#dear operator au

[countthelions]

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: W. D. Gaster & Grillby, W. D. Gaster/Grillby Characters: W. D. Gaster, Grillby (Undertale), Original Characters Additional Tags: Papyrus makes a small (yet important) appearance but not enough to be a main tag, Monsters and Humans live on the surface together, Grillby is a summoned elemental, War time, college student gaster, eventually there's some love but it's mostly shenanigans, it's all vaguely a trans analogy i suppose Summary:

When Gaster accidentally creates an elemental, there's a lot of panic. First off, elementals are only supposed to be created (and used) to support the war effort. Secondly, he's destroyed the lab. Okay but that first part is a /lot/ more important and he needs to find a solution for it - fast.

#FINALLY getting this bad boy posted for yall #it's been hiding away too long #lionwrites #grillster #grillby #gaster #w.d. gaster #wd gaster #dear operator au #there's a fic within that tag i think that'll be spoilers for a future chapter but XD is what it is

[thedeadthree]

🌿 YELENA VORONIN (fo3) in the commonwealth, thrilled to at last have all her friends in one place to have the holiday party she’s always wanted!!!!!

🚄 MIKA MINEGISHI (bullet train) thrilled now that the man who stole her birthright has bit the dust.. now she’s spending all of his money! good for her!

🕰 EDELGARD VANDERWEYDEN (fernweh saga) visiting her family in germany for the holidays with reese! and still very adamant she is not head over heels. <3

🧥 ISIDORA VARGAS née dalí (call of duty) can’t stand holiday parties but her and alejandro invited the besties and her and her spouse have a contest for who’s the better gift giver and she will win.

TAGGED BY the darlings @risingsh0t, @jacobseed, @chuckhansen, @echo3-1, @shellibisshe, @leviiackrman and @jendoe to do the dears in this cutest meiker! ty ty! <3

TAGGING: @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @kingsroad, @aartyom, @unholymilf, @denerims, @arklay, @morvaris, @queennymeria, @adelaidedrubman, @marivenah, @florbelles, @phillipsgraves, @confidentandgood, @leondaltons, @thee-morrigan, @yennas, @jackiesarch, @veisshaupt and you!

#only if you want to! 🤍🕊 #oc: yelena voronin #oc: mika minegishi #oc: isidora khalida dali #there she is! introducing bullet train dearie! she needs a cute operator name (I’m open to suggestions skjzjxh) but! she! #im a bit tardy so please feel free to pass if you’ve done this already!!!! ✨🤧🌿☺️ #TOMORROW IS EDDIES BIRTHDAY HAPPY EARLY DAY M’DEAR 🤍🤍😖 so i had to include her in honor of that! #u deserve all of the cute danish pastries eddie m’love ✨😖 #its like a whole contest every year between isi and ale sjjzhzh and she will! win! #its also likely the first holiday as well with the gang that she can bring ale to so the stakes are HIGH kssjhx #she thinks holiday parties are pretentious aksjxhxh queenie! #i will have the asoiaf babies in the next one i have 🤍😖🕯 featured the non fantasy babies for this onee!! #YOU STILL HAVENT FOOLED NOT A SOUL MY LOVE Kajzhxhx i mean the nonstop heart eyes at the funeral??? REMEMBER THAT EDDIE? ✨🤡🤍🥴 my baby! #mika THRIVING knowing that her plan worked (though not like she hoped she was looking to zero him herself but! it’s fine!) #and u know what! good for her! as she should! 🤍🤍☺️ #i have a couple people in mind to set up with her hehe <3 (we can already assume one from the 🍊 aesthetics she has <3) #YELENAA babieeee! i miss her so much! her and the d*ragon a*ge dears ✨😖 #this could also be so cute for no wasteland!yelena as well? a doctor helping people just like her dad in her canon and au 🤍🤍🥹🌿 YOU ANGEL YOU #leg.tagged #leg.ocs #t: picrews #OH THIS WAS SO CUUTE AHH ✨🥺 ty ty! totally not considering returning to this with like a modern au for the asoiaf babies u know? ✨👀🤍🥹 #IM MOVING AT A SNAILS PACE CATCHING UP BUT AHH GRATEFUL FOR ALL OF U ✨🤧

[jjunieworld]

ALL FOR A BET ⸝ ˚⋆

pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader

featuring — the rest of txt, yunjin & sakura from le sserafim, jake & sunghoon from enhypen

genre: smau + written, non!idol au, college au, angst, slight unrequited love, fluff, eventual smut

synopsis: choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. you... not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can't get you to date him in a month. unfortunately for you, you're a hopeless romantic.

warnings: swearing, some bullying, drinking/alcohol, sexual innuendos, lots of love confessions, at some point soobin gets on his knees and begs, some blackmailing, lots of fighting (check chapters for warnings!)

status: complete┊schedule: thurdays, sundays, whenever started: 12/16/23┊ended: 2/22/24 taglist: closed. note: inspired by pink in the night by mitski (more of the general vibes than an actual inspiration)

profiles. the romantics┊the it group

00. prologue ⸝ ˚⋆ 01. oh “dear diary” ⸝ ˚⋆ 02. at 6pm tomorrow ⸝ ˚⋆ 03. spongebob character headass ⸝ ˚⋆ 04. tainted ⸝ ˚⋆ 05. white girl wasted!!!! ⸝ ˚⋆ 06. ghosting ⸝ ˚⋆ 07. wtf is your issue? ⸝ ˚⋆ 08. empty ⸝ ˚⋆ 09. more than anything ⸝ ˚⋆ 10. my beautiful y/n ⸝ ˚⋆ 11. coolest kidz on da block! ⸝ ˚⋆ 12. can you fight?? ⸝ ˚⋆ 13. heart eyes ⸝ ˚⋆ 14. analyzed ⸝ ˚⋆ 15. pink in the night ⸝ ˚⋆ 16. i’ve hacked the system ⸝ ˚⋆ 17. sighs loudly ⸝ ˚⋆ 18. in the clouds ⸝ ˚⋆ 19. backup plan ⸝ ˚⋆ 20. icarus ⸝ ˚⋆ 21. half alive ⸝ ˚⋆ 22. safe space ⸝ ˚⋆ 23. spontaneous movie night ⸝ ˚⋆ 24. the beating heart ⸝ ˚⋆ 25. operation: get him back ⸝ ˚⋆ 26. cmon carrie underwood! ⸝ ˚⋆ 27. the elevator ⸝ ˚⋆ 28. i was right ⸝ ˚⋆ 29. a serious chat ⸝ ˚⋆ 30. it’s not love ⸝ ˚⋆ 31. we are so back!!! ⸝ ˚⋆ 32. just ask and i’ll show you ⸝ ˚⋆ 33. cornered me ⸝ ˚⋆ 34. get a room ⸝ ˚⋆ 35. at 6pm tomorrow (reprise) ⸝ ˚⋆

epilogue. notes between the fabrics

© jjunieworld - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

masterlist┊request rules

#📼 — ALL FOR A BET ⸝ ˚⋆ #txt x reader #txt smau #txt #txt social media au #txt scenarios #txt imagines #choi soobin x reader #choi soobin smau #soobin x reader #soobin #soobin x y/n #txt soobin #kpop social media au #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop smau #kpop #txt beomgyu #txt huening kai #txt yeonjun #txt taehyun #le sserafim yunjin #le sserafim sakura #enhypen jake sim #enhypen sunghoon #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together social media au #tomorrow x together imagines #kpop x reader

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Rollo Flamme - Student Council President Robes Vignette

"...How carefree."

[Noble Bell College – Bell Tower Interior]

Rollo: Sigh… There is a slight chill. In addition, the sun is rising later as each day passes.

Rollo: Heh… This is a wonderful season. The time I must spend exchanging idle prattle with my idiotic classmates grows shorter.

Rollo: Now, before everyone awakens, I will do what I can to fulfill my duties.

Rollo: …And it would be a nuisance if I were to be spotted by those irritating bunch, as well.

[Noble Bell College – Bell Tower Upstairs]

[gargoyles clanking around]

Rollo: AUGH, SILENCE! You blasted gargoyles.

Rollo: All your merry romping is completely undignified. Can you not settle down for even a single moment?

[gargoyles happily clanking around]

Rollo: Ugh, yes, I will be sure to tend to you all next weekend. After all, I cannot tolerate abandoning a task that I have taken on.

Rollo: If you understand, then leave me be. I have more important matters to attend to.

[gargoyles clank away]

Rollo: …Finally, they've left. Good grief, they are indeed a troublesome group.

Rollo: It is repulsive enough that they operate on magic, but they are much worse in conjunction with all that atrocious noise...

Rollo: If their whole purpose of existence were not to protect the bell tower, I would have long ignored those hunks of stone.

Rollo: …Would you not agree, dear Bell of Salvation?

Rollo: Heheh. You are as beautiful as ever today.

Rollo: How wonderful it would be if everyone were just like you.

Rollo: You ring when you should ring and are silent when you should be silent. Nothing could be more appropriate and certain.

Rollo: …Ah. The sun will rise soon.

Rollo: I should finish cleaning before the bell ringers arrive.

Rollo: Please bestow upon us your beautiful resounding tones again today, dear Bell of Salvation.

[Noble Bell College – Courtyard]

Rollo: It's finally time for lunch.

Rollo: This should be a good distance away so I would not have to suffer the prattling of those unpleasant mages. I shall rest here…

???: Oh, President, here you are!

Rollo: Hm?

Vice President: I was searching for you, Rollo-kaichō. Why are you eating your lunch all the way out here?

Rollo: Oh, it's you…

Vice President: I see you're having bread for lunch. I never see you in the cafeteria, so I had no idea.

Rollo: That's right.

Rollo: 2 croissants and 16 singular grapes, as well as one cup of café au lait.

Rollo: That's all. That is my lunch every single day, 365 days a year.

Vice President: Eh, every day? YOU HAVE THE SAME THING FOR LUNCH EVERY DAY!?

Rollo: With a strict routine, I am able to forgo any unnecessary desires. It is rather refreshing. I wholeheartedly recommend you try it as well.

Vice President: I-I don't think I could do it. I'd probably get tired of the same stuff quickly.

Rollo: …How unfortunate that you are not a kindred spirit. More importantly, you had some business of me?

Vice President: Ah, right. Your professor was searching for you just a moment ago.

Vice President: It sounds like they wanted your permission to publish in a newspaper the essay you wrote on your impressions of that one book.

Rollo: A newspaper? …You wouldn't happen to be referring to the "Shaftlands News," that I read for my morning paper, would you?

Vice President: That's right. It's absolutely amazing that you'll be featured in such a big newspaper! That's Rollo-kaichō for you!

Vice President: I also heard that you were the only one who received a perfect score on the Potionology test in today's class.

Rollo: Hmph. It's nothing of import.

Vice President: No need to be so humble! Why, just the other day, you even brought to bloom a water blossom that is said to be very difficult to cultivate. The professors were very impressed.

Vice President: I truly hold you in high regard. There is no other mage at this school that has as much exceptional expertise as you!

Rollo: Is that so? …How ironic.

Vice President: Is something the matter?

Rollo: Nothing of concern. Rather, thank you for your message. Sorry to have caused you trouble.

Vice President: Not at all! But since I'm here, could I take lunch with you?

Rollo: …Well, I am just about done eating. I will be heading right to the professor's office now.

Rollo: Forgive me, but I must head out. We can partake in lunch together some other time.

Vice President: Alright. Then, we'll do it some other time!

[Noble Bell College – Lecture Hall]

Rollo: …How carefree. Why would he speak to me so familiarly, when he cannot even understand my thoughts…?

Rollo: Ah, but there is no time to dwell on that. I must head towards the staff room.

[City of Flowers]

[enters store]

Rollo: Hello.

Rollo: …Yes, that's correct. I would like to order the usual letterhead and envelope. Yes, one of the white ones.

Rollo: …Heh, I agree. Even if it may be considered an anachronism, I believe letters are wonderful tools.

Rollo: It may not be as convenient as sending an e-mail or making a phone call, but with more care and thought placed into each word, one can avoid any careless language.

Rollo: Hm? There is a cheaper stationary set similar to this one, from a different maker? …No, I am perfectly content with my usual fare.

Rollo: I could not bring myself to change the physical appearance of the letter after writing them for so long. I prefer to keep my things consistent and orderly, after all.

Rollo: …Yes, indeed. Thank you for everything, as always. Goodbye.

[leaves store]

Rollo: …A superb shopkeeper. As one would expect from a resident of the city that the Righteous Judge loved so.

Rollo: As a student of Noble Bell College, I must strive to be just as noble.

Rollo: …This city is a pleasant place to reside. The people are amiable, and the scenery is fantastic.

Rollo: However, all these beautiful flowers were originally cultivated with magic…

Rollo: Flowers… Magic…

Rollo: Mheh… Hehehe… Hehehehe…

Goat: Baa, baa.

Rollo: Hm, a goat, is it? What do you hope to gain from nestling up against me?

Rollo: Perhaps you are hungry. Unfortunately, I don't have anything that you could eat.

Rollo: If you are hoping for me to feed you, you would be better off finding someone else…

Goat: Baaa～

Rollo: What? …Are you attempting to snatch my stationary!?

Rollo: How vile… No, you cannot have it. I am very partial to this specific stationary.

Rollo: Moreover, eating paper will cause you digestive issues. I shan't think any less of you. You should give u… Hey, let go this instance!

Goat: Baaa～～

Rollo: You wretched goat! If you do not release my papers, I will have to just…!

Rollo: Ah. No, there are too many people who may see…

Rollo: If you weren't a creature cherished by this city, I wouldn't hesitate to send you flying.

Rollo: Consider this a narrow escape.

Goat: BAAA!

Rollo: Don't you dare gnaw on my robe! I may find the City of Flowers to be spectacular in and of itself, however I cannot approve of these unsanitary conditions.

[Noble Bell College – Student Board Room]

Rollo: "In conclusion, I am doing as well as ever. My best wishes to you both, as well." …

Rollo: …Perhaps that is a tad too formal.

Rollo: No matter. It is enough for my parents to hear that I am doing well here.

Rollo: They have always been worrisome…

Rollo: Much too worrisome… Ever since…

Rollo: …

Rollo: The fire…

Rollo: …

Rollo: …Well. I suppose I could provide additional updates in the letter.

Rollo: I'm certain I will be unable to fall asleep sufficiently tonight, at any rate. I'll continue revising it as much as possible.

Rollo: I have nothing but time, after all…

Requested by @raven-at-the-writing-desk.

#twisted wonderland #twst #rollo flamme #twst rollo #twst translation #twst glorious masquerade

[writingstoraes]

world champion 🏆

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine/social media au

notes: my first insta and f1 imagine! been in a writing slump so i thought id give this a try :]] not proofread nor revised pls expect errors! lmk what u think! also lmk if u wanna be included in my taglist!

about: the favorite couple of the paddock's season-ender posts on instagram!

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55, and 1,056,756 others

yourusername it's been a long and hard season but here you are victorious! congratulations on owning the wdc title, baby 🤍 never doubted you for one second. will never grow tired of cheering for you and being beside you whenever you need me to. you're p1 in my heart forever.

tagged: @charles_leclerc

pierregasly "you're p1 in my heart forever" please delete this what makes you think this was okay

ferrarifan1 idk if pierre is joking but i relate

charles_leclerc Thank you, ma chèrie ❤️ Couldn't have done it without you, you have my heart eternally.

charlespredestinato U GUYS R SO SWEET BYE im gonna bawl my eyes out

scuderiaferrari We'll look forward to seeing Charles' lucky charm next season ❤

carlossainz55 Are you saying im not his goodluck charm?

charles_leclerc Yes Carlos you're not.

yourbrotherusername Congratulations, Charles 🏆 See you back at home!

pascale_leclerc My favorite couple ❤️❤️❤️❤️

charles_leclerc

liked by lewishamilton, arthurleclerc, danielricciardo, and 2,056,901 others

charles_leclerc P1 in the whole world! 🏆 What an amazing season it has been. All the hardwork and rigorous effort poured in this year has definitely paid off. All of this still seems very surreal to me.

My greatest gratitude to the people behind this success - my dear friends, my family who believed in me till I crossed the checkered flag, the passionate fans and of course my angel that served as my anchor throughout the whole season. Je t'aime, yourusername ❤️ See you all next year on the track!

yourusername my world champion 🤍 does this mean i get you all to myself now?

charles_leclerc I'm all yours just like I have always been, chèrie 💋

landonorris THERE ARE CHILDREN ON THIS APP

danielricciardo Ah so is this how he won you over, Y/N?

carlossainz55 So you're a smooth talker and I am a smooth operator, then?

lewishamilton Congratulations, mate! It has been an honor to race with you this season 🏎

scuderiaferrari Well deserved win from the Il Predestinato! ❤️

sebastian_vettel You did amazing, another win for the red team!

arthurleclerc Congrats, bro! Bring me a souvenir home from the trip gifted to you by Y/N 😄

charles_leclerc What trip?

yourusername ARTHUR NO

tagging: @slytherheign my first supporter <3

notes: writing this was so fun but i didnt realize it takes some time lol please let me know what u think by commenting or messaging! i hope the format doesnt get ruined or anything idk sh1t about tumblr formatting so 😭

#formula 1 #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #formula 1 social media au #formula 1 insta au #charles leclerc insta au

[pan-problemed]

The Radio and the Press

tags ; alastor x reader, platonic, human!alastor, human!reader, gn!reader

synopsis ; the radio-press wars were in full swing, and you were a loyal journalist. your best friend and supposed rival was alastor, a radiant radio host whom was hiding a dark secret - one that you were oblivious to.

a/n ; this is not betad, so apologies for any errors! this is also my first time writing alastor, so i'm still trying to learn how to write him. i tried to make this as inclusive as possible! let me know if there are any errors or issues, i'm always happy to learn! also, lmk if i should continue this! i have a lot of ideas for this au ^^

cross posted to ao3

“I appreciate your time, Mister Marston.” You said as you tucked your pen behind your ear and pocketed your notebook. “I look forward to readin’ your future works.”

Mister Marston gave you a reserved smile, following you out of his kitchen and into the mudroom, politely helping you shrug on your coat. “You sure y’can walk home by yourself?” He asked. “Not tryin’ to be rude, but it's gettin’ late, and I'm sure you've heard about those killin’s.”

“I'll be quite alright, but I appreciate the concern. I've got someone waitin’ for me.” You smiled back and shook his hand again, stepping out through the screen door. “Keep yourself safe, Mister Marston.”

“You too.” You could feel his eyes on you as you trotted down the street, going over the interview in your head, mentally picking out what would and wouldn't be useful for the article you'd be writing on him.

You made your way back to the office, collecting your things for the night, squinting at your watch as you locked the doors. Alastor would be wrapping up soon, perhaps you’d be able to beat him out of the station.

Alastor - your best friend, your partner in crime, your other half. A brilliant man with a bright smile, always so thoughtful and caring, the man whom you spent most of your free time with. The two of you were practically attached to hip, and when one of you went out the other wasn’t far behind. You knew people turned their heads and speculated on the nature of your relationship behind closed doors, but you didn’t really care. The two of you were perfectly happy where you were.

Sure enough, you made it to the little cafe under his station with a few minutes to spare, sitting down at one of the empty tables and squinting at your notes as you waited, studying your frantic scribbles and notes. Your parents used to tease you on your messy handwriting, calling it ‘chicken scratch’ - but you called it efficient.

