful ear as you lounged around in your apartment. her lips smirking as she randomly asked about your love life right after.

“ha. you’re funny.”

was your only response as you waved around a nonchalant hand. dismissing the question entirely. but surprised that your friend didn’t push further. usually she’d beg you to get a boyfriend so she can complain about hers.

but you didn’t care. you had better things to do than worry about some guy you have to care about the feelings of. what if a guy crossed your boundaries? do you just suck it up?

absolutely not.

so no, you don’t care about a boyfriend.

you weren’t lonely, you didn’t need anyone.

but when you returned home from class, you were greeted with your friend in your apartment. you’d given her a spare key in case anything happened to you but you were seriously starting to regret it now. there was a big fat smile on her face as she gestured to the man next to her.

no fucking way.

“happy birthday!”

“what the fuck is that.”

“Hello, I am a KS500 model.”

oh.

absolutely not.

your friend immediately shot forward to grab your shoulders to stop you from leaving. the android was standing in the middle of your living room, it’s face bored.

that’s all you cared to look at before you turned your doorknob. your friend whining behind you and trying to stop your hand.

“just give it a chance!”

“dude- RETURN IT.”

“I am a limited edition model that cannot be returned.”

the robotic voice rings out in the living room. the voice deadpan and monotone. your jaw drops as your friend grins and thanks the android politely.

it’s quiet.

before long, your friend has left with a smile. cake on your kitchen counter. and a kiss to your cheek as she waves goodbye.

“have fun with it! i heard it has special features.”

before you can whack her over the head with your textbook, she closes your door with a cackle.

well.

you turned from where you were standing with a sigh. taking a moment to really look at the android that’s apparently yours now.

it hasn’t talked since it helpfully informed you that it could not be returned.

it stood taller than you, it’s broad shoulders spread. it was slim like how most androids were, jawline pronounced. eyes stared at you, emotionless and light grey. fair skinned in the low afternoon sun from your window.

it’s hair looked… oddly long. not like the male androids you were used to. it seemed fluffy. sticking out everywhere. a dark brunette coming from it’s roots.

it was…

handsome.

that was odd to say.

it was definitely the look of someone who you’d hit on and it made you embarrassed right when you thought that. damn your friend for knowing you so well.. slowly, you walk in front of the android. examining it’s cyber life given uniform, the blue pulsating on the fabric. it’s model KS500 flashing every so often.

it was a button up with a jacket on top. a blue armband on it as it has it’s sleeves rolled up. it wore dark slacks and black running shoes.

it stares back at you.

easy.

not real.

unalive.

this is gonna take some getting used to.

“um… hi…?”

“Hello.”

it’s voice was deep and monotone. she’s heard androids speak before and they usually sounded a bit robotic. but usually polite and kind, easy to talk to if you really had to. but this one was clipped, a little gruff.

great, it doesn’t even like talking. is this how it was with your personal android? like talking to a wall?

“what’s your uh…. function?”

it cocks it’s head at you. the blue ring on the side of it’s head flashing yellow as you assume its trying to process your question. it’s eyes twitching before it speaks again.

“I am to serve you however you seem fit. I can spar, remind you of appointments, and do household chores.”

you stare and admire it’s weirdly handsome face. thick black eyebrows. eyes sharp like a wolf’s. it’s canine’s a little sharp.

you think whoever made this model had a type.

“I am also at your disposal as a sexual partne-“

you clap a hand over it’s mouth before it can keep going, extremely humiliated by it’s words. it can’t be serious.

right?

…

(you can’t believe your friend thinks your lack of a sex life is so concerning that you need a glorified male prostitute.)

apparently you slapped your hand over it so hard, it’s fair skin turned to a platinum white. your jaw drops for the second time in the past hour as you rip your hand away. gasping as you reach and cup it’s cheeks in your hands.

“i’m so sorry! are you okay?!”

you lean up on your tiptoes to look at the damage. before the white disappears and fades back into that fair skin tone. your hands grasping probably a mixture of plastic and silicone.

there’s a weirdly warm hand wrapping around your wrist as your eyes slowly look up at it. it’s eyes staring down at you from under it’s oddly long eyelashes.

oh.

it leans it’s face down so your noses almost touch. something hot crawls up the back of your neck as it spreads across your cheek. you’re too close and you can see it’s eyes flicker with something other than robotic nonchalance.

akin to amusement.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to hurt me.”

oh my god.

you jump away like a frightened animal and immediately cover your face. was that it’s coding?! who codes an android to respond like that?!

oh god.

your face flushes as you look back at it. a small smirk on it’s face before it smooths over and it’s back to a normal robot. shit, you already forgot it’s not a living being.

willing to not embarrass yourself even more, you stand back up straight and sigh. rubbing the back of your neck as it stares at you. it’s hands in it’s pockets.

fucking bastard…

“do you have a name?”

“Your friend didn’t register me with one.”

damn it.

what is he? a baby?

this is not her child man….

“aaahhh… what do you even name an android….”

it doesn’t reply. you’re glad it doesn’t answer everything you say like some people’s androids do. he must have specific programming. no wonder it’s limited edition.

from under her eyelashes, she stares at the- her… her android.

it stares back at her. indifferent to her dilemma.

goddamn it.

“wolf.”

you say exasperated with a dismissive hand. this is too much thinking and you have an 8am tomorrow. you need to do your homework and cook dinner.

turning your back to your android, you start to head to your room. it’s voice calls out from behind you. a little offended in your opinion.

“Excuse me?”

“did you not hear me right? your name is wolf now.”

you turn your head to see it blinking and twitching his eyes.

“Registering ‘Wolf’… to Cyberlife’s database…”

he emphasizes the name with a certain attitude. something that reminded you of sarcasm.

ugh.

what a dick.

you didn’t know androids were even built with a feature like that but you guess only you have the luck of your own android giving you lip.

whatever!!!

not your issue!!!

you friend probably made the store set him on the ‘asshole’ and ‘sarcastic’ setting.

and there it started.

your college life with a dickhead android newly named Wolf.

[oakbuggy]

Liar, Liar chapter 1

Recom!Neteyam x female OC

Summary : Tala of the Tawkami gets captured by a familiar face and to both of their misfortune, they are trapped together due to circumstance. They are extremely vexed by this and each other and also very horny.

Warnings: Minors DNI, non-con+dub-con, explicit smut, dirty talk, authority, power struggle, mentions+depictions of blood, minor violence, character death, marking, biting, scenting

!! Each chapter will have images throughout the chapter, only the AO3 will have the NSFW-uncensored versions. Please keep this in mind as you read !!

Chapter 1 (NSFW) ~5.2k words

AO3 Link Here!

Prev Chapter / Next Chapter

Tala grimaced every time a bullet was fired, noisily ripping through the greenery no matter where it was aimed.

She stayed huddled in a thicket, eyes darting through the leaves and flowers and rain.

Everything had gone so wrong so quickly. They were supposed to be the scouting party, that’s it, it wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. But the tawtute sterile and foul scents proved otherwise.

The sudden downpour helped to mask all individual Navi scents, but it also made it harder to know where anyone was. Seeing a cluster of roots with just enough space for her smaller body to fit, Tala slid into the safety of the crevice, disturbing only blades of grass.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

And she was glad her years of alchemy training didn’t fail her because through the blood, ash, and mist, she smelled a much less offensive sterile scent. The rain was dampening it, but the odor of tawtute fabric stuck to their skin. Just her luck to have a dream walker hovering so close to her, but better her than another. She was technically a warrior, as all alchemists of the Tawkami went through the same rites of passage, but she honestly barely qualified as a fighter. Tala would’ve wildly preferred being someone’s pretty mate and just experiment all day for new recipes and poultices.

Tala stayed absolutely still, her green eyes glued to the entrance of the roots. She looked down at her hands, her entire body folded into the smallest ball she could be, frowning a bit at the scars and scuffles. She could imagine her friend scolding her for paying attention to such things when she was being actively pursued-

A gun’s barrel burst through the entrance of the roots and shot through her hair.

Tala screamed and thrashed, kicking the gun out of the way she forced her body outside of the root’s crevice. She reached into her satchel on her hip and flung coarse powder into the assailant’s face. The rain solidified on the soldier’s face and she scrambled away through the jungle.

The RDA soldier coughed and hissed behind her, empty-handed save for one of the pink flowers that were decorated throughout Tala’s hair. He crushed it and gave chase, abandoning the gun. He didn’t need it.

Tala jumped through all manner of branches and foliage. If she had time to think, Tala would be praying to Eywa now to save her, air burning her lungs.

The dream walker was insufferably graceful, talented at keeping his eyes on her. Tala dared a look back and gasped. She didn’t realize until too late that her foot stepped on only air beyond the edge of a steep glade.

“N-Netey-OOf!” The soldier fully pounced on Tala, which only sent them toppling. Large hands clawed into her sides as the two of them rolled down, slowly coming to a painful stop of groans and blooming bruises on their heads and limbs. Immediately the soldier got to his feet while his target was violently backing away, clawing through the grass. It couldn’t be him, he’s been dead for years now. It was a trick of the light, the rain entered her eye, she was being delusional, desperate.

As if a cruel trick of Eywa’s, Tala found herself back in the start, she had burrowed into a large and hollow tree trunk and was again trapped inside it. From the darkness outside, a hand burst through the entrance and clawed at her hair, impartial as to whether it wanted to pull her out or claw its way inside.

She was slapping, thrashing, the soldier’s large gloved hands were searching for her neck through her thick, loose curls. Her nails caught on the soldier’s green military headband, ripping it off to reveal a large, star-shaped scar on the left side of his forehead. He snarled but now so close, Tala froze.

Sunlillies and tree bark. A nostalgic smell.

She stopped, letting the soldier squeeze her neck, as her wide green eyes blinked upwards, staring at his face.

“Neteyam? Is it really…?” Tala started to whisper, she felt around at his hands. Four fingers, not a dream walker. She kept trembling eyes on his face, it looked so much like him. Even the way his forehead wrinkled when his brow raised in perplexity, now a large scar resting right above it. Yellow eyes met green and all the terror-induced adrenaline Tala had pumping through her was now going straight to her heart.

The soldier had also long stopped, stunned. Stunned by her scent, of spiced honey and rose, scents that he attributed to the environment than to her. The hammering pain he felt in his skull, from his scar, had dissipated drastically. He realized who he was holding.

“Tala.” His voice was low, uncharacteristically unsure.

She wanted to open her mouth and ask all the right questions, the smartest ones, but her mouth stayed silent. The soldier slowly loosened his grip. She looked at the name tag on his uniform. ’T. Sully’.

He allowed some minute bit of space between them, their breaths warming each other up from the cold of the constant rainfall. Tala eyed his scar, blackened and old.

“You’ve been poisoned.” Her throat was dry and her heart was pounding. As if simply saying something was enough, the RDA soldier lunged back into her, his face in her hair and arms encompassing her. She made a strangled, distressed noise.

“N-Neteyam! What are you-“

“Shut up.” It felt like a shadow covered her body, snuffing Eywa’s light on her. The voice, low, husked into the shell of her ears. Cold. It was very cold. The usual comfort she’d feel hearing his voice was missing.

When Tala tried to pull back, Neteyam’s hands tightened painfully around her body, squeezing her impossibly closer. His head hasn’t felt this at peace since he ‘awoke’. The headache was mercifully lessened each time he breathed in the Tawkami girl’s scent. Months felt like decades of torture, something for him to shoulder with each waking moment. Everything hurt his head, it was constant and numbing but somehow, with her…

A whine cried out of her throat, her breath felt constricted. Tala tried to scramble her fingers around the sleeves of his black shirt, clawing at the fabric and trying to push him away but to no avail. His tactical harnesses, both on his chest and around his legs, dug into her skin painfully.

