Snippet Sunday!
Hans' eyes had traveled down her form, lingering a little too long on her chest before clearing his throat and loosening his cravat. “I see you got ready for bed already.”
She nodded. “I did. I wanted to be comfy.” Her cheeks turned another shade of pink when she saw his eyes travel over her again. A small part of her was wondering if wearing this was a good idea, after all. “Thank you for the new dresses. I love them. Especially this!”
His fingers ran along a looser part of the excess fabric. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I may have chosen it for very selfish reasons.”
Anna was sure she looked as red as a tomato, now. “I can tell by the way you’ve been admiring it.” She paused and bit her lip, “Why don’t you get ready for bed, too? We can be all cozy together.”
The corner of his mouth instantly curved upwards. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.” His finger briefly stroked her chin before he stood back up and moved more into the middle of the room. “After all, it’s been a long day, and planning epic surprises takes a lot of energy.”
She giggled and set her closed book at her bedside table. “Well worth it.” She said and slid under the blanket and turned around slightly to fluff her pillow. It felt soft yet solid enough to be supportive. Not a stray lump or bulge to be found. Oh yes… she would definitely sleep well tonight.
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“Then, a month after our hijas’ deaths, Pepa announced she was pregnant. She had a baby boy in May. It was… It was really bad for me and Gus. We struggled a lot. We fought a lot. The loss of our babies was hard for us, trying even. It’s a miracle we stayed together. At some point, I was sure our marriage would fall apart and that our– family– would just…” Julieta brushed some loose hair from her face. “Isa and Lu were everything to us. They were our pride and joy, our greatest accomplishment. They made us whole. They gave our life a purpose. And when we lost them, it seemed like it all became pointless.”
We love to put Julieta through the worst case scenarios. Won’t you agree, @adabofblessings ?
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The back door of the Broken Locket was kept well-oiled. There was no sense in alerting passerby or customers any time someone might need to discreetly slip in or out of the pawn shop—it was none of their business why anyone might be using that door, after all.
So when the back door was pushed open with enough force to send it thudding against the wall, Eshalyn Thrift was there in an instant, a blade tucked into the sleeve of her dress. She slipped into the shadows just beyond the sight of whoever was coming in, craned her neck to peer out and gauge the situation—
“Rowan?” Eshalyn stepped out of the shadows, staring bewilderedly at the somewhat bedraggled form of her guest. “What happened?”
“They didn’t catch me, I’m not being followed,” Rowan replied tiredly, shoving the door shut behind them with another loud thud and slipping the mask off of their face.
“Obviously. You wouldn’t dare to be here if you were,” Eshalyn said, still not entirely relaxing. She took in the sorry sight in front of her as they pulled off their boots—Rowan was still fully decked out in their Enigma costume, so they were clearly just returning from the night’s heist. But they were empty-handed, and there was a harrowed look in their eyes that they couldn’t—no, that they weren’t trying to hide. And there was something else… she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but they were… different, somehow. She crossed her arms, silently asking them to explain themself through a tilt of her head and the worried crease of her brow.
Rowan let out a breath, opening and closing their mouth a few times as they tried to find the words. Alarmed, Eshalyn stepped forward, gently resting her hand on their arm. She had never seen them at such a loss for words before. Not even close.
Finally, they seemed to pull something together. They lifted their head to meet her gaze and said, “I’ve Sparked.”
Eshalyn froze. She searched their pale face for any signs of trickery, of falsehood, anything, and felt the colour drain from her own cheeks as she found none. “Oh,” she said quietly.
“Oh,” Rowan agreed. “It’s… it happened just as I was getting away.”
She tensed slightly. “And you’re sure no one saw?”
They nodded. “I was far from the house. Just making my way through the back alleys to my safehouse. But then… it was like this enormous explosion. Bright light, and it—knocked everything right out of my hands.”
“Everything?” she asked, wincing.
“Everything! I’ve been planning this for months! I had it all in my hands, right there, and then poof! Gone. I swear people crawled out of the gutters to snatch it all up before I could.” They scowled, moving past Eshalyn to head deeper into the backrooms of the shop. She followed, turning on the lantern of the small sitting area she had set up as Rowan collapsed into one of the chairs. They let out a sigh as she sat down across from them.
“I might be in trouble if I don’t get another job done soon. Food prices have gone up again,” they muttered.
“Don’t they pay you?”
“What, the people I’m stealing from?”
“No, the Sparks. OATH.”
“Oh. Right.” Rowan looked down at their gloved hands. “I think they do.”
Eshalyn studied their face for a few moments. “What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.
“...I have to go,” they said, still not looking up. “That’s how it works, isn’t it? If I don’t go, I’ll turn into a Broken.”
“Yeah.” She trailed off. The lantern's flame sparked quietly in the heavy silence.
Rowan tugged their gloves off slowly, leaving them on the armrest of their chair, before turning to look at Eshalyn. “This is going to take some careful thought.”
She nodded her agreement. “Could be an opportunity. You said you didn’t want to be a thief forever, right?”
Rowan shrugged one shoulder. “There’s other things that I think would suit me. Other ways to get ahead. Though I wasn’t quite done with being Enigma just yet.”
“I’m going to be out of business if you completely give it up,” she joked. “Maybe you can still do a few jobs in your off-time.”
“Maybe,” they said, smiling a little. “Though, please, you hardly need me to stay afloat. I’m not even your only source, not to mention all the legitimate business you do have here.”
She laughed. “Legitimate doesn’t pay as well. And you’re my favourite.”
“Oh, please, you can’t win me over with flattery,” Rowan said, smirking and resting their chin on their fist. “But do go on.”
Eshalyn laughed again, but quickly fell silent, her usual witty retorts seeming ill-suited to the situation at hand. It was strange, she thought. Sparking was something to be celebrated. But she couldn’t help but feel like…
“This really changes things, doesn’t it.”