You were so lost in thought that you almost missed the soft clicking of his heels on concrete, signalling his approach. He leaned over you, peering at your notes over your shoulder.

“I really don’t know how you can read that.” He hummed thoughtfully, eyes sparkling in mischeif.

“It’s in code, so annoying radio hosts don’t try to steal my news.” You sniffed, grinning as you tilted your head and angled your notebook so he couldn’t see. “Honestly. Always trying to bank off of the success of better mediums.”

He grinned as he stepped away, circling around the table and sitting across from you. “Ah, but radio is the future, my dear. Soon your medium will be all but extinct!”

You scoffed. “Newspapers are going nowhere - they’re timeless. You’re just jealous, because when all’s said and done no one’s going to remember your silly broadcasts.”

You were a journalist - and a good one at that, despite the sidelong looks people would give you constantly - working for the a small newspaper operating out of New Orleans. Alastor was a radio host, and (depending on your ask) your sworn enemy. You had heard of the fighting between radio and press, and decided to do your part by taking on Alastor as a rival. The two of you bickered constantly over the better medium, though it was all in good fun, as neither of you held any ill will towards each other. You recognized the power of the radio, and he the papers - but you took great delight in your constant back and forth.

“How was the interview?” He asked as he stood, you pocketing your notebook and stepping in beside him.

You answered, the conversation then shifting to your analysis of his works, to other interesting stories you had read. He was a wonderful conversationalist, and the two of you always found talking so easy, so natural.

The sun had set completely by the time you arrived at his little home, making your way to the kitchen as he rolled up his sleeves and you turned on the radio. You practically lived at his place, only returning home to sleep and on the days he was busy. The only thing preventing you from moving in together was his privacy and the eyebrows it would raise. Still, you had a routine of dinner at his place (which he always made), and in exchange you would help with general maintence and housekeeping.

“[y/n], dear, the bathroom’s been giving me trouble again.” He told you as he began prepping dinner. “Would you take a gander?

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the kitchen table. “I just replaced those pipes. At this point I’m starting to suspect you’re doing this on purpose.”

He smiled at you, opening the cabinets under the sink which unofficially became your toolshed. Originally, the tools lived in the shed behind his home, but he didn’t like you going in and was tired of stopping his work to retrieve them for you. You never questioned it, despite Alastor’s natural charisma and social nature you knew he could be private when it came to his home and life. He would allow you in when he was ready, just like he had for personal rooms like his bedroom or study.

“On purpose? Now why would I do that?” He teased, voice slightly sing-song as he handed you your toolbox. “Just making sure you have a backup plan for when the papers collapse.”

“In your dreams.” You retorted, the sound of his vivacious laughter following you as you went to work on his bathroom.

He retrieved you about 40 minutes later for dinner, a delicious Red Beans and Rice, and joined him in cleaning and an impromptu dance session in the sitting room.

He walked you home as he always did - the two of you lived fairly close to one another, preferring to live in the outskirts of New Orleans. He lived there for hunting freedom, being a city boy a heart, and you lived there for the relative familiarity of the nearby woods. You had grown up in dense trees and sprawling fields, the city still something of an alien world to you, and preferred to keep nature within reach.

You said your goodbyes under the light of your porch, the conversation going rougly the same as it always did - thanking him for dinner and walking you home, reminding him to keep safe, him reminding you that he was perfectly capable, and the promise to see each other tomorrow.

It had been like that for two or so years now, and you wished for it to continue like that for the rest of your lives, as unrealistic as it may be.

Two months later, your life would be ripped to shreds by the police and your dearest radio host, but for now, you could live in simple bliss and familiarity.

taglist ; (let me know if you'd like to be added! requests and anons are also welcome) @greenteaanon @chewbrry

#alastor x reader #platonic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #human!alastor #x reader #gn reader #fanfic

[xxsugarbonesxx]

Librarian Miguel x Flower Shop Owner

tags: tooth rotting amounts of fluff and some suggestive bits. No one is spider man in this AU, mainly just character set up stuff :3 and no gender is specified for reader any1 can read it

hopefully this will be me getting back into writing since i took a break from it lol (this was done in 30-40 minutes at 2am so sorry if it isnt too high quality) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

In the little rural town of Nueva, there was a library, it was owned and operated by the single hottest man in town, and probably the whole state, Miguel O’Hara. 

Miguel O’Hara was a simple man really, he ironed his clothes, did sudoku on the train and ate a bagel with light cream cheese, an assortment of raspberries, blackberries and blueberries every morning every day for breakfast. 

He took his coffee dark with the littlest splash of cream and one sugar cube. Two sugar cubes would be just reckless. Coffee could be substituted with Camellia flower tea when he was out of coffee, peppermint for when he had a migraine.

All the women in town would sing his praises to another. Little was known about him besides that after the death of his daughter he moved to Nueva and opened his library. In front of his library was a small community garden and a bench dedicated to his dear daughter by the double doors. 

No one brought it up, no one asked, and he liked it that way. He liked the simplicity of Nueva. The air was cleaner, the people there warmer and the ringing in his ears seemingly disappeared when he moved there. 

He liked to keep his library neat and tidy, he had plenty of rules set in place to follow…children's books in the front and adult books in the back. The spicer content was shelved by the cook books so no kids found them. You are to only use the various lamps in the library, never the big light. It totally ruined the cozy atmosphere he had set up. 

Jazz, Frank Sinatra, and Selena Quintanilla was the only music allowed to be played, he didn’t like any other types of music. Coffee was free as long as you returned your mug to the table his coffee maker was on once you were done. No talking louder than a whisper, and only pet the library cat if you had all your shots. That was mostly a joke, but Miguel didn’t want people who weren’t up to date on their immunizations touching his cat.

It was almost closing time, and there were only a few people left. The familiar cast of characters Miguel had come to know now wandering the maze of shelves. Ben Riley was using one of the community monitors. Sending emails back and forth to his girlfriend in Canada. Only god knew if she was real or not.

When Miguel asked why Ben just bought his own laptop or computer to converse with his girlfriend, Ben explained he didn’t want to go through the trouble of setting up a laptop when he could just walk to the library to use one for free.

Miguel couldn’t help but hold back the fattest eye roll known to man when he heard that.

Peter Parker was looking for cookbooks for the dinner he was gonna make to win his ex wife back. Stressing over the perfect dish to make as young Mayday Parker debated whether she wanted to check out GoodNight Moon or Skippyjon Jones for her bedtime story tonight.

Then there was Pavitr Prabhakar and Gayatri Singh. Debatably his most adorable regulars. Miguel would watch the two teenagers stumble through their awkward study dates, he couldn't help but feel the littlest bit proud of Pav when he finally worked up the courage and kissed her. 

But his favorite, hands down, was you. You owned the little flower shop across the street from his library next to the bakery. On the opening, you had brought him a bunch of sunflowers tied with a pearl white ribbon as a gift. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was actually allergic to sunflowers and graciously took the generous gift with a stuffy nose and kind smile.

You would come waltzing in, batting your eyelashes like you were auditioning for a mascara commercial. At first he had no interest in romance, but you were just so…kind, caring, loving, compassionate. You were so slow and soft spoken, giving him the space he needed while he grieved and was there afterwards to hug him and dry his tears. 

At the beginning, you’d only stop by and help him in the library or check out a novel or two, but as you became a frequent visitor, you stopped coming just to help him…and started coming just to see him.

He remembered how one day, you had arrived at the library as usual. A perplexed look on your darling face with your hands behind your back. You had spent all of the night before carefully crafting a special bouquet of lilies and tulips. Making sure there wasn't anything in it he was allergic to.

After dancing around the subject, you had slowly confessed her feelings to him. 

The next hour was spent in the back room of the library. Feverishly groping another and kissing frantically, your glasses kept sliding against each other’s as you both ran to rip each other's clothes off another's bodies.

Miguel was still that simple man he was all those years ago when he moved to the sleepy town of Nueva. The idea of building a real relationship with someone scared him from how many times he'd been hurt in the past and the fresh wounds from the death of his child.

But now he has you. He has someone to come home to besides the empty walls of his little cottage home. He has a significant other to fill that void and to lift him up, someone to be his lock screen picture.

Someone to tell all the things he’s learned from the regulars at the library. He told you about Ben getting catfished, Peter winning MJ over with homemade ratatouille and a promise, about Pav and Gayatri’s kiss while the both of you snuggled up on the couch over a bottle of strawberry wine.

You'd both started the relationship a little rocky, not knowing whether this was right with the things Miguel was working through then. But it soon proved to be the best decision either of you could have made. 

He had your wedding picture next to Gabriela's school picture day portrait on his desk. 

His favorite parts of his day were when you’d walk from your shop to the library on your lunch break to eat together, and in the evenings when he'd read the book you were currently reading out loud to you in the evenings, before going to sleep together. 

He was still that simple man, but now he’d share his bagels with you. He’d offer to iron your clothes for you, and even when you didn’t understand, he showed you how to play sudoku on the long train rides. Even though you were just nodding along to hear him talk about something he enjoyed.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #2099<3 #spiderman 2099 #writing #across the spiderverse #fluff #miguel ohara fluff #just cutesy reader being cutesy w their man #tooth rotting fluff

[tsukimefuku]

Driving lesson

You asked Ijichi for some driving lessons.

Tags: platonic Ijichi & OC/Reader. Friendship. Fluff. Comedy. Crack taken seriously. Ijichi deserves more appreciation, he’s so precious.

WC: 600

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :) 

Disclaimer: these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this one fits in the timeline, please refer to the masterlist above.

Also, this is barely proof-read. I apologize for any blunders 😅

The car jumped, jolted and stopped. Then, it jolted, sped up for a few meters, and halted violently again. You and Ijichi were getting savagely shaken inside the car at your less than ideal abilities in driving it. He had his seatbelt on, and held his glasses on his face, afraid they might take flight the next time you moved your feet.

“Ms., what are you doing?” Ijichi asked, concerned, as you gripped the steering wheel like you were holding onto it for dear life.

“I don’t know!” You exclaimed, in a mix of frustration and desperation. “I have no clue.”

You had asked on a day off for ijichi to help you learn some driving skills, if it ever were something you needed. He agreed, a little suspicious and anxious as to why you would ask that, especially from him, given you seemed to be close to other people like Nanami or even Gojo, who could actually aid you in finding somewhere to get a proper driver’s license.

In reality, you just wanted to learn the basics, so here you were, in an empty parking lot, nearly heart arresting the poor man every time the car moved.

He sighed softly, thinking that going over the instructions one more time would be helpful. “Let’s go back to the beginning. You need to press the brake pedal. Then, you push the button on the gear shift, and slide it from Park to Drive, still pressing on the brake pedal.”

“Right, that’s where I’m at right now. I’m holding the brakes.”

“Then, you let go of the brake pedal slowly, and begin pressing the gas pedal softly.” Ijichi was emphatic when he uttered the words slowly and softly.

“At the same time or do I let go of one pedal and then press the other?” You asked, earnestly.

Ijichi was very confused, and you noticed it.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He silently tilted himself to take a look at your feet, and that was when he realized that you had your left foot on the brake pedal, and the right foot on the gas pedal.

“Ms., you need to operate both pedals with your right foot. Just rest your left foot on the opposite corner.” Ijichi said, pushing his glasses back into position once more, incredulous you’d be doing that and thought it was just fine.

“What?! I have to use only one foot?!” You grunted, tilting your head back on the rest. “Who the hell conceived this death contraption?!”

“An American entrepreneur named Henry Ford.”

You sighed. “Ijichi, I know that. It was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” He answered, slightly embarrassed.

“I mean, I think I should actually go get some lessons and get my driver's license?” You thought out loud, scratching your head with one hand as you put the car in Park with the other.

“Heaven’s, no.” Ijichi let out instantly, by accident.

You looked at him surprised, and he tensed up, ready for the scowling he was already very used to receiving from sorcerers.

You were actually amused at his unrestrained sincerity, and began cackling, much to his confusion. Your laughter was wholehearted.

“I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, my expertise needs to be fighting and exorcizing curses,” you began, “and with no false modesty, I feel like I’m pretty good at it.” Your eyes then met Ijichi’s. “I think I should leave navigating this grim machine for people who are good at it. People like you.”

He looked at you a little taken aback, and feeling somewhat proud at the compliment.

“Yeah, ‘heaven’s, no’. That sounds about right,” you said, chuckling again at it. He began laughing with you, feeling his concern subside.

“So, let’s go get something to eat? All these near death experiences made me hungry.” You chirped, light-spirited.

Ijichi nodded. “I’ll drive.”

You started removing your seatbelt so that you could exchange seats. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk ijichi #ijichi kiyotaka #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk imagines #jjk fic #jjk x reader

[pupyuj]

sudden thought abt a stripper au,, like dom stripper reader and nerd (loser<3) virgin yujin.. yjn friends convincing her to go after exam week and yn having a weak spot cause yujin was so easy to get flushed arrrghg😩

im making this g!p IDCCCC IT'S SO PERFECTJDBCKFFJ YUJIN 🤤🤤🤤 idk how strippers operate so i kinda just .. did anything 😭😭😭😭😭😭 but thank you for this ask anon i was smiling the entire time writing it dkfnjfkdj

yujin really didn't wanna go there 😭 sure exam week ended but she still had lots to worry about, and the concept of having to 'unwind' and 'relax' just simply didn't exact to an overachiever like her, so she was pretty much fighting her friends about the whole thing until she finally caved in cuz she's spineless after all WHAT A LEWSERRRR 🤣🤣🤣 gaeul walking yujin through what she should do once she arrived at the club over the phone while yujin herself was otw there 😭 yujin asking a bunch of stupid questions and nearly choking on her spit when gaeul told her to 'get her virgin dick sucked dry by a hot girl'... she wasn't exactly a prude but god sometimes gaeul can be so... vulgar...

yujin stepping inside the club with her stupid glasses, academic decathlon varsity jacket, and a messenger bag that had a book inside.. who the fuck reads at a club???? her face immediately scrunching up at the sight of men, the smell of sweat and alcohol, and— oh god... there you were in the distance.. dancing in a sparkly dress that was too short, your lacy lingerie showing just a little bit to get the crowd riled up, smiling and winking as the losers at the bottom of the stage throwing bills at you... yujin was so hard.

JSJDNDKFJF YUJIN RUSHING TO THE BATHROOM, LOCKING HERSELF UP IN A STALL AND CONTACTING GAEUL 😭😭😭 gay panicking to the max, babbling about the prettiest girl she has ever seen and refusing to leave the stall and 'seize the moment' like gaeul was saying bcs of her hard on 😭 gaeul basically bullying yujin to fucking go back out there and try to catch your attention 😵‍💫 and yknow what... she does! there you were, doing what you do best on stage when you suddenly take notice of this unbelievably cute girl staring dumbly at you, her mouth slightly agape and legs closed tightly which of course you knew what that meant.. and usually you would grimace bcs you hated perverts but this girl was just too adorable to hate 😩😩

yujin's glasses being halfway down her nosehdjfhfkf, she was practically drooling and nearly suffered a heart attack when you winked her way. clutching onto her bag for dear life, which she used as a cover for her cock bcs goddamn she has never been this hard before... how can she even leave her seat without being noticed??! sjdbfkdkc yujinnie feeling overwhelmed by what you did to her body, and also the stench of men all around her so she runs for the bar bcs at least there wasn't a lot of people there :(( but you still watched her, and she still looked at you and god you were basically eyefucking each other yujin could have come in her pants right there 😭😭😭

omgomgkmf inviting yujin to a private room after your little performance ,, the loser almost literally shaking in her boots when she saw you sitting near the edge of the bed, already looking at her like you want to eat her whole... one leg crossed over the other, wearing a different dress this time but it wasn't any less slutty than the last,, yujin felt like she was losing her mind,,,

"figured you'd be cuter up close," were the first words you said to her, raising your chin and scanning her up and down. omg yujin could explode,,, timidly settling down next to you when you invited her, having to scoot closer bcs she sat far away 😭 "i'd like to know your name, darling." KHSDKBK yujin barely uttering a word but thankfully enough you were used to people biting their tongue around you so you understood her immediately .. patting her thigh and telling her to relax,, climbing onto the bed and coming up behind her,,, taking off her bag, slowly pulling off her jacket, coming close to her ear.. breathing down her neck while she leans back into you,, oh she was helpless, and now she couldn't hide her boner,, not when you were literally cupping it in your hands, chuckling softly in her ear when she whimpered,,

poor baby has never had her cock touched by anyone before :((( so she couldn't help but want more :(( "aw, baby, you need a lot of help, don't you? look how hard you are..." you were saying, watching as her dick grew and grew inside her pants sjdbffjfjjf making her take off her pants only,, the sight of this girl's big cock poking through her boxers, stained with precum, did things to your body but you had to be professional... after all, you couldn't just give your body away for free 👀

"ah, right. i'm still at work," yujin nearly whined when you separated from her and left the bed . standing in front of yujin, who was breathing heavily, fogging up her glasses, hair kind of a mess around her face but she was still the cutest thing you have ever seen 😩😩 "one rule: no touching, yet. be good and i'll reward you handsomely, yujin-ssi, deal?" you asked as you unzipped your dress . yujin nodded desperately, and you could swear you could just reach over and pinch her cheeks . but no, you had a job to do! 😤

yujin's jaw dropping slightly when your dress slid down your body, leaving you in your lingerie that gave yujin many many thoughts... thoughts of her ripping that bra off your body and feeling your tits in her hands, very vivid thoughts of her pulling your panties to the side and fucking your ass,, but no touching, you said... and yujin could definitely be a good girl, for now! 😏

the big loser staying frozen in her seat while you danced around her 😭 she kept her hands tucked underneath your thighs, doing everything in her power to bite down a moan as you pushed your ass against her bulge.. she was feeling dizzy... she could now see why gaeul loved these kinds of things so much 😵‍💫 turning around and straddling her, hands all over her toned body while you grinded your pussy on her cock... you couldn't resist holding the girl's face and kissing her, which you didn't normally do considering your customers didn't behave half as well as she did 😳😳 she was a good kisser too.. bravely pushing her tongue inside your mouth, actually making you moan.. then you're leaving kisses on her cheek, her jawline, her neck where you made sure to leave a mark.. and then you feel her body tense up, and you're hearing her moan...

"love, did you just come?" you asked with a laugh sjdbfjksf yujin hiding her face in your chest, ears all red, and that was all you needed to know 😭😭😭 "aww... i guess it is about time, anyway. you did a good job." you pet the girl's head before getting off her lap, and then you kneeled down on the floor, smiling innocently at the girl while you slowly pulled off her boxers.. dear god was her cock big!

"w-w-what are you about to do...?" she asked, both scared and horny out of her mind.

"you'll see."

and then yujin was whimpering :(( clutching the bedsheets tightly while you stroked her cock :(( then you leaned in and licked off her cum from earlier, making the girl moan loudly at the feeling of your tongue on her dick for the first time 😵‍💫 baby was so sensitive 🥺 nearly crying bcs it all just felt too good, losing her head when you circled her tip with your tongue,,, just falling in love with her voice and how cute she was making the smallest noises when you do anything at all🥺🥺

finally taking her cock in your mouth.. the poor girl struggling to keep her noises in 😵‍💫 head thrown back, legs already quivering, shaking her head as you steadily took in all of her length.. mistaking that action as the baby not liking this at all, so you pulled away, concerned :(

"would you like for me to stop?"