“Let go of me.” Tala weakly hissed into his hair even though her arms, though tense, felt so weak. Brittle.

Neteyam hissed.

“Just stay still. Don’t you understand how easy it is for me to kill you?” 

Tala stilled, confused. She was used to being admonished, by many people, yet she’s never known the Omaticayan to waste time for a kill. She noticed though the shallow pressure of his broad chest against hers, the lowest and quietest inhale. 

He was smelling her.

This na’vi may no longer be Neteyam, a shadow that shared his name, but still, something stirred in Tala when she realized this. Stupid feelings she thought were buried and dead.

“Killing me by smelling me then, are you?” She mumbled, taking the gamble. No matter how overpoweringly soothing her scent was, Neteyam felt irritation rise at her words. That’s right, she’s always been sort of a pain to talk to… They’ve met twice before and both times left him feeling embarrassment and indignation. For what exactly, he couldn’t recall.

Still, his tail swished irritably now. He sat up to see her face to catch a glimpse of those green eyes that constantly taunted whoever had their attention.

Great mother, he wished he didn’t remember her so the thought that she’d only gotten prettier wouldn’t enter his head.

“Don’t push me, Tawkami. How haven’t you changed at all?” He snarled, venom dripping from his maw. Tala frowned and sunk her claws into his uncovered bicep, earning a small hiss. His hands curled again around the column of her neck, lightly squeezing.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she started seeing spots in her vision. Somehow, the universe both gave her a gift and a curse. Eywa returned his body to her, but not his mind. No more gentle hands, no kind eyes, no bashful expressions, or the comfort of his silhouette. She felt so entirely bitter to have hoped at all.

“Maybe I’ve not changed at all…” Tala felt like the headband in her hand was suddenly too heavy, she didn’t want it.

“But you’ve changed too much.” She finished, her stare was acidic.

“I died. And now I’m back and I’m forced to bear the consequences of it.” His voice was stern but quiet. Tala’s brows furrowed. Then her eyes went back to his large scar. From her studies, it truly looked poisoned, festering, and painful but the skin on top was healed. She was confused, na’vi were not the type to hide scars.

Tala reached around and placed his headband slowly back around his forehead. Delicate fingertips felt like burns along his skin and Neteyam was ready to crack her neck at any sign of force.

“The poison?”

No response. She scowled.

“Poison’s made you a bore too?” Tala let out a loud gag when his large thumbs momentarily dug into her throat.

“Still so foolish and mouthy.” The soldier growled. ‘Poisoned’ was a strange way to call his ever-present migraine, but seemed close enough. Unfortunately, the cure to that headache was another one in the form of an incredibly annoying woman. His patience was thinning.

“But you still find me so pretty, don’t you? Otherwise, what’s taking so long, hmm?” Her tone and smile were sickly sweet, just the way he always hated it.

The consequences were immediate, Neteyam nearly buried Tala into the ground, knocking whatever little breath she had left. He forced her legs around him in the struggle and went for her neck to suck and bite. She yelped when rough fingers clenched at her hair and pulled her closer to him.

Her words incensed him and now he knew that Eywa cursed him, why did this loathsome woman have to smell so good, and have to smile so lovely and be so soft?

“You’ve always been so fucking-“

She could feel Neteyam’s tongue and fangs scrape over her neck. Her strangled yelps stopped when Neteyam roughly pushed the stiff tent of his pants against her thigh.

“Annoying, so fucking full of yourself-“

She saw only a flash of golden eyes glaring at her before she felt lips crash onto hers. Fangs clashed against each other and Neteyam stuck his tongue into her mouth. Tala was mortified when she could immediately feel a heat pool in her belly. The musk of his arousal was so dizzying even through the thick camo fabric.

She wanted to say she struggled heroically but in shame, Tala’s will crumbled quickly. The kiss was just so bruising, so angry, she stopped struggling to focus on twisting his tongue and stealing his air.

Neteyam didn’t break the kiss as he ripped the gloves off his calloused hands, now feeling desperate to lose himself in her smell and her softness. He groped at her waist and squeezed the roundness of her hips, now her smell was intoxicating, tinged with her desire. He moaned at the contact, practically rutting his clothed cock against her. Tala could feel slick gather underneath her tewng, she knew for sure a wet spot was already leaking through it.

His hand stilled and Tala could finally look at him, tense. Neteyam seemed only to revel in it, his pupils enlarging further, brows furrowed, he looked near enraged. With him or with her, Tala figured it was probably both. 

“What are you doing, Neteyam?” She rasped, conflicted and now hot and bothered. Her only answer was him sucking her clavicle hard, hands now groping at her tits wantonly.

Sense returned to Tala’s head and she started kicking at him, kicking around his much larger, muscular waist.

“Get away-oh!” She screeched when suddenly he was picking her up, making her back bend uncomfortably around the roof of the hollow tree, she was practically sitting on his shoulders now. His head was between her thighs and the wet muscle of his tongue was digging through her tewng, getting her wetter and wetter. She smelled divine here and he licked a long strip over the thin cloth, he could feel her heat on his tongue.

Unable to keep her balance she gripped the back of his head, his neck, the slope of his back, just anything so she wouldn’t topple over. Squeezing her thighs around his face only seemed to goad him on further.

“Neteyam!” Tala said, choking on her drool as the heat of her core rose exponentially with Neteyam’s sudden worshipping.

“I’m going to taste you. Don’t stop me.” 

The announcement makes her cunt clench around nothing and she stills. Her face is on fire, she is so conflicted by the way he was squeezing her ass and how completely and uncomfortably drenched her cunt was- Neteyam pushed the tight fabric of her tewng to the side and started lapping at her pussy lips.

“Ooohh, oh, fuck!” She moaned, feeling just so filthy. His rough and wet tongue pressed against her hole, licked long strips against it and he dug for deeper, more of her juices. The more those juices dripped down his face, the more he lapped it up hungrily. He was just fucking gone, nothing hurt anymore and only extreme pleasure was left in his wake. His ego preened as he listened to her muffled whimpers like a favored song, she was not so annoying when his tongue was deep in her cunt like this. He thinks he prefers her like this, hanging onto him desperately, legs wide for him.

Neteyam felt like he could cum from just the sound of her desperate whines alone. 

“Net-Nete…” She whispered his name harshly but could barely form it. The coil of heat in her belly was tightening oh so much, and when Neteyam’s nose burrowed further onto her clit, her eyes glazed over in pure ecstasy.

He sucked at her clit and groaned at the sweetness that exploded on his tongue. In his mind, it was his private feast and the satisfaction he got from making this irritable woman melt in his hands was simply an appetizer.

Her eyes rolled back, the spring snapped and she closed her legs impossibly tight around his face as she came so hard she saw white. Her body stiffened, even her tail squeezed tightly around Neteyam’s bicep, and after agonizingly long seconds, her body went limp.

To her vague surprise, he was still completely supporting her despite her relaxing her whole weight over him.

To the extreme surprise of her nerves, he was still swallowing all her excess liquids, now sucking over her reddened and puffy cunt for just a bit more savory sweetness.

“N-nete- I-came…” She said in broken mewls and weakly pawed at his back, eyes starting to water from the overstimulation. He, of course, didn’t stop, he didn’t even hear her. “It’s too much, stop…” She said a bit louder and dug her nails deeper into his back, but still Neteyam didn’t budge.

He basked in massaging her twitching, sticky cunt, the way it pulsated around his tongue, and flinched at every light scrape of his teeth. He only wished he had enough space to soak his fingers in her until she was hiccuping and the pads of his fingers were pruney.

Tala felt another orgasm crash through her and this time she wailed, body staying limp, hair cascading over her and over Neteyam’s back. Her cunt was now hurting and she was struggling to keep conscious.

She blinked at the distance, seeing the flash of yellow plastic. The Compass. She had pressed random buttons in the struggle, trying to get the dog tags or his uniform name as she knew the device could record nature, likenesses. Tala continued trying to blink away tears but before she knew it, her eyes clamped shut and everything went dark to the constantly stinging and tingling texture of Neteyam’s tongue.

It was maybe 20 minutes before the RDA na’vi noticed her noises were considerably muted and her body felt boneless. He swallowed the rest of his fill, he had practically licked her clean before he let her body completely relax on the jungle floor.

He stared down at her figure and took another deep breath, his migraines truly were gone.

She had said that he was poisoned. Neteyam clicked his tongue as he readjusted her coverings and hoisted her over his shoulder.

To the detriment of both of them, she seemed to be the only cure he had for now.

–

When Tala came to, it was as violent as she had never hoped it to be.

She screamed, static coursing through her entire body and when an RDA soldier shut it off, her whole body felt numb. She could barely see the bright white linoleum floor as two combat boots came into view.

A large hand forcefully tilted her head up and she grimaced.

“Well, outta all the biters you could’ve brought back, you chose a pretty one.” The dream walker said, his face was aged and his hair was cut extremely short. He had a square jaw and aged features, along with thick eyebrows. He let Tala’s face fall carelessly as he stood back up straight.

“That better not be the only reason you chose her, Corporal Tom.” His voice was hard. Tala was vaguely aware of her body being strapped vertically onto a table and only able to move around her neck, though she barely had the energy to lift it anyway.

“No, sir, Colonel Quaritch, sir.” It was Neteyam. Voice cold and unfeeling, just like how he had first talked to her. No sunlight, no warmth. “She is of the Tawkami clan and has knowledge of all of Pandora’s natural resources as an alchemist and healer. She will be of use in identifying plants still undiscovered.”

Quaritch simply stared hard at Neteyam, or, Corporal Tom, and grumbled quietly. The Phoenix II reconditioning program had worked almost miraculously well, but the older soldier still had his suspicions. He was somewhat aware of the change he himself was facing since the Skirmish at the Three Brothers years ago, so he had to keep a close eye on the former Sully boy.

It’s been a fast year since his reawakening, and to Quaritch’s knowledge, he was pretty sure the kid spent his ruts alone and barely interacted with those outside of the Recombinant Squad if even them. The… experience left him angry, which was great on the battlefield. Not for making sure his head was all there even in downtime though.

The colonel kneeled low to look at Tala’s face clearly, her head still hanging. Easy on the eyes at least, would it be so bad for him to have his own little fucktoy? It wasn’t regulated, but some prisoners became favored partners of the Recoms or other reawakened Na’vi, if at least to help with their monthly biological needs.

“I know you can understand me doll face, most of the Tawkami does by now.” He started with a cold hostility in his tone. Tala kept silent, trying to steel herself. She didn’t want to die, but she’d welcome any return to Eywa with open arms before helping these demons.

“To make everything crystal clear, I’m going to say this once. You make a peep of trouble, we shoot you. You fuck up, we shoot you. We’re not animals mind you, you play by our rules and you can live a reasonable life of use to us. Just don’t give us a reason to kill, and we won’t, sweetheart.” His seethe ended in a cruelly humored smile and Tala was feeling her blood run cold looking at him.

Quaritch rolled his eyes emphatically when she stayed silent.

“Gonna need to hear that you understand, doll face.” He rumbled and she pursed her lips. She nodded.

“…yes. I do.” Tala said, English heavily accented but understandable all the same. Quaritch stood to his full height, carelessly letting go of her face.

He turned to Neteyam with a scowl.

“Well, you got your fucktoy, Corporal Tom. Enjoy it.” He meanly snarled, getting close to Neteyam. The younger didn’t flinch, both of them staring intensely into the other’s glowing eyes. Maintaining eye contact, Quaritch waved his hand and another blast of shock scorched Tala’s body, making her scream in pain. Tala balled her hands and felt tears burn down her face as pain shocked through every bone in her spine.

Quaritch searched Neteyam’s face for any ounce of care, even the faintest inclination to help her. The colonel didn’t want any emotional bullshit conflict, he had his own to deal with.