Rowan paused for a moment, their hand slowly lowering back down to the armrest of the chair as they shifted forward to face her. Their expression morphed into something more serious.
“It doesn’t, Eshalyn,” they said, their voice low. “It might change my work. It might change how often I’m around. But…”
“...Nothing else changes,” she finished, and Rowan nodded. “I’m holding you to that.”
They offered her a half-smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, you know.”
“More like you can’t get rid of me.”
“Like a barnacle.”
“Never mind, keep that up and you might have a solution to your barnacle problem very soon.”
The pair of them laughed, the sound filling the small room. It wasn’t long before silence gathered around them once more, but it was a silence filled with the comforting echoes of the words that had been said, not the pressing weight of the unknown.
“I’ll have to figure out how I’m going to play this,” Rowan said eventually, leaning back in their chair with a contemplative look. “I’m not sure what the best way to get ahead will be.”
“Charm their commanders?”
“Well, of course. Beyond that, though. Retired Sparks end up in some pretty nice positions, don’t they?”
“But you can’t choose when you retire,” Eshalyn pointed out.
“No… better to focus on what I can do as a Spark, then,” Rowan decided. “I suppose the biggest question is… who do I show up as?”
Eshalyn hummed in thought, crossing her legs and looking Rowan up and down. “It might be good to seem unassuming. Someone no one will suspect.”
“True. Though being that different might get… challenging if it goes on for too long. I’m good, but being like that for… months? Years? Even if it’s not all the time, it’d be exhausting.”
“Right, good point. And if you got found out—” She smirked a little at the protests she could see already forming on Rowan’s face. “If you got found out, even for something tiny, they’d know just how much you were lying. They’d never trust you again.”
The silent grumbles were still written all over Rowan’s expression, but they acquiesced. “I do need them to trust me. That means I have to be someone who they could trust even if they found out… Which means they can’t learn that I’ve been lying.” A thoughtful expression crossed their face, and they glanced over to the gloves lying on their armrest, then to the mask that they had clipped to their belt.
Eshalyn’s eyebrows crept slowly up her forehead. “You’re kidding.”
“Why not?” they said with a little grin. “It’s a role I can play well. There’d be no risk of being found out, because I wouldn’t be lying to them. They can’t charge me with any previous crimes now that I’ve Sparked. And it lets me keep hiding my true identity.”
She slowly shook her head. “You’re either brilliant, or a madman.”
“I can be both,” they said, deftly unclipping the mask and giving it a little spin. “Announcing the newest Spark to join the legions of OATH…” The white mask fit perfectly over their eyes, and they placed their hand to their heart and gave a little bow. “Enigma. Scourge of Tanin’s nobility. Thief with a heart of gold.”
Eshalyn applauded dutifully, but she couldn’t stifle her laughter. “I thought you weren’t lying to them?” she asked, grinning. “Where’s this heart of gold?”
“I’ll let you know after I melt down the gold from Lord Beaumont’s vault,” they replied, matching her grin.
Eshalyn laughed and shook her head. “Can’t believe Fate chose you of all people to be a Spark.” Still smiling, she reached over to take Rowan’s hand. They held on tightly, a light in their eyes as they looked back at her.
“I can’t wait to see how this all plays out.”
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Untitled - Male Orc x Female Human (Part 1)
TW: Creeps in vans following women at night (?)
It's literally just fluff, 0 spice.
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“You’re bleeding,” Riley replied dumbly. “You just… You just tackled a van.”
The corner of the orc’s mouth quirked.
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The meeting invitation appeared in Riley’s inbox at precisely 4:40PM. 20 minutes before she was due to clock out. It appeared with a cheery chime, as if it wasn’t delivering an urgent 4:50 meeting invite.
The subject was listed in all caps, with a big red exclamation point:
TOMORROW’S AUDIT
Various department heads were also listed on the meeting invite, but their presence was notably listed as optional, while hers was listed as a required attendance. None of the other recipients showed up to the meeting. It was just her, and her manager that met in the conference room. Riley hoped that the minimal attendance would mean that the meeting would be short and she would get out of the office and to the bus stop on time. The meeting was brief, and ended in less than the noted 10 minutes.
Her manager tacked on a cheery, “I’ll give you these three minutes back.” sort of comment as if she wasn’t off-handing a to-do list of hours worth of work that was due by the start of business the next day. While the work wasn’t difficult, it was endlessly frustrating. It was last-second busy work that wouldn’t have been necessary if the un-required-attendance team followed standard practice and procedures while going about their daily tasks. They didn’t, though. So Riley got to review the previous year’s files, and make necessary corrections and additions.
A couple of extra bodies would have made the job fast but Riley was flying solo, and it took her hours to finish. By the time she locked up the office and got outside it was nearing midnight. The buses had most definitely stopped running for the day. While she had been considering ordering a ride, she ultimately decided that she didn’t live too far away. Her apartment was only a couple miles away, and it wouldn’t kill her to get her steps in. The evening was pleasant, warm and clear with a bit of a breeze. If it wasn’t for the too-tall buildings of the business district, she would have been able to see the moon and the stars.
As pleasant as the evening air was, it was almost eerie. Riley had only ever been to the business district during business hours, where there was an almost constant bustle of people and cars milling about the street. After hours (before hours, in this case) it was a ghost town. The only thing that disrupted the quiet was the delicate clicking of her kitten heels–
And the sound of an engine, as a windowless white van cruised by her and up the road.
Riley made a quiet, grim, joke about the van. It touched on kidnappers and free candy, and ended with her convincing herself that the driver was probably some blue collar worker that had a late night just like she did.
A block later and she spotted the van again, this time doubling back the way it came. She wondered if the driver was lost, or if she was just walking so slow that the driver went and picked up some fast food and was doubling back to go home.
The third time Riley saw the windowless van she cursed her manager so hard that she hoped that everyone in her bloodline felt it.
It was easier to believe that she had an overactive imagination than to believe that someone would be following her in an actual creeper-mobile in the middle of the night. She felt guilty when she attempted to snap a picture of the license plate as it cruised up the road and out of sight, still partially convinced that she was overreacting. She considered calling the police, and then talked herself out of it. What would she say, anyway? That someone was driving by a lot? And what would the police say? Could they even really do anything if nothing had been done?
On the van’s fourth pass, Riley realized that getting her steps in just might actually kill her.
The idea of taking an alleyway shortcut surfaced, and she quickly stomped it down. A little more bad luck and going down the alleyway could result in her own missing person ad. Getting home as fast as she could seemed optimal, but then she couldn’t help but think about potentially leading the van straight to her apartment building and living with the knowledge that they would know where she lived. So she took a detour. It would tack a good 15 minutes on to her journey, but the new route would take her through the entertainment district. It would be well lit, and more populated. She would bypass a couple of bars. Maybe they stayed open late on weeknights. She could duck inside, call a cab, call the police, call her mom and tell her that she regretted ever moving to the city.
On the fifth pass, Riley was turning onto the main thoroughfare of the entertainment district. Unfortunately, the street wasn’t the thriving place she knew it to be on the weekend. It was just as dead as her primary route, and while it was better lit it wasn’t the beacon of light and music she had wanted it to be.
The road she veered down was one-way, and while the van didn’t turn after her, it slowed in the intersection considerably before driving off. As soon as the vehicle was out of view, Riley pulled off her heels and started to run. She made it a single block before her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it pulse in her ears, and despite the favorable weather she started to shiver. Regardless of it all, there was still some part of her insisting that she was overreacting, that this sort of fear-response was insanely dramatic. Time crawled. Seconds felt like hours. Feet felt like miles.
By the time an open bar came into view she felt like crying.
Just outside of the streetlight, the exterior was aglow with wicked crimson neon, and there was a row of motorcycles lining the sidewalk. There were a total of two people lingering outside and they were very visibly non-human. One of the figures was distinctly draconic or reptilian in nature. A figure with sharp teeth, dark scales, and glowing eyes. The other could have been mistaken for a very big human if it wasn’t for the large tusks jutting up from his bottom row of teeth. They stood side-by-side, leaning against the building, each nursing a pint.
There was a fresh wave of paranoia that surfaced (what if the driver had been herding her in this direction?). She mentally prepared for the worst, and desperately hoped for the best as she made a mad dash towards the bar. She got a couple feet into the street then came to an abrupt stop.
The van was in the intersection right next to the bar. The tinted windows were like black mirrors, reflecting the green glow from the street light, and the red neon from the bar.
Riley backpedaled back to the sidewalk. Her entire body was quaking now in big fitful shudders. She wasn’t getting enough air.
The streetlight flicked over to a flashing yellow. And then red.
There was a whistle, loud and so shrill it made Riley flinch. Her eyes tore away from the van and landed on the two magick that loomed outside of the bar, just beyond the line of motorcycles. The orc had discarded his beer and had stepped away from the building. Even from across the street, Riley noted him to be huge – and he looked downright monstrous with the blood-red neon lining his figure.
“You good, babe?”
The orc’s draconic companion set his drink aside, attention glued to the loitering vehicle. Riley followed his glowing gaze.
The light had changed back to green, and the van was beginning to ease forward into the intersection at an intimidating crawl. Breathless, and feeling weak, Riley pointed at the van.
And that was all it took.
Riley barely even lifted her hand to gesture at the van, and it caused the orc to take a running charge at it. His long dark hair splayed behind him with the burst of speed. His face contorted in a vicious snarl. Tires squealed. The van lurched forward but it wasn’t fast enough. The orc had already closed the distance.
He slammed into the driver’s side door. The window shattered. The collision was delivered with so much force that the driver’s side of the vehicle lifted off of the ground and for a moment it teetered on the passenger side wheels. There was a terrified scream, the van righted itself – and then it sped off into the night.
The orc stalked after it for a few paces, swearing in a language that was harsh and guttural.
Riley watched, awestruck.
Breathing was suddenly easier.
When the orc turned towards her, his whole demeanor changed. He was no longer some rage-fueled beast charging into battle. He was no longer a snarling mass of anger and muscle. His movements were more gentle, his demeanor softening as he made a tentative approach. He treated her like a frightened deer who was ready to run.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was low and gentle, the edges curling with something husky and rough. “Hey, honey, are you alright?”
Riley took him in as he approached. The massive, looming height. The tattooed sleeves of black on his arms that started at his biceps then faded as it stretched down towards his wrists. The tusks that reached up past his sharp nose, the stern brow that loomed over dark eyes. The blood. There was blood on his face, blood on the neck of his white t-shirt.
“You’re bleeding,” Riley replied dumbly. “You just… You just tackled a van.”
The corner of the orc’s mouth quirked, “Yeah, well. I think I had some alright reasoning. Looks like you might be bleeding too.”
“What?” Riley practically squawked. Her hand reached up to her forehead, feeling around the same area where he had sustained his own injury.
The orc chuckled softly, “Your foot.”
Riley looked down to her nylon covered feet, and saw stamps of blood on the pavement. Awareness tore through the already dwindling adrenaline. Stinging pain blossomed in the pad of her foot.
“Oh.” She lifted her foot, cursing as she saw another stamp of blood on the sidewalk. Tears began to prickle at the corners of her eyes. “Oh. Ouch.”
A big hand touched her elbow, warm and grounding. She looked up, up, up at the orc who now stood beside her. Jesus, he was massive. And quiet on his feet.
“Why don’t we get you inside. We can get you cleaned up then get you home.”
Riley fumbled with her thoughts. She managed to stammer out a feeble, “You’ve already done enough, sir. Thank you, but–”
“Arzok,” he said. He stepped in a bit closer, his voice gentling even further. “I’m going to pick you up now. We don’t want you getting anything in whatever is already bleeding.”
“No, really,” Riley insisted. “I’m fine. I’m–”
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I– Riley–”
“It’s nice to meet you, Riley. I want you to take a deep breath. Nice and slow. Good girl.” He smiled, and Riley’s nerves began to settle. “I’m going to pick you up. We are going to cross the street and go inside, and we’re going to get you cleaned up. Okay?”
Swallowing, Riley nodded. She took another deep breath. “‘Kay.”
Arzok dipped down and scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing. He strode across the street, calm and casual. Like he didn’t just nearly overturn a van by himself. Riley stared up into his face, barely even processing that the dragon that had been with him, told them that he called the police and reported the incident, and the plate number. Arzok replied in that language Riley didn’t understand, and then they entered the bar.
Music blared into her ears as soon as the door opened. The smell of fried food and liquor assaulted her senses. If she hadn’t been on the brink of having a good old fashioned come-apart, it might have been a fun place to hang out but in the moment it was far too much. Riley turned her face into Arzok’s chest and took another calming breath. When she turned her attention outward, she was being carried behind the bar, and through the walkway near the kitchen. The smell of fry oil became especially pungent. He took a turn into what appeared to be an office space, and then on into the adjoining bathroom. It was a clean space, and well lit; likely reserved for staff. It smelled clean. Like air freshener with a touch of bleach.
Arzok set Riley on the bathroom counter then knelt to dig through the cabinetry beneath her. Not a moment later and a first aid kit was being set beside him. He popped it open and dug through the contents for a moment.
“So. Why are you out so late, Riley?”
“I–” The nylon on her wounded foot was torn away, shredding with a wisp of sound. Riley grimaced and recoiled, suddenly reminded that her feet were probably disgusting and dirty. “I can do this. You can go ahead and go.”
Still kneeling on the bathroom floor, his fingers circled her ankle and held her still. “Let me,” he said. “You can do me next.”
Something about him managed to calm her worries, and she settled onto the counter. She was rewarded with a wink, then he was all business.
He opened a tiny-packaged towelette and started rubbing the asphalt and dirt from her foot. He tossed the soiled wipe into the trash, then unpackaged a fresh one to clean the cut itself. “Talk to me. Why are you out so late? And alone, no less…”
“I was given some last minute overtime,” Riley grumbled. “The buses stopped running a couple of hours ago. So…” her shoulders hiked up to her ears.
“Shit, sweetheart. You don’t have a boyfriend who could have come to pick you up?”
Riley snorted inelegantly, “No.”
Arzok’s dark eyes met hers. He paused in his work, his hand still clasped around her ankle. He smiled slowly as he drawled, “Would you like one?”
The surprise was short lived, cut off by sharp acrid pain as he pressed an alcohol doused swab against the cut on her foot. Tears instantly gathered in Riley’s eyes and she tried to yank her herself from his grasp, but Arzok held firm. He crooned quiet words of encouragement until the pain receded. When he was finished cleaning the laceration, he wrapped her foot with a bit of gauze and medical tape.
“Your turn.”
Arzok rose from the ground placing the first aid kit beside Riley. Before she had the chance to hop down from the counter, he placed his big hands on either side of her legs, then leaned in. He tilted his head just so, giving her clear and easy access to the cut on his forehead.
It was daunting, being so close to someone so big – and yet she wasn’t afraid. There wasn’t a single alarm bell telling her body that it needed to fight or flee. It was strange, albeit quiet contentment. Riley rationalized it by summing it up to the fact that Arzok had tackled a van because she had pointed at it. And he potentially (probably) saved her life.
Riley fretted after the cut first. She was concerned with the amount of blood. It was on the side of his face, his neck, his shirt. Despite the amount of blood, it was a small little cut. He’d been drinking, and it was a head wound. It was treated with an alcohol swab, which Arzok took without even flinching, and then Riley tasked herself with scrubbing away the blood.
“So?” Arzok asked as she worked.
“So what?”
He smiled, turning his head to pin her with his dark gaze, but Riley took his chin in her hand and turned him away. He laughed, “So can I get your number, Riley?”
She pulled her hands away, physically recoiling with her surprise. “What? Why?”
“Because I think you’re fucking cute, and I’d like to take you on a date. Maybe I can be the one you call when you get saddled with more overtime.”
“You don’t mean that,” came the fast reply. It wasn’t that Riley didn’t think herself worthy of a man’s attention. When she picked the right clothes, and put a bit of effort into her appearance, Riley could pick up a man no problem. But her most recent visit to the dating pool didn’t end well, and beyond that she was wearing her work clothes, looking deliberately mousey and – after running for her life – messy. She looked disheveled, and on the verge of falling apart.
“Yes I do.” He grabbed her wrists, gently guiding them away from his face. He stayed stooped over so he was eye-level. “Let me take you home. Let me give you my number and you can use it if you want to.”
Once again, Riley was quietly amazed that no alarm bells sounded. She didn’t wrestle with the idea of a stranger taking her home. It was one of those things that felt natural to do. This was the closest that Riley had ever been to an orc and she was only somewhat perplexed by her level of comfort. The amount of forwardness he showed should have been a bit more off putting, but Riley found it endearing.
What were the symptoms of shock? What was the reverse of Stockholm syndrome?
“Fine,” she eventually said, obeying the curious gut instinct to allow the orc to take care of her. “But only because you tackled a van for me.”
Arzok smiled big, triumphant and charming, “Good fucking deal.”
[Part 2] [Part 3]
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a special fof preview is coming later 👀
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I’m a simple girl…I see Quinn with the Shaw pack & Sam n Darlin smut and I immediately had to send an ask🥰🥰
Hello Lovely anon! Thank you so much for the ask :))
I actually started writing the Sam/Darlin fic MONTHS ago and then we got a new Sam BA that was, almost, the exact same as my fic lol so i did end up having to start re-writing it! I won’t post an excerpt simply because I don’t know if you’re a minor or not, but I can tell you it involves Darlin working on Sam’s car and will be posted here when finished, for the 18+ folks!
As for the Quinn fic. It is an alternate version of how things could have gone down, focussing more on the blood bond and how the Shaw pack could use it to their advantage. It’ll include most things that Quinn fics do so expect a lot of hurt-comfort and some bad-ass fighting from the wolves and listeners!
It’s already pretty long and a multi-chapter fic so I’ll be posting it chapter by chapter once complete but I’ll share a snippet below <3
CW: heated discussion, mention of hunt’s and potential death
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Here's a lil somethin I've been chipping away at all week. Ficlet under cut ^_^
“Why the hell is this House Shift so isolated to us?” Broderick sneers at Theodore, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down his nose at the other man. The Director and The Head of Research are standing so close together though not of their own volition. The walls are squeezing in on them but their bodies are not touching yet. Northmoor’s temperature is rising with his agitation. The oxygen in the room is hot, and hard to breathe in. It smells like sweat and stale air.
Ash is shrinking against the wall, his palms flat and fingers splayed outwards on the concrete of The House. It’s like he’s trying to melt into the wall, or at least like he’s trying desperately to get away from his superior. A response bubbles in his throat, but he can’t bring himself to speak properly.
From an outside perspective, it’s clear that they’re trying to reach a conclusion. It’s also clear that with where they stand, one on the side of The Board, the other on the side of The House, that they cannot reach that conclusion together.
It offends Northmoor. He responds with a challenge.
Ash gathers his courage and tries to speak
“Northmoor, Sir, with this house shift, I can't... there's something wrong…”
“And what, pray tell, would that be?”
Ash takes the challenge, against better reasoning. He thinks he’s going to be able to appeal to Northmoor’s higher reason. He’s been able to tell that something has been changing Northmoor, much like The House has been changing him.
“I- I think it’s you, Sir…” Dr. Ash’s voice comes out meek, afraid, like always. Ash’s hands come up to gesticulate as he speaks. To Ash, there’s the glimmer of opportunity for camaraderie. He couldn’t be more wrong in assuming there’s common ground between them. The sound of the pathetic waver in the Head of Research’s voice is almost enough to distract from the meaning of his words. Almost.
Broderick’s eyes widen. The snarl of his mouth curls into a deeper sneer. Northmoor takes it as an insult, because how else would he take it? He’s even more offended, and now incensed. He surges forward, grabbing Ash’s arms by the wrists, lifting him off his feet and pinning him against The House. The walls shift again, closing around them, squeezing them together even tighter. It practically shoves the air out of their lungs.
Northmoor’s knee is jammed between Ash’s legs, pressing concentrated sweltering heat and pressure against Ash’s crotch. Northmoor’s pelvis is pressed against Ash’s hip. Northmoor’s breath is so hot against Ash’s face, he’s struggling to breathe without choking on the searing damp of the Director’s respiration. They’re so close now, and with Northmoor holding him so hard and high, Ash can practically taste the sweat rolling down his face. His tongue almost, almost darts out to taste it. It’s the only thought in his head other than the fear of imminent immolation.
(timelapses for part 1 and part 2)
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six sentence sunday
I started making edits to seasoning on my agonizing little thing from a few past weeks'. i should really put a proper name on this doc or else i'm gonna have another 'disturbia' situation like the rhyst and savosta version of ziost.
... which suggest a running theme about me being unable to properly name ziost-related fics lest i get too emotional. oops >.>
He’d been on Ziost when the alerts had come in - one of her first set of eyes on the scene.
He was one of the few that had been able to walk away after Vitiate’s control, owing no small thanks to the timely arrival of Darth Nox. And… with no thanks from her own suggestions about protections for the rest of their forces in the hunt moving forward, she was sure.
His files from Imperial Intelligence were still largely classified, but as Minister of Sith Intelligence, and with Darth Marr’s acquiescence to his reassignment to her team after the Coalition, she… knew enough. And no wish to shield one of her best assets from further violation would change the odds they had both seen at hand against Vitiate.
That she would not suggest of Nine what she had voiced of the fallen Sixth Line Jedi was but another icy footnote between her and the ex-Cipher.
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Word from your WIP: Feeble
“I should think not. I see only two bowls of soup and I’d never do something as ghastly as deprive a sweet, feeble old woman her portion.”
Send me a word and if it’s in my wip document I’ll post the sentence that it appears in
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Anna shook her head and gestured to their open wardrobe. “I think we have a theft problem. Look! Some of our clothes are missing–”
Hans peered over her shoulder, “Oh. That was me. I took your dress to the cleaners.”
She blinked and glanced at the wardrobe. “My dress… your trousers… and my underclothes??”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t you want your silky unmentionables to be clean?”
She blushed at the thought of Hans handling her undergarments. “Well, yeah, but I’ve been taking care of our laundry. I mean, I only just did it a few days ago,” she protested. Aside from mending the clothes, going downstairs past the kitchen to wash them was the only other chore to really occupy her time. He never seemed to complain about their garments still being dirty afterwards. Now she was feeling very self conscious. “Do I really do that bad of a job?”
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Working on a new WIP with @adabofblessings :3
“Get out!”
His eyes widened. “Juli–”
“Get out!” she shrieked, kicking him out.
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Their gloved hands were steady, self-assured, as they took the letter from the girl’s proffered grasp.
Those same hands shook by the time they reached the end.
The girl was still staring at them, waiting—she wanted—it didn’t matter. They waved her off with a gesture. Their hands were shaking.
A thousand thoughts crashed about in their head, fighting for dominance.
No.
Not her, anyone but her.
How could they know?
They’ll pay for this.
It can’t be true.
It’s my fault.
The letters on the page blurred before their eyes. The paper shook. Somewhere in the distance, the girl was walking away, but all they could see was that vivid image conjured by those carefully chosen words, seeing her blood spill out as she screamed and fought and then—
And then—
How could they have known?
It can’t be true.
They used her name.
I wasn’t careful enough.
It’s my fault.
I’ll kill them.
Not her. Anyone but her.
What was left of the world blurred and frayed at the edges. Their hands were shaking. Distantly they noticed the stares, noticed the heads slowly turning in their direction. They had to get away—but there was nowhere to go. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Those careful, dexterous hands of theirs had been shackled by the wrist: chained to a fate they’d never asked for.
And now those shackled hands shook, and shook.
They could practically hear the chains rattling, like some twisted, metallic laugh. The letter quivered in their too-tight grip, and the chains echoed in concert with every twitch of those mismatched lines of ink.
They had to stop the shaking.
Or else they would break their own wrists to be free of those rattling chains.
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Untitled - Male Orc x Female Human (Part 4)
OOPS I TRIPPED.
Not lemon, but maybe lemon zest?
Minors Do Not Interact
This marks the original concept/story for these two. First story was Riley worrying about stuff and things. Names may have changed since then. It's hard to remember. Ya know, because I deleted everything.
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[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
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“Fuck,” Arzok snickered. He sounded absolutely winded from all of the laughter. “I’m not just going to ram it in and hope for the best, Riley. I promise you, we’ll fit together just fine.”
-
Riley’s curiosity was a dirty little bitch; a needy insatiable little whore.
Four weeks, and seven dates had left Riley’s baser urges feeling frayed and restless. After their second date they had shared the first kiss, and had since enjoyed a bit of necking. It was during their last date when their kisses turned downright sinful. Sitting in the car outside of her apartment in the middle of the night, Arzok’s hand clasped around her throat, the other slipping up her skirt as his tongue dominated her mouth. He’d teased her for just a moment, thick fingers tracing a slow path over the cleft of her pussy before he completely withdrew and bid her goodnight. Riley had been a mess ever since then. Any attempts to ease the tension Arzok had created left her feeling bereft and wanting. His had been such a strong, and commanding presence. Fiddling around with her vibrator didn’t do her any favors.
And that’s where her dirty, dirty curiosity came in.
Riley couldn’t help but think that her and Arzok’s first time together would be coming up soon. They had discussed her staying at his place for a weekend. Planning was still tentative at best but it was something they talked about with increased frequency. Arzok lived a little over thirty minutes outside of town, and while he claimed that the commute wasn’t any trouble, they had both agreed that a relaxing weekend without all of the typical date-night run around would be a nice change of pace. That, of course, meant that Riley would be staying at Arzok’s house and, sure, she could sleep on the couch or in a spare room, but she probably wouldn’t. Sex or not. Because they were adults. And they were dating.
But those thoughts took a hard turn and she had been stuck with thinking about what she should expect were she to sleep with Arzok. He had mentioned that he was dominant and controlling, but what else should she anticipate? Arzok was big. Huge. He dwarfed her by nearly two feet and Riley was on the taller side of average. He was broad, and he was strong, but what about the rest? Short of just coming out and asking Arzok “hey, how big are orc dicks?” her only real avenue of getting that information was the internet.
And that’s where Riley’s curiosity turned into a dirty, insatiable, little tramp.
The initial search was a simple request on average sizes, but then a few videos showed up. The first video Riley stumbled into involved a beast of an orc, his height easily breaching the eight foot mark. He was paired with a petite, tiny little woman. The orc’s dick was bigger than Riley’s whole forearm, and while the pornstar took it like an absolute champion, Riley was aghast. It was porn so of course there were so many degrees of separation, but there was no way. No. Way. One video chased another in an effort to debunk the sudden theory that orc men were just obscenely massive in the pants department. Absolutely nothing was debunked. She’d even tried narrowing down her search, but it yielded no results. Instead, Riley had somehow ended up on orc-human BDSM play – and that was how Arzok’s phone call found her: stunned, horrified, whole-heartedly curious, and completely dejected.
Riley didn’t process the first ring. She was far too engrossed in what was going on on the screen. On the second ring, she had a whole body reaction like he just walked in the door and caught her personally. Riley yelped - actually yelped - and slapped at her keyboard to pause the video. Then she abandoned the laptop on her coffee table and retreated to her bedroom as if getting away from the laptop would hide the evidence of her insatiable curiosity. She even closed her bedroom door. Locked it.
“H-hi-llo–?” Hillo. Jesus. C’mon Riley.
“Hey, baby,” Arzok said. His voice was low, and sleepy-quiet. He had informed her earlier that day that he wouldn’t be getting home from a work-thing until late. Nearing midnight, he sounded absolutely knackered. The growling rasp that was always in his voice was more prominent with his fatigue. Riley couldn’t help but like the idea of hearing him sound like that in person, grumbling sleepy good mornings. “I was just calling to say goodnight.”
“I won’t keep you then,” Riley replied. Her voice matched the quiet pitch so as not to rouse him. “Did everything go okay, though?”
“Don’t know, and right now I’m too fucking tired to care,” he groused. Riley was able to pick up the teasing inflection of his words despite his bitter tone. “How about you? How was your night? What’re you still doing up?”
“Oh it was fine,” Riley replied quickly.
Arzok asked again, “What are you still doing up? You’re usually down for the count by now. Is everything okay?”
The heated flush that rushed into her cheeks felt as if her own body was trying to betray her. She moved away from the bedroom door to sit on the edge of her bed, then she flopped to her back. She hated that he was right. Riley was typically curled up, in bed, and on the verge of sleep by 9:30 most weeknights.
“Oh, everything is fine. I just… lost track of time.”
“Yeah? Doing what?”
His question didn’t feel as if he was prying. He sounded genuine in his interest. Riley worried her lower lip, wishing that she had curiously looked up videos on how to knit or crochet.
“Nothing. Just…” The idea of lying left a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach. So she skirted the details and addressed it in broad strokes. “I’ve just been thinking. It’s really nothing crazy though. But, hey, why don’t we both go to bed and we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?”
“The fuck we will. What’s wrong, what happened? Is everything alright?” The sleepy timber of his voice was gone, and he now sounded wide awake, and bordering on frantic.
“It’s literally nothing to worry about. I promise–”
“Riley.”
“Fine just… Just don’t make fun of me, alright?”
“Never. Just talk to me, baby. You’re freaking me out. ‘I’ve been thinking’ sounds like a goddamn death sentence.”
Riley sucked in a slow breath, held it, and released. She tried to control the swell of stinging, hot, embarrassment. She had thought about it so much that it worried her, which drove her to the internet, which worried her more. The fact that she had thought about it enough that she was driven to consult the internet was so stupid–
“Riley, sweetling, come on.”
“Okay, okay.” She babbled, “You have to promise not to make fun of me though, alright?”
“I already said I wouldn’t. Look, if you don’t tell me I’ll drive over there and–”
“Whatifyoudon’tfit?”
“Fucking what?”
I said,” she heaved another heavy breath. “What if… you don’t… fit?”
Silence. Quiet, deafening, silence. Riley waited with baited breath, waiting for him to say something. Anything. It felt as if the quiet stretched on for an eternity before a hint of sound broke through. It was barely there. Muffled. There was a sound like a snort, and then another–
“Don’t you laugh at me, you monster!”
The laughter came through full force suddenly. It was loud, booming, jovial. Riley could imagine him; his head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut tight as he succumbed to it. Imagining him laughing made Riley’s mood darken. He was making fun of her, but he was beautiful when he laughed. The bastard.
“I–I’m not–I–” His efforts to calm himself only seemed to make the situation that much worse.
Riley sat up in bed, glaring daggers at her bedroom wall. “Hey, I’m serious!”
Arzok’s rolling laughter slipped into its decline, and eventually he said, “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re–you’re up this late worrying about whether or not my dick will fit–?”
“Yes!” Riley wailed. “I am! Look, I know it’s dumb, but I like you a lot. And if this whole thing doesn’t work out because you have a third arm–” Arzok cackled. “--then that’s really going to suck.”
“Fuck,” Arzok snickered. He sounded absolutely winded from all of the laughter. “I’m not just going to ram it in and hope for the best, Riley. I promise you, we’ll fit together just fine.”
Riley grumbled morosely through his reassurance, thoroughly embarrassed and ready to hide under her bed for the next century. She should have known better than to let her curiosity win. And on top of it, she sure as shit shouldn’t have been data collecting by watching pornography. Even if it was mostly accidental, once she started it was hard to look away and she fell down the rabbit hole.
“Sweetling,” Arzok growled. “When we are ready to take that step, I’m going to take pleasure in making sure you’re good and ready to take me.”
His voice cut her grumbles short, and she fell into surprised silence. She sucked in a quick breath, searched for a reply, and managed an airy and incredibly eloquent, “Oh.”
“And I’ll make damn sure that you enjoy every fucking second of it, baby.”
The low rasping purr of his voice was warming her in ways that the insane porn videos didn’t. This was for her. She crumbled back into the bed and let her eyes close as he spoke. She imagined lying beside him as he made his dark promises, and that familiar want that had been plaguing her began to flood her system.
“I’ve thought about you cumming on my tongue as I prepare you to take my cock. Would you like that?”
Riley shivered. The ache in her core assaulted her with no mercy. She could feel her pulse leap in her sex, and the sensations resonated through her body, making her toes curl.
“I asked you a question, Riley. You will answer me.” Arzok’s tone dipped lower still. It was suddenly threatening in a way that Riley liked far too much.
She pressed her thighs together, and hummed her agreement.
“No. You will answer me. Use your words.”
“Yes…” she whispered feebly, feeling more heat gather in the apples of her cheeks. The heat seemed like it was everywhere now, emphasizing her timidities, and fueling the fire he had created with just his voice.
“Good. Now stop worrying about this shit, you hear me?” The way the threatening rumble of his voice shifted into something entirely casual and bordering on playful smacked into Riley like a Mack truck. The spreading fire was doused with a bucket of water. Her eyes popped open to stare dumbfounded at the ceiling. “I don’t know who got into your head and told you we wouldn’t work, but we will. I can’t tell you how I know that, but I look at you and I can feel it in my goddamn chest. We’ll work. Promise me that you’ll give us a chance before you let someone convince you that we won’t. I–”
“It wasn’t anybody,” Riley said gently. She had initially been willing to let him ride with the assumption that an actual person had stirred up her concerns. Now she didn’t want him to think that she was willingly associating with someone who was trying to cause problems with their relationship. That wasn’t fair.
“Then what did it? Do I need to slow down? I will…”
“No,” she said quickly. Maybe too quickly. “The only reason I was thinking about it is because I’m-I’m looking forward to it. But… Okay, you can’t make fun of me this time.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“I assure you, it is. No laughing.”
“No promises.” When she didn’t immediately reply, Arzok pushed onward. “Can you tell me so I’ll stop worrying about it?”
Riley rolled so she could suffocate herself with the pillows in the event that the humiliation proved to be too much.
“I watched porn, okay?” I watched dirty, filthy, orc-on-human porn and I regret it! Stop laughing–!” He did not stop laughing. “Alright. Well, I’m going to go walk into the ocean now. Goodnight!”
“Baby, what the fuck?” He was still coming off his most recent bout of laughter. “Wh-why?”
Riley shoved her face into her pillows, mumbling a muffled reply, “Can we stop talking about it?”
“I will never stop talking about it. Fucking wow.”
What a nightmare of a night. If she managed to get to sleep after all of this, she was going to wake up still embarrassed.
“I’m assuming I don’t need to explain why porn isn’t the most reliable source.”
A mumble of agreement.
“All of this worrying because some pornstar with a monstercock spooked you,” he said good naturedly.
“Stop.”
“Alright, alright. I’m done. No more orc porn though, got it?”
“Got it.”
They elapsed into silence, but it felt like Arzok was smiling like an idiot. Riley felt it in her heart. She glowered and mumbled about going to bed. He agreed, and she was almost completely certain she could hear him smiling.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Almost as soon as they hung up, her phone buzzed once, twice, three times. Three text messages. All from him. Two were images.
First there was a picture of his face. His torso was bare, his arm curled around a pillow as his dark eyes stared into the camera. His inky hair was splayed out over his big gorgeous shoulders and white sheets. Riley smiled, simply staring into his eyes for a moment.
The text read:
> Just so you can get an idea of what you’re working with.
The angle of the picture came from somewhere over his head. It started just at the bottom of his chin, and it went down, down, down over his splayed chest, his stomach, his waist, to the tops of his thighs where the sheet was precariously bunched. His green skin offered a stark, beautiful contrast against the pristine bedding. Basked in warm lamp light, the contours of muscle were highlighted from his pectorals, all the way down to the tantalizing V of his hips. One of his hands was resting over his navel, and she followed the strong musculature of his tattooed arm down, and up, and down again. Riley’s eyes caught on the smattering of dark hair that met the sheet.
That awful (wonderful) orc.
Another buzz. Another message.
> Sleep sweet, Riley.
[Part 5]
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this is so
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lost in translation [Zultanekh/Djoseras Snippet]
(Last snippet before fic starts publishing on AO3. Should be in the next day or two. What I thought would be a nice lengthy oneshot is now going to be a three-parter filled with various pains, why am I like this 😭
It will be titled we live on archipelagos. I'll update tags on previous snippets too)
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An aside about languages. While Zultanekh never doubted his new body was for the better, he was disappointed to find it came pre-installed with translingual modules. Another of the Silent King's cosmopolitan projects, the move towards universal intelligibility, and an extension of his linguistic reforms: they left the furnaces knowing not only Szarekh's language, but everybody else's, and they'd never understood each other before as well as they did in those newborn moments. Even so, Zultanekh was let down, because he had been planning to learn the Ithakan language for himself.
An odd choice, even for his standards. An unfashionable language, neglected even by Ithakans. He'd wanted it, all the same, in the hopes it would help him understand Djoseras better. And no, he hadn't wished to blink and know it - he'd wanted to learn it, go through the grammar and the rote memorization as any schoolboy might have done. He was never the one to seek intellectual labour, and has no illusions that he'd have been fluent. But he knows the effort would have mattered, that the struggle made it real.
It felt like the least he could do to nurture their peace.
But surplus or deficit, they must work with what they have. The necrons' shared purpose drained away after Szarekh's war, and many dynasties have started using their own languages again, which the modules have proved invaluable in decoding. They update in real time, even, despite their innumerable losses - a culture-mad archaeovist is behind them, Zultanekh supposes, eager to share his research for the betterment of his kin. Fairly sure no one asked, but it's not like Trazyn to ask permission for anything.
And Zultanekh's theory was correct, he can apply Ithakan to their conversations now, and it does help him understand Djoseras better. He knows the same applies to him. When he bows down to Anathrosis and whispers ne moja volja no tvoja da bodet', he is laying down at her feet something greater than not mine but my phaeron's will be done, even though the invocation is the same. When Djoseras looks up from the nomarch's latest reports and exclaims he is well, my philos brother, he is not merely saying Oltyx is dear to him. A lot of things are philos to him, actually, even the things to which he is dispassionate. Those modules are what Zultanekh used to tease Djoseras about the Ithakan ships, not on account of their quality but their spirits, which are of course autonomos. "The heka of Ithakas is so bound up in justice, it seems, that it cannot abide anything with a law unto itself. I'd like to see a ship getting uppity with you sometime."
(Djoseras had thought this a very bad joke, but it did not stop his nodes glimmering with amusement, all the same.)
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can we have like, a paragraph, or anything from chapter 16? Of cemetary gates? a snippet? pls?
u rn 🤨
JKJKJK I love when you guys ask for this. Yes you totally can get a little smth lmao, as always 😉 Gonna try to avoid too-big spoilers for Plot Things because this chapter is gonna have Some Stuff in it that I don't wanna give away just yet, but I desperately wanna give you a juicy teaser... so I must choose wisely...
Snippet below the cut:
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“Do you think I’m angry with you?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know. Yes. I don’t know.” You suddenly cough, choking on your tears. It hurts to keep your eyes open. “I keep doing everything wrong. I’m terrible. I don’t want you to hate me.”
“My girl, I am not angry with you. You are not terrible.” He reaches out and wipes tear tracks away with the pad of his thumb. “We all do things we regret sometimes. Maybe it is not a good idea for you to have so much alcohol…?”
Your brows arch up, creasing your damp forehead. It’s hard to think straight when the dread is eating away at your insides. Adrenaline has eaten away at your intoxication and now there’s no way of concealing what you had drowned yourself in wine to forget. You glance to all the dark corners of the room, skittish like a prey animal.
“I am worried, though,” Copia continues. “You have been acting strangely all evening. Out of character, for you.”
Those words click in your head like the final puzzle piece falling into place. Realization sinks like a stone in your battered stomach. A hand unconsciously rises to your throat, covering the column of flesh as if it could protect you from some imagined enemy. You honestly haven’t felt like yourself since your meeting with Imperator. You’d chalked it up to fear and stress, and irrational behavior seeking relief, but something has been off.
Sickness rises in your esophagus again.
“It’s not the wine,” you rasp, eyes distant and glassy.
Copia tilts his head sideways to get a better look at you, a questioning look on his face. “What?”
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