"w-what? no, i... it felt good.. do you want to stop? cuz i can l-leave if you don't actually want to do this... i wouldn't want to force you or anything..." oh, she was too cuteeee :(((((

ofc you didn't want to stop, this girl's cock was to die for.. so you went back onto slowly sucking her off, sometimes looking up to have a glimpse of her face, all flushed and red... "unnie, you're r-really pretty..." she says suddenly??? 😭😭😭 if it were anybody else, you would have rolled your eyes but something about this girl just made your heart skip a beat :((

finally moving your head up and down at a moderate pace, yujin's fingers threading your hair and she was moaning so much 🥺 "unnie.. unnie..!" such an endearing girl! 😵‍💫😵‍💫 yujinnie being driven by pleasure alone that she puts both of hands on your head and started controlling your pace.. all she wanted now was to come in her pretty unnie's mouth, so she was moving you fast, grunting as she dug her nails into your scalp... you didn't mind the pain at all, you wanted this girl's cum down your throat 😳

choking a bit while yujin finally came, the girl holding your mouth down on her cock not really realizing that it had gotten hard to swallow considering you could barely breathe sjdbfjisfk "oh! s-shit, sorry unnie... i'm sorry..." she was saying after you've forced yourself out of her hold,, see you should be pissed bcs she made a mess out of you but you were smiling at her, you might have a little crush now!

and ofc you cleaned her up with your tongue, you would be crazy to waste her cum 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 helping the loser put her jacket back on, feeling your chest warm up when she shyly pulled you in and kissed you 🥺 "unnie... can i see you again?" she was asking as if this was a first date 😭😭 you really could not express enough how cute she really was.

"of course. just ask for '(y/n)', and i'll be here."

yujin smiles widely "(y/n)... (y/n)-unnie... okay!"

it was safe to say that you crumpled up into a ball, giggling to yourself after she left 😩 it was the yujin effect 🤭🤭

#ive smut #ive x fem reader #ive imagines #ive x reader #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin imagines #ahn yujin x reader #yujin smut #girl group x reader #girl group imagines #girl group smut

[theold-ultraviolence]

The Loneliest (1/2) • Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: 1925. They say that the Sunfyre Cinema is haunted. Floris, your best friend and neighbor, warns you not to spend all your time there, claiming that a ghost operates the movie projector. Still, The Sunfyre is your home, as you seek comfort to escape the loneliness that marks your days. CW: 1920's au, mixes fictional & historical elements. I envision Westeros as a stand in for the U.K here. The idea of movie projectionist!Aemond came from watching the movie Pearl, although this isn't 100% based on that. Smut will come in part 2. Words: 3k.

1

1925

They say the movie theater in the town of Dorne is haunted. 

They say it belongs to the heirs of one the wealthiest families in the European country of Westeros; four siblings who didn’t quite know what to do with their inheritance, so they spent their money importing pictures from the other side of the Atlantic. Regardless of whoever runs it, some said the movie business, despite its novelty, had no chance of lifting off after the war. Who could’ve had time for such banalities? 

Only lost souls, apparently. 

Lonely people seeking comfort in the dusty silver light that carries stories within it – desperately seeking a bit of magic in dark rooms to escape their isolated days. 

And you? You might be the loneliest of all. No family, no prospects, and a job at a sleazy pub that will run you to an early grave.

The Sunfyre Cinema still stands, for people like you, with its yellowish lights shining like a beacon of hope in the cold winter nights. 

Floris, your best friend and neighbor, warns you not to walk by yourself at night all the way to The Sunfyre. She’s often stayed with you when the midnight wind sounds too much like the cries of wounded soldiers she’s tended to. Those nights, bundled up by the fire with a warm cup of tea, she tells you stories of a ghost operating the film projector. 

"The ghost that haunts The Sunfyre", Floris calls it. "A creature like The Phantom from your favorite novel by Gaston Leroux." She’s recounted her tale so many times that she’s even started to spice up its details here and there.

Sometimes, the ghost was once a prince who had his eye taken out by his own nephews; others, the prince took his own eye as a gift for his grieving mother after having lost her husband to the Spanish Flu. Knowing your taste for spooks, she’s told you that he was the suitor of a witch, who asked him for his left eye as a proof of his devotion. 

You’re endlessly entertained, but in the end you can’t help but shake your head. You practically live in The Sunfyre and have never seen such an apparition. If there was truly a monster living in the projection room, you’d be the first to know. 

Almost every night after your work shifts, you either walk or ride your bike to the deserted town of Dorne to watch a picture. Rarely are there people there with you – mostly rows of empty dark velvet seats as your companions. Often, you’ve turned around towards the spear of light that emanates from the little booth at the very top of the room, trying to catch the shadow of the mysterious being your friend has told you about, but you see nothing. 

When the picture ends, you stay for a moment, fixing your hearing to detect a huff or a growl to indicate that there’s someone cooped up in there indeed, but nothing. There’s only the grainy static as the movie comes to an end, and the slide-and-click sound of the film roll being ejected. 

It’s as if the projector operates itself. 

Could there really be a ghost in there, after all? 

2

You really shouldn’t be out in the rain like this. Shouldn’t be spending your last coins on a movie ticket, but as you rush through the downpour, holding on to your raincoat for dear life, you cannot contain the excitement bubbling up inside you. 

You had this day marked on your calendar for weeks. The Sunfyre was going to project an adaptation of the Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney. The fact that the theater even bothered to import new releases despite you practically being their sole customer – at least the only constant one – amazed you. So you really, really, really couldn’t miss it for the world. 

Floris had insisted that it was irresponsible. That you weren’t going to have enough money left for your month’s rent, that you were gonna catch a cold if you went out on a stormy night. Yet, as reckless as it is, you don’t care. You had been looking forward to this from the moment you’d read in the newspapers that Carl Laemmle was producing an adaptation of the novel – and even more thrilled when you saw the poster for it at The Sunfyre. 

Floris was certainly right, but you were desperate for anything that would make your gray days seem a little brighter – desperate for any novelty to the lonesome routine that sucked the life out of you, morning by morning. Desperate for a way out of the countryside. Only the pictures could offer that escape. 

So you scurry out of the rain to shield yourself under the marquee of The Sunfyre, giddily paying for your ticket before making your way to the hall that has now become a second home to you. As in most nights, you’re alone despite it being a premiere, but this was to be expected for a monday night. 

The lights go down, and the ghoulish text of the opening credits immediately envelops you into an eerie atmosphere; a score of dramatic strings carries you to the first scene of the picture, showing a man dwelling along catacombs, unknowingly followed by a cloaked figure that hides in the shadows. 

You’re on the edge of your seat the entire time – biting your fingernails and grinning as you read each subtitle slide, following along the action and suspense all doubled over yourself on your seat. As if you’ll get any closer to the screen and be pulled right into the story. Especially when the character of Christine looms closer to the phantom as he plays the piano; she curiously eyes him from the back, hesitating on calling for him to turn. 

The camera shot changes quickly, just as she’s about to unmask him! And then! 

– the film jams, cutting the action, engulfing the hall in darkness. 

The spectral vibe of the film taints the room; the longer you spend in darkness as you wait for the projection to come back on, the more you tremble. The silence is so dense it could be cut with a knife; the distant sound of the storm being of no aid to your shivering. You hug yourself tight and repeat to yourself in your head – it’s just a movie, it’s just a movie, it’s just a movie. 

But an odd sound jabs at your mental spiral. 

A grunt. 

Followed by muffled curses and clanks – as if someone was struggling with the machinery in the booth upstairs. 

Tentatively, you turn in your seat, and your heart drops to the floor when you see a silhouette from a distance. 

Gulping down your courage, you rise from your seat and walk up the stairs, aiming to reach the top row seats that are inches below the projection booth. 

You rise to your tiptoes to peek inside the booth but a sudden flash of light blinds you. 

You recoil from the stab of light only to be met with the monstrous face of the Phantom after being unmasked. The frightful sight makes you plop back down onto the seats immediately, covering your eyes while you try to steady your breathing. 

From the space between your fingers you check for the scene to be over, and once you’re calm, curiosity stirs you to look up once more.  

What makes your breathing come up in quick pants is not the fear of the movie. 

It's the brief image of a man in the projection booth. 

3 

Floris hadn’t believed you when you said you’d seen the supposed ghost. Not after she’d asked for you to describe him, and you found yourself at a loss for words. 

Alright, so you hadn’t really seen the man, merely his shadow. 

For all you know, it could've been an actual spirit in there. But it sparked a sense of determination, to see what the projectionist at the cinema looked like. 

You didn’t know why it compelled you so much. Maybe it was the deeply rooted ache in you to find a friend? To know more about the man who handled all the motion pictures you lived for? In your mind, he had the luckiest job in the world, and you wished to learn more about him. Floris, after all, didn’t share your interests. Found them odd, even though she always listened to you with great care 

“You’re always yearning for worlds that don’t exist,” she would tell you. “You’re so busy daydreaming about pictures that you’re going to miss what’s happening in the present. Embrace the real world, deary. It’s the only one we’ve got.” 

Two mornings later, you bike your way to Dorne, right before your evening shift at the pub. 

A silver-blonde woman in denim overalls, dirt-stained boots and a heavy wool coat was hiked up a wooden ladder, changing the names of the next features on the marquee. You recognize her as Helaena, for she normally worked in the ticket booth and greeted you with a kind smile every time – so pleased to see a regular, that she gifted you the pamphlets of the pictures you’d seen twice or thrice. 

You let her work, and instead wander around to the alleyway, until you stumble upon the door in the back of the cinema that had a sign hung up that read, ‘do not enter’. 

With fidgety fingers, you linger for a few moments, merely eyeing the door. 

What are you expecting to find anyway?, you ponder while chewing on your lips, over and over. Whoever lurked behind it most definitely wouldn’t want their privacy being intruded.  

Besides, what if you were banned from The Sunfyre for sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong? You’d rather be shot dead than risk not being welcomed in the one place that had become your sanctuary. 

But right as you’re about to turn the other way, the door opens. 

Both you and the man at the door freeze. 

The first thing you notice is a head of silver hair, before seeing the eyepatch over his left eye and a luminous violet-blue eye on the right – which looked big and hopeful until a frown cast a shadow over his elegant face.   

“You’re not supposed to be here!” he grunts, “Can’t you read the sign?” 

You flinch and recoil from his harsh tone, heart dropping to your stomach. “I - I’m sorry! I was just – I was just leaving.” 

You shake your head and make a run for it, but before you know it he grasps your hand and pulls you back. “Wait! I’m sorry. I know who you are.” 

“You do!?”

He’s just as flustered as you, with a pretty pink blush spreading over his cheeks and neck. Despite his height, he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, with one foot inside the projection room and the left side of his face leaning sideways, extra conscious of the eyepatch, wanting to hide it from you. 

“Of course I do,” the man continues. He looks tough and hardened by life which makes his tone of voice an utter contradiction – all soft spoken and eloquent, with an accent that betrayed his upper class upbringing.

 “You’re our best customer. Hells, you’re the reason why we haven’t even closed in the first place.” 

“I am!?” 

“Hmm.” He hums in affirmation and continues to stare. The lack of an eye didn’t make his gaze any less penetrating. 

“I’m Aemond,” he breaks the awkward silence, offering his hand back to shake, which makes you smile, and heat to spread from within. 

“Aemond Targaryen. Me and my three siblings own this place. Were you looking for something today? We don’t have a matinee scheduled – I should know, I’m the projectionist.” 

So the legends were true – it was the Targaryens who owned the theater. No wonder he didn’t sound like he was from the countryside. You’re so struck untangling his words that it doesn’t even faze you that you were standing right in front of the subject of Floris’ nightmares and your own wonder – the ghost. 

And, well, despite his pale skin he’s certainly no phantom. In fact, he’s rather handsome and regal-looking, even if he’s wearing nothing but a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and black wool pants fitted around his waist with black suspenders. You shake your head once more, laughing to yourself as you search for a coherent reply from all the excitement you’re feeling. 

“No, not specifically. I…”

Should you confess that he was the reason you were here? Under any other circumstance, this probably would’ve been an idiotic thing to admit, but you figured, if you wanted to make a friend out of Aemond, you might as well be transparent from the start. 

“Well, I actually came by to see if I could speak to the projectionist.” You smile kindly at him, and delight in the way his eye widens in surprise, the way his stern lips tilt ever so slightly. “I wanted to thank him for the wonderful job he does. I…”

You look down with a little bit of embarrassment, but he leans a little bit to be on your eye level and nods, encouraging you to continue. 

“You see, I come here all the time, as you know,” you chuckle, “I suppose I wanted someone to chat about films with. I’m very passionate about them, and I’ve no one else to talk to.” 

It’s as if the gray clouds parted, bringing in a beam of sunshine shining right down on Aemond’s entire face, making his silver hair gleam and his crystalline eye twinkle as he grins at you – so wide, you can see a hidden dimple appearing on his cheeks. 

“You wanted to talk about films? With me?” 

You nod, finally offering your name – as you’d been too caught up admiring the man before you, you’d completely forgotten to introduce yourself. It makes him huff out a timid laugh that you instantly count as a win, as he steps to the side to let you into his little room. 

4 

You soon note that the little projection room is far smaller than you had anticipated, though the size didn’t make for a messy space in the least. Every corner is neatly arranged; the walls are plastered with movie posters shelves full of film stock in their circular, metal encasing. 

When you turn, you sigh in awe, as if you were witnessing one of the wonders of the world: the film projector, mounted right before a tiny square from which the light filtered through and expanded onto the screen. You gravitate towards it, peaking through the window to look at the empty rows of seats below you. Of course Aemond would’ve noticed you, when he had this kind of panoramic view of the cinema hall. 

“It’s something to behold, isn’t it?” he murmurs from behind you. 

“It certainly is. You’re so lucky to do this for a living. I’m on my feet wiping tables and serving cuppas back and forth until my feet can’t take it.” 

He hums again – in what you’re quickly learning is a trademark of his – before you turn. You hadn’t expected to see a slight slouch to his demeanor, and that handsome smirk to have turned down, as if a cloud had passed through his face. A look to his left and you see it:  an individual bed with fuzzy looking blankets is pushed to one wall, 

“Wait, you live here? I thought –” 

“My father disinherited me and my siblings. Gave it all to my half-sister, his eldest from his first marriage. At first we didn’t know what to do with the money he gave us to keep us tamed, so we built this.  This is all we have now.” 

You can tell there’s more storming underneath his facade, but you refrain from asking. Instead, you murmur a simple, “I’m sorry. The war has been tough for everyone.” 

The last bit has you wincing mentally, feeling so lost as to what could be appropriate to say, weary of coming out too innocent and childish, when truthfully due to the isolation everyone endured during The Great War you feel like you’ve lost the touch for communication. Often at work you find yourself stuttering, unable to complete your sentences fluidly. Maybe it’s yet another reason why you preferred the movies. Anyone can understand images. 

Aemond seems to read you thoroughly, shaking his head with a half-smile before looking down. 

You wonder then if he had lost his eye because of the Great War. 

Wonder if he’ll tell you all his stories eventually. 

Aemond finally interjects your spiral of thoughts. “So what did you think of our newest feature?” 

“The Phantom!? I loved it! Thought it was terrifying actually, but so great.” 

Aemond shrugs, leaning against his movie shelf with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “It was alright. They definitely strayed from the novel to make some bits scarier. I found the make-up on Lon Chaney quite excellent, however.” 

Your chest warms, all self-consciousness from before vanishing, having found someone that speaks your language. 

Nearly all noon is spent with Aemond in the projection room, exchanging views about film and literature, and he even gives you a couple of pamphlets and flyers, after assuring him that it would be your absolute delight and pleasure to promote The Sunfyre at your workplace. You even tell him he’s welcomed there anytime he feels like it. It’s a bit of a trek from Dorne, and not an elegant place in the least –  much less for a Targaryen –  but at least the drinks were decent, and every now and again you were in charge of preparing the soup of the day, which, not to toot your own horn, was a favorite amongst patrons. 

After you’ve said your goodbyes, Aemond halts as you walk away, “Wait!” 

He turns inside the projection room and comes back to hand a little celluloid square to you. “Here.” 

You bring it up against the sunlight and feel giddy realizing it’s a still from the movie.  

“I cut this little bit when the film jammed.” Aemond confesses, making your heart swoon. 

“Won’t someone notice the missing scene?” 

He just shakes his head and smiles, “It must be only a second. No one will notice."

“Thank you.” You bring the delicate still to your heart and go on your way, completely missing the way Aemond was left gazing longingly at your figure for a moment before retreating to the confine of the cinema. 

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfiction #1920s au #1920s #historical au #ewan mitchell #my writing

[sanctum-of-ramshackle]

Behind The Screen

[TWST AU]: Self-Aware AU, but with logical takes.

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, MC/Yuu/[Y/N] was playing TWST one day and then something off-putting happens.

[TW]: Mild cursing

[(A/N)]: I know. This AU has been done multiple times with most of them being…possessive. I decided to try the concept, but with my own take on it. Also MC/Yuu/[Y/N] is around 16-18 years old in this AU.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N] is just your ordinary gamer who loves the game, Disney: Twisted Wonderland.

They played that game almost everyday ever since it was first released.

They get to experience everything from leveling up the characters (especially their favorites who may or may not be bias towards) to collecting items.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N] fell in love with the storyline and laugh at the humor whenever something ironic and sarcastic happens.

All fun and literal games until one day something happens.

As MC/Yuu/[Y/N] logs into TWST and expected a character greeting them with a gift each day, there wasn’t anybody on the screen.

They thought it’s probably a glitch. It happens.

Shrugging off the weird occurrence, they continue the game as usual, leveling up the characters and winning in battles.

As they were reading through a chapter, something slips up.

Ace Trappola, everyone’s favorite little bastard accidentally mentioned how MC/Yuu/[Y/N] look stupidly cute today with their new haircut.

They freaked out a little.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Okay. I may need more sleep or did I hear Ace right about my looks for today?

Ace: *Sweatdrops*

Deuce: *Whispers* Ace, say your line. You’ll blow our cover.

Ace: *Whispers back* You too, Dunce-face. You’ll get us in trouble.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: …I’m not dealing with this shit.

Ace: No wait-

They exit out of the game and starts texting to a friend of theirs asking advice on what to do with a possibly possessed app game operated by the Japanese branch of the huge corporation.

[MC/Yuu/[Y/N]’s Bedroom]

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Okay, that’s it. I’m reporting this to the development team and possibly FBI because what kind of sick game is this?

Riddle: No wait! Prefect!

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Don’t “Prefect” me! I know how this shit goes, and it ends badly.

Lilia: Oh dear. You read too many Yandere fics, haven’t you.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: …How do you know that?

Ace: Duh! It’s obvious. We’re in your phone. We sometimes sneak into your search history.

Jack: I’m afraid to ask questions about your…free time.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: You don’t have to know, Jack.

Vil: You need a better wallpaper, honestly. Who edited this abomination?

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Uhh…I did the wallpaper.

Vil: …You need to work on your photoshop skills.

[MC/Yuu/[Y/N]’s Bedroom]

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: You’re telling me you listened to everything I spoke about this past year?

Riddle: Unfortunately, yes.

Leona: You cursed at us for being “too handsome” and “how stubborn” we can be.