Not even a flicker towards her figure, despite her screams getting shriller. Quaritch sent the operator a glance and finally, Tala was given a break from the torture. Her whole body sunk, the restraints digging into her skin, though she couldn’t feel it. Tala breathed hard, her body still twitching from the pain. It felt like her eyes and ears were bleeding, she wanted to vomit.

The older soldier smiled lightheartedly.

“Just a little welcome present,” Quaritch said, then passed by the younger and clapped his shoulder. “Look alive, soldier. Get her ready and cuffed. I’ll ask the eggheads which lab needs a hand. Don’t take too long.

When he left the room, Neteyam nodded his head at the operator to also make his exit.

Now they were alone. His footsteps towards her were silent, she only knew he was so close because his shoes came into view.

Tala twisted her head to at least be able to peer up at his face. She was aching thoroughly, but the soreness of her crotch especially made her sport quite a mirthful smile.

“Did you like the taste enough to keep me?”

Neteyam scowled then smirked.

“Almost as much as you liked creaming on my tongue.” He taunted back and his smirk grew as he saw Tala’s pretty smile get wiped off her face instantly.

A surprisingly soft grip supported her chin, and she raised her head to meet his eyes. While he still wore the harness and cargo pants, he was no longer wearing his tactical vest. She could clearly see the broadness of his shoulders, how sculpted and wide his chest was under the tight black shirt. Eywa really picked favorites.

Neteyam’s nose twitched, as it usually did with irritation.

“Be thankful I didn’t kill you. At least now you can be of use.” His voice had a sharper edge that made Tala glare at him. The stale light of fluorescent bulbs didn’t seem to suit either of them.

“Of use? Like you are to the vrrteps(demons), kavukte(traitor)?” Tala hissed, green eyes flashing with indignation. She wanted to bite his fingers off. Neteyam’s jaw tensed.

“What are you planning, Neteyam? What do you want?” She pushed, her voice much more hoarse than she thought it would be.

“I’m saving this planet by ending the Na’vi people’s resistance, Tawkami. They are being manipulated by Eywa, it’s not their fault, but they refuse to listen. Eywa keeps the People from growing, and she is the reason they suffer now. The humans will save us.” Neteyam said with such finality and clarity that it unsettled her, like lines practiced over and over again.

“Eywa keeps the balance, Neteyam, the vrrteps are selfish, they take and take. You know this, I know you do.” Her voice was pleading now, nerves heightened. She wanted desperately for him to listen to her and see reason.

“Then even this is part of Eywa’s plan, no? To let the sky people take and take. It was the sky people that saved me, not Her.” He said with a growl.

Tala couldn’t bear to listen anymore and ripped her face away from his grip, squeezing her eyes shut.

Wretched words, cruel thoughts that didn’t sound truly like his.

“The vrrteps did not save you, Neteyam. They were the ones that killed you! Lo’ak-.” Four fingers clamped her mouth shut and the amber pool of his eyes seared into hers.

“I remember everything. And my life was over far before Lo’ak’s stupidity got me shot.” He seethed, pupils in threatening and aggressive slits. Tala scowled, ears pinned to the side of her head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jake. He ended my life long before that battle. Then replaced me before my body even turned cold, and now I live every single day in torture!” His words suddenly erupted in anger, violently surfacing above. Resentment emanated from every word and his hurt was suffocating. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get through to him, she was not the person he needed now. He needed Kiri or Tuk, he needed his family.

Tala was suddenly reminded of how small a part of his life she really embodied. At most a week’s worth of memories, years stretched in between. Barely any history. 

She wanted to entertain that maybe it was her good looks and charming personality that made her memorable, but Tala wasn’t completely dumb. Neteyam had always been surrounded by attractive, talented navi, better yet, members of his own clan he could court.

Those infuriatingly beautiful eyes, making her think unnecessary things right then. Because that time was over, and these feelings didn’t matter. They never have.

“So your life is over, and now you’re ‘Corporal Tom’. Why does the Corporal want me?” Tala wondered out loud, biding for time as she scanned the room. White, eye-achingly so, metallic, plastic, unnatural, sterile, cold.

His waw tensed as he didn’t answer.

“Honestly, it’s looking like you’re obsessed with me.” Tala said with an entirely syrupy sweet and contemptuous smile. A fire started growing in her mind.

He lived every day in pain. And the scar looked blackened; poisoned and now hidden. Navi don’t hide scars. And suddenly he’s smelling her and eating her out as if she was his ambrosia. 

Tala crinkled her eyes and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Oh, does being around me help with the hurt, poor sky demon warrior?”

When Tala saw his tail swishing in angry large strokes, she knew her answer, unable to contain how pleased she was now. It was laughable, for both of them, truly! She went through her mental alchemy compendium, considering what and how effected him. Relief through her scent, then arousal? Or minor dosage of comfort through scent then a substantial through oral consumption?

Tala sighed internally, this would have been a wonderful opportunity to experiment with the effects of this mind poison if it wasn’t for all the guns and threats and torture.

Neteyam suddenly and wordlessly stripped off her floral top.

“Neteyam!” She screeched, though his eyes just wandered along her chest, tits soft and dotted with dark pink nipples. Tala flinched violently away when large fingers pinched at her flesh, but still they continued to play and bruise the sensitive buds without care. Tala strangled a mewl in her throat, mortified. He had stayed too silent all this time, she should have known something was boiling in him.

And indeed there was, he hated her insolence and her overactive brain, how she pieced things together so damningly quickly.

“Nothing will get you to shut up, will it.” Neteyam mused out loud, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger. He pinched it hard and Tala yelped.

“Remind yourself that you have no power here, Tawkami. At most, you’re a stress toy.” He said in a deceptively simplistic manner. As if to make the point stick he stuck thick gloved fingers in her mouth, pushing teeth and tongue. Neteyam stared, daring her to bite him. She didn’t.

“Smart toy, good toy.” He mumbled then, eyes narrowing in self-satisfaction. Tala’s face went hot but she kept compliant.

“Stay good, and I won’t break that thin neck.” Neteyam said, pushing his fingers in her mouth deeper. She gagged and Neteyam felt a familiar throbbing in his pants.

He stopped and then leaned over her like a predator, almost growling.

“I can smell how bad you want me. If you’re good, I’ll fuck the brat out of you until you’ve had your fill.”

Tala closed her eyes, just so completely humiliated yet so aroused, it made her fume. Neteyam smiled smugly when he saw her expression. He liked seeing her when she was too frustrated to do anything else but let her face turn red.

Tala grumbled something under her breath. His ears caught something about him being a horny psychotic asshole. So he proved her point.

“AH!” Sharp fangs sunk into the crook of her neck. He was-he was biting her, marking her! Neteyam was nearly crushing her small shoulders still as he bit down, blood beading and staining her skin.

“Great Mother, what is wrong with you?!” Tala was screaming, now jerking her body this way and that. She didn’t care that it made it more painful, she didn’t care that flecks of her blood were landing on his face and the rest of her body.

But neither did he, he let his fangs stay sunk into her skin, he seemed to be enjoying her struggling, the fucking asshole-

When Neteyam finally stood up, there were thin dribbles of saliva and blood running down his chin and he wiped it off with the heel of his glove carelessly.

Tala was breathing hard, confused and so horribly aroused, she didn’t even want to know how much of a mess she looked then. Her skin was on fire, she was barely aware of the tears running down her cheeks, tears of anger.

Her green eyes shined brighter in her shock, pink lips parted in terrible confusion. Her hair was a mess, braids no longer neat and curls in her face, sticking to her cheeks with her tears. And now the side of her neck, bitten into and punctured, like a pearl necklace of blood.

Neteyam thought it was the prettiest he’d ever seen her. And by Eywa his head felt the most relieved it’s been by far.

“A horny, psychotic asshole, right?” He said smugly, daring any more rebellion from her in his tone and she glared viciously at him. Neteyam merely kept his head raised and roughly pulled up her top.

He turned away and left once the doors slid open, whispering something to the tawtute waiting outside. He didn’t take any look back, he didn’t need to.

Tala felt hostility bubble in her gut, marking was for mates, not whatever the hell this was. Not from whatever he was!

The scientist walked in and pulled out a needle, making her ears pin to the back of her head. The injection went in so quickly, Tala could only remember those yellow eyes, searing into her.

It made her want to gag.

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[incandescentorrery]

In Traitor, Farrier talks about how the myth of Falcrest's Emperor is that it's just some random person grabbed off the street and given a potion which causes amnesia, with the idea being that the Emperor would thus be impartial - he would "retain his knowledge of the world, it's history and geography, it's policies and pressures. But he would have no idea who he had been before he was Emperor."

Of course like one second later Farrier's like "LOL of course we don't do that, that would be stupid." And honestly initially I was so excited to take him at his word (yes I am wearing my clown shoes) because it sounded essentially like a take on the "Original Position" in John Rawls' Justice as Fairness.

Essentially, the Original Position is a thought experiment in which people would come up the basic structure of the society in which they would live BUT they would have absolutely no idea of what their own personal traits would be - the idea being that because they do not know what their specific positions would be in the society, participants would create society which was fair, rational, impartial, etc.

And I think that is just SO INTERESTING in light of the Brain's discussion of how people can never really free themselves of the confines of their own perception in Tyrant - "I cannot clear my eyes of the veils they were born with". Information exists objectively in the world but once it enters our perception it is filtered through all of the experiences we have had, the culture we have been raised in, the education we have received (the "veils").

So, it is interesting that Falcrest and the Cancrioth sort of seem to agree on this point. However, I think that the Brain's comments suggest that even not knowing anything about yourself would not necessarily be enough to be rid of biases. All of the information the Emperor would have received is filtered though all of the experiences he would have learned up to that point. To take a simple example, seeing Taranoke called Sousward on maps - it doesn't matter where the Emperor was originally from, that renaming would inform the decisions he made. Not "remembering" who he was in a past life actually makes it harder to make fair choices because he does not have any clue to what his own biases may have been.

Essentially lacking information about yourself keeps you from knowing who set the conditions in which your choices are to be made.

[iwoulddieforher]

She Doesn't Get Out Much | Alex Cabot × Casey Novak | Part 4

Alex shows up with passion in her heart, fire in her eyes, and anxiety in her stomach to convince her peculiar and indomitable Uncle to allow her to return to the DA's office. This is chapter four, to read the previous chapters please be directed here

i'm rather proud of this chapter. please bestow upon me your thoughts in the comments pleasee i would greatly appreciate it

warnings for discussions about Alex's shooting, recovery

Patience was something Alex would like to believe she had, but exercising it always proved quite the opposite. She hated waiting. It made her feel powerless, sitting still somewhere and agonizing over the details of what could or could not happen. 

As she waited in this ridiculously expensive restaurant, situated on the second highest floor of a ridiculously expensive hotel, Alex could do absolutely nothing other than curse Zapata over and over again.

She was not sure if her hand was shaking, and she did not want to look. 

It probably was.

She hated it. 

Alex had been making it a point to be as great of an annoyance to her uncle as physically possible without crossing into the line of genuinely irritating. She wanted to make herself a lingering prick on his hand, a splinter he’d be reminded of every day, until he dropped his objection to her returning to work. It wasn't that she needed the money- she just really couldn't stand to sit at home by herself anymore, waiting. 

She had prepared herself for the scolding she was about to receive for losing her first case back- that had been far from a good look, even though she wasn't entirely bothered. Firstly, she was pretty sure the perpetrator had been guilty, and secondly, if Casey had lost that trial- Alex had no clue where the redhead would've ended up. Perhaps her anger would've grown to an extent they wouldn't be attempting to reconcile like they were now. 

Breathing out and intentionally pausing before breathing in again, Alex calmed herself. She was typically good at stifling anxiety, (at least, since she had started her antidepressants), and although she was out of the loop, she forced herself to be able to do so again. She refused to be stressed when her uncle arrived. 

He was revered. A stellar reputation for being the idealized impartial judge, with a background of court victories that made him especially intimidating from when he was a lawyer. Childless and without a wife, he had amassed a notable fortune, even in comparison with their already wealthy family.

But as all affluent men were, he had his peculiarities. He came off as cold and unforgiving, and Alex wasn't entirely sure that appraisal was incorrect. He could be harsh, and he could sometimes be downright cruel. His expectations were high for the people within his inner circle, and she wasn't sure she was included in that. That only meant even more was needed from her to be deemed worthy of his association.

She picked up a menu and thumbed her way through it blankly. It was a pointless activity, as she had already decided what she would order the moment her uncle had agreed to meet her and decided on the location. Still, though, it gave her something to do with her hands, and she’d need that, because when her uncle inevitably wandered in, she wanted him to see her engaged in something.

Alex still remembered the advice he had peppered into her as a child- when she was young, she had been dazzled by her uncle Bill, but now as a woman she was significantly less enthused. 

“Alexandra,” he had once told her, “It's important for you to understand how to capitalize on punctuality.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Her voice had sounded so soft, then, and smaller. Preparatory school had schooled her to be prim and ladylike, not to speak in a manner anyone would find offensive. How to be quiet, be observant, and how to blend into her environment- and when to stand out. Later, years of law school and the hours upon hours of mock debates in her teens and early twenties had taught her to project, be louder, firm and commanding. She hadn't yet entered law school, though, when they had had this conversation.

“Imagine: you’re having an important meeting. You're late,” he answered, “How do you think that would play out?” 

She had not needed a moment to ponder that. “It’d be rude. I don't think I’d get whatever I’m requesting. It would be disrespectful, and I’d be wasting their time.” 

“Precisely. Now: imagine someone is waiting for you, and *you're* late.” 

Alexandra blinked. It was disrespectful to waste someone's time- wouldn't that apply in the vice versa? She wouldn't want to intentionally irk anyone in such a manner. 

But if Alexandra had ever been one thing- something she had never been taught, but entirely born with- or, at least, something she had excelled at since she could remember, it was her ability to be clever. Cleverness, in her opinion, was not simply being intelligent. You could be smart without being clever. Cleverness, in the way she defined, was understanding the expectation you were being perceived in, and acting accordingly. 

She thought it would be rude to make someone wait for you, but her uncle clearly was not grooming her for that response. He expected her to answer that way, though, and then he’d have the opportunity to correct her.

“Perhaps,” she started, because she knew her brain would be able to process what she decided to continue with before she needed it. She had to decipher the best response- she could either play along with his expectations, or act accordingly to the fact she had already predicted them. For purposes in education, it typically impressed her teachers to answer in the latter way, while often with her peers anything other than the former would prove only to be an irritant. 

“It would be asserting the importance of your own time. You’d come off as busy and dominant, if you did it properly.” 

Her uncle blinked once. He recognized that she had needed to solve not only for that answer but also for what he had wanted to hear from her. Something in his expression showed Alexandra he was unsatisfied with her, but she could not tell exactly what. A second after she affirmed he was indubitably malcontented, his expression was swept away on the waves of a facade even her observance could not read through. 

She felt small, and childish. She had done something wrong, apparently, but he wasn't going to tell her what it was, and she was guaranteed to never know for sure. 

She had been a child, in fact. When Alex now thought back on this interaction, she realized she couldn't have been older than eleven. 

“It gives you the opportunity to see someone off guard,” he had answered. “People will expect you to be on time. Being purposefully late by nothing more than a few minutes gives you an opportunity to see what they do with time they didn't expect to have.” 

The way he had answered had told Alex he had wanted to say more than that. What he had said was intended to be a second, follow-up point, but she had nailed down the first thing he had meant to say, and either he was grumpy about it, or she had done something else wrong. She assumed it was the latter. She didn't know what. 

Perhaps that was why she remembered the entirety of the conversation so clearly, even over twenty years later. She had spent hours revisiting it. 

She hadn't seen her uncle much growing up, but her mother and father had told her he was someone of importance, especially after she had begun expressing an interest in law. Follow in his footsteps, they had told her, and that requires listening to everything he said with careful detail. That requires earning his favor. Her uncle was not easily pleased with the behavior of younger people. 

Her career had been jump started because she had been one of the few children in her family who he had been impressed by. Even then, she remembered many moments when his displeasure had been evident. She couldn't imagine how depressing it would've been for her if she wasn't naturally clever. Some of her cousins hadn't turned out as much- she had been able to follow her passions, but they had ended up haphazardly thrust into positions in companies where they couldn't even properly explain what the hell they were doing there. Enough to keep the family name, because their family was too self-important to ever have a child turn out to be a disappointment, but definitely nothing that they had wanted to do. 

She wasn't sure, still, if her uncle perceived her being shot as becoming a disappointment. She knew he must have been displeased with the diagnosis of her disorder- which, she realized, must be the first psychiatric problem he was aware of, because her parents had told her to hide her generalized anxiety diagnosis from him- but to what degree, she couldn't predict. 

She wanted to indignantly reaffirm it wasn't her fault she had been shot, but if he was feeling especially harsh, perhaps he would depict it as a failure to properly assess the extreme risk demanding to stay on the case despite the warnings.

Alex balled her fist in her lap and took a deep breath through her nose, her eyes flickering over text she wasn't reading. 

Her uncle, in that conversation years ago, had told her the proper time to be intentionally delayed was between five and ten minutes, because any more than that was rude no matter what the intention, and before that wasn't late enough for the other person to grow anxious. 

She’d like to say she disliked him for having such perceptions of social dynamics. 

Even with someone she wished anxiety on, someone she disliked, she wouldn't want to make them wait for her, because something as petty as that seemed entirely pointless. But her uncle was her uncle, and she had been raised to see his silhouette as being bathed in golden light. 

She couldn't bring herself to dislike him. She wanted his approval.

Alex could've notified the district attorney at any minute and on any whim that she wanted to return. She would've been allowed in- that hadn't ever been the concern. But she wanted her uncle to tell her that she could. 

The chains that held her were entirely her own hesitancy to act in opposition to her uncle’s will. She was completely aware of this. She had slapped them on her own wrists, turned the lock, and provided the key to the man she had just noticed out of the corner of her eye. 

Alex did not look up. For anyone else, she would've done the courtesy of acknowledging their presence, but she knew her uncle better than that. This conversation was a mental fifth-dimensional chess game. He had been late intentionally to watch what she would do in his absence, and she had decided to raise the facade as though she hadn't noticed. 

“Alexandra,” he said in his gruff tone, taking the seat opposite her, and only then she raised her eyes, blinking as soon as her head finished moving as though she had only just realized, and then smiled.

“Uncle,” she greeted warmly (although not too warmly), “Did the journey fare you well?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I hope you didn't mind waiting.” 

Alexandra smirked to herself, although her face exhibited only a mild curiosity as she raised an arm to check the golden watch that adorned it. It was a movement only for antics. She knew exactly how overtime he had been- a subsection of her brain had been counting the seconds.

“Ah,” she said, “No worries.” 

He was wearing a diplomatic smile, but Alex could swear she saw the edges of it jerk up at her response. He knew she had decided to participate in his game- thereby, he knew she was well enough to play it. Pride made her own couth smile turn genuine. 

She hadn't quite decided what technique she was playing with tonight, but all things considered, that was the best tactic. Prematurely settling on a route to take through her uncle’s brain would most likely only backfire. Her uncle’s concept of how she should act changed by the second, or by the minute if she was lucky.

Instead, something she picked up from her time with SVU would be deployed- get him talking, and keep him talking, until she got her ducks in a row. 

“You’ve never told me to come here, before.” Alex murmured conversationally, letting her eyes drop back to the menu as if she was skimming the text, before looking up again with a smile. “Is it a new find of yours?” 

“Opened recently,” Uncle Bill said, as though he were making a statement at a press conference, “So a new find, yes. Wanted to bring you here myself the first time, not only recommend it over the phone.” 

So he was in one of his more sentimental moods, Alex noted to herself. He was speaking curtly, but if he was in a different perspective his words wouldn't carry warmth like that. Alex did not see her uncle often, regularly- their meetings were spontaneous at best. Saying he wanted to save this spot until the next time they dined together was an odd thing to say if one was thinking logically. His version of logically, at least- he prided himself on his intellect, although Alex often decided to herself that he frequently borderlined on selfish behavior. 

“That's kind of you,” Alex smiled. The waitress had noticed her company had arrived and was striding over, and that put her in the awkward position of not being able to begin saying something that she knew would be interrupted by her interjection to take drink orders. She didn't want the silence to stretch on, though. 

“It's been a while since I’ve been at a contemporary venue that boasts art inspired by the romanticism period,” she decided to fill what she estimated to be a half-minute time slot with an observation instead of something more fruitful, “the oil work on the far wall is quite something, isn't it?” 

“Yes,” he agreed, turning in time to see the waitress pass the last table between them. They briefly gave drink orders. Alex was pleased by the satisfied shift of her uncle’s eyebrows at her wine selection- she had gotten better at picking alcohol that suited both his taste without sacrificing her own. 

“How has your recovery been, Alexandra?” He asked, a small strain of tentativity present in his voice. 

She paused. She hadn't expected him to bring that up himself. He must be feeling a lot more sentimental than she had originally estimated- getting to personal details like that was not a strong suit of his.

Alex had been planning on playing a long game, peppering small talk until she could decisively take a winning shot. He clearly wasn't going to allow her to do that- perhaps he, like her, was feeling impatient today, or maybe he was just trying to catch her off guard. She couldn't get any sort of read from his blue eyes- ones that were almost the same hue as her own- other than the note that his had turned a shade of blue-grey with age, something that had only been slightly present in the last conversation they had had and was now becoming increasingly apparent. She didn't like realizing her uncle was growing older. He had been an early balder, so for the last twenty years he had looked essentially the same. A man as statuesque, and one who held as much power, importance and reputation as he did- the idea someone like that was getting older, more vulnerable, seemed uncomfortable. 

“I’ve been doing okay,” Alex replied a heartbeat after she should've, but she recovered from the momentary stun rather quickly, “honestly not as fast as I would've liked, but I’ve recovered to an extent that …”

She trailed off. The worst thing, currently, was her inability to do anything. She needed the chase, the fight, the enthusiasm of work or at least being able to volunteer or just do- just do something, anything. Bring cooped up like a caged bird was by far the most irritating part of her recovery. 

“I know you,” he said simply, glancing down and taking a sip of the prefilled water glasses that had adorned the table, “you don't appreciate having your wings clipped, I’m sure.” 

“No,” she answered honestly, “I don't.” 

She folded her hand awkwardly in her lap. She was used to resting her elbows on the table, leaning forward like people had taught her how to, in a way that extruded dominance and confidence- but she couldn't do so without agonizing over the possibility her hand might quiver on the table in a way that alarmed Uncle Bill, so she didn't. 

“How has work been?” She asked, in lieu of making any real, meaningful conversation. Something about his affect today was throwing her off. 

“I remember you used to ask me that all the time,” he smiled- as much as her uncle could smile with his stiffened, stoic form- as if nostalgic. “Whenever I’d come to the townhouse, you’d always be ready to jump at me and ask for stories of cases I presided over.” 

Bill’s lips jerked up at the corners, and he shifted in his chair, straightening the knot of his tie and looking off to the side. 

He was a tall, statuesque man, all black tie and formal. Right now, an ink-colored, tailored suit jacket emphasized the humble square of his build, emphasized with a burgundy tie perfectly straight and perfectly crisp that brought the eyes of an observer straight to his face. If one were the leave that- his face- out of the equation, he seemed as professional, cunning and sleek as a humanized eagle- but his head broke that illusion. Not particularly in a bad way, though. He wasn't bad looking, Alex had seen that he was quite handsome in his youth and he hadn't aged badly, but he had balded and his face was dotted by stubble he seemed to never quite get rid of. His jowls hung by the sides of his face, his eyes sunken softly from age. Her uncle was getting older.