Azul: Let’s not forget you spilled some secrets nobody else would know. You still sleep with a stuffed dolphin after 4.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Luckily nobody ask for my phone.

Kalim: Your world sounds a lot of fun to learn about. I always wonder what it’s like outside with no magic involved.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Believe my words, it’s not pretty.

Vil: I heard you talked about some fashion brands. Louis Vuitton?

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Yeah…That and other brands are expensive as Hell here.

Idia: I was wondering about your Otaku culture…

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Oh! There is enough to talk about with new anime and manga coming out everyday.

Malleus: *Peeks into images of Gargoyles*

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Tsunotarou? What are you doing on Google Images?

Malleus: Oh. Forgive me, Child of Man. I was curious about your device.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Nah, it’s fine. Just be careful when you’re searching for something.

[MC/Yuu/[Y/N]’s Bedroom]

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: *Fanning over a character* Jesus Christ! I can’t with this guy!

[Insert an image of Yoru from Valorant.]

[(A/N): I couldn’t help myself.]

Deuce: Huh? Hey, isn’t he from-

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Oh, yeah. I sometimes dabble into Valorant and he’s one of my mains.

Ace: So your type is the edgy bad boy type~?

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Don’t even try, Ace.

Ace: *Threw his hands up in defense* What? It’s not like I can leave here.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Touché.

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst au #TWST Self-Aware #Self-Aware AU #twisted wonderland mc #twst mc #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader

[stellarspecter]

stwg daily prompt 4/10/24: guitar

1.8k, steddie, modern au, guitar teacher eddie/guitar student steve (+ dustin as steve's brother)

so this is literally just me giving eddie my exact job and letting the plot bunnies do as they may. will be up on ao3 in a day or two once i've had time to look it over and think of a title but here it is! divider graphic by @saradika-graphics

“Let’s try that verse again, okay? 5, 6, 7, 8…” 

The little girl in front of Eddie plays with the utmost concentration, her little brow scrunched up as she tries to switch to a D chord. 

“It’s our little triangle, remember? On the — good, exactly,” Eddie nods and keeps strumming. “And to C, slide down to the first fret… 1, 2, 3, to E minor, yep, 1, 2, 3, 4.” The last notes fade into the slightly stale air of the practice room. “Good job! You did a lot better with your chord transitions this time. We’re about out of time for today, but try and practice that verse and chorus at home, okay? And then we’ll see about that bridge next week,” he tells her.

She nods with a big gummy smile. “Okay!” Eddie helps her put her guitar back in its case and walks her back out to the little waiting area they have behind the lessons desk. It’s honestly a little cramped, but before they hired him, he hadn’t even known that Guitar Center offered lessons at all, so it makes sense. He sends the girl off with her parents and a promise to practice every day before he slides behind the desk to check his schedule for his next student.

Usually he has a half hour gap on Wednesdays that he uses to practice for his band or chat with his coworkers, but today there’s a new name on the schedule: Steve Harrington.

“Huh,” he mutters. His manager hadn’t mentioned any new sign-ups to him. Maybe it was from online? With a shrug, he settles in to wait for the guy to show up. It’s 5:57, so he’s still got a few minutes.

After a minute or two of dicking around on his phone, someone calls out, “Hey, Eddie!”

He looks up to find his 6:30 student standing in front of him, an excitable kid named Dustin Henderson. He’s fun to chat with, and Eddie looks forward to his lessons — especially since it’s an opportunity to get yet another young mind hooked on metal. Sure, he’ll play and teach whatever is required, but he’ll never forget his one true love.

“Henderson,” Eddie responds, standing up and leaning against the pillar bracketing the desk. “You know your lesson is in half an hour, right?”

“I know!” He replies, chipper as ever. “I’m after him!” He jerks a thumb back behind him, and Eddie finally notices the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing behind Dustin.

Dear god. If this is his new student, he’s absolutely fucked.

“Hi,” the man says, extending a hand when it becomes clear Eddie is incapable of forming words. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie forces himself to act normal and grabs his hand, shooting him a smile that he hopes comes off as confident. “Eddie,” he replies. “Munson. I play guitar.”

“I’d sure hope so,” Steve jokes, eyes dancing, and Eddie is fuuuuucked. Completely and absolutely. How is he going to be able to be alone with him in a tiny practice room for a whole half hour? 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Eddie says, kind of operating on autopilot while his brain reboots. “It’s. Guitar Center.” He mentally facepalms and claps his hands together, spinning and walking them back towards the practice rooms. “So, Steve, what brings you here on this fine day? Are you Dustin’s… dad?”

Usually, his mom is the one to drive him and wait in the lobby, but it’s not out of the question that Steve could be his stepdad or something, with their different surnames. He seems around Eddie’s age, but maybe he’s just into milfs or something? 

He can’t be single. The universe is never that kind to Eddie.

Dustin bursts out laughing. “My dad? Dude, he’d had to have had me at like, twelve!”

Eddie flushes. “Well, I don’t know!”

“He’s my brother.” Steve swoops in and saves him from embarrassment. “The Hendersons took me in when I was sixteen, that’s why we have different last names.”

Eddie nods. “Oh, cool. So I assume Dustin got you to take lessons too?”

Steve laughs a little, just when Eddie thought he could finally cope with his unearthly beauty, the dick. “Yeah, he’s dead set on us starting a family band or something. I told him I could just dust off my piano skills, but he insisted. Little twerp.” He goes to ruffle his brother’s hair, and Dustin expertly ducks — clearly a common occurrence in their household.

“Cool,” Eddie says again. “Well, you ready to get started?” 

Steve nods, and Dustin goes to look around the store and mess with the DJ equipment. 

“So, you said you played piano? How long ago was that?” Eddie asks as he ushers him into the practice room.

“Oh, years and years. My parents made me take lessons when I was a kid, stopped in middle school, so it’d have to be… ten years or something now? Eleven? Jesus, I’m getting old,” Steve answers.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, trust me, I get it. Every time I say I’ve been playing guitar for over a decade a little part of me dies.” They share a laugh as they both get situated on their matching stools and guitars on their laps. “So that’s a little bit about me, that I’ve been playing for over a decade. I didn’t go to school for music or anything, but I’m in a metal band in my free time, and I like to think I have a pretty good understanding of music theory and techniques after all this time, so don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” It’s easier than he’d expected to slip into his practiced first lesson spiel, but he’s still hyper-focused on Steve’s reactions, taking in every hint of a smile. “I’m actually self-taught, so I learned basically by just watching YouTube tutorials and spending a lot of time on Ultimate Guitar,” Eddie explains with a wry smile. 

“That’s really cool,” Steve says, impressed. “I could never do that.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?” It’s a familiar back and forth to Eddie. Maybe he can do this. “I like to run my lessons the same way — instead of learning some random two-measure exercises from a book, we learn songs that you want to learn, and through that we can learn some new chords and strumming patterns and techniques. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “That was always the worst part of piano lessons. The music was so boring.” His nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Awesome,” Eddie says, and pulls out his phone, already open to his notes app. “So, what kind of music do you want to learn?”

“Uh.” Steve pauses. “I, uh, I listen to a lot of, um, pop? And, like, indie? Kind of just top forty radio type stuff.” 

Eddie nods as he writes that down. “Cool, cool. Any artists or songs in particular? Or just pop as a whole?”

“I dunno,” Steve admits. “I like most of the popular stuff. Oh, there’s this one artist my friend has been getting me into — Chappell Roan?”

“Nice,” Eddie responds, somehow managing to keep from jumping with joy that he might actually have a chance with this guy if he listens to gay people music. 

“You don’t… mind?” Steve asks hesitantly. Eddie looks up at him, confused. “I just mean, you don’t exactly look like you would love all that girly pop music.” He waves a hand at Eddie’s Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, and patch-covered vest. 

Eddie shrugs. “Well, maybe, but it’s my job. You wouldn’t believe the amount of Swifties I’ve got, I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted to. And I mean, it is pretty catchy,” he concedes, if only to see Steve smile again. “And,” he continues, “even better, really easy to play.”

“Oh, good,” Steve laughs.

Eddie pockets his phone and reaches for his folder, taking out a sheet of empty chord diagrams. “So usually for a first lesson, we just learn a few basic chords, and then get started with our first full song next week, sound good?”

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Great.” Eddie sets the sheet on the stand in front of them and pencils in two little dots on the first diagram. “Here’s our first chord. This is called an E minor. You wanna put your first finger on the second string…”

He goes on to teach Steve an E minor chord, then a C chord, then a G chord, and by the time they’re done learning D, Eddie thinks that Steve’s fingers are going to haunt his dreams. He’s not mad about it. Just sad that he won’t be able to see them in person again for a whole week.

They make their way through the lesson, stumbling from one chord to another, but by the end of the thirty minutes, Steve is already doing pretty well with his chord transitions. Eddie’s honestly impressed. He drops him off in the lobby and exchanges him for Dustin, who is bouncing up and down with excitement.

“How was he,” he bursts out as soon as the door is closed.

Eddie snorts. “He was good. Just learned a few chords.”

Dustin waits expectantly. “And?”

“And what?”

“And how was he! Like, was he excited? Did you have a good time? Are you guys gonna be friends now?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly and takes a seat. Technically, he’s not supposed to be actual friends with students, or even talk with them outside of work, but with Dustin and now Steve, they don’t feel like paying customers so much as friends he’s doing a favor for. “He was good. I’m sure he’ll tell you in the car on the way home.”

Dustin groans. “Come on.”

“You come on. You better have been practicing, show me what you’ve been doing.”

With that, Dustin drags himself to his seat, and the lesson goes great from there, both of them distracted from Steve by the intricacies of Stairway to Heaven.

When he brings Dustin out, he’s almost taken off guard by Steve waiting for them. In just half an hour, he’d already forgotten his stunning resemblance to a Greek god. It’s honestly unfair for his memory to do that to him. 

“Hey,” Steve greets them. “Had a good lesson?”

“Obviously,” Dustin scoffs.

“He did great today,” Eddie tells him, “And so did you. Just remember to practice, alright? Gotta build that muscle memory.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, too used to hearing it, but Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course. See you next week?”

It’s a simple phrase. He says it every day. It’s a contractual obligation that yes, he will see them next week. But when Steve says it, it feels like a promise. Eddie can’t wait to fulfill it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, mesmerized by the way the fluorescent lights bring out the green in Steve’s eyes. “See you next week.”

Steve smiles and turns to leave, picking his way through the aisles of musical miscellany. Eddie can already hear Dustin interrogating him about his lesson. He leans back against the wall with only one thought in his mind: only seven days until he gets to see Steve Harrington again. 

He’ll be counting every single one.

#stwgdailyprompt #*writes #steddie #stranger things fic #will rb with ao3 link once it's up #i have so many little headcanons that i didn't find the space to include #read the ao3 authors notes once its posted to get the full over specific details of what i think eddie would do teaching at guitar center #he's just like me fr 🥰🥰🥰

[primus-why]

Okay okay just a real quick: MegOp Bodyguard Affair within an Arranged Marriage AU???

Imagine Orion Pax is very very very distantly related to one of the lineages of the Primes, and though he goes about his life practically a mid-caste, the fact remains that he is technically considered high-caste.

He maintains a job as an Archivist, living out a modest, unassuming life, and generally doesn't care for the pomp and circumstance of high-caste affairs. The flashiness just isn't in his nature, and there is something he can't quite place his digit on when he attended those soirees-- something unsettling and almost invisible.

The key word here being almost. He is not ignorant to the way higher-castes handle their lower-caste staff-- in his youth he'd overheard his fair share of unjust punishments over minuscule offenses or listened to someone brag about withholding payment as a means to pinch a few credits. Though Orion doesn't exist in that sphere any more, he can't shake the sense that things have just gotten worse. His friend Jazz is an upper mid-caste who has a knack for keeping an audial to the ground thanks to his security work, and has told him many times there is a growing unrest all over Cybertron-- that it's only a matter of time before it bursts into something ugly.

Orion already sees ugliness; as the slum areas continue to expand, as mechs and their homes fall into disrepair, the Senate and Council of Primes don't appear to care at all about the wellbeing of Cybertronian citizens. He sees what Jazz is referring to-- there is a looming darkness, and their people are disconnected. But what can Orion, a mere data clerk, possibly do about it?

He does what he's best at: cataloging whatever data he can find to educate himself of the stories he cannot see or fathom.

Through his research he discovered some of the gruesome ways mechs in castes below him have been treated, but even then he knew his findings were only scratching the surface. He wanted to learn more-- to speak with others who had direct experiences. He first began with Ratchet, a dear friend who was also high-caste, who used his vast medical knowledge to attend to anyone who came to him. In fact, Ratchet purposefully divides his time between high-caste hospitals and a clinic he created in Rodion in order to give lower-castes access to his skill. The lack of opportunities for maintenance and even basic medical care horrified Orion, and it only urged him to look deeper.

That was how he had eventually discovered the forums-- large, categorized, virtual assemblies of mechs from all walks of life, interacting anonymously under pseudonyms. He absorbed as much as he could-- even the uglier sides he couldn't stomach on the first read. It felt important that he saw these things, as it confirmed his suspicions that the high-castes who operated the Senate were willfully allowing people to suffer for their own benefit and comfort.

In time, he learned of the works of Megatronus-- a gladiator who fought in the Pits of Kaon, but who was also an impressive orator and author. He would publish transcribed speeches and essays under a pseudonym, though Orion quickly learned the mech's true identity from others who followed his work. His words spoke plainly of the inequalities and injustices present in society, shedding light on the lives of unnamed Disposables, and wove a dream of a world without a caste system, without Functionism. In short, it was revolutionary, and captured Orion so intensely that he became uncharacteristically emboldened one cycle and sent Megatronus a direct message.

Of course, while Orion had already been chatting with a few mechs here and there to learn of their accounts, something about reaching out to Megatronus felt... different. A much bigger step. Perhaps it was because he was something of a celebrity, being a public figure in the blood sport he championed as well as being a talented writer. Orion was nervous and excited all at once-- though he reminded himself he really ought not to be, seeing as Megatronus would be understandably far too busy to even read his message... surely he gets hundreds of those a cycle...

But then something miraculous happened-- Megatronus actually responded!!!

And thus began their fervent exchange of ideas. Megatronus was as captivating as Orion had suspected-- an enlightening philosopher wrapped within the charms of his quick wit and forward nature. Eventually-- though they had never even seen each other-- a deep mutual friendship bloomed, and Orion longed to visit Megatronus in Kaon... to meet and hear him speak in person...

(He longed for other things as well, but dare not voice them aloud for he knew how outlandish it was to want them. Orion knew he could not monopolize Megatronus' time in the selfish way he would like-- not when he was so important to the revolutionary movement he had started...)

However, everything changed when Orion's cousin Sentinel was named a Prime.

There hadn't been a new Prime in ages. Zeta and Vector had been serving for many vorns, while Alpha Trion came well before them and was by far the oldest; Sentinel would likely be replacing him on their Council of Primes. This, Orion knew, would be devastating news to Megatronus-- he knew the gladiator had hoped to one day ascend to the title of Prime as demonstration of overcoming the oppression of the caste system. Now, it seemed they would have to wait even longer for the next rare chance of a new Prime being named.

Secondary to all that, Orion was facing his own personal troubles. He, who was content to live an unassuming life, had been thrust into the spotlight for having an even closer lineage to the Primes. Now he had strangers sending him gifts, even showing up at his place of work, vying for his good graces so he might put in a word to Sentinel on their behalf. Or worse, they attempted to seduce him in a blatant attempt to ascend the social ladder through a conjux bond. It all made Orion deeply uncomfortable, and he thanked Alpha Trion profusely for letting him use a private workstation at the Archives, otherwise he would have lost his mind (or his temper.)

For folks desperate to recieve acknowledgment from the new Prime to boost their social standing, they were shockingly naive about Orion's relationship to Sentinel. They had been estranged for over half his function by now, in part because they existed in different circles, but also because Orion could hardly stand the mech. Sentinel had been pompous and cocky as a sparkling, and unfortunately it was a not a phase he grew out of. He was, quite frankly, a classic example of the type of leader people were growing to despise-- an arrogant and over-polished politician who made decisions to only benefit himself and crush the rest beneath his pedes.

That train of thought led him back to Megatronus; Orion hadn't heard from him in a while. At first he had been terrified that his dear friend had finally been overtaken in the Pit, killed by his fellow mech or by some massive beast stolen from a foreign planet. But after scanning the Kaon news for joors, he found no recounting of such an event-- surely the champion's defeat would have made a headline? Orion concluded he must be held up by something, and so after not receiving a response for quite some time, he ventured to ask another gladiator who worked closely with Megatronus-- Soundwave. He knew the silent mech didn't like to be bothered, but he had hoped to convey his concerns well enough that he could be forgiven just this once.

Orion: Hello, Soundwave. I am sorry to disturb you with the same question I'm sure countless others have been wondering, but do you know where Megatronus is?

Soundwave: ... Affirmative. Many have wondered. However, Orion Pax first to ask.

Orion: Oh! I would have assumed your inbox would be flooded by inquiries to his whereabouts...

Soundwave: Others afraid to ask.

Orion: ... Afraid to ask you or afraid to ask what has become of him? Did something bad happen?? Is he alright???

Soundwave: ... Inconclusive. Not good, not bad. Confirmed: Megatronus is unharmed.

Orion: That is such a relief to hear!! In that case, may I inquire further as to what situation prevents him from communicating? That is to say, I noticed he hasn't been posting to the forums as of late...

Soundwave: ... Megatronus: loaned to high-caste buyer. Unable to establish contact until further notice. Contract duration: one stellar cycle. Megatronus: will post as soon as able.

Orion: Oh... is that a common situation you find yourselves in?

Soundwave: Uncommon, but not rare.

Orion: I see... thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Soundwave. It was most illuminating. In the meantime, I will endeavor to be patient a while longer for Megatronus' return to the forums. Farewell for now, and please stay safe.

Soundwave abruptly exited their chat without a departing remark, not that Orion expected him to do anything else.

It had been hard as of late to see his friends in Iacon with all the new attention he had been attracting. Now, without even his dear online companion to talk to, Orion felt a bit isolated... lonely, even. But he knew the buzz around Sentinel's Primacy ceremony would die down eventually, so all he had to do was persevere.

Still, as much as he enjoyed the company of mechs like Ratchet and Jazz over a com channel, there was something about those text-based messages between himself and Megatronus that he craved. The gladiator provided intellectual stimulation that he found in no one else, and it was intoxicating...

Unfortunately the universe decided it would not let Orion Pax stew in isolation for long. No, it had other plans... which involved Sentinel suddenly deciding to send for him, so that they might meet at his grand estate and "become reacquainted".

Upon arriving, Orion was not impressed by the splendor as he now saw it as a terrible waste. He politely listened to all the history the estate manager waxed on about as they pointed to various highlights during their tour, even asking thoughtful questions along the way (which they seemed to appreciate.) Still, all he could think of is what these resources might've been able to do for literally anyone else on the planet aside from boosting his cousin's vanity.

Finally he is led to meet Sentinel in one of the drawing rooms. He greets Orion uncharacteristically warmly at first, throwing Orion off for a moment. But in a klik, Sentinel's facade slips away and he is back to his petty, backhanded remarks-- now there's the Sentinel Orion remembered.

As it turns out, Sentinel has pawned him off to be bonded to a Senator who was tantamount in securing the Prime seat for him. Orion is outraged!! How dare he make such a promise without consulting him!?!

"I refuse." Orion said, his voice cold, "The Senator may certainly try to court me, and I will honestly take their attempt into consideration-- as a courtesy to your arrangement-- but I will make no promise to be bonded by the end of it." Orion hoped the concession to at least let the mech have a fair go at courting would be enough.

But Sentinel just laughed-- laughed.

"Oh! You think you have a choice! Ha ha ha!" He wiped away some stray coolant from his optic before resetting his vocalizer, "As you may recall, tomorrow I will be named Prime. And as the highest living member of our lineage, I will oversee all of our clan's affairs. I suggest you learn your place this cycle, Orion... I may not be so forgiving henceforth."

"I don't care what you have to say on the matter, today or otherwise." Orion said, turning to leave, "I refuse to be a pawn in this game. Pick another estranged family member to entertain you, I'm going home."

"Oh, poor Orion. Didn't I mention? You are home."

"I... what?"

"I took the liberty of gathering all your things and relocated them here," Sentinel said with a dismissive wave, as though upending his entire life was as easy as ordering fuel, "and I've asked Alpha Trion place you on sabbatical from the Archives, starting immediately."

"Wh-- why?! When?!?"

"Shortly after my chauffeur picked you up." Sentinel regarded him smugly from over a shoulder pauldron, "I couldn't allow your betrothed to be seen visiting that hovel you called a home, so I graciously offered to house you until the conjux ritus was complete."

'This can't be happening.' Orion was too stunned to speak, panic creeping up as the reality of his situation sunk in. 'My job, my friends, my home... this is archaic!'

"The courting and subsequent ritus is expected to take approximately a stellar cycle," Sentinel continued, glancing at his digits and looking rather bored, "hence your sabbatical. And after that you will move into your bonded's estate. From there, I don't care what you do."

A knock on the door interrupted Sentinel's servo grooming and Orion's mental spiral. The estate manager had returned with a large silver mech following close behind, saying something about fuel being ready for them in another parlour.

"Ah! Excellent timing." Sentinel clapped his servos and turned to Orion. "Care to join me for a snack?"

Orion said nothing, still trying to calm his racing processor.

"No?" Sentinel began to approach him. "We could toast to a new chapter in our functions!"

Finally no longer on the verge of a glitch, Orion turned his helm away, deliberately not looking at Sentinel.

"No, thank you," he said sullenly, "My tanks are satisfactory."

Suddenly Sentinel cupped his chin with one servo and yanked so that their optics met.

"Are you sure? I am a very busy mech, and I might otherwise forget to feed you later." He leaned in even closer, "It would be unwise to make a habit of spurning my generosity, as I alone have the power to make your stay here more... comfortable."

"I will survive." Said Orion-- gaze firm and unwavering, a cold fire in his optics.

'I will survive this... I will survive you.'

Sentinel released him with a sneer and marched over to the door. "Come!" he barked at the silver mech, causing the estate manager to jolt. However the larger mech hardly stirred, save to plod towards the spot Sentinel had gestured to. Orion noticed his helm was bowed, red optics casts towards the floor... which meant he was almost certainly a low-caste and had to show deference to the higher-castes around him. The sight made Orion's spark twist.

Despite the submissive posture, the silver mech was large and imposing; he even had to duck and turn slightly to fit his helm and broad, spiked shoulders through the doorframe. When he was able to stand at his full height, Orion could see he wore a carefully blank expression. 'Reticence is a common self-preservation tactic for mechs in his position... I can plainly see why.'

"Meet your new bodyguard, Orion Pax!" Sentinel clapped the silver mech on the shoulder with vicious glee as red optics widened minutely before returning to their previous setting. "He'll be here to keep an optic on you at all times while you're being courted."

'Not so much for my safety as he is to deter me from running away, no doubt.' Orion speculated. Nothing he holds against the big mech personally, he knows it's just his job. Still, his presence will complicate any of Orion's future plans...

Sentinel started to walk away then, but seemed to think of something else. "Ah-- despite his frame size, he should blend into your periphery. You'll hardly notice he's there. But do let me or my estate manager know if he gets to be too chatty."

And with that, Sentinel and the estate manager finally left him alone with his new keeper. Orion let out a long, shaky sigh. He knew Sentinel could have a cruel and ruthless streak, but this was beyond the pale. 'Primus below, I shudder to imagine how will he act once he actually is a Prime...'

Shaking those disturbing thoughts for now he turned towards the other mech in the room, only to be met with red optics flicking up to look right at him. The silver mech's helm was still downcast, so it was difficult to see his expression, but Orion surmised he must be feeling wary of his new charge.

'Well, that won't do.' Orion gathered himself and strode over to make introductions.

"Hello. My designation is Orion Pax." As he spoke the silver mech's helm began to slowly rise, red optics still glued him. "Despite what Sentinel implied, I'd much prefer you speak as often as you'd like... at least in my company. It seems we will be spending a lot of time together, and it would be a shame to spend its entirety in silence."

He held out his servo as an offered greeting. Eventually, after a brief hesitation, the looming silver mech reached out with his own (clawed?!) servo and shook it, being even more gentle than Orion thought possible.

"... Orion Pax." The mech ventured, looking him up and down. "Would you happen to be from Iacon?"

'Oh my,' thought Orion, feeling his faceplates heat up a bit, 'I could certainly get used to hearing his voice...'

"Ah, yes! I am!" Orion said a bit too bright, which only increased his blush, "I work as an Archivist, doing anything clerical, really. My focus is generally on the origins and development of Cybertronian cultures and societies. Recently I've been reading more about philosophy, and how it's shaped-- Oh!" Orion's train of thought came to screeching halt. He was being rude!

"Please forgive me, but I have not even asked you for your designation! And Sentinel made no mention of it before... who might you be, my keeper? Are you part of the estate's sentry?"

The silver mech gave a low chuckle, visibly more relaxed than he had been earlier. The sound sent a tingle down Orion's struts.

"Only temporarily. I am a gladiator-- plucked fresh from the Pits to be your humble guardsmech." The mech grinned and did a mock bow. Orion was utterly charmed... but wait!

"... Do you by chance know the Champion of Kaon?" 'Could it be...?'

Another rumbling chuckle, and Orion found himself hanging on every word.

"I am the Champion, little Archivist. My designation is Megatronus."

#megop #fic pitch #fuzz writes #once again i say something is gonna be quick and then it's NOT #lmao! #long post

[eggluverz]

— MASTERLIST

hi there and welcome to my blog!! i’m sof and here are my writings :> hope u enjoy ur stay !!

© eggluverz — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not plagiarize. thank you and have fun reading!

DAN HENG

i. operation: dog food

modern au. in which you are trying to save a stray dog and dan heng sees you lurking around front of his door.

ii. the interns

modern au. in which you view your internship as a competition and dan heng is simply attracted to all your hard work and determination.

iii. hot and cold

roommate au. in which dan heng runs hot and blasts the air conditioner to keep cool, and you feel like you’re living in the arctic.

iv. starry night bakery

bakery au. in which the cute baker down the street catches your eye and you decide to become a regular to keep seeing him.

v. blind dates & hidden feelings

march 7th sets you up on a blind date with gepard and dan heng finds himself feeling jealous when he sees the two of you on a date together.

vi. we really were timeless

dan heng does not want to remember his previous reincarnation, but there is one part he doesn't want to let go of forever— you.

vii. like me better?

you want to braid dan heng's hair and he wonders if you like him better in this form.

viii. something shiny this way comes

dan heng wants to face part of his past by walking around xianzhou luofu with you, but he freaks out when he notices you are no longer by his side.

ix. after all this time

you were the great imbibitor lunae's disciple. he trusted you with his life and you with his. but when the time came, you weren't able to save him. what happens when you run into his reincarnation years down the line?

x. no time to waste

school au. dan heng's a workaholic, you're the only one who can get him to look away from his work, and jing yuan thinks the two of you just need to get together.

xi. should've been there

you and dan heng are exploring the xianzhou luofu and you get surrounded by a group of assassins who want to hurt you to get to dan heng. you decide to teach them not to mess with your partner. 

xii. stars fading but i linger on, dear

dan heng has been having dreams about you. they started off good—like a fairytale even. but soon he’s been getting the feeling something is wrong. you’re trapped and alone and can’t escape. dan heng wonders if his dreams are telling him something. and if they are…what is there for him to do?

xiii. dragons and daffodils

you impulsively walk into a tattoo shop, see a gorgeous man with blue eyes and a dragon tattoo along his arm, and immediately decide you need to get a tattoo from him now. 

xiv. light in the darkness

dan heng has an extreme fear of the dark and the astral express experiences a power outage. thankfully, you are there to help him through this.

xv. gifts from the heart

dan heng sees a plushie of him at a vendor booth at belobog. he doesn’t understand that craze of “cute” things himself but perhaps you will like the gift.

BLADE

i. not a weirdo stalker [smau]

modern au. in which you are a college student trying to vibe and blade thinks you are crazy obsessed with him.

ii. everything i need

idol au. in which you’re feeling down about not seeing your boyfriend in a few months and blade takes time out of his busy tour schedule to surprise you.

JING YUAN

i. taste of the universe

in which jing yuan occasionally gets tired of being general and you are there to cheer him up.

ii. lady fu’s matchmaking service

fu xuan thinks the lonely general needs to go on a date, and you are just the person she wants to set him up with.

iii. the general needs a break… and a mooncake

the general is drowning in work, and the mid-autumn festival is the perfect excuse to take a break.

DAN FENG

i. a stare worth a thousand words

you and dan feng were just friends. close comrades who challenged each other. but you were starting to suspect that just friends don't stare at each other like this...

HEADCANONS

❀ dan heng x f!reader college au

❀ halloween with dan heng, jing yuan, and blade

— tags + info

❀ request guidelines

# ❣️ rambles: for when i like to blah blah blah

# 💌 asks: received in my ask box <3

# 📚 fic recs: works i’ve read and enjoyed!

member of @masked-fools 🫶

#masterlist #if u see this dan heng luvs u<3

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Cowboy AU

Prologue

Introduction to my fic set within the cowboy AU created by @ghouljams for our dear boy Nikto. This is just a quick starter piece to set the scene for the fic so to say. Also decided to include Sputnik since I don't see many fics including the precious baby!

A/N: Obligatory note that I do not condone the owning of dangerous or wild exotic animals as pets regardless of a country or state's laws. Exotic animals require a large amount of knowledge in their husbandry and specific requirements to ensure the highest standard of welfare is maintained. They should never be treated like domestic animals, they do not make good pets.

Warnings: Discussion of Serious Injury, Limb Amputation.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next Part

Nikto had been waiting for death to greet him throughout the entirety of his career. It was simply an inevitable fact of life both in the military and working as a mercenary for hire. People died constantly at his sides, and it quickly became a question of “when” and not “if” the final string would be cut and his body would fail him for the last time. 

There were days when he almost wished for the reaper to claim whatever remained of his empty heart. Torture was tolerable, an old friend at this point, but the months and years of recovery afterwards were what really felt like suffering.  

Alive, and yet completely useless. A fractured mind trapped within an equally ruined body.  

The only thing he could look forward to was getting back to work once his body was finally strong enough to pass medical approval. Tedious as the waiting game could be, he wasn’t stupid enough to push himself beyond his limits like some honour-hungry rookie. No, he waited and saved his strength for when it would one day be needed, for the days when nothing but sheer willpower can save his pitiful soul.  

And yet despite his many brushes with death, he had still yet to be taken by it, even when by all rights he should have been. Death yet remained a stranger.  

But why? Was his mind too corrupt and darkened for even the devil to want to touch? He had never believed in any God, but surely there was one looking down on him and mocking his pathetic existence. How else could he have survived an injury that should have killed him?  

He could remember little of the mission, only the sounds of people shouting orders, the potent scent of smoke and chemicals in the air, and pain. Certainly not the worst pain he’d experienced in his life, a blade to the gut still had the honour of that, but close to it. He was fortunate that the concussion he’d received had left him drifting in and out of unconsciousness for most of the trip back to base.  

His arm was fucked. According to the doctor and the reports from various other operators present on the mission, his elbow was bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t have been, and there was enough shrapnel in the remaining flesh that he might as well have lopped the whole thing off entirely.  

Which is exactly what the doctors ended up doing.  

It was their last resort, but with the complete lack of feeling in the limb coupled with an infection that just couldn’t be stamped out no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into his IV, it was necessary. They tried as hard as possible to save it, but necrosis had set in, and the safest course of action was to remove all damaged and dead tissue.  

He still wasn’t sure what would have been worse, being taken out by sepsis, or dealing with his current existence.  

And what a miserable existence it is.  

KorTac wanted to keep him on – surely, they couldn’t just let a wild beast like him roam free without a firm hand on his leash – but there was very little they could offer for him. Stay with the PMC and become a glorified guard dog? Train bratty little recruits? Sit behind a desk pushing papers nine to five? No, that would destroy what little grasp he still had on his sanity.  

That was how he ended up standing on the rundown porch of a house that could be described in a single word as dilapidated. It was cheap but came with enough land for him to not need to worry about nosy neighbours. He’s so far lacked the motivation to do anything to try and restore the building, but it has four walls and a roof, which is more than can be said for some of the “safe” houses he’s utilised over the years.  

He’d been lucky to discover the place at all with how small the town is. A passing comment from a fellow soldier about the region had caught his attention and, considering the impossibility of returning to Russia, he’d decided to look into it. America was a massive continent, and in the US he wouldn’t be questioned for owning weapons. Even better? This particular state allowed him to continue to keep Sputnik without suspicion.  

The old man who had been selling the house had been sympathetic after he’d played the whole “injured veteran” card and had even offered him a reduced price for the property. It still sickens him to think about how weak he must have looked in that moment, but needs must, and what he needed was a place to call home, even if only for a little while.  

One terrible accident and he’s reduced to begging for help like a stray dog wanting scraps.  

His irritation has the hand of his prosthetic curling gently into the fur of Sputnik’s pelt. All it can do is open and close around things to allow him some form of grip, but it works, and he supposes that’s all that matters. His girl doesn’t seem to care that it’s not a flesh and blood hand petting her, leaning into him regardless.  

She’s the centre of his current predicament and the reason he’s been forced to reach out for help. No amount of puppy dog eyes and wide grins sent his way are enough to save her from a trip to the vet. Or rather, a visit from one.  

He waits patiently as a large car rolls down the gravel road that leads to the small house from the property’s front gate. Sputnik whines as it draws closer, before beginning to laugh with nervous excitement. The moment the vehicle pulls to a stop she moves to investigate, but is quickly stopped with a barked, “МЕСТО!” command from Nikto.  

Sputnik huffs, unimpressed with not being allowed to greet their visitor, but settles for sitting at the top of the stairs while her master approaches.  

In all honesty, Nikto had been expecting a grizzled old man or woman with decades of experience under the belt when the receptionist had promised to send someone with knowledge of exotics. What he wasn’t expecting was... you.  

#writing #fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #cowboy au

[gingerbreadmonsters]

something strange

or: who you gonna call?

gn!reader, warnings for mild innuendo and discussion of death, halloween hijinks except it’s literally spring, oopsie. hello, operator? there’s something weird, and it - well, it’s not looking great… it’s time for yet another weirdo DAMN crew AU! cheers as always to agent of the google docs surveillance state @zozo-01 who keeps figuring out when i’m working on this at 4am, and to all the gang on discord who have tolerated the frankly disturbingly-morbid questions that it’s prompted. please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle - don't worry, we'll reattach those for you at the end of the ride. dear having a dose of a freaky ghost (or five) in just over 13,600 words.

Every day's a school day, or so you're told.

For most people, that's more of a figurative thing. For you, you've been going to school basically non-stop since you were three years old or something, so it's pretty literal.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, you suppose. Teaching at DAMN is pretty good, the faculty and students are nice enough, and it pays… well, it pays. More than your last job, though that's not really saying much, and enough to afford the mortgage on this new house you've moved into.

It’s weird. You’d heard nothing but terrible things about the housing market in California lately, and Dahlia was no exception - it still isn’t, if you’re honest. Rent is extortionate, but even that barely matters when there’s hardly anything available in the first place.

You'd been so surprised when you'd seen it online. A proper, two-bedroom detached house, with a garden and a garage and everything, going for a lot less than the - admittedly-few - other houses nearby. How had nobody snapped it up already? Pleasantly surprised, you'd called the estate agent to see about putting in an offer, and you'd barely been able to get the words out before she'd set you up with an appointment the next day.

She'd been… cagey, is probably the best way to put it. Reluctant to tell you why it was so cheap. She couldn't stall forever, though - you remember the resigned, slightly apologetic look on her face as she took a deep breath, before plastering on a grin and telling you what was going on.

Now then, she'd said. I know it's unpleasant, but I'm required by law to disclose to you that, within the last three years, a number of previous tenants sadly passed away on the property.

You’d certainly been surprised, but she’d clearly just wanted to get this conversation over with, and just breezed on. As far as we understand, none of the tenants were affiliated with each other, and only two of the deaths were directly caused by an issue with the property - some minor faulty wiring, and one of the older sections of the roof was damaged during a storm and collapsed unexpectedly. It’s since been repaired, though, so no need to worry!

Somehow, the worst part about that sentence wasn’t the news that someone had been crushed to death in the house you were trying to buy, but was instead the cheery smile with which she delivered the news, like she thought you’d be delighted. Are all real estate agents in California like this?

How many, exactly? Were there any before that? you’d asked, and she hadn’t quite been able to hide her grimace. And how did they die? Should I be concerned about the local area?

Unfortunately for her, you’d been reading up on the sorts of laws that estate agents like her have to follow in California. No matter what, they have to tell you if anyone died in the house in the last three years - but if you ask for more information about it, or about any other deaths from before then, they’re legally required to tell you the truth about that as well.

Well, I don’t mean to alarm you… Nervously, she’d clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, before turning back to you. The four tenants before you all passed away on the property - not under suspicious circumstances, of course. Just… you know. These things happen.

Yes, you’d said flatly. Obviously.

Three out of the four were accidental - one was the result of a fall, one was the aforementioned issue with the roof, and I believe the other was due to an electrical fault. The fourth was the most recent - an altercation with an intruder during a break-in - but we’ve been assured by the local police department that this sort of thing is highly unusual for the area, and is very unlikely to happen again.

As she spoke, you’d felt a horrible feeling of resignation settle in your stomach. Of course the one place you can actually afford to buy is the one where tenants keep dying inexplicably.

How old were they, would you say?

Some more clicking, and if her expression had been anything to go by, a spreadsheet that was loading a lot slower than it should. It looks like… yeah, it looks like most were in their mid-twenties, or thereabouts.

Perfect. Of course they were. Were they living alone?

She’d clearly been dreading the question, gritted teeth forced into a smile. I believe so, yes. The implied like you will be hangs heavy in the air between you, and her eyes dart momentarily back to her screen before flicking back to yours.

Great. Everything about it had been great. A new city, a new job, living alone in a literal, actual death trap of a house. What could possibly go wrong?

Well then, you’d said, crossing your fingers behind your back. I have a good feeling about this.