Alex was briefly concerned with her own lack of perception- she had frozen on the detail the shade of his eyes had changed color, and forgotten to scrutinize the emotion within them. His expression was blank, judge-like in the sense it was the balance between hawklike in observance while still nonjudgmental, but his eyes- he was discomposed, and an apprehensive swirled in a way she had never seen before.

He was very emotional today, it seemed. Alex willed her brow not to furrow, but she was growing genuinely bewildered- genuinely concerned. This was unlike him. It was difficult for her to accommodate this mood of his into her existing understanding of her uncle’s moods.

“Yes,” she agreed, “It was the highlight of family holidays, when you’d make time to have dinner with us.” 

“I think it was the highlight only for you,” he responded, “I imagine, the other children of our family were never quite as fond. They’d play in the playroom, or wait around for their parent’s permission to watch the television. You were always the one who’d come to sit by me.” 

Alex’s eyebrows furrowed gently over her eyes, in slight confusion, apprehension. “I … some of my cousins would always be with us in the drawing room, too.” 

“Because they were told to be.” Uncle Bill responded gruffly, firmly. “I could always tell. It’s dog eat dog, even in our own house. Children are raised to grasp at whatever advantage their parents perceive. You wanted to learn; they wanted their parents to think they wanted too. Wanted to trick me into thinking they wanted too.” 

“I could always tell.” He repeated again, quietly this time, when Alex did not respond. 

“I suppose,” she hesitated, and then internally winced. She must be proving his point, not being able to react decisively. “I suppose you're right,” she said, but she didn't believe it. She had never paid much attention to the behavior of her family members when her uncle was in the room. His appearances were always perceived by her to be rare, and she had wanted to know everything she could about him in the opportunities she could. She had assumed the others felt that way; but perhaps they hadn't, and she couldn't answer either definitively.

Neither spoke until the waitress returned. Alex wasn't sure why. It freaked her out. Her uncle had never acted like this.

They gave her their orders- Alex blinked, her uncle hadn't even pretended to read the menu this time. That was odd. What game was she supposed to be playing tonight, if he was being so overt with his preparations? What was he thinking, what was she supposed to be doing?��

Saying something too soon to jumpstart the conversation would be revealing a card from her deck that she wasn't sure she should be using yet, and she didn't have a clue what she could say that would be effective. She said nothing, and for some reason, her uncle continued his silence, too. 

“Alex,” he said finally, “Do you feel like you have something to lose?” 

She stared at him blankly, frozen, which was something normally she knew he’d chastise her for, but with such an odd introspective question, she didn't think he could blame her.

“ … Yes,” she said finally, “Yes, I have a lot to lose. There are people in my life I’m very grateful for, I’ve achieved a great deal, and I … wouldn't want to risk anything I didn't need too.” 

She thought of Olivia, of the friendship they had, forged through years of late night cases and coffee and easy laughter. Her family, peculiar as they were. The penthouse she lived in, the stories she had been a part of, the people she had helped- and all the people out there who she knew she could help in the future. Alex thought of Casey, but that hurt, so she settled on the deep feeling of longing in her heart and satisfied herself with the knowledge that feeling was worth something. She had a lot to live for, which meant a lot to lose. That had been her instinctive answer the second he had asked, but she wasn't sure what he was looking for. 

“What were you thinking that night?” 

“The night I was shot?” She shook her head slowly, perplexed, but then grimaced, because of course that was what he was asking, and he probably wouldn't appreciate her saying that. 

“I…” Alex paused here, because she genuinely didn't remember.

“It's been months since the shooting,” she breathed, refolding her hands in her lap to soothe her growing anxiety, “I’ve had too much time to scrutinize every detail, and exaggerate some things and under exaggerate others, if you're talking about… my exact thoughts. I could testify on the specifics of the night, and I wrote down everything I could think of in the hospital after for when they’ll inevitably need my testimony, but … if you're talking about what exactly I was thinking of when I realized what was happening, I’m not sure my appraisal at this moment would be necessary accurate.” 

“So you can't tell me?” He said, and her lips turned down into something as close to a frown as she’d ever make in his presence. Backtracking would only be a further weakness, so she simply nodded silently. He sighed, and she glanced at her watch. 

“They made threats against you, they found out your address, your routine, hell, Alex, the government wanted to put you into witness protection.” He looked up, and while she couldn't frown around him, his lip was curled into a grimace.

“I know,” she tried, “But there were people in that case that I needed to protect, and recusing myself, dropping the case- how would that be any sort of justice? I need to be strong for the people who can't be, and I- all I tried to do was act accordingly to that.” 

“So, you don't regret it?” 

His eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed upset with her, but the answer came as easily as breathing. Regret was something she could show to Alex, to Cragen, to Donnelly or to Casey, but never, ever to her uncle. 

“No,” she said, regardless of how complicated her feelings were, “No, I don't.” 

“You lost function in your arm,” he snapped at her, “You developed a psychiatric disorder, spent weeks at the hospital and even longer in physical therapy which you're still attending to my knowledge-” 

“A lot of people had far worse happen to them,” she cut him off, “That's precisely why I don't regret it, I need to fight for them, and that's similarly why I need you to let me go back to work-” 

“Even though you can't put your hand on the goddamn table because you know I’ll notice it shaking?” 

She paused, trying to conceal the affrontation that flashed immediately across her face. She swallowed, staring down at her lap. 

What game was he playing? She couldn't think fast enough, and that was an incredibly rare experience for her. The situation was unlike any conversation she had ever engaged her uncle in, she tried to console herself with that, but even then she couldn't complace the anxiety that swirled and spiked in her gut, growing rapidly with every additional second of this unease. 

Alex would not let him be right about her; she was not weak, and she wasn't unable to do her job. 

Defiance bubbled within her, and she wasn't sure if that was a piece she could use, because the board was not in her view. Without anything else to do, however, she decided to use it. 

She raised both hands for his inspection, and her hand cooperated with her- it shook, but just barely, and due to anger, her other hand was similarly not entirely still. It was barely, barely noticeable. 

“This doesn't make me weak, if anything, my recovery after was considered admirable to doctors,” she tried to make her voice as clear and as calm, even though she felt the urge to snarl, “I defended a case-” 

“That you lost,” he interjected immediately, cutting her off as though it proved some sort of point. 

“Regardless,” she said firmly, “I defended a case. No one noticed. In a few weeks I’ll have full control over my hand again, and it’ll take a few weeks to sort out my return to work anyway. My most recent psychiatric evaluation showed that I was clear of all previous symptoms, and it's been weeks since I behaved in any way that was deemed irrational. I’m fine, Uncle, and I want to work.” 

“Alexandra, you're being far too hasty- dare I even say naive,” he argued, his hands forming into small fists on the table as he straightened his spine, pushing his elbows back authoritatively.

He was larger than her, taller. His face was firmer, and he was older. The same blood ran through their veins, the same one roots that believed in patriarchal families and that wisdom brought age no experience could supplement. Her heart felt as though she was the small little girl eager for his approval that she was in childhood, the ambitious young woman who he had shaped and whose guidance she had needed so frequently earlier in her career, but she adamantly affirmed to herself she was different. Working with special victims, navigating the complexities of law and cradling children and terrified women in her arms- she was stronger than she had ever been, regardless of what she had been through in the pursuit of justice. 

She would not let him make her feel small or as though she needed to form to his expectations anymore, and especially- fuck, especially- not when his expectation was below the potential she could fill. 

Alex used to feel like she was always driving for a standard that was higher above her than she could reach, her hands clawing her way up to some golden torch to wrap her hand around and prove her worth, but now he was acting as though she couldn't, and that angered her. 

“I’ve grown fond of challenges, and of challenging myself,” she bared her teeth just barely as she spoke, a signal to the rage flickering in her gut that her anxiety had transformed into, “and I don't appreciate your belief that I’m incapable.” 

He stared at her with a grimace on his face and she stared back, her face a solid mask of stubbornness. 

“I’ve stayed away from work at your will,” she reminded him, “The DA has no objections to me. Hell,” she chided herself internally for cursing, that was unprofessional, but then immediately tried to convince herself it was odd to feel like she had to censor herself more to her uncle than her own boss, “I’ve been asked repeatedly to return, I’ve been forwarded every possible opening, and even letters of reassurance I don't need. The only reason I haven't taken back my stance is because you told me not to, and I thought it was for my own sake, but- why not? It’s been months, uncle, months. When will I have ‘rested’ enough for you?” 

Her tone was angry, but she had given up trying to hide her frustrations. His play of internal fourth dimensional chess was irritating, and if he wasn't playing by his own rules with his straightforward questions, she wasn't either. Participating in his game blind to the terms of it might be stupid, and she’d probably regret the way adrenaline was starting to course through her blood, but she wouldn't stop herself now. She didn't think she could, even if she had decided to. 

When she opened her mouth to speak, though, the waitress returned with their food, and so she clamped her lips shut and offered a word of gratitude. Neither her nor her uncle picked up their fork or even looked at the plates for a second longer than they needed too. 

With the sting of the interruption of her nerves, she felt herself falter slightly, so she stayed quiet. She was sure he would respond equally aggressively- although, unlike her obvious display of frustration and strong emotion, he would be cold and calculating the way he always was. 

He didn't, though. He stayed silent and stared at her for a long, torturous minute. 

“Say something,” she demanded then, finally. 

He still didn't. His eyes were void of any emotion, his facial expressions tight as though he was grinding his jaw, but with the excess skin age had provided him she wouldn't be able to tell with complete certainty. It was unlike him to be quiet. He was the type of elder who provided his opinions even when they were unasked for, who spoke for the sake of reminding everyone he always would have something to say. She had no doubt he had some sort of response formed, but even as she wracked her brain, Alex had no clue why he wasn't bestowing her with it. 

Her frustration grew, tight and hot in her lungs, stealing more than half of the oxygen in her every breath. If this was anyone else making her feel so- so overwhelmed, so bewildered, so unlike her usual clever self, she would've lost it at them, unprofessional and irrational as it may be. She prized herself for the ability to react so well, and she couldn't, not to this. Not when she didn't understand, and there was nothing Alex hated more than not understanding. There was nothing she hated more than not knowing what to do. 

She knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to help those poor battered women that sat so still in the chairs of her office, eyes like pitchers that had long been poured out. She wanted to dry the eyes of little children who hadn't been blessed with the safe, healthy, protective upbringing that she had been so lucky to be born into. Not everyone was as fortunate as she, in life or in love, and the second she had settled into her role at sex crimes, she knew she wanted more than anything else to be one of the people working to give poor souls a shot at a life as bountiful in happiness and safety as the one was able to lead. 

Alex knew where she wanted her life to go, fighting until the last breath to make sure there was absolutely nothing in the power she hadn't done to protect someone. 

That strong, stable sense of purpose that had bound itself to her identity exasperated her budding frustration towards her uncle, this unmoving, rigid and concrete boulder in her way. 

His hands had already turned to fists, and now her’s did too, balling on the table. Her bad hand shook more than the unaffected one, but although she noticed, she was too vexed to switch the focus of her attention towards stilling it. 

“When will I have recovered enough for you to deem me suitable?” She said, an echo of her prior question, and this time it felt like an accusation, because it was. “What can I possibly do to show you that I'm beyond capable?” 

When he remained silent, she snapped. “Being shot- that does not make me a disappointment. I can still make you proud, I can still uphold our family name, and I don't understand why you believe me to be inadequate.” 