For the first few weeks, things had been more or less normal - you’d been a little on edge, but nothing especially deadly had happened to you. No wardrobes falling on you, no rugs pulled out from underneath you, no invisible gas leaking into your lungs. In fact, it had been a perfectly ordinary house. If you were more suspicious, you might even say it was too ordinary. But that would be a silly thing to say, and you’re not, so you don’t.

Just a normal person, moving into a normal house. What could be simpler?

The start of term is a blur, and all too soon you’re so caught up in the semester that you barely have the energy to drag yourself upstairs to bed when you get home, let alone worry about anything else. Introducing yourself to your new coworkers, meeting your new classes, sorting through lesson plans and worksheets and your stupid fucking institutional login, being reset for the fifth time in as many days because apparently the IT department here is just as overworked and underpaid as anywhere else and if you have to go and beg them to reset your password again you’re going to-

Wait, it’s nearly the end of the semester already? What?

Finals season at DAMN is a particularly vicious mistress, it seems, and you've been going out of your mind trying to stay on top of all your work. One of the other Water Elemental professors went on maternity leave a month into the semester, so you've been forced to take over her class for the rest of the year - and you can safely say that you're never doing this again.

Twice as many lectures, twice as many emails, twice as much chasing students for late assignments. Right now, basically your whole day is taken up with running practicals, and your evenings are nothing but marking, marking, marking.

Yeah. That’s all that happens in the evenings. You don’t have time to think about anything else at all, nothing whatsoever, because there’s nothing else to think about.

You don’t think about the odd sounds from downstairs while you’re trying to sleep, muffled whispers of what could almost be conversation, echoing quietly in the hallway. You don’t think about the fact that you definitely turned the TV off before you left the house, and how it definitely wasn’t turned to the news when you did. You especially don’t think about how the plants in the garden never seem to need watering, or how the shelves never seem to get dusty, or how the curtains in the living room always seem to be open in the morning, even though you’re sure you closed them before you went to bed.

The doors that open and close on their own - well, it’s just a bit draughty, isn’t it? The strange chill in the air that seems to linger in certain places in the house, no matter how much you turn up the heating - well, all these old houses have their quirks, don’t they? That faint, blurry figure that you could have sworn you saw ducking past you in the mirror, disappearing so quickly that it can’t have really been there at all - and when you turn, there’s nothing behind you but air…

Condensation on the mirror before you’ve even had your shower, the sweet scent of a perfume you don’t wear. You’re going out of your mind.

You’ve started spending more time at work, waking up even earlier than before and going home even later. Organising lesson plans, sorting through papers, picking up extra invigilation, desperate to spend as long as you can at the university - anything, to get you out of that house. Practically the only thing you do at home now is sleep, and even that’s not for very long before you’re dashing out the door again in the morning. You’ll get breakfast on the way. Maybe if you’re not there as often, whatever it is will just… go away?

Only that doesn’t happen - if anything, it’s the complete opposite. The whole place feels strangely uneasy now, like the house itself is on edge, watching you. Something in the corner of your eye, the feeling of something breathing that surely shouldn’t be able to. Something tense and creeping in the air, stretching and stretching, ready to snap.

Fitful dreams, sleepless nights, keys jangling in your hand. Is it still paranoia if your house is really haunted?

It all comes to a head on - well, to be honest, you’re not so sure what day it is. Wednesday, maybe? Thursday? Whatever the case, you’ve been running on practically empty for longer than you should have been, and you’re really starting to feel it now.

Head pounding, you shut your eyes as you lean over the coffee maker. One for now, and one in your flask for later - oh, and you’ve run out of energy drinks in your office, so you’ll have to get a few out of the fridge to take with you.

Stressed at work, stressed at home, and barely sleeping in between. You’ve been forced to live on barely anything but coffee and energy drinks for almost a week now, just to keep yourself upright, and you think… um, you think it might be…

Fuck, your head is spinning. Just a minute, and you’ll be fine. It’s fine. Your laptop’s upstairs by your bed, so you’ve just got to grab that, and then you can be off to work. Just - just wait for the walls to stop moving, alright? You’ll only be a second…

The coffee’s slightly too hot as you gulp it down, and you hiss as it burns your tongue, scorching the inside of your mouth - something cold, you want something cold, make it stop it hurts it hurts - cracking, fizzing, oh, that’s nice, it’s cold, it’s cold - wait, what is it?

Oh, that’s bad. You look down at the half-empty can in your hand, lovely and cold from the fridge, condensation dripping slowly down the metal. Oops. That can’t be good for you.

Now that you’ve opened it, you might as well finish it. You won’t be able to carry an open can with you and it’ll go all weird if you just leave it out. What a waste!

Sip by sip, you gradually empty the can. Why does your stomach feel so weird? That’s not fun. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to remember…?

Laptop, you need to get your laptop. Upstairs. Right.

Well, if your heart explodes, your heart explodes. Giggling to yourself as you stumble past the front door and up the stairs, you imagine the look on that stupid estate agent’s face when she realises what’s happened - shit, they’ll have to put the price down even further, won’t they? That’ll be a hell of a hard sell. Yeah, they all died in mysterious accidents, all very strange and creepy, no idea how it happened - oh, except the last one. That one died of coffee disease when their blood turned into caffeine and their brain caught fire. Tragic.

It’s all fine. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Smiling, you grab your laptop case from the bedside table, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to fight its way out of you. Don't even think about it.

Don't think about the way you’re tripping over your own feet as you narrowly miss bumping into the bed, clinging to the doorframe to keep yourself upright. Don't think about the rushing, racing headache that's building in your skull as you drag yourself back down the corridor, that restless pressure in your chest that won't stop growing as you fumble for the bannister. Don't think about the dizzy, blurry world that shudders around you, the strange lightness in your mind as something gives way, the floor that suddenly isn't there beneath you-

STOP!

the horrible sound of your body as it falters and falls, the terrifying space under your feet where the stairs should be

I don't know, they just - I just - oh, God…

the aftertaste of adrenaline flooding through your blood, bitter and strange

Don't just fucking stand there!

as your heart chokes on its own frantic rhythm

Get out of - here, I can do it-

and there's somebody there

What are you even going to do?

and the world goes black

Don't ask.

and everything

disappears.

You don’t wake up for a while.

Shit, your head hurts.

Slowly, you start to feel something on your face, something cold and hard that’s pressing uncomfortably against your cheek. What is that?

You reach up, and - oh. It’s the floor.

Still too lightheaded to sit up, you gradually come back to consciousness in fits and starts, lazy thoughts swimming through your heavy head. You’re lying in the corridor on your side, staring at the skirting board - which is looking a bit grubby, now that you really look at it - and your laptop case is on the floor by the bedroom door a few feet away. The zip is open, and you can see about half of the actual laptop peeking out.

Thankfully, it looks okay. You’re not sure you could deal with having to buy a new one right now, especially with all the work you’ve got to-

Panicked, you jolt upright, one hand coming up to clutch at your skull as it feels like it’s on fire. You’ve got work!

Wait, what’s the time - how late are you? God, you really couldn’t have picked a worse time to fall down the fucking stairs, could you? You’ll have to call the office and tell them what’s happened, that you’re so, so, sorry, that if they can just get someone to cover your second period lecture you should be in by then…

Hold on.

Confused, you look down. Yeah, that’s what you thought - you’re sitting on the floor, sprawled out in the hallway and facing the wall. There’s nothing around you except your laptop case, and your bedroom door is open.

This isn’t right. How are you looking at your upstairs bedroom door, when you’re sure you fell down the stairs?

And that’s only the first thing - now that you really look, of course you’re not downstairs. The stairs go right down by the front door, but there are no shoes on the ground or coats hanging on the wall. Your laptop case must have been open when you dropped it, but the laptop itself is still inside - surely it would have fallen out when it slid down the stairs, or at least be in much worse shape than it is now?

You’re so confused by the whole thing that it doesn’t even occur to you that, besides the throbbing ache in your head, you’re not actually in any pain. Your heart has slowed back down to normal so you don’t feel quite so sick, and you can’t even feel any bruises or soreness from where you must have hit the ground. It’s as if you’d just… decided to lie down.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because you don’t notice it. You slowly pick yourself back up and stagger into your bedroom, reaching for the glass of water that sits on your bedside table, and the telltale fizzle of healing magic that was left on your tongue disappears without a trace.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. The ladies at the front office are very kind when you call to let them know you might be a bit late, but you hadn’t been unconscious for as long as you thought. You only end up missing half of the first period, after all, and even your headache gradually disappears over the course of the day.

The idea of going to the hospital does occur to you - you did lose consciousness, after all - but you decide against it. You feel fine, and it was probably just your body telling you to cut back on the caffeine for a little while. The winning combination of coffee and a can of whatever-it-was probably wasn’t the best idea on an empty stomach.

Ironically, if you had a student who this happened to, you’d probably have dragged them halfway to A&E yourself by now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, you can’t pretend that everything’s normal once you’ve finally arrived - your department head comes in at lunchtime to find you ankle deep in a pile of second-year practical write-ups, and all but kicks you out of your office so you can go home early and recover. For my sake, if anything, she says with a grin, although you know she’s only half-joking. Think of my reputation - I can’t let my newest lecturer spend more time here than I do, can I?

It’s certainly very kind of her, probably more so than you deserve, and before you know it you’ve been unceremoniously booted out of the building and onto the quad. Looks like it’s hometime, then.

The bus is warm, but not too crowded, so you’re lucky enough to get a seat by the window. There are worse things to do than watch the world go by on your way back home, and the nice view makes the trip go faster - in no time at all, you’re getting off again.

It’s so bizarre, going home in the middle of the day. Normally it’s long been dark by the time you get back, and everything looks so different in the light that you almost walk straight past your street entirely. Has the house on the opposite side of the road always had those flowers in the front garden? Or has it just always been too dark for you to notice them?

Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you have a horrible feeling that you don’t really know anything about this place. What really happens here in Dahlia? How much of it have you actually seen, that isn’t the inside of a university building?

Unsettled, you unlock the door and step inside, shutting the door behind you with a sigh. Home at last. You’ll have to-

I swear, if you-

Wait, was that the door?

Hold on. What was that sound…?

You listen for a second, but you can’t hear anything unusual. Huh. Must have been nothing.

In any case, now that you’re home, you’re really starting to feel that tiredness creeping in. With a sigh of relief, you toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, before sliding your bag off your shoulder and dropping your keys into th-

There’s no way. It’s, like, lunchtime or something, right?

Okay, this is really starting to get weird now. You could have sworn you heard someone, muffled and ever-so-quiet underneath the noise of your keys falling into the bowl that you normally keep them in.

Is there someone else here? There can’t be, surely. You peer around the hallway, looking for any sign that someone might have broken in, but you don’t see anything weird - although it’s not like you really know what you’d be looking for. The door was locked when you came in, and you know that when you left for work, all the windows were shut and the back door was locked too.

Besides, everyone said this part of the city was pretty safe, didn’t they?

(Okay, so the last tenant did die horribly when someone broke in a few months ago, but something, something, never strikes twice or whatever.)

Your aura flickers as you try to reach out and see if you can feel something there, but there’s nothing at all. No sign of anyone, empowered or otherwise, and nothing out of the ordinary happening with the ambient magic in the house.

To tell the truth, you’d been surprised at how strong it was when you moved in. At least one of the previous tenants must have been magical, and really powerful - this house is full of magic left behind, traces of a forgotten aura, echoing softly in the walls and floors. It happens to most places where empowered people live or work, so it’s not like you’re not used to it, but even so… wow. It’s very strong.

Gingerly, you creep across the hallway and nudge the door to the living room just slightly open, before holding your breath and peeking inside.

And… there’s nothing there.

Just your boring, ordinary living room.

You check all the other rooms just to make sure, but they’re exactly the same. Nothing out of place, everything just as you’d left it. Nothing missing, nothing moved, nothing weird at all. There’s no trace of an intruder, and you’re starting to feel a bit silly, really. Surely you’re just imagining things, right?

Well, that or you’re hearing voices. God, all that caffeine really has fucked you up.

Perhaps a nap might be in order, now that you think about it. Yeah, a nap would be good. You’re getting tired just thinking about it - falling asleep, not having to worry about anything, relaxing after all the bizarre things that have been happening to you today. It sounds wonderful.

Quickly, you change into your pyjamas and get into bed, getting a glass of water from the kitchen before you go upstairs - you briefly consider having a shower beforehand, but you’re too sleepy to bother. Your bed is warm and soft and quiet, and that’s what matters right now.

Oh, it’s so nice. No more headache, no more confusion. The duvet is thick and comfy as you pull it around you, and just like that, you’re asleep almost immediately.

While you’re sleeping, do you dream?

I don’t get it. Why come back so soon?

Maybe it’s a timetabling thing? For finals? Like, an exam got cancelled so they didn’t have to stay? But it really could be anything - it’s always a miserable time for everyone, even the staff, so who even knows what it was…

Yeah, that’s true.

Do you think it’ll be back to normal tomorrow?

We’ll just have to wait and see. Hopefully we don’t get another scare like earlier.

Oh my God, that was fucking terrifying… I thought I was going to have a heart attack! Again!

Is that what happened? I thought it - oh, yeah, I guess it sort of counts. But it’s not like anyone can see us, anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter.

Well… But, like, it’s still kind of stressful though, don’t you think?

A bit, I guess. But you could probably say we’ve had worse.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair enough.

…No, you probably don’t.

When you wake up, it’s nighttime, weak moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains and falling across the floor. Mm, it’s so nice and warm under the covers. What’s the time? Everything feels weird.

Blearily, you reach for your phone - it’s about eight o’clock. Shit. Has it really been that long? You’d only meant to be asleep for a few hours, not the whole rest of the day…

Ah, whatever. You must have needed it. And anyway, you can’t really be bothered to try and think about work now - whatever you were going to do, you’ll just deal with it tomorrow. Maybe you’ll go downstairs and have a little something for dinner, and then relax a bit more before going to bed properly.

You rub your eyes with one hand as you push yourself up to sitting, swinging your legs over the side of the bed with a groan. Getting up is the worst. The glass of water on your bedside table is nice, though, and you gulp down about half of it while you get used to being upright again.

…Is it just you, or can you hear something coming from the next room?

Nope, nope, you’re not doing this again - it was nothing last time, and it’s probably nothing again. You’re just a little bit on edge. Perfectly understandable. You’re going to get up and go out of your room, and walk over to the stairs. Then you’re going to go down the stairs, and go to the kitchen to make some dinner, and absolutely nothing strange is going to happen while you do it.

With that in mind, you stand up and walk towards the door with a lot more confidence than you feel, although it’s slightly undermined when you have to backtrack a few steps in because you forgot to pick up your phone. But with that in hand, you pull the bedroom door open and step out into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be-

“Ah!”

It’s not. Oh, fuck, it’s really, really not.

There’s a shadow in the corridor - your breath freezes as you see it, a paralysing chill slicing down your spine. Floorboards creaking quietly, the faintest sound of breathing. Something moving, just inside the doorway to the guest bedroom down the hall.

There’s someone else in the house.

The door is slightly open, letting you see just a tiny bit inside the room, and you stare in shock as you catch a glimpse of a definitely-there, definitely-real hand suddenly reaching out to grasp at the doorframe. Whoever it belongs to, the angle makes it look like they’re leaning against the wall - the hand trembles slightly as it clutches at the wood, clumsy and frantic, nails scratching at the paint.

Terrified, you’re frozen to the floor as the hand slips down a fraction, and the arm it’s attached to knocks the side of the door. The hinges creak faintly as the door slowly swings open, only to reveal-

“Mmm…”

Wait, what?

Okay, you realise that you screwed up with the whole caffeine thing earlier. And you’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks. And you just woke up from a nap. So all in all, you’re probably not operating at full capacity right now. But even so, even with all that going on, you have to admit that you really weren’t expecting to see a couple very enthusiastically making out against the wall of your guest bedroom.

The two of them are utterly lost in each other and totally ignoring you - in fact, it doesn’t even look like they’ve noticed you standing here at all. If your brain could stop bluescreening, you’d almost be offended.

The - um, demon? Is that really a demon? You’ve only ever seen a few from afar, mostly on campus, but the distinctive flavour of magic that soaks into your aura even from here is a dead giveaway - the demon presses himself against the human-looking one as he kisses them, horns knocking softly against the wall above their head as he leans over them. The human clings to his shoulders in return, and you watch as a hand that you now recognise slides down the demon’s chest to tug impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

They’re also both very, very hot. Woah.

(Look, it’s been a while, okay? And anyway, it’s just an observation. An idle, ordinary observation. It’s not your fault that they look… fuck, they look really good. Like, really good.)

The human sighs softly as the demon nudges their head to the side with the tip of his tail, kissing avidly across their jaw and down their throat. Are those fangs? Does he have fangs? Because it certainly looks like it from here - the human’s eyelids flutter as he nips sweetly at their skin, only for their gaze to fall on-

“Mm - mmm!” The human splutters as they finally notice you, eyes going wide and hands clutching frantically at the demon’s back as they try to nudge him away. Is it fear or surprise? “It - baby, baby, there - there’s s-”

“Yeah - mhm, I-”

The demon shushes them breathlessly, chasing their lips with a quiet whine, one arm locking tight around their middle to keep them close as his other hand cups the back of their head, presumably to protect them from hitting their head against the wall. “They can’t see, deviant, ‘s okay-”

“You - mm, fuck! - Gav, they’re right - they’re right there!”

Somewhat belatedly, you realise that you’ve just been kind of standing there and staring at these two - with a start, you stumble backwards a step and drop your gaze to the floorboards in embarrassment. Should you be embarrassed? You’re a little bit embarrassed.

(It’s kind of rude to stare at people who are making out. Although, it’s also kind of rude to break into someone else’s house and start making out against the wall while the owner of the house is trying to sleep in the next room, so maybe you’re even.)

You scramble hastily for words, half-formed syllables spilling out of your mouth, but you have no idea what to say - what can you say in a situation like this? How do you - what do you - where do you even begin?

Luckily, the demon speaks up before you can make too much of a fool of yourself - you notice that he’s stepped slightly in front of the human, tail coiling around their calf in a way that you can only describe as deeply, deliberately possessive. Does he think you’re going to… to do what? Hurt them?

“I suppose we ought to explain…?”

He sounds a bit surprised, which is unexpected, considering that this is the weirdest break-in on Earth, and also that this isn’t his house. Aren’t you the one who should be surprised?

“I think they’re in the living room,” says the human in a total non-sequitur, gently extricating themselves from the demon’s tail and backing away towards the end of the corridor. “I’ll go and get them.”

“No - no, we’ll come down,” the demon calls back to them as they disappear downstairs. “I think our new friend might want to sit down for this.”

You don’t really have a chance to protest, utterly lost in shock - numbly, you follow the demon as he beckons you over, with a smile that looks easy, but you’re sure it’s taking a lot more effort than he’d like.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says conversationally, gesturing towards the stairs. “Nice to meet you.”

He motions again towards the stairs, but you’re too dazed to really get what he means - with a good-natured sigh, he takes a step in front of you and starts walking backwards down the stairs, one hand drifting just slightly above the bannister as the other keeps urging you forwards. “And you might be…?”

Oh - oh, that’s what he wants! You wouldn’t say that the jumble of syllables that falls out of your mouth is exactly your name, but it’s close enough, and he nods in acquiescence.

“Well, then. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

There’s a funny sort of smile in his voice when he says that, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it might be. And anyway, what does he mean by finally?