Still, her uncle said nothing. He did not move at all, he didn't even make a shift in the microexpressions she was studying him for. 

Alex took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting for something, anything, from him, but he didn't. Nothing was offered, so the only option was to keep talking, keep throwing random cards down onto the table until something was picked up to elaborate on.

“I know our family has high standards,” she tried to barter, her eyebrows furrowing and she didn't even attempt to hide it this time, “I spent my youth fulfilling and fighting to exceed every possible expectation you, or my parents’, or any teacher or mentor I’ve ever studied under had set for me.” 

She continued because he didn't make any motion to respond to that. It was a fact. She had done well, and she knew she had.

“I was provided the position in sex crimes because they knew they could trust me to ensure the squad ran properly and efficiently. You helped raise me right, to be the type of impenetrable force that ensured justice, worked to protect. I’m beyond proud of that, and beyond grateful for the work you put in to confirm that I was the successor that- … that you and my parents could be proud of. I’ve achieved so much in my career already, and I’ve only just gotten started.” 

He stared at her with that blank expression that had long become infuriating. 

“I have only just gotten started,” she repeated. “Ever since I was a child I have done everything I could to prove myself. I won't stand for this, now, your inability to- …” 

Alex took a deep breath, a slight snarl accompanying her exhale. She hadn't been raised to let her anger affect her responses, and she needed this to be clear, and as compelling as possible. She was an accomplished, proficient individual, and she would not let him forget that.

“I’m just as strong, just as independent, just as clear headed and well read and talented and everything else I had been praised for before I was shot. I don't know why you're so adamant that I’ve somehow become inept now, but frankly, your attempts to keep me submerged are only growing my will to prove this too you, so if you don't give me the opportunity to demonstrate that my assessment of myself is correct, I will do so without your approval, and without your permission. I will show you I am still someone you can be proud of; even if you're so stubbornly refusing to see it.” 

When he continued to do nothing, she stood up, partially because she was genuinely wondering if his eyes would follow her- they did- but mostly because she had now said her piece, and if he didn't provide her a response now, there was no point in continuing to occupy the table. 

“Alexandra,” he said quietly when she slung her purse over her shoulder and was about to abandon the untouched plate behind her.

She bit back and admonished ‘so you can speak’, but stared at him defiantly, her eyes cold, widened and flashing with evidence of her will.

“Sit back down, please.” 

Her uncle rarely ever said please, so at the very least, it meant she had got somewhere, achieved something, even if she wasn't sure what. She did as she was requested too, but only because it had sounded like a request- if it had been a barked order so he could berate her for her obstination, she would have left- or so she told herself. It was beyond uncomfortable to her, being at odds with her uncle. Demonstrating complacency to his orders and expectations had at some point in her development engrained itself into her psyche. 

She tried to calm the anxiety that followed the anger as she settled back into the chair, crossing one leg over the other, and folding her hands together, on top of the table this time rather than below it. 

“Alexandra,” he said again, then he put his head in his hands on the table, and the realization that the corners of his eyes had grown red from unshown tears added to the growing pit of bewilderment and anxiety in her stomach. 

He looked up again, and now his faded blue eyes were glassy. His nose was beginning to run, she could hear the quiet sounds of sniffling when he inhaled. 

She felt herself soften, and she nodded gently when he seemed as though he wanted a response to him saying her name. He sighed, deeply, as though trying to empty the emotions that had developed claws in his lungs out into the air between them. 

“There’s nothing you could do to prove to me that I should be proud of you,” he muttered, and his voice was now solemn, rough and quieter than she had ever heard from him. “Because I already am. Good Lord, I am so proud, Alexandra, that I may call you my niece.” 

Alex felt the rigidity of her shoulders soften, caught off guard by his affect, but for the first time tonight it was not unwelcome. It was his turn to speak, so she didn't respond to that, but she knew she’d circle his words around in her mind for years to come. 

“For the opportunity to have a hand in the way you were raised, and for the ability to say I provided you any aid on the path to success I knew you’d achieve, I am grateful. From the moment you were born, whether it be speaking far either than other infants, being the top of your elementary school, winning mock debates in highschool, your acceptance to Yale, and for every single case you ever prosecuted, regardless of the outcome, I was proud of you for it.”

He cleared his throat and shook his head, taking a sip from his wine glass, if only to try to swallow back the burst of emotion Alex now recognized was overwhelming him. 

“As you know, I … I never made the time to have children of my own. You, on the chair across from me at Christmas dinner, with your wide eyes and eager nodding, was the closest I ever felt to something that resembled paternal.” 

It was Alex’s turn to sit still in shocked silence. 

She loved her father dearly, so she couldn't exactly respond that the feeling had been mutual. Her father was her father, and her uncle had always felt in some sense otherworldly- a federal judge, appointed by a president himself, a gilded portrait on the wall she could stare at, a statuesque face chiseled as a figurehead into the front of a ship sailing rocky seas towards the ideal that was justice. It felt stupid to admit at times she vaguely forgot he was human, but her admiration for him at times guided her over that bound. He was a solemn god, a person whose slightest reactions were something to be studied, every word he said something to be considered and remembered. 

Every conversation she had ever had with him felt like a competition to prove intellect, an exaggeratedly elaborate game of cards. She had initiated this conversation assuming she was playing something she didn't understand, but as it was revealed, she had misunderstood him from the start. 

Her uncle was not toying with her, and didn't want her to try to prove she was perfect the way she always thought she had to be in his presence.

They were family. She belonged to the lineage that formed his flesh and blood. He cared about her in a way that overwrote whether or not her reputation as a prosecutor affected the name of their family. 

In all these years, in all the conversations in which every miniscule movement he made had been studied by her in detail, she had never noticed.

“All you’ve ever known of me is this apotheosized solemnity, and you … you were raised, like your cousins were, to study me, because my wealth and my status uphold the idealized regard our family considers ourselves with. I don't know how to show much else, other than this …” 

He trailed off, something he had rarely ever done, because he was trying to open himself up to her. He was trying to show her the humanity inside him, express himself honestly and in a way that made it overtly obvious his metaphorical deck of cards was being scattered across the dining table for her perusal. 

“Other than this ideal of a masculine, intellectual, affluent ideal. For the majority of my life, that's all I’ve ever been. It got me to where I am today and the only regret I have towards it, is that it may have misled your perceptions of how I felt regarding your career.” 

He clenched his jaw, and then forced himself to relax it by swallowing down more of the wine he had ordered. She hadn't touched her own glass, and neither of them had even glanced at the food before them in minutes. The restaurant still hummed with the quiet refinery of a high-class establishment, but in that moment, nothing existed to Alex other than her uncle and his word. 

“The truth is,” he said once he found himself again, with a chuckle that held absolutely no humor, “I forget that myself. As all people do, I have molded to fill the space of my expectations. Don't misunderstand, I am proud of that- that when people look at me, they believe they're observing an insurmountable and impenetrable force of justice, masquerading as a man. In all authenticity, that's what I, at times, believe I am, too.” 

Alex could only nod. That's what she had believed of her uncle growing up, and still did. 

“But humans are not impenetrable, Alexandra.” 

He rubbed his glabella with his thick fingers, shaking his head slowly. It occurred to Alex to say something, then, but she had the feeling he had more to say. She tried to regulate her breathing, and her heartbeat. This emotional outpour from her uncle was something she had never, never in a thousand years, expected to hear. 

“You were the victim of an assassination attempt.” He looked up at her again, and did not try to disguise the way his eyes softened, the greyish blue of his irises pooling into the tears that still hung idly in his eyes. She nodded again. It was a fact- the cartel had attempted to kill her. She had dodged death, and only barely, while attempting to prosecute a case. Another who was involved in that same case had not been as lucky. 

“Your parents were at a conference the night it happened,” he said, his gruff voice going gentle. “The detective you work with- Detective Benson, I believe- was going through your contact sheet until someone answered. Apparently, I was the first one who picked up.” 

He put his head back in his hands, and then lifted it with his eyes averted, as close to fidgeting as he could ever come, staring at the space just beside her eyes as though he couldn't quite meet them- as if he didn't know what to do with himself. 

“I was reminded, in that night,” and now Alex pictured him in his reading glasses and vintage sleepwear, waiting by the phone at the chance Olivia may call back with news about her condition in either direction, “that I am only a man.” 

He met her eyes again, and she almost wished he didn't, because now he could see she was close to tears herself.

“And I wondered, in all the years I knew you looked up to me, if I had given you the perception that living as though you were untouchable was what you thought you had to do.”

Alex opened her mouth, but she had no response prepared. Her throat was closing up, but not from any lingering trace of the outburst of irritation from earlier. She had survived the attempt on her life and for weeks over she had agonized over the possibility she hadn't, but with the near-casual regard Olivia and her parents had expressed for her own sake, she had nearly forgotten how traumatizing that must have been for the people close to her. For her Uncle- god, for Casey. 

The people she loved and was loved back by must have been terrified, and for her sake they had pretended they weren't, so she could process her emotions however she best saw fit. 

She hadn't tried to share her grief with anyone else, and they hadn't tried to force her to share their own. But it had existed, tangible and powerful. 

It was real, and it made her want to cry now. 

“At times I’m harsh,” he continued, for now the floodgate of his words had been opened, “And sometimes I’m even further beyond that. You survived by the grace of a couple inches.” 

That, too, was a fact. Her assassin had attempted for the heart. That would've killed her instantly, similarly, if the shot had breached either of her lungs. He had missed both, but the shot hadn't started far from her subclavian. She would've bled out on the concrete floor of a New York sidewalk, with a desperate Olivia trying to keep her conscious by her side. If he had been successful, she could've been dead in seconds from her heart having been ripped open, or from her lungs collapsing, filling with her own blood. The bullet only impairing her nerves, and not even permanently at that, was a miracle.

“That night, I couldn't stand the thought of you dying, only while trying to follow in my admittedly large footsteps. I wondered- I couldn't help but wonder … if you were scared, if you wanted to recuse from the case when the threats were made, but only proceeded because I, the criticisms I’ve made of you, the indomitable facade I exert, made you think … made you think that you had too.”

A large tear rolled down his cheek, trailing slowly down the wrinkles in his aged face. Alex was frozen in place, cradling her injured hand in her lap with her other. 

She stared at him blankly, and realized too that the earlier numb expression he had donned wasn't from any sort of indifference, but because his face stilled into a mask when he was overcome by emotion- a behavior they both shared.

“You could've died that night, because of a case you thought you needed to prosecute, in a job I encouraged you to pursue, despite knowing the threats that are made against attorneys.” His voice was now hoarse, and the skin around his eyes was turning an overt red. “You could've died scared and with regrets because you were trying to fill my expectations, because you thought I wouldn't be as proud of you if you had stepped away. I couldn't handle that, Alexandra, you … you could've died.”

He was crying now, really crying. The tears falling down his face were indistinguishable from each other as they blended into a track of water down his broad face. He reached into his pocket to withdraw his glasses case, using the cloth inside which was intended to clean the glasses he wasn't wearing to wipe at his eyes. 

“I am only a man,” he repeated, “And by now, I’m an old one. I am helpless, trying to handle that you could have had the rest of your life stolen from you, and that I contributed to the situation that led you into the path of that bullet. If I had needed to attend the funeral of my own … my own very beloved niece, who was murdered trying to make me proud of her … who died, without knowing of the high regard I had long since held her in … Alexandra, I would not have survived that.” 

Alex took her glasses off slowly, because she was now also crying. Her shoulders shook softly with concealed sobs, parallel to the ones her uncle was similarly exhibiting. Blonde hair felt soft and loose on her scalp when she ran a hand through her hair, at an utter loss for words.

“I’m alive,” she whispered finally.

He licked his very dry lips and stared down at the plates full of food neither of them had considered in quite a while because he couldn't bring himself to look at her, at the blue eyes that were so reminiscent of his own when he was her age. She could only look at him because her eyes were so full of tears, all she could see was a blurry silhouette.

“I thank God every morning that you are,” he responded to her finally, his grave voice thickened and distorted with anguish.

Neither spoke for a long while. 

Uncle Bill began eating because he needed to fill his mouth with something other than the bitter taste on his tongue, Alex dabbed gently at her eyes with a tablecloth, thanking the universe for waterproof mascara. It was mutually recognized that they needed to take a minute to breathe, to coexist, in quiet sanctity after both had become so emotionally overcome. 

Logically she should've known that her uncle had an emotional bone in his body, but with the idealized version she had spent years looking up too, it being laid bare for her was still a shock she hadn't yet recovered from. He was now vulnerable, and was trying to grapple with the stone that covered his face cracking after decades of affirming it to be one and the same with himself. 

Alex expected her to be the one to restart the dialogue, but yet again, her uncle surprised her. 

“I know I can't keep you chained down, Alexandra.” He sighed, although he kept avoiding her gaze, “It would be pointless to try, and more than that, it would be depriving the world of someone exceptional.” 

“You’re being very kind,” she said quietly, unable to form anything profound to express the depth to which his words of praise affected her. Her uncle never made his approval so overt, but then again, he had broken a damn lot of ‘never’s over this pristine tablecloth. 

“Forgive me,” She opened her mouth, and then closed it again alongside her eyes, smoothing her hands over her face and trying to ground herself with the feeling of it. Her uncle, the gilded, idealized, unconquerable statue, had cracked himself wide open to show her how much she was worth to him. It was too much to process so quickly. 

“Forgive me for being inconsiderate,” Alex breathed, then, after a long moment. “I don't know how to apologize properly. For assuming the worst motive behind your objections to me returning, for being so headstrong when we needed to have a real conversation.” 

“I am not an easy man to converse with,” he muttered, “And especially not when it comes to emotional matters.” 

Alex began to eat quietly. She had only ordered a salad, so it hadn't gone cold, although some of the dressing had seeped through the leaves and pooled at the bottom of the shallow bowl. Her uncle ate steak as though he was a robot programmed to do so. At this point, his food must have long since cooled off. 

“I accept your apology in regards to my intentions,” her uncle said finally, after his plate had been cleared, “And I hope you forgive me too for not disclosing … how I felt to you before now. You’ve spent weeks in the dark without knowing why, of course you would be frustrated.” 

Alex swallowed, placing her fork gently down on the plate as she had decided she had eaten her fill, and gazed down at the tablecloth like she wanted to try to find something there.

“I do,” she whispered eventually, “I accept your apology. It must be very hard, being vulnerable for my sake. I appreciate it immensely.” 

He could only provide her with a solemn nod. 

“Uncle,” she leaned forward on her elbows, placing her hands on the intertwined knuckles of her hands, “For most of my life, I’ve felt as though I was obliged to follow your will. I won't deny that. But tonight, for the first time, I will ask you something, not because I feel obligated to act in accordance with your approval, but … because, as your family and as someone who loves you, I … I want to.” 

His eyes, which had iced back over into his more normal expression as he ate, softened again when he looked up at her, and he followed suit in placing his utensils back on the table. 

“Perhaps, in my youth, I wanted to be a lawyer because you were my role model and I wanted to be just like you,” Alex admitted quietly. It was the sort of admission that, although both already knew that, still felt vulnerable to say openly.

“But as my career developed, and when I was placed in the sex crimes division, I felt myself and my aspirations develop. I worked with wonderful people and uplifted a great many who needed the protection I could provide. I am aware that this work can be dangerous, difficult and taxing, but I don't feel at all as though I’m doing it because I have something to prove, not anymore. I want to make you proud, but I also want to do this. It gives me a sense of purpose; and I enjoy it.” 

She took a deep, clearing breath, and glanced up to see if he was still looking at her- he was, and his eyes were filled with a great empathy.

“... I can't promise that I’ll back away from cases that may put me in danger, because I won't. You asked me earlier if I thought I had something to lose, and I do. I have a great deal to lose, because I have had a very fortunate life- however, that makes protecting those who haven't been as lucky as I all that much more meaningful to me.” 

He nodded. He understood her.

“You have always been beyond important to me,” Alex murmured quietly. “If you truly believe my work will bring you such grief, if you'll wake up and worry about me, I’m sure I would find another way to help people the way I have been, without the risks I have been taking.” 

It was late in the restaurant, it was now quiet and starting to empty out as the other diners began to take their leave. Some tables were replaced with newcomers, others stayed empty. Waitresses in fancy clothes bustled about, but it seemed as though the workers understood something vital was happening at their table, and left them alone. Alex didn't perceive any of this. Her attention was wholly and entirely fixated on the greyed blue eyes sitting across from her, on the uncle who she had learned so much about over the duration of a few short hours.

“In my heart, I know I want to return to my previous position,” she spoke slowly, meaningfully, anxiety prickling at her stomach, “but I also know that to feel satisfied with it, I need your blessing.” 

“The bald eagle is a symbol of American bravery,” her uncle said without much hesitation, his voice gruff but much clearer now. “I will provide you the conclusions I’ve drawn from this discussion with a metaphor.” 

She nodded, and resigned to give him a moment to collect his thoughts, but he seemed not to need it now.

“Despite the way we revere the eagle for all the traits we deem admirable- bravery, strength, agility, liveliness, the sense of intimidation- humanity has rendered their species endangered. Pesticides are a major issue, among other things.” 

He let her sit with that notion for a moment, the dramatic emphasis a mannerism he had long since developed in all his years of practice with the law. 

“But to clip their wings, and keep them in gilded cages so we can ensure they will never die … It would be depriving them of the ability to display the attributes that made them so admirable in the first place. Dangerous as it may be for them, in a man’s world which is so full of poison, we must let them soar. We have a duty to watch over them, protect them as well as we can, without impeding on the freedom we associate with them.” 

He picked up his goblet of wine and swirled it once, watching the liquid as though trying to tell a fortune with the motion. 

“Fly, Alexandra,” he said, and then he downed the rest of his drink, “Spread your vast wings and sink your talons into those who oppose you. I have no doubt you’ll go unimaginably far.” 

And then he looked up at her again, at his niece, the only person in his life who had ever been interested in the stories he had to tell and the guidance he wanted to give without the ulterior motives of greed or personal ambition, the woman he had helped a little sparkly-eyed girl grow up into, the closest thing he considered he had to a child of his own.

“But please,” her uncle said simply, “Try your best to fly home.”

[babylon-crashing]

֍ Justice – Card XI

TITLE: The Pearlscale Magistrate / 珠秤判官 (Zhū Chèng Pànguān)

MYTHIC ARCHETYPE: Mazu’s Ghost-light Admiral

TAOIST PARALLEL: Bao Zheng (包拯), the legendary "Iron-Faced Judge" of Song Dynasty, merged with Mazu’s Tide-Scribe—a dead scholar who records karmic debts in coral ledger books.

PIRATE TWIST: His court is an empty beach at low tide – the accused have only until the waters return to prove their innocence.

WHY JUSTICE? He doesn’t need to be alive to see guilt; he listens to how the waves echo in a liar’s chest.

TAOIST PIRATE SYMBOLISM

KEYWORDS (Upright):

Cháo píng (潮平, "tide-balance")—natural law as inevitable as moonpull.

The coral gavel (珊瑚槌, shānhú chuí)—its strike summons truth-telling eels.

"Saltwater oaths" (鹹水誓, xiánshuǐ shì)—broken vows crystallize on the tongue.

KEYWORDS (Reversed):

Wèi zhāng (偽漲, "false tide")—fabricated evidence.

Yāo gào (妖告, "phantom testimony")—lies that dissolve like sea foam.

The hollow pearl (空珠, kōng zhū)—justice delayed until the next typhoon.

INTERPRETATION: This card is karma’s tide table. The Magistrate’s verdicts aren’t decided—they’re revealed by how the ship lists.

RITUAL: THE CORAL LEDGER (珊瑚賬, Shānhú Zhàng)

(Inspired by Ming maritime law and Taoist debt-reckoning rites)

PURPOSE: To weigh a moral dilemma with tidal impartiality.

MATERIALS:

Two whale ear bones (or uneven stones).

A length of fishing net (or red thread).

Saltwater in a brass bowl.

Ink & brush (or a sharp shell).

STEPS:

Carve your dilemma onto the bones—one side per bone.

Tie them to the net, creating a primitive scale. Suspend it over the bowl.

Pour saltwater until one bone sinks and the other rises.

The lighter bone holds your true path.

Bury the sunk bone—its truth is settled. Carry the risen bone for 3 tides as counsel.

PARALLEL MYTHOLOGY

TITLE: The Arbiter of Dreams / The Scale of the Reed Beds

MYTHIC ARCHETYPE: Nanshe (Sumerian Goddess of Social Justice)

REGION: Ancient Mesopotamia (Sumer)

FORM: A powerful goddess, daughter of Enki (the god of wisdom, magic, and fresh water). Her sacred animals were birds and fish. Her center of worship was in the city of Lagash, a city of canals and marshes near the Persian Gulf.

TALE: Nanshe was no distant sky-god. Her justice was compassionate and hands-on. She was known as the one "who knows the orphan, who knows the widow, knows the oppression of man over man." She was the protector of the socially vulnerable. Furthermore, she was a goddess of prophecy and the chief interpreter of dreams, using them to reveal truths and render fair judgments. At the New Year festival, people would come to her temple to have their dreams interpreted and their disputes settled.

WHY JUSTICE? Nanshe is Justice in action. She represents the search for truth (interpreting dreams), the weighing of actions (judging disputes), and the upholding of fairness, with a special emphasis on protecting those who cannot protect themselves. Her connection to water places her perfectly in our deck, and her role as a dream interpreter gives a mystical, intuitive layer to the cold logic often associated with the Justice card.

INTERPRETATION THROUGH NANSHE: This card signifies that a moment of truth has arrived. All actions have consequences, and now is the time they will be weighed. Nanshe asks you to act with absolute integrity. Are you being fair to others and to yourself? Are you honoring your responsibilities, especially to those who are vulnerable? The truth of the situation will be revealed, perhaps in an unexpected way, like a dream. Be prepared to face the clear, unvarnished facts and act accordingly.

THE RITUAL OF NANSHE'S SCALES (For Seeking a Just Path)

OBJECTIVE: To find a fair and true perspective on a situation where you are conflicted or where a difficult judgment must be made.

MATERIALS:

Two identical bowls or cups.

Two small, equal-sized pieces of paper and a pen.

Water.

AN OFFERING: A small amount of grain (barley, flour) or a piece of bread, representing the agricultural staples of Mesopotamia.

STEPS:

STATING THE CASE: Find a quiet place. Fill both bowls with an equal amount of water. On one piece of paper, write down one side of the argument/situation as objectively as possible. On the other paper, write the other side. Fold them and do not worry about which is which.

THE INVOCATION: Hold the offering in your hand. Address the archetype with respect. "Nanshe, Daughter of Wise Enki, She Who Knows the Orphan and the Widow, I seek your clarity. I have a matter to be weighed, and I wish to find the path of truth and fairness. Witness this rite and grant me wisdom." Place the offering between the two bowls.

THE WEIGHING: Place one folded paper into each bowl of water. Now, place your hands palm-up under the bowls, as if you are the scales of Justice. Close your eyes. Don't try to "feel" a physical weight. Instead, feel the emotional and moral weight of the situation you have created. Acknowledge the gravity of both sides. Simply hold the balance for a few minutes in silent contemplation. Your goal is not to find the answer now, but to present the case fairly to the judge.

THE DREAM PLEA: After holding the balance, open your eyes. Speak to the bowls. "The case is presented. The scales are balanced. Nanshe, Arbiter of Dreams, I ask you to carry this matter into my sleep. Reveal to me the truth I need to see. Grant me a dream of clarity."

CLOSING: Leave the bowls with the papers in them by your bedside overnight. Before you sleep, your last thought should be of opening yourself to receive a truthful dream. In the morning, before you do anything else, write down any dreams you had, no matter how strange. The answer to your dilemma may be hidden there symbolically. Dispose of the water and papers by returning them to the earth. The judgment will come.

SYNCRETIC BRIDGE

Nanshe’s Scales → Taoist Chèng (秤, "balance"): Both use water to reveal weightless truths.

Dream Prophecy → Tide-Divination (占潮, zhān cháo): Ming sailors read verdicts in wave patterns.

THE "SCHOLAR'S HEART" MANDATE:

Sources: "Hymn to Nanshe," a Sumerian cuneiform text that explicitly details her social justice functions. See: Samuel Noah Kramer's “History Begins at Sumer” and Thorkild Jacobsen's The Treasures of Darkness” provide deep context for her role in Mesopotamian religion. For the ritual see: Zheng He’s Maritime Code—the first international sea laws, enforced by Mazu’s priests as well as: 《閩海過渡秘錄》 [Secret Records of Fujian Sea Transitions], 1793.

[vettelsvee]

Can I ask what made you think that anything about Mclaren’s decisions from today felt like prioritizing either driver? I haven’t seen all your posts so you might’ve answered this before, I just personally don’t feel like Lando was prioritized over Oscar solely because he was in front. He qualified in front and kept it by merit bc Oscar was never able to get close enough to overtake. Not Oscar’s fault, just how the track/cars were today. Mclaren said they were free to race, so I don’t really feel like the team did anything wrong on that front. The pit stops…another story. But driver management this time around seemed fairly neutral in my opinion

of course!

i never said anything about prioritizing a driver specifically today (they were free to race and that was absolutely ok, we’re still early in the championship), i was just saying that in a hypothetical situation, if it was lando in oscar’s position and he had more pace than oscar, and said over radio he could try overtake max and then ask for a swap, they would have done it because, from my perspective, they sell us this thing of “two #1 drivers” when they always tend to favour lando mostly (kinda get it? he’s been in the team since his debut so… yeah)

as i also said yesterday, if lando qualified p2 and oscar, p3, is absolutely ok and brilliant for lando! he was faster than oscar on qualy even they both committed mistakes that definitely didn’t make them get that pole position and then turn it into a race win

i might be an oscar stan, but i know how to be impartial and recognise when he commits mistakes and doesn’t perform well enough and fully to his potential (just like any other driver on my stan list), you just have to see me criticising them when they fuck up 😭

[justfandomwritings]

An essay on why I won’t be watching next season.

1. Obviously actors have to promote their shows and hype them up. But the interactions between Nicola and Luke during the press tour were, in retrospect, clearly also acting performances, and it is rare to see acting within the press tour to the degree that those two put on while grossly exaggerating things like how sexy this season would be or how much Polin we would get. I don’t blame them. It’s clearly what they were told to do. And it’s fine to hype a show, but I think a lot of people felt genuinely lied to with the WAY this season was hyped.

2. The casting has been color conscious and inclusive in a way I greatly admire. But they have not been inclusive in other ways. And that’s not to say they should have to be. One show shouldn’t bear the responsibility of being inclusive to everyone and making up for an industries worth of exclusion. But we have exactly one size inclusive character in this whole show, and I’m not even demanding more, but to butcher the season of the only size inclusive person in this show this badly and in these ways sends me a clear message of what the writers thought they could get away with with a curvy actress and how they saw her.

3. The wait times for this season and next season are just too long. The hype dies down too much between seasons such that we care less and less each time we get a new one, especially when you only give eight episodes, regardless of their length. You know who also gave us a season in 2022 and then an eight episode season this year? house of the dragon. And they have to CGI a fuck ton of dragons. Yall were sitting on this season being done filming for over a year and for what? What did you do in post? A bee? And then to have the audacity to do it in two parts? Fuck off.

4. Add to that. The costumes and new sets looked so much cheaper this season than previous seasons. Where did the budget go.

5. The plot is too crowded. Maybe you thought a curvy girl couldn’t carry a season. Maybe it was bad writing. Obviously you needed Cressida and Eloise to have decent amounts of screen time but you also did half of Francesca’s story and set one up for Violet and Benedict that collectively took the majority of the screen time and left us with very little Pen and Colin. Which was a disservice you never gave Anthony or Daphne’s seasons and was why they were good. We got enough crumbs of the others to tell us what was happening but not enough to make them feel like main characters or to make it feel like an ensemble show. There were leads in season 1 and 2. This season it was an ensemble with too many moving parts. But everyone’s said that. It’s not surprising.

6. My biggest problem is the tone. The blame. Admittedly I’m a woman who relates strongly to Penelope so I’m not impartial here. But for a character who spends her entire life being abused by every single person in this show, who is pushed to her absolute breaking point before finally giving her mother and the tonne a taste of their own medicine. For that character to receive no grace, no understanding, no respect, for the vast majority of the season hurt. To not only have zero understanding of her situation but to frame the entire plot of the show around the fact that SHE alone should be sorry. To have minimal to no groveling from Colin over what he said last season, to have no acknowledgment of how he treated her as a safety net, to humanize Cressida who made her life hell with minimal acknowledgment of that fact, to have Eloise get ONE comment from Cressida of all people about her friendship with Penelope but no real reflection from Eloise or acknowledgment on her part or apologies for what a truly SHIT friend she was for DECADES. That hurt. Because the message is that sure, they can push you to your fucking limit, you can break after years of being bullied for your weight and your looks and your status. Your own mother and sisters hands can be filthy with insults and abuse. Your friends can treat you like utter garbage for years. They can befriend your bullies. Your soon to be husband can, very recently, insult you to his friends behind your back. But you owe them the apology for breaking after years of abuse. It’s not that the tonne couldn’t be angry or that they all should’ve fallen at Pen’s feet. It’s that those arguments never happen at all because once again, just like when she was being used and abused by everyone, everything was put on Penelope. And the cycle continues.

7. Colin should’ve groveled more. I know I said that in the previous point but it really ruined things for me so I want to emphasize it. I wanted that man on his knees the whole season, and I should’ve known I wasn’t gonna get that when y’all dropped the list of songs and there wasn’t any of the A List Yearners on the list. But I’m still mad.

8. Actually that’s a good point. Did anyone else think the songs didn’t go as hard this year? Except Pitbull were we excited about any of them?

9. You did the Pride and Prejudice ballroom trick with the dancing alone thing and you didn’t nail it. If you’re gonna do that trick it has to fucking HIT. (And it has to be enemies to lovers.) And you did it half assed. You should be ashamed.

10. There was a two second window there when Cressida asked the maid for help where I thought they were gonna swap lives and the maid would go with her aunt and Cressida would become a maid and I was like “holy fuck is Cressida gonna become Bennys love interest?” and that would’ve been better than what y’all did I think. And it would’ve justified her excessive screen time.

11. I love gender swapping Michaela and making Francesca bi. We love it. But why was Francesca immediately interested. Once again the writers don’t understand pining. Michaela is PINING for Francesca and can do nothing but love her from afar. Francesca loved John completely and whole heartedly. Michaela was a beautiful love story for her but was also a second chance. She loved John completely. She would never have an emotional affair on him. How did you immediately ruin such a beautiful second chance romance?

12. Where was Pen’s friendship with Anthony or Lady Danbury? Why wasn’t Colin proud of Pen the way he was in the book? To make her even more alone? To emphasize that she was alone and at fault and helpless? Fuck off.

I just don’t have it in me to watch this show deteriorate further.

[writingsbychlo]

okay but the world needs a how would the 🐍 boys react to a taylor swift concert (and if you categorized them by album i would also not be mad)

😘💋

for you, my love? anything 😌

slytherin boys + taylor swift concert/albums

draco: draco is impartial. it’s not his typical music taste but he will hum to songs when you play them, he knows you like them. he hires someone to make sure he gets really good tickets and says you can take anyone when he surprises you with them. when you say you want to take him, he fucking loves it. he doesn’t show it, but knowing you’d share something so special with him, it makes him so happy. would wear a basic fit, lets be real. would pay someone to custom make your outfit for your favourite album, though. also, he bought tickets to a tour spot of a place you’ve always wanted to visit and he makes it a whole vacation. splashes cash for extra packages. rich boy vibes. he’d never admit it to anyone but he has listened to All Too Well (10 min version) when he’s in his emo moments.

he’s giving Red, though, and would make the effort to sing along to any songs he knows enough of just to see you smile. like tell me he isn’t giving the youthful innocence of 22 but also I Knew You Were Trouble, like???

mattheo: has an alarm set for tickets and tries to get them so eagerly with you. again, not his usual music taste, but his has been known to scream-sing Shake It Off when drunk. would wear a toned down outfit to match whatever you’re wearing and would absolutely wear any bracelets you make him. holds all your belongings so you don’t have to worry about anything. holds your hand the whole time and sings with you. you’d stay in a fancy hotel overnight the day before and after, he wanted to make it special. buys matching tour hoodies with you.

he’s giving Fearless, like lets be real, The Way I Loved You was written for him. he isn’t ashamed to admit he loves that album, though. that dedication of slightly toxic but mostly just obsessed love, sweet and adorable first love feelings, y’know?

theo: asked if you’d seen there was a tour coming up and chuckled at your excitement when you screamed yes. gets tickets when you don’t manage to and makes a joke like ‘how many boyfriend points did this just earn me?’ spoiler: it’s a lot. wears all your bracelets that you make on one arm and helps you make trades with people. researches the set list to make sure he knows all the lyrics to any possible songs that might play so he can sing with you, but already knows quite a lot. not ashamed to listen to her if he’s with you or missing you. buys you any merch you want, has so many bags to be taken home.

his album is Folklore, just because I think the hazy indie suit him. august is friends-to-lovers with him after spending the summer with his family in italy. change my mind, you can’t.

enzo: baby boy goes all out for this. he’s so lover coded, but he knows all the albums very well. listens to her music with or without you and is proud of it. you sat together to book tickets and try to double your chances and it worked. not only wears and trades bracelets but makes them with you, makes his own set to swap with people too. looks for celebrities and gets to excited when he spots them. he’s the kinda guy to propose during Love Story. matching outfits, matching merch. you guys both have lost your voices the next day and he can’t stop grinning about it. is convinced taylor made eye contact with him. would wear a custom outfit with you, too.

his album is Lover. no doubt. he’s a cutie pie and he’s so pastel-sunshine-sparkles-love. Paper Rings? he belts that. You Need To Calm Down? he bodies it with so much sass just to see you giggle. London Boy? I don’t even need to say.

tom: hears you didn’t get tickets and starts pulling strings to get them for you because you were sad. tries to be casual and just leave them on your desk one day, but can’t help his smile when you burst into his dorm at 11pm and kiss him stupid for it. is willing to let you pick his outfit as long as you make it ‘normal’. you guys match but in a subtle way. like mattheo, books a hotel for before and after, and also will hold your things. doesn’t sing along but he’s not a buzzkill, y’know? stands with his arms wrapped around your waist the whole time, sways slightly to the music for you. he will spin you occasionally. so defensive when you’re looking at merch, growls at someone to fuck off while they still have teeth for telling you to hurry up and pick. gets a hoodie when you tell him it would look good on him and actually wears it for you. also buys the special packages like sound checks etc.

Reputation. you’re gonna look me in my eyes and tell me Look What You Made Me Do isn’t his anthem? if he had a gun to his head he would name that as his favourite song.

bonus for you bc we’re talking abt him right now: all I’m gonna say is reggie + enchanted. that’s it, that’s all.