The demon - Gavin, what a strange name for a demon, you’ll have to remember that - he turns when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and you see that the door to the living room is open now. You can hear a sort of whispered argument going on in there, between what sounds like two or three people, but you can’t see wh-

“Um, yeah - yeah, I’ll just go and get something from the - fuck! - sorry, sorry, I’m just - oh my God!”

Totally stunned, all you can do is watch as a man comes hurrying out of the living room towards you, talking at lightning speed over his shoulder and almost tripping over Gavin’s tail before the demon whips it out of the way just in time. He stumbles forwards as he tries to get his balance back, grabbing the end of the bannister to keep himself upright - you catch a glimpse of something silver around his neck, tucked into his shirt, before you’re suddenly face-to-face with a very large pair of glasses, and the very flustered-looking man who’s right behind them.

(Oh, for the love of - did anyone break into your house who isn’t ridiculously pretty? What sort of home invader beauty pageant did these people all come from?)

“Shit.”

Both of you stare at each other for a confused second, unblinking, before the strange man jerks backwards away from you, hands fluttering awkwardly in the air as he starts to ramble.

“I mean, um, sorry! Not to, like, call you - not you, obviously - that would be rude, and - and I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just, you know…”

“Smooth,” murmurs Gavin behind him, leaning against the wall and not even trying to hide his grin. “Now do one of those pick-up lines we practised.”

The man shuts his eyes like he’s trying to stave off a headache, taking what’s clearly a blood-pressure-lowering deep breath. “Please, please fuck off.”

Gavin shrugs, blowing him an unapologetic kiss and waving at you with the tip of his tail, before disappearing through the door to the living room with a cackle.

“Whatever you say, Lasky!”

“Oh, not again-!”

He turns to you, almost pleadingly, and he looks so comically weary that you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry. “It’s Lasko, not Lasky, he does this every time and I…”

“It’s - um, it’s alright,” you reply, and give him your nicest smile. “Nice to meet you, Lasko.”

He blinks owlishly at you for a second, like he’s not sure what to say, before smiling back at you. “Nice to… uh, nice to meet you too!”

Idly, you notice that his hand has come up to fiddle with the chain of his necklace, although the actual pendant is hidden under his shirt. It must be pretty sizeable, though, because you can just about see the shape of it through the material - a kind of sphere, or a round-ish chunk of some gemstone, maybe?

“I was just going to get some water for - well, for you, actually, just ‘cause Hux said he thought it might be nice? Like, obviously it’s a lot to get used to, and if you’re holding a drink then you don’t have to, um - you know, when you don’t know what to do with your hands? Or if you don’t know what to say, then you’ve got something to do, and anyway, it’s just kind of nice to… to, uh…”

Lasky - nope, Lasko, it’s Lasko - trails off, apparently only just noticing that he’s blocking the bottom of the stairs, and hurriedly sidesteps out of the way to let you past. “You can go in, by the way! I’ll just be a minute.”

Before you have a chance to say anything, he disappears off towards the kitchen, white ankle socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor, and all you can think is that you’ve never heard of a burglar who took off his shoes when he broke into the house.

Well, you might as well do what he says…?

Timidly, you creep up to the living room door and peer around the doorframe, dreading what you’ll find. These people all seem very nice, but what the hell are they doing here, anyway? Are they going to do something to you? How long have they been planning this? You couldn’t run, even if you tried - if they’ve got a demon on their side, you’d barely be able to get out the front door before they’d catch you again.

Being brave, you’ve got to be brave. Whatever they want, just give it to them, and maybe they’ll go away.

“Hey, uh… you okay?”

You jolt as another man pops into view, leaning into your field of vision from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He waves, and his smile is awfully sweet as he motions for you to come into the room.

“You can stay there if you want, but, like… it’s your house, right?” he laughs, not unkindly. “You can go wherever you like, dude, we won’t stop you.”

He sits back upright from where he was leaning over as you walk nervously into the room, and you notice that there’s another man sitting next to him on the sofa. It’s hard to tell, seeing as they’re sitting down, but this one looks slightly shorter than the first, flicking his dark hair out of his face and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

(Fucking hell, they’re literally all so beautiful. Do the cast of Vogue normally spend their free time breaking and entering, or are you just really lucky?)

“Damien,” the shorter man says, standing up and walking around the coffee table with one hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Well, he’s certainly cutting to the chase, isn’t he? Fair enough. You introduce yourself in turn as you shake his hand, but you can’t help but think there’s something… something odd about the feeling of his skin. He’s not cold, per se, but it’s something like that - a strange feeling that runs down your spine like ice water, like your mind can’t place it but your body instinctively knows that something isn’t quite right.

In any case, he sits back down and the man next to him lifts a hand in greeting, looking slightly embarrassed that Damien beat him to the punch.

“Ah, I’m Huxley,” he says, “but Hux is fine, if that’s better for you.”

Damien rolls his eyes with unmistakable fondness, which is a bizarre choice for a home invader. “You can just say which one you prefer, you know. It’s your name.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Huxley shrugs, and you can tell they’ve had this conversation a thousand times. “I don’t really mind, you know? Like, whichever one you say, I still know what you mean, ‘cause it’s all still me. And anyway, if I changed my mind, I’d just say later.”

He grins, sharp and painfully handsome, and turns his head to look past Damien over to the loveseat, where you belatedly realise Gavin and his human, um, friend from before are sprawled out across the cushions.

“Besides, I feel like there’s worse culprits, y’know?”

Damien drops his head in his hands. “Don’t even get me started on Freelancer.”

Apparently-Freelancer lifts a lazy middle finger in his direction. “It gets the point across, doesn’t it?”

“There’s got to be more to a name than just gets the point across,” he moans. “Just because you happen to be a Freelancer doesn't mean that's all you are.”

They huff, turning their face away haughtily. “It’s a name if I say it's a name.”

“It's literally a nickname! You have a different name! That we know and also call you!”

Freelancer’s eyes narrow wickedly. “Want me to choose a different nickname?”

Gavin lifts his head interestedly from where he’s draped across their lap. “I might have some suggestions-”

“No!” shrieks Damien, and the temperature in the room unexpectedly spikes as he flops backwards against the sofa cushions, decidedly not looking over at the loveseat. “God, no, we already hear enough of those when you’re-”

“Jesus,” Lasko mutters as he comes in through the door behind you, silently passing you a glass of water and motioning for you to sit down in the one empty armchair that's opposite the sofa. “Sorry about them. It happens a lot.”

You nod noncommittally as you sit down, watching it all with a sort of vague detachment as he goes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Huxley. The three of them are facing you across the coffee table, with Gavin and Freelancer occupying the loveseat on the right, and something about the way they’re all looking at you is strangely… interrogative? Like you’re here for the world’s weirdest job interview or something - like they’re trying to get the measure of you.

It’s quite awkward, to be honest. You take a sip of your water, feeling oddly grateful for Lasko’s foresight about not having to wonder what to do with your hands.

“Okay, look.”

Damien breaks the ice, leaning forward slightly as he looks seriously at you. “This is going to sound kind of - kind of unusual. And we get that. But it’s true, and you deserve to know, so we’ll just… we’ll just say it, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath. Huxley quietly holds out his hand, palm up, and Damien takes it.

“When you bought this place, they told you about the previous owners, right?”

You nod, remembering that uncomfortable meeting with the estate agent. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re, um…” Damien’s gaze slides to the side, uncomfortable, before returning to you. “You’re looking at them, I’m afraid.”

Sorry, you’re what?

He gives you a second to process that, not that a second is nearly enough, and carries on. “All of us owned this house before you. Whenever they said anything about previous occupants, or ex-tenants, or whatever bullshit word they used - they were talking about us.”

“You’re joking,” you manage to force out, incredulous. “But you - she said you - she said-”

“That we died?” says Gavin, with a grim smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No. No, no - that’s impossible!”

Your mind reels in confusion at this utterly bizarre story, trying to make sense of it all. So what - so they’re all dead, then? Like, ghosts or something? That can’t be right - the closest thing you’ve ever heard of to that were Shades, and they definitely aren’t Shades.

There’s no magic in the world that can reanimate the dead. For as long as humans have had magic, they’ve tried and tried, but it just doesn’t work. So what the hell are these people playing at?

(And anyway, didn’t the woman at the estate agency say there were four ex-tenants? How can there suddenly be five of them?)

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re joking. This has to be a joke.”

“I said the same thing,” Lasko says mournfully, looking down at the floor. “If it is a joke, it looks like it’s on us.”

“You’re magical, right?”

Freelancer’s voice is quiet, but something about it is strangely urgent. “You can feel other people’s auras, can’t you?”

“Yes…?” you reply, unsure of what they’re getting at. “What about it?”

“We are, too,” they say, and a flame dances to life in their palm. “So shouldn’t you be able to feel us?”

Reflexively, your aura ripples around you as you search for what you know must be right in front of you - they’re doing magic right now, so surely you’ll be able to feel something…?

Nothing. Not them, not anyone else. It’s as if nobody’s there at all - only that insistent thrum of magic that flows through the bones of this house, that you remember thinking was unusually strong. Those noises you couldn’t explain, things in strange places that shouldn’t have been able to move. You’ve never had to water the plants once.

Was this what that feeling was all along? Were they what you were feeling?

You don’t know what to say. This shouldn’t be possible.

“I don’t get it,” you mumble, feeling awfully small and scared. “I don’t - I don’t understand.”

“Then we’ll explain it a different way,” says Huxley, with so much patience that you could almost cry. “Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He starts to stand up like he’s going to come over to you, but there’s not really any room on the chair next to you, so he just sort of awkwardly sits back down again. “Okay, we’ll start from the beginning. Lasko?”

Lasko waves, an awkward little half-gesture. “Hi.”

You take another sip of your water - it’s slightly lukewarm now, but it’s still comforting.

“I was - well, I was first,” he says, trembling fingers tugging at his necklace chain again. “I used to work at DAMN, like you, and I ended up renting this place - I remember thinking it was unusually cheap, but I needed somewhere to live, right?”

He laughs, slightly shakily. “I guess it must have been a problem with the electrics, or something, ‘cause I’m sure it wasn’t me. But I was in the, um - I was in the bath, and I remember the lights flickering like there was a storm, or something? It felt odd, like something in the air, and there must have been a power surge…”

A horrible feeling blossoms in the pit of your stomach when you realise what he’s saying - he must see it on your face, shrugging sheepishly. “I don’t really know how it actually happened…? I mean, I think it was a heart attack, or it stopped my heart or something like that, but I - I guess I normally just say I got electrocuted. It’s - uh, I mean, I don’t have to explain it a lot, but it’s easier than saying the whole thing, I think.”

Dimly, you recall the estate agent’s voice in your head. An electrical fault.

“Afterwards, the rental company didn’t want the place anymore,” Lasko says, surprisingly cheerily. “You can’t really blame them, though.”

“I think you can,” grumbles Freelancer. “They did kill you.”

Lasko shrugs. “How were they supposed to know?”

“They sold you a house that zapped you to death!”

“They rented me a house that zapped me to death,” Lasko fires back, waving a hand in Freelancer’s direction as they stick their tongue out at him. “It’s probably different.”

Damien rolls his eyes - you’re getting the distinct impression he does that a lot - and elbows Huxley lightly in the side. “For the love of God, please distract them.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, and turns to you. “I used to be a student at DAMN, and I needed somewhere to live after the semester ended, right? Like, my lease was up, and I didn't really know what I was gonna do - you know what it's like.”

“You were at DAMN?” you ask, surprised. “What were you studying?”

“Oh, uh, Earth Elemental Studies,” Huxley replies, with a melancholy smile. “I had a teaching gig lined up for after graduation, but… you know.”

He gestures down at himself and shrugs. Lasko looks away.

“I ended up renting this place after Lasko had his, uh, accident - they said everything had been fixed, but I guess they didn't get it all…? The weather in Dahlia isn't normally so bad, so I must've just been unlucky with the storm. You know how the ceiling in the kitchen is a different colour to the walls? Like it's been repaired recently?”

Oh, you have a bad feeling about this. “Yeah.”

He grimaces. “It, uh… well, it wasn't like that before I moved in.”

Fucking hell. When she said there has been an issue with the roof she’d been putting it mildly.

Huxley must see your horrified expression, quickly cutting back in. “Don’t worry about it, dude - it didn't hurt that bad, not for long. It was pretty quick, when you think about it.”

“I mean, most people don't like thinking about it at all,” Damien murmurs under his breath. “We’re not exactly in the majority here.”

Huxley tips his head to the side in acquiescence. “It was a while ago. Gotta get over this kind of shit eventually.”

Gavin’s jaw drops. “You're over it?”

“Well, no…” he replies. “But it'll probably happen at some point, yeah?”

Freelancer, half-buried underneath their human-blanket (demon-blanket?) over on the loveseat, blinks in apparent wonder. “Hux, you're my hero.”

Huxley grins. “Don't let Gav hear you saying that.”

“Oh, he's not listening,” they scoff, tipping Gavin’s face up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you, darling?”

Gavin shakes his head, eyes closed and wearing a wide, lazy smile. “Didn't hear a thing.”

Damien sighs fondly at their antics, gaze all soft and sticky, before turning back to you. “In any case, I was the next one. Moved in a few weeks after the storm, when they said everything was fixed. When they were telling you about us, did anyone mention a fall?”

You’d been kind of preoccupied by the more unusual deaths, so you don't really remember if the lady did or not, but it sounds about right. “I think so…?”

“Then there's not much more to say.”

He shifts slightly in his seat. “I was rushing, and I slipped - it's my own fault, really. I’d overslept and I thought I was going to be late for a lecture, so I wasn't really looking where I was going. You know how slippery the stairs can get.”

You wince. “They’re pretty bad, yeah.”

“You'd have thought they'd at least put some carpet down or something after I died, but apparently not,” Damien grumbles. “First they had to dig Hux out from under whatever cheap roofing shit they had before, then five minutes later we were all watching some poor contractor scrubbing my goddamned blood out of the floorboards, because it would have been too fucking expensive to replace it all - do they just like having to scrape their tenants off the floor, or something? Because that's what would have happened to you earlier if we hadn't done anything, for fuck’s sake…”

He looks up sharply when he says that, like he's just remembered something. “Oh, um - yeah, that was us. Sorry about that. But also, like, the espresso-Monster thing you drank probably wasn’t the best breakfast.”

This morning. All those things that didn't add up. Falling down the stairs, and landing at the top of them. That was them?

“How did it…” You're not quite sure how to put it. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, you can thank Lasko for that,” he replies. “He managed to slow you down enough that Gavin was able to heal you without anything being too serious.”

You look over at Lasko, nervously waving his hands in front of his face like it’ll ward off any sort of thanks. “It was just luck, that's all! I just, you know - I was in the right place at the right time, and I - well, the whole air thing is kind of easy for me, so it wasn't even that complicated or anything - I mean, not that it wasn't important, obviously, but-”

“Lasko.”

“Yes?”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Nervously, he smiles back, with an charmingly-awkward little thumbs up. “Not, uh, no problem.”

“If you’re trying to join us, you’ll have to try harder than that,” Damien quips, blackly. “Dying like that isn't fun, believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say. “Next time, I’ll just let the caffeine poison me all by itself.”

He nods approvingly, the hint of a held-back smile brightening his handsome face. “See, now you’re getting it.”

Idly, you lift the glass to your mouth, only to realise that - wait, it’s empty? No, it can’t be. When did you drink all of that? How bizarre. Hearing about people dying must be thirsty work. Quietly, you put it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Freelancer.”

“Mm?” Freelancer looks up, distracted from whatever sweet nothings Gavin seems to be mumbling into their neck. “What?”

Damien tips his head slightly in your direction. “You’re up to bat, I’m afraid.”

“Already? That was quick.” With a little bit of fidgeting, they push themselves up to sit facing you, one hand holding Gavin’s, and the other around his back as he sits sideways with his legs across their lap.

“So, it’s… it’s not the nicest thing,” they say, eyes darting away before sliding back to meet yours. “And it probably isn’t going to make a huge amount of sense, just ‘cause when the - actually, that reminds me - did they say something about a break-in? And - and a trespasser?”

The most recent. Altercation with an intruder. Highly unusual. Shouldn’t happen again.

You look down. “They did, yeah.”

“Well, it’s mostly true,” Freelancer says, “although it’s not the full thing. The unempowered police had to come and investigate, and that was the best they could come up with, so that’s what the estate agent will have told you.”

“Was it magical, then?” you ask, slightly hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” they reply hesitantly. “I’d only just moved here to come to DAMN. I was humanborn, so I didn’t really know a whole lot about magic, but I had a - well, there was an… uh…”

Nervously, they look at Gavin - he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and they swallow.

“I heard about DAMN from a friend, so I thought it would be good to come and try and learn some, like, actual magic, right? And Gavin and I met here, just after I moved - it’s kind of a long story, but he ended up basically moving in here as well after a while. So that’s why we - well, that’s how we’re, uh, here. Together.”

Their leg bounces as they tap their heel against the floor, over and over. You’re not getting the feeling that this story is going to end well.

“There was a… a problem,” they mumble, after a little pause. “A friend of ours was being chased by a demon - a different demon, a really strong one, who we didn’t know. He was hurt, so he came here for help - but the demon chasing him followed him here.”

Attacked? By a demon? God, what sort of city is this? If this is the sort of thing that’s happening here, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you don’t go out much.

Freelancer continues, gaze now fixed firmly on their feet. “He attacked us - and our friend. There was no time to do anything, so we - we did what we could, but…”

Gavin’s tail wraps and unwraps around Freelancer’s wrist, winding around their arm first one way, then the other.

“This demon, he was… powerful,” he says, carefully. “He was old - much older than me, and it wasn’t exactly like we could have seen him coming. We were lucky to do as much as we did.”

Silently, Lasko picks up your glass from the coffee table, and walks out of the living room.

“Our friend got away, at least,” Freelancer says, through what you think is meant to be a smile. “And we did sort-of win - Gavin managed to knock him out, and took him to the Department. He’s probably in a prison somewhere, now.”

So… they won? But then how are they…?

Freelancer must see the question written across your face. “By the time Gavin got him, I’d already, um… you know. The old coffee table in here was pretty heavy, and when it hit me, it was kind of, uh - yeah. It wasn’t great.”

The thought of it turns your blood to ice. They died in here? This room? The same room you’re in right now, where they’re sitting on the loveseat like it’s nothing - this room? How can they even stand to be in here like this, after everything that’s happened?

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you manage to say, painfully aware of how hollow it must sound. “That must have been awful.”

Strangely enough, they shake their head. “Gavin got the worst of it. The rift, when he came back…”

They trail off into silence, and Gavin doesn’t say anything either. Frozen in place, unmoving - like this, they could almost be stone. Alive and undead. Sobbing but never crying, rainwater dripping down the marble.

“When we died, we became… this.”

You look over at Huxley, speaking softly. “We can’t be seen by living people, and we can’t leave this place. Touching objects - like, physical stuff like doors and books and water - it takes more effort, but it’s still okay. We can still do most magic, too, but it’s not as easy as it used to be.”

You nod, slightly confused. Why is he telling you this now…?

“It happens pretty quickly,” he adds, “the whole transformation, resurrection, whatever. But it… well. Yeah.”

“It doesn’t take much to kill a human.”

Gavin’s voice is raw and venomous, glaring at the floor, fangs bared in a bitter snarl.

“Demons last a little bit longer.”

In your mind’s eye, the horrifying scene unfolds. A human body, shattered and bloody, lifted gently from the wreckage and cradled in the fading arms of a dying demon. Gavin, tears streaming down his crumbling face, clutching the corpse of his human lover - no magic left, an immortal being surrendering to an impossible death. Freelancer, imprisoned in the silent space between sleeping and waking, screaming in terror yet doomed to go unheard. Forced to watch as Gavin’s form falters and dissolves, scattered back into the nothingness of stardust.

Of course. Five deaths, four tenants. No body left to bury.

There’s nothing you can say to that. Nothing at all.

Behind you, Lasko comes back in from the kitchen, passing you a refilled glass of water before walking back over to the sofa. It’s freezing cold in your hand, and you can’t help but shiver involuntarily.

“Ow!”

Startled, all of your heads snap towards Lasko - he’s tripped over the stack of papers that you were marking last night, catching himself on the side of the loveseat and accidentally smacking face-first into Gavin’s shoulder. Freelancer jerks backwards out of the way as he hisses in surprise, jolting forwards with the unexpected weight against his back, and Damien bursts into laughter as Lasko stutters his way through a flustered apology, wrenching himself back upright and scurrying off to the sofa to hide behind Huxley.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t see it - I just tripped, and oh, I didn’t mean to hit you - are you okay? Like, I didn’t hurt you, did I? God, I don’t know how I forgot it was there - and your back, are you-”

“If you want to get your hands on me, you can just ask,” Gavin purrs over the top of him, rubbing his shoulder blade where Lasko’s face presumably impacted with the flat spade of his tail. “And yes, I’m fine, thank you. Unless you wanted to kiss it better?”

Lasko’s breath visibly stops, the poor thing, as Gavin fixes him with a smirk so ridiculously charming that you almost can’t tear your eyes away. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, wicked gaze dragging slowly down the length of Lasko’s body, painted claws catching the light as they just barely start to flirt with the hem of Freelancer’s shirt…

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Huxley trying not to laugh as Lasko peeks out from over his shoulder. “Keep it together there, Gav. We’ve got an audience, y’know.”

Lasko buries his face in his hands. “Please, God, don’t-”

“Oh, Hux,” Gavin sighs plaintively, although the impish smile across his face gives him away. “Why do you think I offered?”

A quiet rustle of fabric, and underneath him, Freelancer lets out a long, slow breath that you hadn’t noticed they were holding. You, um… you can’t see the end of Gavin’s tail any more, and you’re not entirely sure if you want to know where it is.

“I’m so sorry,” Damien groans, flinging a stray sofa cushion at Gavin’s head as he gives you an apologetic look, ignoring the confused squawking from the loveseat when it accidentally hits Freelancer in the shoulder and ricochets into Gavin’s face. “You’re all dead to me.”

Huxley pats him on the shoulder. “We’re dead to everyone, babe.”

“Not helping.”

“Love you too.”

“That was so rude!” comes a gasp from your right. Amused, you look over to find an outraged Gavin, holding up the projectile cushion in one clawed hand, eyes narrowed sulkily at Damien for ruining the fun. “Don’t you think, deviant?”

Freelancer nods sagely. “Very rude.”

“He didn’t even let us finish! We could have been doing something entirely innocent.”

“We’re so nice to him, and he’s always so mean to us.”

“Spoiling our fun.”

“Getting in our way.”

“Getting in our bed-”

“Will you two stop it!” Damien hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Gavin when the demon actually hisses back at him. “I wouldn’t have to be rude if you two would stop being so - so… lascivious!”

Freelancer grins, eyes scrunched up into happy little half-moons and arms wrapped possessively around Gavin’s waist. “He thinks we’re lascivious.”

“What about tea?” interrupts Lasko, standing up suddenly and motioning behind his back for you to follow him. “We’ll have tea, that’ll be nice, does anyone want some? Good, okay, we’ll just go and make the - the, um - we’ll just go, won’t be long, back in a minute-”

You’re not sure if ghosts can get high blood pressure, but you say a silent prayer for whatever nightmare must be going on in Damien’s undead arteries. Huxley jokingly salutes the pair of you as you scramble after Lasko - shaky hands all but push you out of the door, and he pulls it swiftly shut behind him with a decisive psychokinetic flourish, muffling the enthusiastic bickering inside.

It's finally quiet again.

Just you and Lasko.

“Is it always like this?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door, laughing weakly. “Basically, yeah.”

Well. Considering everything that could have gone wrong with finding out that your house is haunted and practically infested with the undead, at least the ghosts that you've got are fun ghosts.

“Kind of you to volunteer my tea for everyone,” you say breezily, motioning for Lasko to follow you into the kitchen and stifling your smile when his face turns to almost comical panic. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are - are you sure?” He wrings his hands as he trails after you, teeth digging into his bottom lip in a way that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Sorry, I just - we’d be there all day otherwise, and I just wanted to distract them for a bit, but I didn’t really think about it, you know, and…”

He takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “I mean, uh, thank you.”

The kettle’s empty, so you go to fill it up at the sink while Lasko silently gets some mugs out of the cupboard, along with a handful of teaspoons and some teabags.

Too silently, in fact.

“Tea’s in the right hand drawer, by the way.”

Lasko freezes guiltily as you say it, wrist deep in the box of Earl Grey. “You know. Because I didn’t tell you, so there’s no way you could have known.”

He winces. “Sorry…”

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing you could be looking at.” You’re not actually that angry, all things considered, but it needs to be said. “Do I need a ghost-proof shower curtain, too?”

“What? No - God, no!” he stammers, seemingly horrified by the implication. “I swear none of us would do anything like that - we would never! We have never! No, that’d be - no!”

He shakes his head emphatically, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. “We don’t go into the bathroom when you’re there, and your bedroom is always off-limits. Promise. You can ask the others.”

“I should hope so.” Next to you, the kettle starts to steam, although it’s not quite hot enough yet. “Am I - wait, you were the first one, right?”

He nods, quietly shuffling through the tea drawer again. “Yeah.”

“Could the others see you… before? Like me?” you ask, walking over to the fridge. “Milk?”

“If that’s okay.”

Without looking, you reach in and grab the carton, before putting it down on the counter next to him. “I just don’t understand. How come I can see you now, but I couldn’t before?”

“That’s what we were talking about before you came in,” he replies. “Hux thinks it’s something to do with this morning - like, that you had some sort of near-death experience? And then that means you can see us, because we’re dead and you were nearly-dead…? I don’t know, it’s a work in progress.”

Wait, so does that mean you actually did poison yourself this morning? Or is he talking about falling down the stairs? Of course you’d accidentally manage to find a way to nearly kick the bucket twice in a single day. What a liability they all must think you are…

“The others couldn’t see like you do,” Lasko continues, oblivious to your spiralling. “Not until they were already gone. You’re the first one who’s been able to see us while you were still - actually, um, that reminds me…”

The kettle clicks, having boiled. He reaches over to get it, but you wave him away, picking it up and moving to fill up the collection of mugs - and, oddly, an entire teapot that you’re sure you’ve never seen before - he’s arranged on the countertop.

“If you wanted to leave now that you’ve heard all of - uh, all of this… well, we wouldn’t be upset. We’re not gonna, like, make you stay here or anything.”

Confused, you frown down at the mug in front of you. “What do you mean?”

“You know, ah…” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him fiddling with his necklace again. “We’re not the luckiest people in the world. None of us lasted very long in this house - and the whole ‘being undead’ thing isn’t really something we understand. Like, why us? What did we ever do? Is it the house? Is it us? Is it, like, destiny or fate or something - because it kind of brings up a whole new set of problems about the existence of life after death - and, you know, are we the only ghosts in the world, and if so then why, or are there others? Does this happen to everyone, and living people just can’t see them? We wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out before, you know…”

You put the kettle back on the stand. It doesn’t look like he’s going to stop for breath any time soon.

“Not that we’re going to like, do something to you! No, no, that’s - I didn’t mean we were going to kill you or anything - oh, fuck, now it just sounds like we were going to do something and now I’ve put the fucking idea in your head, and now you’re going to be all stressed about it, and, like, ‘is it cursed?’ - and it’s not cursed, I think, but we don’t know for sure because even though curses aren’t a thing like unempowered people say, none of us have been able to figure out if there’s any, uh - any magic that might be like a curse, right?

“Lasko.”

“Just, you know, magic is so unpredictable and there’s so much we don’t know, so maybe it is cursed but we just can’t recognise it because we don’t know what we’re even looking for, and Gavin’s been trying to come up with ideas, but it’s been really difficult ‘cause we didn’t want to use your computer or anything, that’s a huge breach of privacy, right? And - and we can’t leave the house to go and talk to anyone - well, really it’s the property, so we can still go out in the garden and stuff - which reminds me, I was meant to tell you about-”

“Lasko!”

You can practically see the words falling out of his mouth before he cuts himself off, the poor thing. “Mm-hmm?”

“The tea,” you say calmly, stepping back from the counter to give him room. “I don’t know how they like it.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, I’ll, um - I can do that.”

He starts sorting out the different mugs, taking teabags out of some sooner than others, adding milk and sugar and what-have-you, leaving one to the side for you and nervously chattering away.

“I’ll never understand how Gavin and Hux have it so sweet - although, I think Gavin’s like that with everything, you know? He says it’s just because he likes the taste, but Damien told me - um, you shouldn’t say I said this, but he thinks when Gavin gave himself a human form - ‘cause demons don’t have physical bodies normally, right? Well, Damien thinks he accidentally got his body addicted to sugar or something like that, because - oh, I don't know, something, something, pleasure centres or pleasure receptors, whatever - it probably lit up a similar part of his brain to the bit that he associated with eating, and being full - wait, did he say he was an incubus? Because he is, he definitely is - oh, we probably should have mentioned that…”

Slowly, Lasko’s voice settles into the back of your mind as you make your tea, head too full of everything else he’s said to really be listening. It’s not on purpose. You’ve just got a lot to think about.

Yes, he makes a good point about the house, and the strange coincidences that have happened here. Yes, he makes a good point about what might happen to you if you choose to stay. Yes, he makes a good point about how you’ll have to actually accept the undeniable proof of the existence of life after death, and everything that means for your worldview.

Looking up, your eyes are drawn to the faint line where the ceiling and the wall meet, and the two shades of paint that don’t quite match.

Wow. In about an hour, this is going to be a magnificent existential crisis.

But those aren’t problems for now, are they? If you try and deal with all of this at once, you’re fairly sure your head is going to explode just thinking about it. All of this, all of the fucked-up undead weirdness that’s just fallen into your lap out of thin air - all of it can wait.

First, tea.

Lasko seems to have sorted out all the different cups of tea, stirring a final spoonful of sugar into the one second from the right with one hand. Luckily, he’s picked cups that are all different colours, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too hard to stop them getting mixed up.

“That one’s for Hux, then Damien’s is the jasmine, then the middle one is for Freelancer. Gavin’s is the penguin one, and then this one is for me.”

He points at them from left to right, explaining whose they are as you get a tray out of the cupboard and put it down on the counter. You’re just about to start transferring everything onto it when - oh, that’s what’s missing!

Lasko takes over, looking confused as you suddenly turn on your heel and start rifling through the cupboard by the microwave. “Are you… okay?”

“Just a second…” Where are they? You could have sworn they were just… ah, there they are. You’ll have to get some more at the supermarket when you go next. “Do you think they’ll want plates?”

Lasko’s face brightens when he sees what you’re holding, and it belatedly occurs to you that he probably hasn’t eaten much since - well, since everything. If the owner of the house can’t see you, then they’re not going to give you anything, and if you can’t leave the house, you can’t buy anything yourself. If he’s a demon, then maybe Gavin could magic something up, but didn’t Huxley say that doing magic was harder for all of them then it used to be? What’s the limit?

Besides, even if ghosts probably don’t need to eat, that doesn’t mean that they can’t, right? It might not be necessary, but it might still be nice.

“Mm, probably not,” Lasko muses, but he gets a few out of the cupboard anyway as you open the packet of biscuits and put it down on the tray next to Freelancer’s tea. “I don’t think they’ll, uh, last that long.”

He moves the penguin mug slightly to make room for the teapot and an empty cup - oh, that must be the jasmine tea he was talking about. But where did he…?

“Damien used to have one like this.”

Lasko’s voice is quiet, presumably having noticed you staring in confusion at the tray. “It got taken away with all his things when Freelancer moved in, but Gavin made him a new one. The cup, too. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough.”

He looks away, eyes closed. There’s not really anything you can say to that.

“If there’s…”

As you speak, you can hear the faintest sound of laughter from the other room. Presumably they’ve kissed and made up, in what you get the feeling isn’t always an entirely metaphorical sense. “If there’s anything I can get you, then you just need to ask. Anything.”

Lasko smiles down at the tray, and you don’t look at how his eyes are a little bit shinier than they were a minute ago. “Thanks.”

“Come on, then,” you say with a smile, nudging him out of the way and picking up the tray. “It’ll be stone cold in a minute, if we’re not careful.”

Lasko protests, fluttering around beside you as you head back towards the living room, insisting that he doesn’t want to be rude, please please please let him carry it, it was his idea and now you’re doing all the work, oh he’s so sorry - but you don’t let him. It’s a bit heavy, but it’s not that bad, and didn’t one of them say that it’s harder to interact with physical objects now than it was when they were alive? You don’t know exactly how much harder, but you’d feel kind of bad if you made Lasko hold all the stuff when it’s not as easy for him.

Darting ahead of you down the corridor, he opens the living room door for you, and you - well, you were going to put it down on the coffee table in the middle, but it’s not actually there anymore. Instead, it’s been pushed out of the way towards the window, to make space for the sofa to be tilted a little bit more towards the TV.

Lasko, the bastard, takes advantage of your momentary surprise. You’re going to have to ask if he’s an Air Elemental or something, because you feel a suspiciously-timed air current rushing past your arm and almost pushing the tray towards him, letting him lift it deftly out of your hands and carry it over.

Freelancer and Gavin, chastised but utterly unrepentant, appear to have commandeered most of the sofa, along with its previous occupants. Huxley idly strokes his fingers over Gavin’s horns as Freelancer flips through channels on the TV, while Damien, sitting cross-legged on the rug against the front of the sofa, pats the ground next to him when Lasko bends down to put his teapot and cup in front of him.

“Join me. I’ve been exiled.”

“We’ll call the Pope,” Lasko replies thoughtfully, “he might be able to get you excommunicated as well. Two for one.”

Damien raises an eyebrow, just barely failing to resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “See, now you’re talking.”

Lasko laughs, standing back up and offering the tray to the others on the sofa. “Clever of you to move the table out of the way,” he notes dryly, as Freelancer goes to take their tea from the tray and recoils at the heat of the ceramic. “Do you want me to leave it over there until it cools down?”

Huxley nods gratefully, taking a biscuit from the packet and batting away Gavin’s tail without even looking when the incubus tries to surreptitiously steal it out of his hand. “Aw, would you? Thanks, dude.”

Now that he says it, that might actually be a good idea - you reach over to get a biscuit for yourself as well, before going round to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Freelancer while Lasko puts the tray down on the coffee table. They seem to have found a programme they like, some cooking competition show you’ve never seen, and pass the remote down to Damien with a satisfied hum so he can put it on the floor next to him.

“Is this a new series?” he asks quietly, head resting against the side of their leg. “I thought you already watched all of them.”

Freelancer shrugs, absentmindedly twirling Gavin’s tail between their fingers as he readjusts his legs across their lap. “We did, yeah. But this one is a good one.”

The rest of the evening passes in something of a blur - warm tea and good company and some truly ridiculous commentary on the TV that has you laughing harder than you think you have in weeks, maybe even months. After the first programme finishes and the next one is starting, Damien seems to remember that you’d never actually had that dinner you were going to make, and drags you into the kitchen to get you something a bit more substantial than a biscuit.

Gavin trails after you, too, sitting himself on the countertop next to the fridge and watching you two cook. It doesn’t seem malicious or mean - rather, his eyes follow you curiously around the room in a way that distinctly reminds you of an intrigued housecat. He seems to have magicked up a lollipop or something to amuse himself with as well, idly moving the stick back and forth in his mouth as the hard sugar clicks against his teeth.

The feline comparison apparently occurs to Damien as well, who, for some reason, quickly moves everything within about a metre of the fridge on the counter out of easy reach. At first you’re surprised, but then you see Gavin’s tail droop in mock-disappointment, hanging limply down in front of the cabinets, and you realise what’s going on.

“Don’t mind him,” he stage-whispers to you as you wait for the stove to heat up. “He’s not so bad. Freelancer just spoils him something rotten.”

Gavin sniffs haughtily, clawed fingers pulling the - apparently heart-shaped - lolly out of his mouth and sticking his red-stained tongue out at Damien. “I am very cute and sexy and worthy of spoiling.”

“What you are is in the way, genius,” Damien replies, deadpan, pointing at the cutlery drawer that Gavin’s legs are currently blocking. “Fork, please.”

You can practically see Gavin vibrating as he tries to hold back the obvious joke, in favour of reaching down and taking a metal fork from the drawer, holding it out in one hand.

“Ah, ah-”

He snatches it back when Damien reaches for it, holding out the lollipop in his other hand instead. “I got you a present.”

Damien eyes it with interest, shiny and red, and you’re not sure if you should still be watching. “What flavour?”

“Cherry.”

Damien thinks about it for a second, before opening his mouth and letting Gavin put the lolly on his tongue. “Mmm. Thanks.”

Gavin smirks lazily, and hands him the fork. “Mwah.”

Neither of them seem embarrassed afterwards, like it was something you weren’t supposed to see, or like they’d forgotten you were there. It’s… kind of pleasant, in an unexpected way. Being around people who are funny, who are friendly, who don’t seem to be uncomfortable around you. You don’t really know anyone like that in Dahlia yet, and you hadn’t realised quite how much you’d missed it until now.

It’s just the same when you go back into the living room to eat, sitting properly on the sofa this time, next to Huxley. All of them just seem so nice - a far cry from the terrifying criminals you’d thought they might have been. Just ordinary, good people. Sweet and kind and silly. The sort of people that you’ve always wanted to be friends with, but that you’ve never been good at finding.

Damien makes a joke about one of the cooking judges on the screen, and Lasko splutters as he laughs and his tea goes down the wrong way. Huxley wraps his arm around Gavin’s waist to pull him closer against his side, and Freelancer follows suit, draping themselves over Gavin’s back and gleefully making themself comfortable on his shoulder.

There’s a lot to think about, that much is clear. The reality of the situation, the fear of what might be waiting for you if you choose to stay - in a very real sense, they might very well be the death of you. But looking around at them, these people, trusting you with their secret and hoping that you’ll keep it for them, you’re struck with a new and frightening question.

Maybe it really is dangerous. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake of your life - the end of your life. But could you do it? Could you walk away now, knowing what you know, and not regret it?

Lasko leans his head against the front of the sofa, turning his head slightly to look up at you, and gives you a tiny, bashful wave with one hand.

You wave back. He smiles, warm light reflecting softly off his glasses, and perhaps the question isn’t quite as frightening as it used to be.

masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fluff #redacted gavin #redacted lasko #redacted damien #redacted huxley #redacted freelancer #redacted dear #redacted damn polycule #redacted damn crew #redacted fic #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters