#these are tentative designs. may or may not ever use them again

[chaoticbardlady99]

Hello! I really enjoyed your fic with the Tav who couldn’t see well. It was really sweet! If you’re still accepting requests, may I request a similar one where the reader needs glasses to see and during a battle they break or get lost. Now they can’t see well and they’re trying not to panic while there’s threats everywhere, but thankfully Astarion notices something’s wrong and helps them. Thank you!

Admiring from Afar (GN! AFAB Reader x Astarion) Part 1- MDNI 18+ ONLY

Part Title is inspired by the song “She” by Dodie (I feel like it reflects Astarion’s POV/feelings towards Tav in this story)

This was not originally supposed to be as long as it is, but the concept started taking on a life of it's own. I hope you enjoy! I will hopefully be positing Part 2 within the next few days!

  CW: Angst (?), violence, jealousy, fluffy (hopefully very? But who knows), smut because apparently I’m in a giving mood (I’m sorry I had to make the joke.), MDNI 18+ only, dom/sub sexual relationship.

Note- this is Unascended Astarion x GN! reader

*This has been proof read one time. It is 2:04 am and I have work in 6 hours LMFAO

Gif belongs to- ibacchante from Tumblr!

    The campfire crackles in the distance and you think you even hear the faint sound of music.  You desperately yearn to be near the warmth of the fire talking to or watching one of your companions give a dramatic retelling of their experiences in battle.

  The warmth of your companions made places like the Shadow-Curse Land feel a lot less scary and foreign- they provide some normalcy in this strange journey. 

Unfortunately, you are hunched over in your cold tent with nothing but a light cantrip and your will power. You squint as you etch details into the oxen bone, taking the time to add the touches of silvery white dye to add an ethereal effect. Your hands cramp as you work to keep the paint within the designs you carved into the bone.

You have been painstakingly working on this necklace for a little over a month- maybe two? You have lost count at this point, but the calluses on your fingers tell you it’s been a while now since you started this project.

  You polish the bone with your cloth, wiping away the debris from your knife. You admire your handiwork; a perfect carving of the Elven Rune- Cadaith. You were able to create a loop at the top of the necklace for the long, thin, black leather strip you had been holding onto since the day after the Tiefling party- the same day you decided to take on this hand numbing project.

  You and your crew of oddballs had come through for the locals and obliterated the Goblin Camp Leaders- the tieflings had come to your camp and had decided to celebrate.

  It wasn’t that you were opposed to parties, but you’re not the most social person despite your profession as an Artisan. You miss the calm, quiet group of Druids you used to travel with- you even miss the hardwood floor of the Caravans and how much of a pain in the ass they were to fix. You miss not having to spend every waking moment and all of your strength on battling and the art of deception. You miss your tools and the landscapes you use to find your resources. You love to make crafts out of anything in the wild.

 Back to the rowdy tiefling party- again, you aren’t necessarily against parties, but they are overwhelming.

And the men! They are entirely too vulgar after a couple drinks. Silvanus help you if you had another drunk man stumble up to you and ask if he can, “fuck your brains out.” 

 Another man had begun to make his way towards you when you felt a cold hand grab you by the elbow and haul you off into the forest. It had been Astarion- who you had agreed to share a bed with that night. You had shared a bed before- after a camp party to celebrate killing Auntie Ethel, but nothing could have prepared you for the second time and how mind-blowing it would be (you had been excruciatingly awkward as it was your first time ever- he was pretty understanding thank Gods).

  “Astarion-”

  “Yes Darling?”

   He stops and looks at you- you look around and realize you are far from camp. You fiddle with your hands nervously- picking at your nails. 

“I um-” you clear your throat, “I really appreciate you- well- um… coming to my rescue, but I really don’t want to be a bother to you- you don’t need to stay wit-”

 You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before he was gently kissing you. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your glasses are entirely foggy from your breathing and you smile at him coyly as he pulls away. He gives you a genuine, real laugh before taking your glasses off and wiping them clean for you. You put them on, your eyes back in focus as you avoid his eyes.

He leans in and begins kissing along your neck, along your jawline, and back to your lips. He kisses you roughly, his tongue flicking across your lower lip, asking for access. He lifts you up from under your thighs before backing you into a tree. 

  He grinds up into you- his erection pressed against the burning heat in your core. He pulls at your shirt strings and gives you a look as if to ask if he can continue. You grab his face in your hands and kiss him as an answer to his question. 

  He discards your shirt and makes quick work of your trousers and under garments- all while kissing you so deeply the world is spinning and your entire body feels numb. 

  Suddenly he has you on your back as he smiles down at you mischievously. You look away, embarrassed as he takes in the sight of your body; a breathy chuckle leaves his lips as he gets up and makes quick work of his own clothes.

 You feel the space between your legs grow warmer and needier as you watch him stroke himself before he settles himself between your legs. He presses soft kisses all over your face as he inserts a finger between your folds and begins to toy with your clit. You whimper and moan as he pumps his finger in and out of you.

  “Good girl,” he growls into your ear and inserts another finger, picking up the pace.

  A soft, gasp escapes your lips as your walls stretch to fit around his other finger- getting to the point of borderline tears as you feel your orgasm get closer and closer. Astarion watches you use a stream of profanities, your hands gripping the grass so hard it's ripping. He kisses you on your forehead then- he stops. 

 You keen in protest from the emptiness between your thighs, but your words die on your lips as he pushes himself all the way between your folds, all the way to the hilt. You claw at his back, a pleased whimper escaping your mouth. He begins to kiss your jaw before you capture his lips with yours- he’s still not moving inside of you as you kiss him feverishly- your hands entangling themselves in his hair. He groans against your lips, holding you down by your waist and not allowing you to move. When you attempt to move your hips upward, desperate to get some friction, he groans in your mouth before pulling out completely and then thrusting himself roughly back into you. You look at him in anticipation as he gets off of you, still inside you as he adjusts your left leg so that he can get more access and he begins to massage your sore, neglected nipples with his fingers. 

You are desperate for any movement from him and you can tell he knows it- even in your drunken haze. 

 “Please.”

“Please what, my dear?”

 He says before pulling out to thrust into you completely again. You cry out, tears streaming down your face as you look away from him, trying not to let him have the satisfaction.. 

  He hums as he roughly grabs your jaw, making you look him in the eyes.

 “Tell me, Darling,” a sly, teasing smile on his beautiful face, “do you want me to fuck your brains out?”

You nod and he pinches your nipples roughly- you arch your back and you feel him lift your hips up before spanking you hard.

"You don't get anything until you answer my question," he goads, his hand snaking it's way around your throat, "so tell me, do you want me to fuck your brains out?"

"Y-es. Yes I want you to fuck me ple-" he cuts you off with a snap of his hips.

He grabs your jaw roughly with his hands, "You know that's not what I asked you."

He begins to slowly move in and out of you, teasing you mercilessly. You groan in frustration- he knows he’s the only person who can say this to you and demand you to say it back to him.

"Please Astarion," you say tearfully, your need for pleasure taking over, "please fuck my brains out."

He smiles at you widely, "it would be my pleasure."

You whine and he pulls out of you, rolling you over onto your hands and knees. He comes up behind you and his hands find purchase in your hair as he begins to pound into your mercilessly. You lose yourself in pleasure- surely alerting everyone and their mothers to your activites- and if it's not the vulgar moans, it's the filthy sound of your bodies colliding.

He pulls you up to his chest by your hair, switching to putting his hand around the upper part of your throat, and puts his fangs to your neck, teasing the skin as he fucks up into you. You have one of your hands wrapped around his arm as he chokes you and the other is touching your clit- the coil of pleasure building up in your stomach as you whisper your consent between moans for Astarion to drink from you. He gives you a pleased hum in response.

The moment his fangs are piercing your neck is the same moment your orgasm rips through you and you have to fight not to slump against him. You feel his strong arms hold you up as he keeps fucking your sensitive mound, chasing his own orgasm. He stops sucking from the bite marks on your neck, lapping up the blood that begins to slowly trickle down towards your shoulders and chest. He let’s go of his grip on your throat and pushes you back onto your belly before roughly inserting himself inside you again.

"You are such a good girl," he grunts, "you are taking me so fucking well."

You begin to feel lightheaded when he finally cums inside you. Good thing you have a potion for that.

You both get your clothes on and he whisks you away to his tent- where you cuddled and talked for almost the entire night.

  The sex, as noted, is amazing, but you also enjoy so much more of him than just his body. You know Astarion struggles to believe you find anything about him interesting outside of sex, so you make a point of reminding him about all the other wonderful parts of him and you don't ever ask for sex or sexual favors. That ball is in his playing field as far as you are concerned.

You find yourself gravitating back to Astarion’s tent every night to listen about a new book he is reading or just to let him shower you with (arguably) questionable knowledge about the higher ups in Badlur's Gate . Sometimes you just talk about your lives, tangled in each other’s embraces, and falling asleep that way.

You had begun sleeping in the same tent shortly after he drank from you for the first time. You had been scared during a storm one night and he had heard you sniffling in your tent. You missed the safety of your Caravan during those first two weeks. 

  He had quickly dragged you over to his tent- griping about his hair, how “I told you that you needed better camping equipment”, and “really darling? Why are you wearing clothes with holes in them? No wonder you’re scared.”

    You have had an incredibly close bond ever since and you speak very freely with one another. You still become closed off every now and then (mostly from being socially and emotionally exhausted) but he was content to sit in the silence and just be in each other’s company. If he's in a grouchy mood, you sit with him in silence or let him just talk at you, and you support him when he wakes up from a particularly grueling nightmare. You rarely, if ever, go to your tent or stay in your tent anymore.

  However, your current passion project was not to be seen by his eyes until it was completely finished- hence the reason why you are in your freezing, semi abandoned tent. You enchant the amulet with “Invisibility” and after a test, you can proudly say your necklace for Astarion is ready.

  Shortly after the fight with the Goblins, Astarion had been complaining to you about how Gale “ate” the last necklace of Invisibility that they had found. 

  “He did call finders-keepers.”

 “Finders-keepers my ass, Darling. If he really believed that rule he wouldn’t have inhaled it the way he did right after finding it.”

  “It was rather unbecoming of him, wasn’t it?”

 “Cazador has done a lot of horrible, vile things to me over the last two centuries,” he scoffs, “but, Gale eating a perfectly good Amulet of Invisibility has somehow landed in the top 20 of worst things to happen to me.” 

  After that, you began your work on the Amulet and now that it’s finished- you get to give it to him.

 The idea makes your stomach turn. 

  What if he hates it?

  It’s not really his style, but you don’t make gaudy jewelry and you tried your best to make it look like it shimmers (you succeeded FYI, Nat 20 all the way). You hope he appreciates it on principle alone and doesn’t criticize you too harshly if he dislikes it. When you ran the idea by Karlach and showed her your sketch, she was immediately convinced that he would adore your gift.

“Don’t worry about a thing Soldier,” she said cheerily, “Fangs is going to adore it as much as he adores you!”

  You wrap the necklace in the nice, silk handkerchief and stuff it into the little leather bag. You take one final deep breath before pushing through the tent flap. You look around camp and see that mostly everyone is in their tent- Astarion included- but Wyll is by the fire dancing. You remember joking about him giving a demonstration for the camp. As you begin to walk towards Astarion’s tent- Wyll calls out to you.

 “Tav,” he says brightly, “join me for a dance?”

 Another thing you love about Astarion- he is very good at telling people ‘no’ for you. Yes, you should be sticking up for yourself and setting boundaries on your own. You are so wired to make everyone else happy that it impedes your ability to say no. Astarion is helping you learn and supports you when you freeze up, but Astarion is not here in this moment and if he hears what Wyll has said to you- he has made no indication of it.

  You smile tightly and put the pouch in your pocket before taking his hand. You are basically robotic as you go through the motions and yet- for some Gods forsaken reason Wyll plants a kiss right on your lips. As he pulls back and sees your look of absolute horror- he begins to apologize profusely. 

 “Honestly Wyll,” you awkwardly squeak out,”it’s totally fine. I just- um- well… I really like Astarion and I’m not looking elsewhere.”

 “I understand and as disappointed as I am- I am grateful for your forgiveness and I hope we can remain friends.”

 You smile brightly, “Thank you Wyll and of course. Good night.”

 He bids you farewell and you walk with extra pep in your step. You set a boundary and you are over the moon excited to share with Astarion. 

  Except when you get inside the tent- all of your stuff is right in the entryway. Astarion has his back facing you and is pretending to be interested in a book. You frown.

 “Star?”

 “Oh don’t worry Darling- I figured I would save you the uncomfortable conversation,” he says with apathy in his voice, “we both know those aren’t your strong suite.”

  You flinch at his cold, blank tone and the harshness of his words. You feel yourself becoming consumed with confusion and hurt. Your hand is clutching onto the pouch in your pocket. He looks at you and he looks far away despite the smile on his face.

 “Well go along now, I’m sure your new lover is waiting for you. I’m happy for you honestly,” he pauses, giving you a cold, malicious grin, “pretending to be invested in this connection has really been bothersome these last couple weeks.”

  Logically, a part of you knows he is just jealous and is lashing out. You should stay and try to explain what happened- reassure him even? 

  Emotionally? You feel like you just got stabbed over and over again. Oh and then someone came up to you and used a shocking grasp. You try to open your mouth, the tears welling in your eyes as you look at him. 

  He just looks at you coldly, “Well, leave.”

  You wordlessly nod, dropping the leather pouch back into your pocket and you grab your things and numbly head back over to your tent. You roll out your bed roll and stare up at the dark tarp above your head; you let the tears stream down your face as silent sobs wrack your body. You already miss him.

 _________________________________________________

  You didn’t sleep well that night- you woke up with puffy eyes and a sore throat. You had spent the majority of the night freezing and jumping at every noise. You would get the occasional thirty minutes of sleep here and there, but if you weren’t scared awake, your bruised, broken heart woke you up. Your heart thumped unevenly all night- worried the bumps in the night were Astarion packing up his things and leaving. 

  Your chest aches as you get ready to leave and you are grateful that the Shadow-Cursed Lands are so poorly lit because it allows you to hide the rough night you have. You are also grateful to see Astarion is still here.

You, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Wyll set out to explore more of the Shadowlands. Karlach told Astarion he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to- you were too tired to say anything in response to his complaints and you suppose Karlach became fed up. He’s quiet after that, so quiet you think he might have left. Except you hear him chatting with Wyll during a short rest.

  Shadowheart walks happily next to you- chittering about Dark Justiciars and how she can feel Shar or whatever. You are just trying to focus on her and stop thinking about him. You have been successful in avoiding him and not looking at him for the entirety of the morning and you need to keep it that way. 

  _________________________________________________

   Astarion can’t place where in the conversation he went wrong, but the fight with Malus Thorm has been nothing short of a disaster. The Sisters are ruthless and Malus is much stronger than any of them anticipated at first glance.

  Astarion usually fights right at your side, but he assumes that your new lover will be keeping you safe. He suppresses the bile and tears that threaten to come up. He has your protection still and he knows that because Wyll would have thrown him out of camp otherwise. He was never meant to end up with you- you were always meant to be a means to an end.

If anything, he should be thrilled for you. Wyll is a good, decent man and much worthier of your affections than Astarion could ever be.

 So why does it hurt so fucking much? And why did he want to kick Wyll over a ravine when he kissed you?

He shakes the thought as he strikes down two more Sisters. He steals a glance in Wyll’s direction (to check on you) and immediately notices that you are nowhere in the premises and the Blade of Frontiers was battling with Karlach. Astarion scans the room in a frenzy of panic.

   He turns around just in time to see Malus lift you up by your neck and fling you into a column. Your glasses fell to the ground as your back makes contact with the stone and the sound of shattering bones echoes through the room as the Sisters begin to move forward.

 Astarion watches in horror as you are struggling to pop up and begin touching the floor around you , but by the time you seem to realize finding your glasses is a moot effort- the Sisters descend on you as Malus turns his attention to Wyll and Karlach.

  Wyll acknowledges what just happened, but doesn’t go to help you. Anger rips through Astarion like a wildfire as Wyll turns and tells Shadowheart you need help. He’s about to help Malus take out Wyll- until another scream for help pierces the air as you throw random cantrips at your attackers.

 Astarion rushes forward, cutting his way through the remaining Sisters in the middle of the room. He really could give a shit less at this time if it pisses Wyll off that he was the one who protected you- in fact, he’s probably going to be stabbing Wyll when you all get back to camp. 

  Astarion destroys the Sisters surrounding you in a flurry of gore and steel. He ignores his other companions as he searches for you frantically. 

  You had disappeared by the time he came to your aid. Astarion knows that you have a tendency to slip into your Cat form when you are particularly scared and can’t see- using the animal’s powerful nose to guide you away from danger. 

 Astarion goes near the beds and crouches down- a sigh escaping his lips. 

  All 8 pounds of you and your black fluff is crouched under the bed and you hiss in surprise when he clicks his tongue at you. You squint your eyes at him before sniffing the air. You cautiously walk forward and sniff his outreached hand. You begin to purr loudly and rub your head against his knuckles.

 He laughs with a mix of hysteria and joy as the realization that you are okay settles into his bones.

 “It’s okay Little Love, the Sisters are dead,” he says softly, “I’m so sorry, I should have been next to you. I just assumed a beast with such prowess as yourself would be able to fend for themselves.”

 You meow in indignation as you climb on top of him to bite the tip of his nose and he can’t help but laugh. 

“Does your ego hurt less now, Little Love?”

You give him an amused look that makes him bust out laughing again.

He had asked you once why you were just a Black domestic cat instead of a Panther. You had argued that you are just as ferocious as a Panther in that form. Not to mention, you would have a better chance of shooting an arrow straight than turning into a Panther, but you weren’t about to admit that (even though he knows). 

   Astarion scoops you up in his arms and pauses- the smell of your blood floods his senses. He grabs you by your scruff and you yelp as he inspects you for injuries. 

  You scratch at his hand and he drops you. You yowl in pain and leer at him as you begin to change back into your humanoid form. 

If Astarion was capable of feinting, this would have been that moment. He drops to his knees beside you and begins trying to find a healing potion to take the edge off.

  You have a compound fracture where your shin was and it’s bleeding heavily. Your right shoulder is out of place, your left wrist is twisted in an atypical fashion, and your left cheek is blooming with an angry, purple bruise. He winces when you inhale a sharp breath as you try to breathe in, clutching at your rib cage. 

He doesn’t catch the choked gasp that climbs up his throat in time- your eyes search for him in the dark before finally settling on him.

“Your beautiful eyes are really helpful when it’s blurry.”

Your voice is so tired and he can hear the pain in your voice.

“How come?”

“I can actually find you,” you pause, “you make me feel safe.”

  You look at him, your eyes glassy with shock. You smile brightly at him and he smiles brightly back at you. He never thought anyone would associate him with protection, safety. Your words echo in his brain.

You’re make me feel safe.

You go to say something again before you look at him with wide, scared eyes and promptly lose consciousness. The scream that comes out of his mouth is foreign to his own ears. It sounds fearful, angry- heartbroken. Astarion tries to shake you awake, yelling your name over and over.

 “Please wake up Darling- you’re safe,” he whispers through choked sobs, “come back to me please.” 

Nothing. He can barely tell if you are breathing still as your heart thuds softly in your chest. He calls for Shadowheart two, three, four more times.

"Please," he whimpers, "I don't want to have to be without you forever- I can't be."

  The weight of his words hits him like a train- his plan had well and truly failed. Under normal, non- life threatening emergency situations, he would probably panic about the strength of his emotions. Instead, he sits here begging for the chance to be able to tell you how he really feels. He wants to move so badly, to drag Shadowheart over here to heal you, but he can't bare to leave you in your vulnerable state. He keeps calling for Shadowheart- his voice begins to crack.

Astarion feels the worst of his anxieties vanish as you suddenly start taking long, ragged, tired breaths. He grabs a healing potion out of his pocket and tilts your head as he pours it into your mouth. You swallow the fluid gingerly. Your eyes are barely open when he hears you communicate through the tadpole.

Thank you for saving me. Again.

Astarion slowly strokes the side of your face, brushing the flyaway hairs out of your eyes.

"I saved you for my own selfish reasons," he whispers, while taking your right hand gently, "close your eyes and rest- I will keep you safe. Shadowheart is coming."

You nod lazily before closing your eyes, your hand in his still. Astarion sighs in relief when your breathing gets stronger, but he is no healer. Where the hells is that damn Cleric!?

 “Shadowheart!!!!”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #astarion x you #bg3 #karlach #smut #shameless smut actually #astarion acunin #bg3 tav

[the-kr8tor]

Mr and Mrs Smith AU: When Jane met John

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 9k

Summary: Joining a spy agency? Check ✓ Hired in said agency? Check ✓ Getting a new fancy house? Check ✓ An entire armoury of weapons at your disposal? Check ✓ A new Husband? Check ✓ wait, what?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie and R call each other by fake names (ie: John, Jane, Smith etc), spy AU, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, CW vomit mention, TW death.

A/N: Happy 1k! Happy reading!!!❤️

Navigation

Masterlist

Buy me a ☕?

The waiting room seems like it's designed to make you extra anxious. From the bright fluorescent lights that whir above, to the carpet that smells like a very harsh citrus soap. Add the metallic chairs that's incredibly cold under your slacks— It all makes you bounce your leg from the bundle of nerves inside your stomach. The people waiting around you don't help either, they all look like they came out of magazine covers. Hair all tied up in a perfect bun, pencil skirts that cinch their waist perfectly. Button ups that are ironed until there's no crease in sight.

You bite your lip, eyes glued on the steel door, to where your last resort is, to where your entire future depends on. Looking around the room full of models, it doesn't seem like you're applying for a security job.

Maybe you should've worn that pencil skirt that's gathering dust in your closet.

Even though you technically don't know what kind of job it is, you really need to get this one, or else. Your savings could only get you so far. An old ‘friend’ of yours recommended this ‘company’. It operates at the highest security, the risk is just as high, but the pay is higher. More than what you've ever earned in the five years you've worked anyway.

Flicking your eyes above the door, the light finally turns green from red, and a chiming sound can be heard as the door clicks open on its own. You still wonder where the applicant goes after their interview since you never saw them exit out the same door. A morbid thought passes by your mind: a gun plus a bullet to the head. The image makes you grab the rubber band on your wrist to slap it against your skin. It leaves the stinging pain for only a moment, but it's enough to throw away the vision from your brain.

An applicant enters and you look down at the piece of paper in your hand— you're next.

The number, 2715 is written in Times New Roman. You can recognize that font anywhere, for it's the same font used on newer gravestones, the same font on his— you slap the rubber band against your wrist again. This time harder than the last. The stinging stays for a minute more. Your heels tap against the carpet, the clock ticks, the fluorescent whirs, someone coughs and you want to punch them in the face— you slap the rubber band against your skin again.

Your ears perk up at the familiar chime like you've been Pavlov’d by the sound after waiting for three hours on that uncomfortable metal chair that has tiny holes that you've gotten your pinky finger stuck in on hour two.

With a deep breath, you saunter your way towards the creaking door, trying to summon all the confidence in your body. They may be watching so you do your best to not look as nervous as you feel like.

As you enter the room, the large screen in the center raises a curious brow. The light from the monitor shines a spotlight on the singular office chair right in front of it. The room is dim, save for the single light. The screen reminds you of one of those mall touch screens that shows you the map of the building. There's another door on the opposite wall, now you know where all the other candidates exit, and it's definitely not from a bullet judging from the clean floors.

With a tentative step, you cross the distance. Sitting down, the chair is a comfortable welcome from the last one you sat on.

“Am I supposed to push a button?” You roam your eyes over the circular shape up top. You surmise that it's the camera.

The calming sky blue screen flashes words,

> Hihi, welcome

“Hi?”

> Insert nail clippings

A box slides out below the screen, prompting you to take the ziplock with your nail clippings from your bag. It slides back in with a mechanic hiss once you place the plastic on the drawer, and the screen blinks to a couple of questions that you answer honestly.

> What's your ethnicity?

You don't falter. Answering it truthfully.

> Height?

You clear your throat, the lump is either from the nerves or how your voice faltered when you answered.

> Are you willing to relocate?

You wring your hands together on your lap. “Yes, absolutely. Nothing's holding me back.” Then the dreaded question pops up on the bright screen.

> Tell me about yourself

“Uh, I graduated top of my class.” You scratch the back of your neck. “MI6 agent for three–no, uh four years.” Chuckling shakily, you continue. “I got high merits…w-well until the thing— but I was on the road to promotion b-before it happened.” God, you hate interviews.

> Words that people would describe you with?

You blink, sucking in a breath. “Truthfully?” Joking, the screen doesn't appreciate your humour.

> Yes

“Oh, p-people would describe me as a… someone who has initiative. Cunning…” unfeeling— you slap the band on your wrist again. Sitting up right, you gaze at the camera like your eyes could see the person typing behind it. You guess it's a person at least. “Passed all my training with flying colours, infiltration, marksmanship, hand to hand, you name it. You tell me the job and I'll do it with no questions asked.”

> Are you okay with high risk?

“More than okay.” You answer quickly.

> With a team or alone?

“I'm alright with either, but I prefer alone.”

> Why did you get fired?

“You know why.” You say intensely, eyes boring holes into the screen. For a second you thought you flubbed it but the screen continues to flash a new question.

> Have you killed anyone?

> And why?

The question turns into what you're more accustomed to. “Yes, approximately…” you inhale sharply. “Forty three. Two unintentionally, the rest with various…weapons.” You mindlessly play with the loose thread of your blazer to get rid of the flashing images in your head. “As for why, that's confidential information.”

The robot or the person behind the screen seems to accept your vague answers for it moves on with the interview.

> Favourite food?

Your eyebrows knit at the sudden turn of question. “Uh, I have a sweet tooth, ice cream. I think. But I can't resist good popcorn.” Your tone wavers at the end.

> Have you been in love?

You laugh, but the question still flashes on screen, unchanged and unamused. Clamping up, you feel for the rubber on your wrist.

“I-I'm sorry but what is this part for?”

The screen remains the same.

“—No,” you remember that they've probably already known everything about you even before you applied. So you decide to answer vaguely, that seems to work out before. “Once, just once.”

> When was the last time you said ‘I love you?’

“A long time ago.”

> To whom?

“You know who.”

—

You're surprised that you got the job even after the disastrous interview. The suitcase is light in your tightly clasped hand. The belongings you've tossed inside are sparse, only packing the ones you only need.

The large wooden door looms in front of you, the street behind you is bustling and right across your new home is an expansive park. A park that looks like you need to pay just to get inside. The neighborhood that you're situated in can be described as exclusive, rich and very suburban. The kind of setting where parents would do anything to raise their kids in. Something you've never thought in your dangerous life to live in, more so even step foot in.

With an exhale, you unlock the door. It clicks open surprisingly, you doubted the company for a second when you pushed it in. Maybe they gave you the wrong address? Maybe something went wrong in their system and your name popped up instead of someone more worthy? Someone who's a better shot, someone who isn't as bat shit insane as you.

The long hallway greets you, the low warm light brings comfort to your rattling bones. Its carpet runner is soft beneath your sneakers, red and blue threads weaved around the thick cloth. Framed art is posted on the walls, the artist's name you recognize from some pretentious reality tv about selling mansions that you once drunkenly watched alone on a friday night.

You leave your baggage in the hallway. Opting to explore the cinnamon scented home. Its rich walls remind you of chocolate that you once got for your birthday. The furniture doesn't look like it came from Ikea, the oak is sturdy under your palm, no rough surface, no protruding nails that slashes your flesh.

You snap the rubber band on your wrist for the umpteenth time today.

There's an ornate door sitting on your right, robins and roses are carved on the wood. The biometric scanner is placed right next to the door, it’s a stark contrast to the traditional home. Flipping the cover open, you place your thumb on the smooth surface of the scanner. After a half second, the door clicks open, revealing a steel elevator. The bright light above it almost blinds you.

Your curiosity makes you enter the steel cage, roaming your eyes, you spot the buttons.

“Might as well.” You say to the emptiness of the house.

As the elevator door closes, the front door opens.

There's a lack of elevator music, perhaps that's the best since you always hated the cheery chiming of it. The second the door opens, you take a peek inside. The weird smell combination of chlorine and butter hits your nose.

“Holy shit,” you mumble in disbelief at the indoor pool and theatre. “A fucking pool under the house? And a fucking theatre screen in front? Which rich fuck decided that?” Your voice echoes, bouncing off the tiled walls of the pool.

Roaming the large room, eyes wide and strides small, you marvel at the high ceilings with the same warm tone lights hidden in the coves to soften the lights. You crouch down, letting the warm water lap at your hand.

There's a handful of sun loungers on the side, tables in between them for drinks and whatever rich people put on it. A projector hangs above the pool, an electrical hazard, you thought and an image of an entire pool party getting electrocuted lingers in your mind. You snap the rubber band against your wrist.

The popcorn machine helps distract you from the intrusive thought. Opening the machine, the popped kernels are still warm against your skin. You quickly scoop up a handful of it in your palm, the butter slicking your hand and your mouth as you eat it like how a baby deer eats grass.

You've had enough of the overly decorated basement, getting back on the elevator, you finish off your popcorn with one big bite. Still chewing, you wipe your hands on your trousers to press the shiny buttons on the elevator. The doors close as you chew loudly, eyes up on the screen showing the floors of the house, you don't notice the stranger standing outside of the opened doors.

Butter on your lips, you almost smack him on his pretty face.

“Christ!” You yelp, almost choking on a kernel.

“Close, but no.” He smirks, eyes flicking at the sheen on your lips.

Your husband, the title echoes in your popcorn filled head. His smile captures your attention, a ten megawatt grin that could power the entire posh neighborhood. His piercings glimmer in the warm light, and your eyes are glued to the ones on his eyebrows. Hazel eyes, the left one seems to be lighter than the other, watercolour eyes stare back at you, scanning your features. If you stare long enough you swear you can see patches of green and gray in those expressive eyes.

“John Smith.” He introduces himself, your husband, your partner. John doesn't raise his ringed hand for you to shake, instead he nods at you, waiting patiently for you to say your name. As if he doesn't know.

Clearing your kernel filled throat, you quickly run your tongue across your teeth (with your mouth closed of course) because you don't want to embarrass yourself further by having popcorn stuck in your teeth.

“Jane, Jane Smith.” You reach towards him to shake his hand, he raises a brow at you in turn.

“I don't do that, love, sorry.”

“Shake hands?”

“Yeah,” he looks to the left of your face, his eyebrow twitches slightly— a tell.

“Are you a germaphobe?” You ask before you could stop yourself.

“Not really, I've got issues…with intimacy.” John shrugs, the metals on his leather jacket clinks together. You think he'd rather be a model or a rock star instead of a spy with how he dresses and carries himself with confidence.

You smile knowingly, “We all do, but you don't have that issue. It's our first day of marriage and you decide to lie to your wife?” You click your tongue, eyebrow raised. “Not a very good first impression, John.”

He'll never get used to being called that basic name. ‘John’ takes your hand, it's warm, searing hot under your slippery hand. You'd thought his warmth would cook your flesh, you guess the butter on your palm would work wonders. You're starting to regret snacking. The calluses on his palm matches your own, a large scar across his palm tells you a story untold. Silver rings decorate his long fingers. There's a more simple silver bracelet on his wrist, a stark contrast to the ornate rings he sports on both hands.

He's handsome, you think, rightfully so. With his chiseled jaw that rivals any greek statue and eyes that could be mistaken for stars; he's tall too, so that's a plus. You lucked out on the fake husband department. Well, there's worse men to fake marry out there. Just judging from first impressions, you're glad he's the one you have on your side,

“How'd you know?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

“I'm very perceptive.”

“Trained?”

“Nope,” you hide your bundle of nerves with your casual tone. His hand is still clasped on your own, you don't notice it. “Just very good at reading people.”

“Did you have a stint at the BAU too?”

Too? You ignore it for now. “No,” chuckling, you finally notice the heat on your palm so you let him go. “Just…natural talent, I guess.”

“What’s under the house?” John asks, stepping aside so you could exit the elevator.

“A beating heart.” You curse yourself, fingers already reaching for the rubber band on your wrist.

To your surprise, John laughs. The sound is genuine, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I got the reference.”

“I figured.”

“I saw a black box in the office, you wanna check it out?” He points behind him with his thumb.

“Why? Do you think there's a beating heart in there too?”

“Maybe.” He plays along, walking beside you. “You never know with the company, for all we know there's a head in there.”

“Morbid.” You joke as he opens the door for you.

“Says you?” John keeps reminding himself of his real name whilst he memorizes the side of your face. He already wants to tell you his real name, not the one assigned to him by the suits behind the faceless screen he has grown familiar with. He says his name in his mind again, if he accidentally blurted it out, well, c'est la vie.

“Says me,” you shrug casually, trying to keep up with his wit and charm. You already think you're losing. You scrunch your face at the painting above the mantle. It's an art of two lovers doing the tango, if tango excludes clothes and includes intense snogging.

He chuckles right next to you, an airy laugh that has you smiling too. “A very brave choice. Not my taste, but whatever floats the company's boat. What's inside is a bit better though.” Your ‘husband’ reaches towards the frame of the painting, gently pressing down, it releases a metallic click as it reveals a secret compartment full of weapons.

You hide a snort behind your hand. The cabinet reminds you of your own. Unimpressed, you flick your eyes down at the office table, the large black box sitting on top of it is just begging to be opened.

Without a second thought, you open it. Taking out the bottle of expensive looking wine, you read the card that is tied in a neat ribbon around the neck.

“‘Good luck on your first day of marriage’” you look at the man beside you. He's incredibly close to you, his elbow grazing yours, lips slightly parted whilst he takes a peek at the wine. He smells of burgundy and leather, it calms your senses for some odd reason. “I prefer coke.” You practically shove the bottle in his hands. The glass clinks against his metal rings.

“The snorting variation or the fizzy one?” He asks, placing the bottle down on the narra table with an almost silent thud.

“The fizzy one.” You take his question at face value. He doesn't question why you don't prefer alcohol. Sitting down on the plush office chair, you open the laptop in front of you. It dings, needing a password to open it. “It needs a—”

Before you could even finish the question, he gives you a scrap of paper from the numerous envelopes inside the box. The password is printed on it with the same font as the one from the piece of paper you held a couple of weeks ago.

You type it whilst he rifles through the box. The home screen pops up, nothing too fancy or out of the ordinary. Except for the single application in the corner that's only labeled as ‘S’

Clicking it, a chat box appears.

> Hihi, follow man

John snakes up next to you, the harsh light from the laptop shines on his pensive face. You return your attention towards ‘your boss’. A picture of a young blond man pops up in the chat, there's a mole near his left eye, he sports dark eyebrows. And a look that says ‘daddy paid for my college!’

> 40.748817, -73.985428

“That's downtown I think.” John pipes up next to you, and you look at him like he just said the sky is green and the grass is blue.

> Take keys, take car. Bring car here

> 51.505554, -0.075278.

“A car?” You rhetorically ask.

“Must be a very expensive car, or an important one.” John answers back as he leans further down to take a better look at the monitor. His hand is on the back of your chair, his necklaces dangle on his neck like a pretty chandelier.

You both wait for more instructions but it doesn't come.

“Hihi isn't very talkative, huh?” Your voice echoes in the awkward silence.

“‘Hihi?’”

“Yeah, I thought I'd give it a nickname.” You think he's weirded out but with an amused laugh he pats your shoulder nonchalantly.

“Cute.” You don't know if he's referring to you, or to the nickname you dubbed your electronic boss. “I've separated our papers.” John says as you still contemplate his last comment. “Here's yours.”

“Thanks.” You scan the pile in your hands. Your own face greets you as you flip through it all.

“It has everything we need. Credit card, ID's, carry permit and a passport.”

“What's that one?” You point at the larger envelope next to John's pile. A smaller black leather envelope sits atop it.

He opens the large envelope, giving you the contents of it. “Marriage certificate. And this one…” shaking the leather envelope, whatever is inside of it clinks. Taking it out, he shows you the gold bands. “...our wedding rings.” Heat rises in your cheeks unavoidably once he says it softly. “May I?” Open palm reaching out, he beckons.

You try to remember which hand wears it. With a split second decision, you place your left hand atop his own. Carefully sliding the cold ring in your marriage finger, you stay locked in on his eyes that's concentrating like he's disarming a bomb.

John pats your hand and then inserts his own ring in his finger, mirroring yours.

“Guess we're married.” You shrug casually like your heart doesn't beat against your ribcage, like it's trying to escape its confines. “It feels kind of weird?”

“We are,” he flashes you his signature smirk. “And we'll get used to it, hm, wife?”

“Yeah, I'll adapt.” You say just barely above a whisper, hands suddenly clammy.

“That's my girl.” Throwing you a wink, he walks away from a flustered you.

Yeah, you got lucky.

—

Morning comes and you had the best sleep you've had in years. Even if you slept on an empty stomach last night, you still slept like a baby on the eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton blanket. You stare blankly at the beige ceiling, hands roaming around the soft bed sheet like you're making a snow angel. Sleep ridden eyes roam around the expansive master bedroom to which your new husband has graciously let you take.

Speaking of ‘John’, his bedroom is just across your own. Surprisingly enough, he hasn't woken up yet based on the silence in the hallway outside, you hadn't pegged him as a late riser.

Breakfast calls for you when your stomach rumbles loudly, but you're too comfortable to even move from your spot. Something taps from your window that's facing the foot of your bed. A soft tippy tap of something hitting the glass that has you sitting up. Eyes blinking rapidly, you stare off a pigeon perched outside. Its iridescent feathers shine in the early morning sun, its beak tapping rhythmically at the window.

Sliding your hand behind you, blindly grasping at a pillow, you fling it across the room to scare off the bird. The pillow hits your mark and out flies away the annoying pigeon. With a sigh, you get off your ass to get ready for the day ahead. You don't want to be late to your first day out in the field, no use in rotting in your luxurious bed if you can't keep it after you get fired for being late.

You dress for the day and for the cool weather. Spring has come but the freezing temperature has decided to stay for a little while. With a cozy turtleneck and comfy slacks, you forgo the torturous device called ‘heels’ for a pair of trainers. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you shrug with a huff. And you snap the rubber against your skin once again.

Taking the chair off the doorknob and then unlocking the door, you exit your sanctuary. Closing your door softly, you find yourself in front of John's room. Judging from the soft snores, you notice that he’s still sleeping. You might be his fake wife but it's not your job to wake him up. So you continue down the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of cereal.

Bowl in hand, you chew as you walk up to the rooftop. Unlocking it, the sun greets you with a comfortable heat, and you frown at it. You keep eating whilst you explore the space. There's a bountiful garden in the corner, raised garden beds full of fresh vegetables and fruit that is ripe for the taking. An outside dining area sits in the middle, you recognize the long table from a catalog you once read to pass the time at the dentist. You remember that it doubles as a grill and leg warmer in the winter.

“Fancy,” you murmur with your mouth full of grainy goodness. Sipping the leftover milk in the bowl, you place it on the expensive table to crouch down next to a bushel of strawberries to sniff. “Almost ripe,” you figure from the softness of the fruit.

A bird flies above you, it's shadow casting over you. With the sound of fluttering wings, the bird perches on the table, black orbs staring at you, head tilting like it's observing your presence.

“Are you the same fucking bird?” You question the pigeon. It coos at you, and then pecks at the ceramic of your discarded bowl. “Motherfucker—” standing up, you have the look of someone ready to square up with the feathered creature.

“Why are you fighting an innocent bird?” John appears with a mug of tea in his hand. You forgot to make tea.

“I wasn't fighting with it.”

“He,” your partner crosses the distance, the bird doesn't fly away from the close proximity. You raise an eyebrow at that. “might be hungry.” He gestures towards the strawberries behind you with his chin. “Think you can grab us one, lovie?” You're gonna need some time to get used to that term.

“It's not ripe.”

“I don't think he's picky.”

“It's too sour, it might upset his stomach.”

“He's a pigeon, he's used to eating shit off the pavement. I think that's fine, love.”

With an awkward nod, you pick the one that's redder than the rest. Throwing it towards John, he catches it with a practiced hand. He sits down before laying the fruit in front of the bird. You watch it unfold, the pigeon hops on the table, beak pecking at the seeds. You're intrigued at their interaction.

John sips at his drink, still in his sleep clothes. Toned arms in full display from the loose tank top he sports. Pajama pants hanging low on his hips, silk bonnet on his head. He only has one sock on his feet, you tilt your head.

“What happened to your sock?” You point at his bare foot curiously.

“Hmm?” He looks down, and he chuckles like he just realized the missing article of clothing. “Don't know, probably kicked it off while I was sleepin’”

“Oh,” you blink, “you should get ready, we might miss our target.”

He fakes salutes at you, drinking casually from his mug as you leave the rooftop. He doesn't miss how you didn't take your dish with you. Sighing, he watches the pigeon eat his fill.

—

You and John arrive at a pub. It's dim inside with only a few miserable patrons sitting sparsely at different corners of the musty establishment. They all look miserable, all having expressions from different points of the human emotion. But there's only one face you're observing— your target.

He sits alone on the bar stool, back hunched, eyes red and nursing a half filled pint of beer. Holding his face in his hand, blond hair raked in between his fingers, bomber jacket hanging loosely on his form, bags under his sagging eyes. He's the picture of someone who's on the bottom of the barrel.

John guides you with his hand hovering on your back. Not touching, at the same time still close, you are supposed to be a couple after all. You slide into a booth that has the perfect view of the target, but still out of his sight and out of earshot. The leather seat is worn down, tiny bits of it are ripped, at least it's not sticky. He orders for you, and you observe how he slyly roams his eyes towards the man, looking out for the keys.

He comes back with a plate of chips and dip. “Thought it would be weird not to order anythin’”

“Good call,” you take a chip whilst your eyes only briefly leave the target's back. “Thought you'd buy me a pint.”

“Did you want a pint? This early? Do you want to talk about it?” He half jokes as he takes a smaller chip.

“No,” you scoff, “and no. I just thought you'd order it instead of this.”

“You're not the only perceptive one in this relationship.” John looks over his shoulder to quickly do a once over at the forlorn man.

“Did you see where he's keeping it?”

“Inside his jacket, right side.”

You nod, “Is he carrying?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shrugs, licking the salt off his finger. “So, why'd you join?”

“Really? We're doing that?” You watch as the man gulps down his remaining drink and then orders a new one immediately.

“Yes, we're doin' that. Won't that make us work better together? To get to know each other a bit more?”

“Fine,” you silently huff. “No one else would take me, this is a last resort, I guess?”

“Bullshit, love, I think anyone would be happy to have you in their…agency?”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere, birdman.” A small smile appears on your lips, he beams at you. “Besides, who else is hiring for someone with the specific skill set that I have?”

He hums, while turning subtly to take a peek at the target. Returning his attention to you after seeing the blonde man still hunched in his stool, John takes another chip. “True, did you get kicked out from the last one?”

“Not really,” you stare at the crack on the wooden table. “You?”

“Not really,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You MI6?” He asks casually. “This your first time in London?”

“I'm not answering either of those questions.”

“C’mon,” he wiggles his left hand, the wedding band shines in the pub light. “Husband, remember? ‘sides, I won't tell anyone.”

You place your elbows on the table, smiling sarcastically at him. After a beat for his anticipation, you grin wider. “No.”

His shoulders fall, a chortle escaping his lips. “Cheeky.” Pointing an accusing finger at you, he quickly looks behind him, only to find the target sluggishly exiting the pub. “He's on the move.”

You both follow the drunk man like gravity is pulling you towards him. Walking the streets of busy downtown London, stranger's faces whizz past you. John has his hands casually in his pockets, yet he stays close to you, eyes flicking in the corners to check on you.

“Why don't you ask me a question? Y’know tit for tat?” He waits patiently for you to answer back, hell he'll even take a grunt at this point.

“Okay,” you surprisingly start the conversation on his behalf. “Have you killed anyone?” The passing pedestrians don't seem to notice you and the morbid subject.

Your partner snorts, nose scrunched up, eyes glued on the staggering target. “Nah. Have you?”

“I call bullshit,” you dodge a distracted woman scrolling on her phone. “Anyway, I have. I'm not exactly proud of it or flaunting it if you're thinking that I'm doing that.”

“Good, once you start flaunting it like a bloody trophy, you've lost it.”

You hum in agreement, the sound of a deep rumble in your chest as you two turn a corner. “Why do you think hihi needs us to nick the car?”

“Hihi” he chuckles, you turn to him with a serious face. “There's probably a stash of confidential information in the trunk or somethin’”

“Maybe a stash of weapons?” The man in front of you stumbles. “I don't see him as the type to harbor secret documents.”

John nods, “a highly infectious disease then?”

“Christ, we better drive carefully once we get a hold of it.” You turn to him briefly. “Maybe it's a really expensive sports car and he's all sad and mopey because he's gone broke after buying it?”

“Got a whole story now, huh?” He pushes you lightly with his leather clad shoulder, and you smile softly. “You good at pickpocketing him?” Your partner gestures with his chin, said target is walking into traffic. He seems unbothered by the oncoming vehicles. John curses under his breath.

“We should do that now before he kills himself.” You speed walk across the crossing, grabbing the drunk man before a car hits him.

Arms enveloping around his bomber jacket, swiping him away and quickly carrying him to the footpath, you save him before an suv hits you both. The car honks loudly and angrily as your target groans in your arms like he's about to hurl the contents of his stomach.

John punches the hood of the car, pointing at the driver accusingly. A distraction for you to take the keys hidden in the man's jacket.

“You almost hit my fuckin' wife, you wanker!” Your partner yells, covering the sound of jingling keys in your expert hand. He plays the part well.

Surprisingly, the target straightens up in your hold, a split second after you pocketed the car keys inside your own coat.

“Y-you,” he slurs, feet struggling to keep himself upright. “Dickhead!” Slamming his fists on the hood with a loud *thunk, he joins John who gives you a look and a shrug. The drunken yelling gets louder and the driver now exits his car with an equally angry look.

John takes this opportunity to come back to your side, hand holding your elbow, he leads you away from the screaming match as more and more people try to intervene.

“Got it?” He whispers closely to the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in your arms.

“‘course I did.” You jingle the keys inside your pocket. “I'm not an amateur.”

Playing along, he laughs, hand still holding your elbow softly. “Good job, missus.”

With an awkward chuckle, you lean away from him. “Just so you know, I'm not in this for…the romance.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I'm not looking to date my co-worker.”

John raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. if the situation calls for us to actually act as a couple—”

“We'll act as a couple, I won't fuss if that's what you're saying.”

“Good, now let's get this bloody car.”

—

“A fucking ‘99 toyota corolla?” You stare in disbelief at the rusting metal. “At least it's one of the good models.” Kicking the wheel, you expect it to tumble over like in an old timey cartoon.

John is crouched way down to check the bottom of the car. “It's clear.” He stands up fully, cleaning his hands on his jeans. You wince at his movements. “What?”

“Nothing.” You open the driver's side, the smell of alcohol and something musty hits your nose. “Nasty.” Coughing, you air it out by opening another door.

“You know your cars?”

“A little bit.” You say with your nose pinched. Sparing him a look, he stands in the parking lot like he's still waiting for the rest of the story. “What?”

“Throw me a bone here, love.” You roll your eyes. “Why do you know so much about cars?”

“I said I know a little bit.” You place your hands on your hips like an exasperated mother whose son keeps asking weird questions about dinosaurs. “I dated a mechanic.” You say flatly.

“Really? Did you date a pickpocket too? Or do you date people so you could absorb their skills like kirby?”

“Are you jealous?” You tease him with a comment you didn't have the foresight that it would backfire.

“We are married.” He says matter-of-fact with a killer smirk and eyes glinting with mischief. “And this is technically our honeymoon so—”

“Get in the fucking car, birdman.”

—

The wheel is sticky under your hands, you have an intense urge to wash your hands or to at least grab a sanitizer. Apparently your disgust shows on your face, for John chortles next to you.

“What?” You say through gritted teeth.

“Nothin’, you just look like someone shat in your tea.”

“The wheel is sticky.”

“I have a handkerchief with me, d’you want me to?” Taking out the dark green cloth from his jean pockets, he's already twisting in his seat to wipe it clean.

“Please,” you ask softly, hands sliding down to make space for him.

Your hand never left the wheel while he cleans it for you. John's seatbelt is unclasped so he could have more movement, his face is close to your vision, warmth blanketing over you. He's so close that you can smell his cologne, it's a different one from yesterday, it's more flowery with a hint of mint. You spot a hidden mole under his ear. A tiny dot that is just begging to be poked.

Without thinking, you press softly with the pad of your finger. He yelps, flinching away instinctively. Looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape, you're ready to be called a nasty nickname, or be cussed out with a loud voice. Instead of what you're anticipating, a laugh bellows out, a rumbly laugh that makes you smile and let out an almost silent chortle.

“I think you found my mole.” John holds the side of his neck with a grin. “You let your urges get to you, love.”

“Sorry,” you keep your eyes on the road to hide your embarrassment.

“It's fine, your hand was just cold. Ask me next time, I have a few more cute moles on me.”

“Nevermind, you ruined it.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you park at the coordinates. “Nice acting back there, I see an Emmy nomination for you in the future.”

“Thanks, I barely remember what I said. You sure this is the place?” John peeks at the map pulled up on your phone. “Shit, we're here.”

The entire street is suburban, large colonial houses lining the sides, tall pine trees decorate the sidewalks. There's not a lot of people walking by, save for a couple pedestrians walking their dogs, the place is devoid of people.

“What now?” You unclasp your seatbelt to twist around in your seat so you could observe the neighborhood.

“Hihi told us to bring it here, so maybe we should—?” John lets out a high pitched scream that also has you yelling in surprise, not from whatever made him shriek but from the sound that escaped him. “What the fuck!”

Leaning slightly to look at what had his knickers in a bunch, you stare blankly at a bespectacled man in a bespoke suit. The man gives you and your partner an apologetic look, he points for John to open the window.

He turns towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Should I?”

“Yeah, I think you should.”

“What if he's got a gun?” He whispers.

“We also have guns, John. I'll cover you, don't worry. Maybe this is what hihi asked us to do.”

“Easy for you to say, you're not the one opening it.” He gives you a glare before rolling the window down an inch. “Hi, mate. What can we do for you?”

“The car,” the stranger points a lengthy finger at the wheel. His voice is crackly and gravelly, like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes before he went up to the car. “You're late, but that doesn't matter. How much do I owe you, folks?”

“Uh, the usual.” You say with fake confidence.

“Good,” the lean man straightens up, “mind gettin’ out of the car then?”

“Right, sorry, bruv.” John, gives you one look before exiting the car. He's nervous and so are you.

As the doors shut, the man flexes his open palms expectantly for the keys, to which you hand off immediately. He gives you bad vibes, maybe your intuition tells you to run for the hills.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'll wire the money to the usual account.” The nickname sends shivers down your spine.

He closes the door and starts up the car. With a splutter of the exhaust, he slowly drives away. You and John watch, standing side by side in the middle of the street in confusion.

“He was weird, right? Not to mention it was too easy.” You turn your head to look at him. “Maybe they're trying to ease us in?”

“It was all weird, not just him—” A blast coming from the car interrupts him, the sheer force of it sends you two down on the rough pavement.

Your cheeks are incredibly warm from the searing heat of the bomb. The light from it blinds the two of you.

Palms skinned, trousers slashed at the knees, your ears ring loudly like an annoying buzz from a broken microphone. Coughing loudly, smoke fills your lungs, debris is scattered around the once pristine neighborhood. There's blood on the concrete, you can't hear John calling for you, your vision is blurred by the cloud of smoke. His hand reaches for you, and your instincts tell you to run.

“Fuck!” He yells, running beside you at full speed. “What the fuck!”

“Keep running!” You yell as he turns around to check on a woozy you. “I'm fine!”

Someone behind you screams for you to stop so you and your partner run faster. Knees aching, thighs burning, you don't stick around to look who's running after you. The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety is loud in your eardrums, even if your lungs threaten to give out, you sprint right next to John as he turns a corner and into a carwash.

The smell of soap and heavy pine scented car freshener hits your bloody nose. He tugs you towards the plastic curtains and inside what you presume as the employee lounge, someone yells after you but it falls on deaf ears as you and John continue your escape.

Exiting the establishment, the metal doors open to a messy alleyway. Boxes upon boxes of trash and god knows what are littered all around. The pungent smell makes you want to hurl, or maybe that's the adrenaline having a weird effect on your stomach.

You two find reprieve for a second, huffing, trying to get oxygen back in. Hands on your aching thighs, the concrete below you slowly turns crimson as your mysterious injury drips precious blood on the messy ground.

“You're bleedin’” He says in between inhales. There's rustling of fabric next to you, and you feel the warm cloth placed on your forehead.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Waving the drenched cloth away, you scoff lightly. “Don't.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let you bleed?”

You stand up straight, blood coating your lashes as you stare at him. “I've got a better idea.” Placing your palms on the source of the pain, you let your blood coat it.

“What—?” You roughly smudge the warm ichor all over his face and shirt, the plain white of his t-shirt turns a dark pink shade with your touch. Leaning away, he gives you a slow nod of understanding. “Ease us in, huh?”

“I'm rarely wrong and this is one of the rare instances.”

“Let's hope you're right about this one.”

—

You kick the backdoor open with ferocity. It bangs loud against the wall, getting the restaurant staff's attention.

“Help please! My husband!” John's limp arm is around your shoulders, your hand gripping on to his waist to add that one detail that would convince them of your innocence. “There was a bomb!” You don't let the bystanders touch you or John whilst you quickly lumber through their dinghy bathroom. There's murmurs and chairs scraping on the tiled floors as you lock the door behind you.

The bathroom is small, tiles yellowed from the years, the stench of bleach itching your nose. The lightbulb above you whirs like it's about to burst out. He leaves your side to take off his bloodied jacket, tossing it outside from the window— his exit, you presume.

“Your phone.” He holds his empty hand out to you, when you only raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs, eyes turning soft, adrenaline melting out of his system. “Please, c’mon, love, you got me sayin’ please and shit.”

“What for?” You try desperately to wipe the blood off your face.

“To contact you, just in case you need help.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can, how else did you get the job then? Just let me,” his voice wavers a bit but he corrects himself with a timed clear of his smoke filled throat. “Please, Jane.”

After pausing, you take your phone out from your pocket to give it to him. He enters his number after seeing your home screen of a basic mountain range.

“There.” Giving the phone back, you expected him to give his too, but he doesn't as he's already halfway out of the window. “I'll see you at home?”

You let out a chuckle, “yeah, I'll see you at home.” He gives you one last smile as he exits the small bathroom and into the streets where numerous sirens go off from ambulances and fire trucks.

—

It was a blur the entire trip home, you bought a loose hoodie from a thrift store and then promptly discarded your blood soaked coat in the bottom of a dumpster. It was a shame though, you liked that coat, it had real wool in the lining. The uber drive was thankfully uneventful, if the driver noticed the remnants of dried blood on your skin he didn't mention it. You gave him five stars for it.

An empty house greets you, John's shoes are nowhere to be seen in the hallway, nor his jacket. You worry for a second, mind rushing through possibilities. The rubber band burns as you pull it back and release it with a harsh thwack against your skin.

The water is cool as you shower, your blood mixing in and pooling around your feet and into the drain like a macabre whirlpool. You don't let your mind wonder about the man that you turned into a street pancake. Instead, you focus on yourself in the mirror.

You stare at the gash near your hairline, the skin around it is angry, leaving a throbbing sensation. There's also a few scratches on your face, especially around your chin. Your main concern is the large gash. It doesn't look like it needs to be stitched together though, which is a good thing since you don't have the energy to even tend to the tiny scratches on your palms. Cleaning and bandaging the wound, you put on clean pajamas and head to bed.

You stop in your tracks when you see John lying face down on your bed. Still in his iron soaked clothes, save for the jacket. You glare at his boot, it's off the bed but you still grit your teeth at the thought of it grazing your bedsheets.

He senses your presence, and he lifts his head up, chin helping prop himself up. “Your bed is better than mine.” His multi coloured eyes are laced with exhaustion, dull yet there's still a spark when he looks at your annoyed gaze.

“Who are you? Goldilocks?”

“Yeah, I ate your porridge too.”

“Damn, not my porridge.” Too tired to fight him, you slither into bed next to him, an arm's length away from his equally tired body. Staring at the ceiling, you feel his eyes on you. “What's up with your eyes?”

“It's called heterochromia—”

“I know what it is, I'm asking why you're staring at me like you're about to devour me.”

“I could devour you if you want.” He says nonchalantly but with the charisma of a man who knows what he's talking about.

“Maybe next time.” You blindly pat his shoulder which ended up with you patting his cheek. He hums at your touch, a deep rumble that you felt through the mattress. “Not bad for our first day huh?” Lifting your hand away, he twists on the bed to mirror your position. Now you're both gazing at the beige ceiling like it owes you money.

You're tired but for some reason you're fighting off the sandman from sprinkling sand in your heavy eyes.

“I lied back there, I've killed before.” His voice is merely above a whisper but you heard it as loud as a trumpet blaring in your ears.

“I know, you wouldn't be here if you haven't.” You answer with empathy. “If it makes you feel better, I've been to London before. Twice, on a family trip and a decade later…on vacation.”

“Glad to know.” He taps the inside of your elbow as a thank you for trusting him. “You CIA?” He blurts out above the comfortable silence.

“God no.” You truthfully say.

“And here I thought you're an alumni of the culinary institute of America.”

For the first time in years, you let out the loudest laugh you could muster. Snort and all.

Your ‘husband’ joins in with his own rambunctious laughter, the bed shakes at the loud guffaws. The happy sound fills the room, and your heart feels like it isn't as heavy as before. It's still there, the heaviness, but it isn't as cumbersome. You now realize that you've only snapped the rubber band on your wrist a couple times today.

An annoying tapping sound interrupts you both. Simultaneously sitting up by the elbows, you two tilt your head at the intruder.

“It's that pigeon again.” You actually smile at the thought of the same bird coming back to your house like a white strand of hair that keeps growing even after you've pulled it out. “I think we should name him. Something like Terry or Flanders.” You chuckle softly.

“Jeff.”

You shake your head. “Nope, doesn't suit him, what if it's a she?”

“His name is Jeff.” John turns to look at you, eyes full of certainty.

You turn to him, blinking rapidly in realization. “He's yours. He's your bird, isn't he?”

“You are insightful.” He smiles, a soft one that fills you with endearment that you haven't felt in years. “Met him a few months ago, fed him once and now he wouldn't leave me alone. I guess he followed me here too.”

“Y’know, pigeons are really smart, kinda like crows. He probably thinks you're his daddy.”

“Does that make you Jeff's mummy?”

“I don't want to be Jeff's mom.” Said bird taps on your window again, like he senses that you're currently talking about him.

“Too bad,” he raises his marriage finger, showing you the gold band. “He's our kid, love.”

You smile, hiding it with a huff and by laying back down with a gentle thump.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” His face pops up in your vision, you nod in place. “My real name is—”

“Let me stop you right there.” You sit back up, almost hitting his head with your own at how fast you sat. “There's a reason why they gave us fake names. Whether we like it or not, It's John,” You point at him. “And Jane Smith.” You point at yourself. “Until they dismiss us, that's our names. Not whatever you were about to tell me.”

“But you know it's not our names, right?”

“Of course I do. You don't look like a John, John.”

“And you don't look like a Jane. I just…” He sighs. “Just want someone to know my real name. We almost died back there, what if we stayed a minute longer inside that car? What then? I don't want to die with someone else's name written on my grave.” His words are genuine, but it sounds like he has said these words before.

Still, you sympathize with him. You've gone undercover before, taken someone’s name instead of yours for months. Those missions were so long and tiring that you almost forgot your own name. But it was…survivable because he was with you. John has no one, and this time you have no one. No one that calls your real name, no one that can identify your body if you suddenly croak in the middle of a mission.

No one else but John and Jane Smith.

So with bated breath, you give him the go ahead. “Okay, tell me. But I can't promise that I'll call you by that name.”

“Don't want to get in trouble with hihi?”

“No,” you scoff. “I don't give a shit what that robot says. I just don't want to die with a stranger's name. So fuck it, tell me yours and I'll mine.”

He smiles the same smile that he gave you before he went out of that dinky bathroom window. The smile that reassures you, a smile that tells you everything will be alright.

“It's Hobie,” Hobie finally says. “Hobie Brown.”

“It suits you better. Thought it was Jeff.” You whisper, and you give him your real name. The same name you were born with, not the fabricated ones your former agency has given you, not the ones your new company has given you.

He whispers back your name, tongue rolling off it like honey. Then, Hobie smiles again, nodding and those heterochromatic eyes bore into you comfortably like the sun's rays kissing your skin in the summer.

“You look like one. Definitely suits you better than Jane.” You smile shyly as you lose the fight against sandman.

In Hobie's mind, he hopes that knowing your real name is enough, enough to keep you alive, enough of an incentive for him to keep you safe, since you're not just a typical Jane anymore that the company randomly selected for him, no, you're Y/N L/N, and he'll do anything to protect you better. Because maybe, just maybe, knowing your real name this early would work, and you'll outlive all the Janes that he himself has outlived.

As you fall asleep next to him, he stares at Jeff the third. In that luxurious house, within those bulletproof walls, and in your room lies a deep anger in him. An anger that keeps him sane in all those years trying to pay his debt. He needs to end the cycle, not just for him but for all the agents that are in the same shoes as him. For now he lets you sleep soundly, for now, he plots the demise of the people behind the screen.

The laptop flashes a new message from the company.

> Mission complete: 3 fails remaining

> Good job, next mission?

Support banner by @cafekitsune ❤️

A/N: thank you for reading!!! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

#1k special #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #hobie fluff #spy au #mr and mrs smith au #spy! hobie au #spy! hobie #spy! hobie x reader #cw food mention #tw blood #cw violence mention #tw death #cw vomit mention

[heartfullofleeches]

Imagine Miller doing a subbathon with yan chat except instead of donating bits to keep the stream going, they’re donating bits to see Y/n. Y/n is just sitting there next to Miller reading a book or something whilst they play a game and anytime the counter runs out because chat didn’t donate Miller juts kinda, throws a blanket over them or something until someone donates

A shadow appears outside your tent.

"Mind if I come in? Looks so cozy from here I might not leave.. Ow, ow, shit- not again." Setting up for the stream, Miller pokes their head through the curtains of your enclosure to attach a mic piece to a hanging frame, cerulean dreads snagging on the velcro latch in the midst of their playful banter. They mutter expletives, since as they tear their locks free. They crawl inside the tent and tap the mic overhead where you lay with a book in your lap and surrounded by a small library filled with more novels and other items needed for the duration of your stay. When Miller told you they'd be pulling out all the stops for your new corner - they meant it.

The whole idea for the space came when they discovered the very foundation for it online. They had mindlessly scrolling through various forums looking for ideas to make their room feel more of a home for you when they came across a frame for a floor bed fashioned in the design of a small house. It went in their cart that second and on their doorstep a day later. After gutting one side of their floor and setting the bed up, Miller fit it with your favorite sheets and pillows. They strung up mood lights and installed shelves into the walls for your trinkets. By the time they were done, the area was more decked out than their entire apartment. A fair act given who it was for. You warmed up to it well enough and that's all they could ever ask.

Miller grabs the remote for the lights and turns them up. "Quiet read in the dark unless you want eyesight somehow worse than mine." Their voice softens the closer they get until their lips graze your cheek. "You good to start?"

"Mmm...." You pull the blanket trapped beneath their knees over your lap. "Now I am."

Miller smiles. "Good. Remember, just turn off the cameras if you can't handle the attention. There's one there, there, and obviously here-" They point around the room, stopping on the front facing camera of your laptop. "And you have my card if you want order something to eat while we're live. I'll check on you in about an hour. Be good."

Miller nabs the pillow cushioning your elbow and lightly smacks your knee with it before backing out of the tent. They place it behind their neck as they sit down at their desk and adjust their headphones over their ears. Waking their monitors up, they find the feeds from your cameras on one and the scheduled stream on the other. Right before they tune in, Miller presses a kiss to the pads of their fingers and places it on the screen where you sat. The curtains draw back.

"Saw that!"

Miller hushes you, wiping the snicker off their face as the stream goes live. "Hey, guys. As some of you may know if you follow the community page, we have a special stream today."

They eyes the chat as you get comfortable. You yawn, laying on your side with your book in hand.

[I'll take your entire stock.]

[So glad I got paid yesterday. How are they so freaking cute?!]

[If someone gives a certain amount can they read to us too???]

[Alexa, what's my location]

"Your first mistake is thinking I'd have one of those things. Your second is not realizing we plan on moving every two years. You can watch them all you want, but it's best you remember Y/n is my partner. Cross any boundaries and I will take them away just as easily as I have shown them off to you.... but I'll still send pictures from the wedding!... Baby, you doing okay?

You hold your finger over your laptop's camera, reading the flood of messages and donations from your phone. "They absolutely hate when I do this.... but I think it works in our favor."

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #Yandere streamer #yandere oneshot #Miller my oc

[electronicdelusionstarlight]

You know, I was just thinking about the UA entrance exam.

Specifically, how terribly designed it is, but not for the reason they seem to give in the story itself.

Like, here's how it is: Aizawa is shown criticising the UA Entrance Exam once, during the Sports Festival. And the ONE criticism he makes, is that the use of Robot enemies during the exam would disproportionately affect people whose Quirk work against biological opponents, essentially.

His one criticism, is that the exam is not designed to also cater to people like him, and that's it. The way therefore it's set up, it'd be logical to assume he'd ask for a restructuring to the exam to remove the Robots and substitute them with live enemies, possibly Ectoplasm clones.

This is never brought up again, aside from maybe a stealth bring up during the mid term exams when they switch the exam from fighting robots to fighting teachers.

The exam is, and I just got to it myself while watching this video about how Copaganda paints police training and the relative risk police officers face on the job, set up in a very specific environment:

An empty town, where what is essentially a murder spree is taking place. The ONLY entities in the place, outside of fellow examinee, are robots that have been literally designed to attack everyone on sight, and that need to be destroyed to pass. The points granted from saving people are hidden, so they can be more "genuine" of course, and are, ultimately, also part of the problem.

Because here's the fucking thing.

When the fuck is that ever going to happen.

When the fuck, is a superhero, after their 5 years of Hero training in high school, then entering the work force without a need for a decree in higher education, ever going to find themselves in an environment where they can use LETHAL FORCE on civilian targets? With no restraint or care for collateral damage?

And where they are ENCOURAGED to kill as many criminals as they can, and NOT collaborate with other heroes? Because that's another thing, you need to steal points from other people to pass, by culling the number of limited robots, much like heroes are paid by the arrest and by popularity.

You do understand how fucked up that starts to sound right? The other, the enemy, is reduced as a caricature Droid from star wars, there only to kill and destroy, and against whom your only TWO methods of defeat are outright destruction or sneak attacks on their off buttons.

And here's the cherry on the shit too, because, AGAIN, when is that EVER going to be the case?

Do you know how many heroes show up in the first villain attack in BNHA?

Five.

Two are engaging a purse snatcher, three are doing crowd control, the Slime Villain, who may I remind you was guilty of robbery at a convenience store before he got the hostage, gets THE NUMBER ONE HERO, as well as those same FIVE heroes involved, of which only BACKDRAFT is actually doing anything.

Now, imagine you are a hero school, and you produce 40 heroes a year, just like every other hero school out there. How many of those heroes will see active duty, if the rate of crimes demand FIVE heroes to react to ONE criminal?

And people will say "but EDS, this mentality is later rewarded when All Might retires and it all falls to shit," Except NOT REALLY, because that's an externally forced situation caused by, and I can't stress this enough, a hundreds of yeas old NEET boomer who read too many Doctor Doom comics as a kid and decided to become a supervillain, the riots, the open air warfare, is only caused by AFO forcing the hand and inciting popular unrest, which is an unrealistic thing to expect off any society.

In one of the movies, Class 1-A is sent to open an hero agency on a small island with barely a village on it. 20 Heroes. Until the movie truly picks up, the best they do is help kittens from trees, and Bakugou, the sort of person for whom the Entrance Exam was designed, is useless, left in his tent like Achilles, the perfect cowboy cop who peeked in highschool and didn't realize just how much paperwork and dead time his dream job actually entailed.

So that's the ACTUAL Issue with the entrance exam. It take no account for any other mean to beat the robots but brute force, it takes no account for collateral damage, or the sanctity of life of your opponents, and it tests nothing but how good at ending lives you are.

Which is a problem when you're picking future heroes.

#mha critical #ua critical #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #UA Entrance Exam #bnha critical

[commander-rahrah]

So do I! I'm glad Astarion is patient with them although he does tease them XD I love the idea of him embroidering little designs whether it's stars, moon, or something else! It sounds adorable 😊 I would definitely adore letting him have the first pick of new clothes! He deserves it & it would help him separate from his past too 🤍 Thank you for sharing your thoughts because I love it so much :)

Here's my idea that I would love to hear your opinion! Just to let you know this is quite self-indulgent XD What if Astarion had five things about what GN!Reader does that frustrate & confuse him (but he's secretly grateful for it)

1. They always make eye contact with him unless there's something that requires their utmost attention

2. They always remember what he said to them like a book he mentioned briefly that he wants to read but can't find so they worked hard to find it for him or they asked if he doesn't mind continuing what he was talking about earlier before there was an interruption

3. They always ask for his consent even if it's something he suggested because they're familiar with forcing themselves to do something they don't like or they're used to being presented with the illusion of choice

4. They always thank him whether it's something like shooting down an enemy while they're too preoccupied or helping them carry some stuff

5. They won't touch him unless it's for his benefits like quickly removing a leaf from his hair that he keeps missing (that's how they know because they noticed his stiff expression & how tense his body is briefly when they did for the first time) or pulling him to safety

What do you think of it? I'm curious :3

Okay, tumblr definitely lost this one -- so sorry about that anon!

I think that with most of these, the biggest thing would be Astarion realizing that you actually are perceiving him. Seeing through any of his careful masks and facades he puts up. A lot of these things are ideas I've been slowly exploring in my fic series as Tav/Astarion's relationship grows, but I can definitely share some little thoughts about them before I post my bigger thoughts in my fic aha!

I would imagine that Tav/reader continuously making eye contact with him might make him nervous at first - he would try to figure out what you were trying to do, if you were trying to throw him off or something. Once he realized it was just because Tav/reader was genuinely interested in what he was saying, listening and watching… his mind might betray him a bit. Why did you focus on him so much? Did you like what you saw? What if you didn't? I think its something he would have to get use to as he let his guard down more and more, and began to trust Tav/reader

I think he would be floored the first time Tav/reader did something like this. If he made some off the cuff comment about wishing he had better reading material, and then the next night there was a little stack of books sitting in his tent. If you did it again, he would maybe ask in a teasing way, but secretly really really wants to know why you're doing this, "What's the big deal? Trying to bribe me?" and being even more confused when Tav/reader shrugs and tell him that they thought of him when they saw it or remembered him bringing it up. This would make him even more confused and probably tell them as such. "You get more puzzling every day."

The always asking for consent thing is actually a scene I already have written for my series Talking to the Moon - but a bit of a snippet of how it will go is essentially him getting exasperated as Tav once again asks "May I?" and he goes "Do you insist on asking that every time?". "Yes, Astarion. Every time." And even if it was his idea, I think Tav/reader would still ask. He might roll his eyes, "Darling, it was my idea." But you would explain that he can always change his mind, that consent given or promises made before can change, that in the moment it could change. That you never want him to feel like that with you, not ever, not again. So yes, you will ask every. single. time.

Gratitude is not something he is used too. His master made demands, not requests. There were no thank yous expressed to him, not ever. I think he would probably mask this one better then any of the others, flipping his hair and replying in his sassy voice that "you owe me" or "yes, I am quite something, aren't I?" But every thank you you gave him, probably healed something inside him

I think that post-confession, Tav/Reader would only ever touch Astarion without permission if it was a matter of safety, like pushing him out of the way of an arrow or for a spell, etc. And before he could say anything, they would start profusely apologizing, not trying to explain it away but then Astarion would shush them, reassuring them that he was alright, "It's okay, I'm fine. We're okay, I promise."

#commander-rahrah answers #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion/reader #astarion x reader

[bearr02]

Safe and Sound |Chapter One|

Pairing: Hybrid!Ot7 x F!Reader

Chapter warnings: None :)

Summary: You have worked at a hybrid rehab and adoption center for years, enjoying being able to help people others only seen as their animal side. You thought you might end up taking in one or two, what you didn’t expect however, was to take in 7.

Genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut, non-idol au, hybrid au, strangers to friends to lovers au,

Word count: 1.8k

Member’s hybrid types: Namjoon: Bear, Yoongi: Bobcat, Hoseok: Ferret, Jin: Wolf, Jimin: Red panda, Jungkook: Bunny, Taehyung: Marble fox

Next - Masterlist

Beep beep, beep beep! Beep beep, beep beep! You groan as you reach over to turn off your alarm, stretching your limbs with a sigh before laying on your bed for a moment. A smile slowly makes its way onto your face as a thought comes into your mind. ‘A new hybrid is arriving today.’ With the thought in mind you spring up and move toward your closet, excited to meet the new resident.

You’re out of your apartment to make it to the facility with about half an hour before they’re set to arrive when you get there. You don’t know their gender yet, but what you do know is they’re a wolf hybrid.

The drive to the facility takes about 25 or so minutes, and once you’ve arrived you enter and head toward the room that will soon be occupied. You were given the task of readying the room and making sure it was livable, you were given a few things they like so you made sure to include them.

You’d been focused on getting the room ready that you were startled when you heard a knock on the door. You walk to the door, opening it to see one of your co-workers, Yujin. “The wolf hybrid just got here, he’s out in the lobby. Mr. Dubose wanted you to give him a tour since you’re better with hybrids than most.” He smiled at you, making you return the smile. “His name is Kim Seokjin, by the way.” He says before walking away, you yelled a ‘thank you!’ Before he got too far. You scan over the room one last time before exiting and shutting it behind you.

You make your way to the sitting area, seeing a nervous man playing with his finger with a stern looking guard standing beside him when you enter. “Mr. Kim?” You ask making the man look up from his hands. You offer him a smile making him smile back. ‘He seems nervous..’ you think to yourself as he stands up. “My name is Choi Y/n. I’ll be taking you to your room.” You say as you gesture down the hallway. “Hi..” he says meekly before following you down the hallway.

“If you ever need anything please let one of us know, we want to make sure you’re comfortable here.” You say as you arrive at his room, opening it and stepping back so he can enter. His eyes go wide at the size of the room, walking in and looking around at everything in it. “May I come in?” You ask making him turn around and look at you, nodding quickly. You enter, keeping your distance to not make him uncomfortable.

“I like it.” He says quietly making you smile. “Thank you, I was given a list of a few things you liked so I tried to incorporate them in your room.” You say making him look at you, eyes wide in curiosity. “You designed it?” He asked making you nod, smile widening. He smiles as he continues looking around. “I really like it.” He says again making you laugh softly. “I’m glad.” You say, watching as he walks to his bed, sitting on it as his eyes go wide before he falls onto his back.

“Are there any questions you have for me? About the center or to get to know me better?” You ask making him sit up. “How old are you?” He asks tentatively, scanning over your figure. “23.” You say making his eyes widen. “I thought you’d be younger, you look like you’re maybe 19.” He says making you smile and laugh softly. “Thank you, how old are you if you don’t mind me asking? I didn’t get much information.” You say making him smile, “I’m 30.” He says making your eyes widen. “I thought you’d be at least 24, maybe 25.” You say making him smile sheepishly. “Thanks.” He says as you look him over, ‘he does not seem 30’ you think to yourself.

“How long have you done this for? Your job?” He asks, no longer seeming nervous. “Hmm…about 5 years? Full time at least, I’ve helped out here since I was 14.” You say, taking him by surprise. “Any other questions? If not I’ll show you around. We ha-” your sentence was cut short because of Yujin.

“Y/n? We really need you. There’s a hybrid out back and he’s injured, we don’t know how bad yet.” He says making you spring up, worry etched on your features as you leave behind Seokjin and rush after Yujin to the hybrid.

You stop just before the door, opening it slowly to make sure you don’t spook the man. You see him huddled in the corner of the yard, a few others trying to coax him, yet he only watches with teary eyes as they race over everyone, making sure no one gets too close to him. You shut the door softly behind you, Yujin staying inside as you slowly make your way as close to him as he’ll let you.

“Hi..my name’s Y/n.” You say, his attention moving to you as he carefully studies your every move. Only his eyes are visible, knees pulled to his chest and arms laid on top of his knees covering his mouth and nose. You’re crouched down a bit away, making sure you don’t spook him too much. You look over his figure, seeing a deep gash on his side as well as a few cuts and bruises on his arms and face.

He slowly lifts his face from his arms, looking at you closely. “Could I take you inside? Your wounds look bad.” You say, yet the man curls in on himself more. “Too many people?” You ask making him nod. You turn around, gesturing for everyone to go back inside. There were only 5 people—including you—out here, yet it doesn’t surprise you in was too much for a hybrid in his condition.

Once everyone else is gone, you turn back to the man to see he’s uncurled from himself a bit more. “Can I take you inside now? If you don’t like it here you could leave, but it’d only be after your wounds heal.” You say, watching as the man slowly brings his arms down, letting his legs slip to the floor as well, wincing a bit after.

You slowly approached him, yet he didn’t make any move to run away.

When you’re in front of him, you look over his figure, seeing a few scratches where his clothes are torn in some spots. “Could I take you inside now?” You ask, holding out your hand, watching as he reluctantly reaches out and takes it making you smile. “Can I ask what your name is?” You ask softly making him look up at you, glossy eyes roaming over your features now that you’re closer. “J-Jimin.” He stutters, slowly standing up with you. You got up before him, helping him stand, being wary of his side.

Once he’s fully standing up, you guide him back to the building, still being mindful of his wound. You make it back to the building quickly, opening the door with your keycard using your free hand, Jimin’s hand in the other which he clutches tightly. He isn’t sure why he trusted you so easily, usually he’s weary of people, yet you somehow make him feel safe.

You lead him through the building, taking him toward a room you know is vacant and won’t be taken anytime soon so he could stay there. You unlock the door, pushing it open and letting him go in first. He examines the area, while he’s looking around at the spacious area you step in, leading him to the bed to sit. You grab your walkie-talkie and ask if someone could bring you supplies to clean him up.

He watches you as your brows knit together as you explain how injured he is after asked to know what supplies is needed. If he didn’t know better he’d say you’re concerned for him.

You look up at him making him quickly look away, missing the small smile that you bare. “How old are you?” You ask making him look at you again, you can see how he is reluctant to tell, and just as your about to tell him it’s fine, he speaks. “27.” He says making you nod, “what’s your animal? I’m sorry but I need to know just incase.” You say, smiling apologetically after he looks at you cautiously. “Red panda.” He replies making you nod.

You’re about to speak again before a knock at the door interrupts you. You get up and walk to the door, opening it and grabbing the medical kit from the girl. You thank her before closing the door, walking back to Jimin.

You move his arm from the wound on his side, noticing it looks fresh. “When did you get this?” You ask, looking up at him to see fear in his eyes before he looks away. “H-hybrid control..I t-think a few hours ago?” He says, not noticing the anger in your eyes. “I swear those assholes can’t comprehend hybrids are humans too.” You mumble under your breath making Jimin smile, you’re different to him. Usually people don’t care if a hybrid is taken by hc, yet you seem different.

He’s taken out of his thoughts by a stinging sensation in his side, making him yelp and jump back on the bed. “I’m so sorry but it needs to be cleaned.” You say apologetically, waiting until he scoots back to you, knowing he’s ready to go through it. You gently dab the cotton ball on his wound, exchanging the blood soaked one with a fresh one within a few seconds.

It takes a while to clean his side plus stop the blood long enough to bandage it, but once you do, you quickly bandage it and check with jimin to make sure it isn’t too tight. “No it’s good, it doesn’t hurt.” He reassures when you double check. You nod, checking over his face and arms, not wanting to check his chest or back quite yet incase he isn’t comfortable.

“I’m going to send in our doctor, I need to check in with a hybrid I was introducing here earlier. Alright? If you need anything please tell someone. If you’re only comfortable with me I can tell everyone if you talk to them to let me know.” You say making him nod. “Can I just have you? I don’t really trust anyone else.” He says, playing with his fingers as you smile. “Yeah of course. But you will have to be looked at by our doctor, I can probably spare a bit to be in here with you if that makes you feel better?” You offer making him nod reluctantly. You smile and grab your walkie-talkie, radioing the doctor.

Next - Masterlist

A/n: I’m sorry about any awkward parts, this is my first time posting instead of keeping it to myself so I haven’t gotten feedback before 😅. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

#bts ot7 #hybrid #bts #namjoon #jin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #safe and sound

[mossy-paws]

✨Introduction✨

Deciding to add some information as well as update this a bit as it’s a tad outdated! (Part 5 holy shit!)

💜 Some starter info!

• I go by (in order of preference): Cro/Mossy.Paws (or just Mossy)/Marine/Ocean; and if I know you in real life, you can call me Sea!

• I am an Aceflux lesbian! I also use She/he/they Pronouns! (I guess she/they preferred! But honestly I don’t care otherwise! :3!)

Current Fandoms: Phighting!, regretevator, lethal company, little nightmares, Hollow knight, rainworld, Spider-Man, Warrior cats, etc.

Young minor (13-16 age range)

Comms: Open for discord nitro and robux! (DM me at ^-Mossy.Paws-^ on discord for extra information!)

Asks: Open (read below for permissions)

Instagram: The_OceanCat

Artfight link: https://artfight.net/~Mossy-Paw

Feel free to use my art for profiles and or banners! It’s a little preferred that you ask first via dm’s/comments/reblog’s but honestly I don’t mind :DD! Just make sure to credit me if you do! It’ll make my day for sure ^^!

I have tags I use now! :DD! Here they are:

#Cro chatter (used mainly for when I’m just chatting/reblogging stuff/etc)

#Friend art (used when reblogging stuff by close friends)

Any art tags or fandom related tags explain themself ! I also use #Not my art a lot as well!

• If you know me irl,, pretend you don’t unless your a close friend of mine (if so, then love you besties 🔥🔥🔥)

• An important note: I do not have a reblog only account, this is my only account, and its used for pretty much everything (My art, reblog’s, talking, etc)

‼���Commission Info:‼️

✨ My commission’s are OPEN!

• I take payment in form of Discord Nitro (NOT BASIC), and Robux!

• If interested, please dm me for prices, questions, and more! I’ll be sure to give you a full rundown of what I can draw, my rules, etc!

• I currently do not have a Carrd dedicated to commissions, so please be sure to private message me for the sheet! Even if it’s a tad out-dated when it comes to examples! (I can provide new examples, I’m also always willing to haggle on prices!)

‼️Important note, i have lost the file to my robux sheet, so i have to remake it, ill probably be making a carrd eventually so once i do ill link it here‼️

✨ My Askbox (OPEN)

✅Open ❌Closed ❎Tentative

✅Requests (HK, RW, Phighting, Spidersona stuff, etc)

❎/✅Talk to me

✅✅Ask about my OCs (always yes with this one!)

✅Ask about my HCs

❌OC Requests (Usually no)

❄️ Read Before Asking

I'll delete asks I'm uncomfortable with

NO nsfw or suggestive, you’ll be blocked and reported as I am a young minor

Requests will open and close as needed, and I will let you know when they open again!

I will try to get to every request, but it may take it a bit since I’m a full time student n such!

Some asks I may take longer to respond to than others

‼️Disclaimers

Do not steal, trace, copy, or claim my art to be yours, certain things like designs for canon characters and stuff I’m fine with you taking inspiration from (!!ASK FIRST!!), or using with credit (a small note, I am completely fine with you using my designs as long as you credit me! If anything, I appreciate it very much that people like them enough to do so :3!)

Proshippers, homo/transphobes, mean or gross people DNI‼️ it’s also preferred that if you have NSFW/highly suggestive stuff/or fetish content on your account that you don’t follow me, as I tend to check the profiles of people who follow me and I don’t want to see that (I would also prefer my parents do not see that if they were to ever check my account LOL)

Please don't make highly suggestive or NSFW comments towards me, my oc’s, or characters, you’ll be blocked if you do so; I am relatively alright with very minor and safe suggestive stuff, but even then if it’s art related, please confirm if it’s alright with me. Very close friends get a slight pass with this as long as it’s in good fun and safe, but if pushed I will not tolerate it and will give you a warning.

I’m still learning how to use this website so please be polite and patient with me :’>

If you draw fanart of my OCs, AUs, or Headcanons, please tag me!! I absolutely love to see fanart and it makes my day! :DD!

‼️Important note: my blog will sometimes contain art that has blood, gore, violence, bright colors, etc. Most of these WILL be put under spoiler tags though, but a lot of the older ones are not, so please be careful! (A note, I don’t tend to draw stuff like that too often, so no need to worry about it too much!)‼️

⭐️ Extra information about me

• I am a young minor with diagnosed autism, adhd, and ocd, I also have slight social anxiety, so please, PLEASE be patient with me, as I can have trouble communicating, understanding things, or coming up with responses

• Never be afraid to approach me about anything, although I’m a bit nervous talking to new people, I adore making new friends, just please don’t be weird, if you make me outright uncomfortable I will most likely block you.

• For fanart and such, feel free to contact me about it if you need ideas, permissions, reference images, or need to know anything important!

• I’m a full time school student and can be relatively busy, I also have notifications off on all platforms, so I may be slow to respond if you dm me or try to contact me.

• I’m a huge nerd and absolutely love talking about my interests, but if I ever get too excited or overbearing, never be afraid to just tell me to take a chill pill or calm down, I can promise you I will not be angry! Communication is key with me since I can have issues understanding others, if I’m ever too much to handle, just say it! I’ll greatly appreciate it as it helps me to grow and be a better person ^^!

• I am currently obsessed with Phighting!, regretevator, lethal company, little nightmares, rainworld, and spiderman, but I also am super big into hollow knight, pokemon, Minecraft, Sky: COTL, and sort of warrior cats ig..?

Here’s the link to my Carrd!

(it also includes commission rules and such!)

#blog intro #intro post #introducing myself #Art #my art #artists on tumblr #oc artwork #introduction #introductory post #pinned intro #pinned post #open commissions #commission #commission info #YIPPEE FINALLY REDOING THIS FOR THE 5TH TIME GEEZ #Updated this with more recent art :3!

[v4mp1res3verywhere]

Darry taking care of you after getting your wisdom teeth removed would entail;

tags/warnings: [no warnings really besides Darry being a little shit and also being completely in love with you, cringe dialogue ahead, established relationship, fem reader, he’s in college in the film so it’s not really college AU! But]. genre: 🧸fluff

a/n:this is kind of a random starting point lmao, I’m slowly wading back into writing but alas, I fear I’m a bit too discombobulated and unfocused to write out an entire fic so here are some headcannons to work through the writers block and also because we all deserve a Darry, i think 🧋⌨️

* If he had access to you right afterwards he’d definitely be recording you.

* “How’re you feeling baby?” He’d snicker while eying you through the Lens of his cam-recorder , waiting for you to say something stupid having not realized that those failarmy videos tend to be outliers and you were most likely just gonna be tired.

* He’d also probably try and tell you weird lies to see if your sense of reality was off enough for you to bite.

* “Hey babe? Holy shit- is David from the lost boys outside the car window?”

* He’d insist on being your designated driver and would pay very close attention to whatever discharge instructions you were given so he knew how to best care for you.

* Dude has the absolute biggest soft spot for you, seeing you all loopy would just trigger it even more .

* “Aww, c’mere sweetheart, you okay?” He’d ask softly , wrapping his arms around you to steady you.

* After asking five more times how you were doing in the car, he’d ask you if you wanted anything on the way home as though you truly had a choice; a milkshake would be mandatorily bought.

* He’d cancel anything just to make sure he could say with you. Classes, work; he even asked his strictest professor for time off.

* “An excused absence? For what, exactly?“

* “My girlfriends getting her wisdom teeth taken out, I just need to make sure she gets home okay and everything.”

* He always feels his heart swell a little anytime he refers to you as his girlfriend to anyone else.

* As corny as it is it just forces him to re-conceptualize the fact that the two of you are together and it hits him all over again.

* even using the title with his grumpy physics professor gives him a weird sense of pride.

* In general darry is a very attentive lover.

* He’s a sensitive person and along with that comes a certain level of intuitiveness , he can often read the room to see how he can make you more comfortable, to think of anything you need etc.

* if you’re missing classes and there’s things you can’t access online he’ll be sure to get them for you.

* you want a bag of Cheetos? An iced coffee? It’s yours, doesn’t matter what time of day or night, darry is an absolute simp and would get it for you though depending on his mood he may get a little whiny (as though it hadn’t been his intent to get it for you the entire time. )

* So as you can imagine, the above applies even more so if you’re sick or need to be taken care of.

* Trish, who sees her brother as immature and selfish (albeit, in an endearingly annoying kid brother way) would be flabbergasted once she witnessed how tentative her brother is around you.

* She’d never admit it to him directly but it’d make her proud to see how much he’d matured though she’d probably tell you as much, jokingly asking what you did to straighten him out.

* He’ll literally get you anything you’d ever want or need and would stay with you throughout the period of your recovery.

* Even things that you deemed as gross or embarrassing wouldn’t deter him from wanting to be at your side.

* “Darry, don’t look!” You slurred around the gauze you were attempting to pull from your mouth, looking up at his reflection appearing behind you. He scoffed, holding you against him by your hips as his eyes met yours in the mirror . “What?“

* “I don’t want you to see me like this it’s gross”

* “You getting shy on me?” He’d snake his arms around you at that, laughing into your hair.

* “Relax, sweetheart. Only embarrassing thing is you can’t kiss me, fuckin loser.”

* But make no mistake, he’d 100% be teasing you the whole time.

* If your lips and chin are numb at first he’s gonna constantly tell you that you’re drooling on him since you can’t tell whether it’s true or not.

* “Shut up, man.” He laughed as you elbowed him lightly once your the back of your hand came back from your chin dry.

* Darry is pretty clingy so this is ideal for him (well, minus you being in pain), he’s happy to have an excuse just to spend time with you.

* He wouldn’t even playfully banter about which movie you should put on, he’d let you have full reign over the remote .

* He’d also make sure you had the appropriate snacks that wouldn’t exacerbate your condition as well.

* “Shit, uh…what do old people with no teeth eat? Ice cream, yeah?”

* “what the fuck Darry”

* You guys don’t fight a lot but playful banter is a staple, just like it was before the two of you started dating .

* Since he knows you better than anyone else, both as a lover and as a friend, he’d gauge how facetious to get with you and would be much gentler if need be, his banter would be for the benefit of your amusement rather than to engage in the usual back and forth you’d grown accustomed to.

* Especially seeing as how your capabilities for speech would be limited.

* (He would tease you a little on that though, for sure)

* He’s touch starved, you can’t tell me otherwise and would just completely bask in your company as he spooned you on the couch or where ever the two of you happened to be.

* He’s pretty gentle by nature but he’d make sure to be extra careful with how he held you, making sure not to put pressure against your face when you laid against him.

* Would let you wear his clothes if you wanted, might steal one of your t-shirts to make you laugh.

* “What? You gonna call me a poser because I don’t listen to…” He trails off, stifling a laugh and pulling the fabric from his midriff to make out the writing on whichever one of your band shirts he’d grabbed.

* Stroking your hair from your face as he looks at you, teasing you for having “chipmunk cheeks” from the swelling while simultaneously touching you with the most tenderness you’d ever been Handled with.

* “Y’know, you look cute this like this”

* “Hm?”

* “Quiet, for once.”

He’d literally squeal as you dangled a gross bloody tissue at him in mock reprimand of his comment.

* Even softer than usual, calling you all the most sentimental pet names he has for you (and the sillier ones as well of course, that can’t be helped )

* Sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, princess etc.

* He’s definitely the type to verbalize it often, but his actions are blatant testimony to how much he loves you.

#darry jenner x reader #darry Jenner #jeepers creepers 2001 #jeepers creepers #Justin long #imagines #headcannons #darry jenner headcannons #darry jenner imagine #darry jenner fluff #🧸 #jeepers creepers headcannons #jeepers creepers imagine

[oh-nostalgiaa]

hi, @flyfreeskylark, it's me, your secret santa! you asked for an undercover mission after scarif where everybody lives and nobody dies (with a handful of smut sprinkled in for flavor). sadly, i was sick during both november AND December (and the less we talk about how much i hate my job, the better), but i managed to pull myself together long enough to get this written for you. i do hope it's to your liking! merry christmas and happy belated new year! please enjoy.

(you can also find this fic on ao3.)

in this world (it's just us)

The event is not exactly to Jyn’s tastes. 

The crowd is the easiest for her to navigate - she’s undeniably skilled at moving through them stealthily. Unfortunately, that is the opposite of what she’s meant to do here, so she makes a concentrated effort to take her time, to blend in so that she doesn’t bring any undue attention to herself.

She doesn’t miss a single detail as she lets her eyes drift over the room and its inhabitants, only silently reminding herself to keep an interested expression rather than her normal impassive default. 

She knows that she’s meant to be titillated by the sights and sounds surrounding her. She’s gone through the debriefs, been informed of exactly what will be expected of her - and Cassian has even - nonchalantly - tried to give her an out if she had even the slightest inkling that she could not do what’s expected of her. 

Luckily, he’s got the hardest task. She is, for all intents and purposes, just an observer.

(Besides that, she’s no quitter. He should know that just about better than anyone.)

Behind the scenes, she’s got a more detailed job to do. Monitoring communications, for one. Helping Cassian prepare, for another. 

Obviously, he’s showered by himself - he doesn’t require her help with everything, no matter how many times she may or may not have caught herself daydreaming about such things. He’d dried off, dressed in flimsy, flowy trousers that leave just about nothing to the imagination … 

Not that she’d peeked. 

Jyn hopes that her nervousness isn’t easily discernible, but she also knows that Cassian is probably the most observant person she’s ever met, and while he might not ever bring it up, the obviousness of the pause she takes while slowly exhaling and inhaling, steeling her nerves, the gentle brush of fingers against skin as she placed and smoothed out bacta patches designed to cover scars and other identifying marks is more than enough clue that she’s feeling … something.

Maybe it shouldn’t take as much concentration as she gives in order to ensure the edges of the patches aren’t easily visible through his semi-sheer tunic, but this is an important recon mission - they can’t return to base without information in hand. With another Death Star lurking somewhere out there, it’s not an exaggeration to say that this may be a matter of life and death. 

It’s always a matter of life and death. 

And it’s not fair for her to burden Cassian with her feelings, especially when she’s not sure that he feels the same - if he could ever feel the same. It’s selfish of her to think about love when the fate of the entire galaxy is at stake. So they inhabit this nebulous space where they’re not quite just colleagues and not quite just friends and oh, how she aches to pull him aside and let go of all her wants and fears in a torrent of words she hasn’t found enough courage to set free into the universe and it’s - 

It hurts.

But Jyn tucks that pain away and hides it where she keeps all of her others - in a dark place deep inside that’s carefully locked down, never to see the light of day again. 

It’s better that way. 

Through the mass of writhing bodies, she catches sight of Cassian and his contact, disappearing into one of the few tents set up to offer some semblance of privacy, hand in hand. Jealousy stokes the fire in her belly and momentarily, at least, her expression reflects exactly how she feels inside, darkly desperate, devastated that it’s not her that gets to touch him or see him so unguarded and free - even if it is just a facade, another skill Cassian’s perfected in his years gathering information for the Rebellion. 

Even if it was fake … at least she could pretend for a little while that he actually wants her like she wants him. And that’s got to be better than nothing. 

She breathes a quick sigh of relief when Cassian pokes his head from the tent and quickly slips back into the crowd, not looking any worse for wear than when he’d entered. Seamlessly and sinuously, he weaves his way toward her, and she doesn’t have to be a lipreader to know what he’s promising some of the partygoers he passes on the way. 

That sly little smile and those teasing winks are more than enough clue to know that he’s being propositioned and far from agreeing to take a detour from his current trajectory, he’s non-comittally suggesting that maybe they’ll find time to steal away later for a little fun. 

Because that’s what this whole thing is all about, isn’t it? The decadence and debauchery of a free use ball, where the male guests especially are little more than party favors. And while Cassian isn’t hers to keep all to herself, the thought of all of those eager hands trying to get a piece of him makes her stomach roil.

He dodges the minefield that is interested partygoers and finally reaches Jyn’s side, leaning in for what looks like a peck on the cheek in greeting, but what really is the whispered assurance that he’s got what they’re here for. She knows, though. He hadn’t entered the tent with the same chain around his neck that he’d left with. And tucked safely underneath what passes for a shirt is a pendant with a data stick hidden within for safekeeping. 

Jyn’s lips part as she gears up to ask if they’ve made enough of an appearance yet, if they can slip away without being noticed, but the words die on the tip of her tongue as, out of seemingly nowhere, they are joined by the party’s hostess, tall and handsomely severe, her keen eyes drifting over the pair as though to study them, to determine what they’ve been up to while the other guests are all wrapped up in each other. 

“My dear Imri, you’ve not partaken in the feast. Is there nothing to your liking - ?”, she purrs, her sultry tone enough to set Jyn’s nerves on edge. “Or are you too wrapped up in your lovely pet to pay attention to anyone else?”

Cassian ducks his head demurely then, exactly the behavior of a man that is more toy than anything else, a man that’s been taught exclusively that his only use in life is to please another. 

And Jyn is grateful for the chance to gather her words.

“My superiors would be quite disappointed if I were so rude”, she replies, her voice a teasing lilt. “On the contrary, I like what I see, Lady Eline. It’s choosing what I want to sample that is proving difficult.”

The tall older woman suddenly erupts into laughter and Jyn’s smile slowly widens (as though she’s actually pleased to have amused the monster standing next to her, like it doesn’t make her physically ill to see firsthand how easy it is for her - and for people like her - to use people for their own pleasure). 

“Please, darling, take your fill of what you want. And come back for more later”, Lady Eline offers, her gaze flitting to settle on Cassian, her eyes grazing him from head to foot and back again. “You absolutely can’t leave until I’ve had a taste of your lovely Amel.”

Jyn curls her hand into a fist, her fingernails biting into her own palm as she fights to maintain composure. So disgusting, the way Lady Eline can look at Cassian as though he isn’t a person with his own agency. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their host takes that as her cue to dramatically turn and focus her attention elsewhere, allowing Jyn to catch Cassian’s eye and wordlessly gesturing toward the double doors of the grand ballroom, their only way out. 

He doesn’t have to say anything, the very slight furrowing of his brow speaks volumes. Now that they know they’ve got eyes on them, they can’t just walk right out. The already delicate operation has just become all the more fragile. 

This isn’t something that they’ve practiced - although the possibility has been discussed. If they don’t want to raise suspicion … they’ll need to act. So Cassian rocks back on his heel and Jyn pushes forward, directly into his personal space, crowding him against the wall, like he’s a prey animal and she’s the predator, finally cornering him right where she wants him. 

There is no room for hesitation here. 

They must keep cover by any means necessary.

Imri is supposed to be offering Amel to any and all interested parties. Jyn wants to do anything but. 

Outside of these walls, Cassian isn’t hers. But right here, right now, she has every intention of staking her claim, for however long it will last. 

‘Mine’, she thinks, tipping her chin up to catch Cassian’s lips in a haphazard kiss, surprised by the startled noise he makes in response, a gift for her ears only. And if it’s not the sweetest sound in the entire universe, Jyn doesn’t know what would be. 

It’s a little instinct, a little like a dance, and a little planning on the fly, which is obviously what they’re best at. It’s the clash of teeth and tongues and the thrill of hands slipping inside clothes to touch each other’s skin and - 

Oh. 

Oh.

Jyn takes a moment to press her face in the space between Cassian’s shoulder and neck, savoring the feel of his pulse hammering against his skin, beating out the same staccato rhythm as hers, pounding against her ribs, filling her ears. 

It’s not real, but it feels like the culmination of months spent pining after the man she’s got pinned to the wall, craving a glance, a touch, accidental or not, anything that hints that he might feel the same. 

And now his fingers are teasing her nipples and she’s barely gotten her fingers around his cock but she’s absolutely feeling him come to life and it’s everything she’s ever wanted and more, but stars, does her heart ache at the underlying knowledge that it’s all she’ll ever get. 

As if he hears her thoughts - and maybe he does, how is Jyn to know if he’s got some sort of latent telepathy - he breathlessly speaks, just low enough for her to hear through all the ambient noise. 

“Don’t think, just do.”

And she does. 

She feeds off of the groans and whimpers he gifts her with and she lets the stuttering rocking of his hips guide her hand, faster, tighter, not yet, oh, wait, wait, wait and she ignores everything around them - including their voyeuristic audience and just works to slowly move them closer to the exit. 

From the wall to a nearby couch, where she pushes Cassian down and relishes his flushed cheeks and dark eyes as she straddles his lap and relentlessly grinds against his shameless erection, his hands clutching her hips and helping her move, until the world seems to explode in a shower of blinding light, and if this is how they’re going to die, at least it’s together in a blaze of glory. 

There’s not much time to rest, though, and none at all to feel embarrassed about making such a mess of themselves, and once their shaky legs can hold their weight, Jyn takes Cassian’s hand and forcefully drags him the rest of the way through the doors and toward (relative) freedom.

There’s no reason to return to their suite now that Cassian’s got the precious datastick in hand and it’s easy enough to scramble the cameras monitoring their movements as they enter the lift that will bring them closer to the hangar and their nondescript ship. The chunky bracelet Jyn’s wearing hides the technology that will take care of that. All she needs to do is press a button and trust that it’ll take care of the rest. 

There is a bit of a prolonged, awkward silence between them as the lift descends, but suddenly Jyn finds the air being knocked from her lungs as Cassian’s fingers tighten around hers and pull her flush to his chest, all the more caught off guard when he leans down to nip sharply at her bottom lip before pulling away, his lips twisting up into a smile. 

“We’ll finish this later.”

To say it’s odd to feel so exhilarated in so many different ways is an understatement, but for Jyn, it’s not unpleasant, and for once, the thought doesn’t terrify her.

It just is.

But for the first time, she doesn’t feel like anything will be coming to an end anytime soon. 

Rather, it feels like a brand new beginning.

#rcss '23 #therebelcaptainnetwork #rebelcaptain secret santa 2023 #stuff which lauren writes #stuff which lauren watches #rogue one: a star wars story #jyn erso #cassian andor #jyn x cassian #felicity jones #diego luna #pretty people being pretty

[antifainternational]

Hi, I'm from Germany and it's bothering me that you're using the three arrows in your avatar. 1933, the german communist party called for a general strike against Hitler and the iron front who used the arrows as their symbol refused to participate, weakening something that could've been a very powerful action of all workers. One of the arrows symbolizes fighting communism, which means that the iron front rather sat and did nothing against fascism instead of working with communist. If you show up with the three arrows at an antifascist protest in germany, you get side eyed, not only by communists but also by anarchists. To us they symbolize being inactive in a time where action would've made a huge difference, and today only the party SPD is using them sometimes when they want to act like they're part of the antifascist movement while they're in reality centrist cowards that have been busy butchering worker's rights for the past 30 years. They're using the arrows specifically to distance themselves from more radical anti-capitalist groups and groups who feel that parlamentarian democracy is not enough and call for a government that makes it possible for everyone to participate way beyond voting. Some of them think talking to nazis is a good strategy. I gather that the symbol is seen differently in America, but for a worldwide antifascist group I feel like you should consider the origins

Ah, it's that time the year again when we get to school folks about the antifascist "three arrows" symbol!

The antifa “three arrows” symbol is one of the most recognizable anti-fascist symbols in the world.  It originated with the Iron Front - a militant antifascist organization created in late 1931 in Germany by the Reichsbanner, the socialist SPD, and various labor organizations (Bray, Mark; Antifa: The Anti-Fascist Handbook; pg. 23).  The SPD had a lengthy history of hostilities with the KPD, the German communist party at the time, which is probably why some people have misconstrued it as an "anti-communist" symbol.

Mark Bray writes in his book that the “three arrows” symbol was created for the Iron Front by a Russian socialist living in Germany named Sergei Chakhotin.  “While walking around town, Chakhotin noticed that someone had drawn a line over a swastika to cover the Nazi logo.  This gave him the idea of turning the line into a downward facing arrow.  After discussing it with receptive comrades, he turned it into three arrows (Drei Pfeile).  In his mind, they stood for ‘unity, activity, discipline,” or the SPD, the unions, and the Reichsbanner. (Ibid, pg. 24). Let’s reiterate that last point for you, Anon: In his mind (the mind of the person that designed the symbol!), they stood for ‘unity, activity, discipline,” or the SPD, the unions, and the Reichsbanner.  

Some people (like yourself, Anon, and also Wikipedia) claim that the three arrows symbol is anti-communist, but the person who created the symbol was a socialist who created it for a coalition that included socialists and trade unions and clearly did not conceive of it as an anti-communist symbol.  Eighty-six years later and any “anti-communist” or even specifically socialist meaning that may or (more likely) may not have been implied with this symbol has been lost as it’s become as commonplace and recognized an anti-fascist symbol as the “two flags” symbol of Antifaschiste Aktion (which was formed by the KPD in response to the popularity of the Iron Front [Ibid., pg. 25]).  

Like we always say, anti-fascism is non-partisan.  It’s a big tent where people of all sorts of different political inclinations unite in their mutual opposition to fascism.  We don’t believe that the three arrows design ever symbolized anti-anything besides anti-fascism and even if it once did over eighty years ago, we certainly don’t think it does in this century.  

[strayheartless]

Comfy Cloud things:

The series where I give Cloud a soft loving polyamorous relationship surrounded by comfy slow living things, because HE DESERVES IT!:

Of all the things Sephiroth expected to find upon entering Genesis’ apartment that evening, a blanket fort in the middle of the room was not one of them.

The coffee table and couch had been commandeered as pillars; the cushions raked from every available place; the TV had been dragged from its place in the corner into the make shift tent, and Sephiroth was sure the slight glow from inside the fort had something to do with the solstice decorations box that lay abandoned in the hall.

As he shrugged off his coat and grabbed the hoodie Angeal had left on the Radiator for him, he stopped by the kitchen to ask what was going on. Inside, he was once again shocked to find that the soft tinkering that had been coming from behind the door was not in fact Angeal, but Gen and Zack.

“Am I having a stroke?” He questioned from the doorway, as he watched Zack hook his chin over Genesis’ shoulder. The latter appeared to be making Banora spiced cider on the stove, and chuckled lowly .

“If you are, your doing a spectacular job of pushing through it dearest.” They smirked, patting at the arms around their waist for Zack to release them . “How was patrol?” They asked, shoving a spoonful of warm cider into sephiroths mouth as they approached.

“Cold” The General mumbled around the spoon. He pulled back, “that doesn’t taste nearly as dangerously alcoholic as usual” he said gesturing to the spoon.

Zack snorted, coming over to greet him as well. “Cloud said he didn’t want to get drunk this evening, there’s no alcohol in it”

Genesis made a tsking sound at the reminder and pulled a face. They mumbled something that could have been ‘such a waste’ but Sephiroth knew from the way they stayed relaxed that they didn’t truly mind.

The mention of their chocobo shaped partner had Sephiroth noticing his absence almost at once.

“I take it, the pile of blankets in the living room is their doing?” He asked keeping clouds pronouns ambiguous until he was told otherwise. It had taken a while getting used to the constant switch from ‘he’ to ’They’ with Cloud, but it had gotten significantly easier of late to pick up on it without being told.

“He’s been grumpy all day.” Gen chuckled. “Zack stuck him in there in the hopes it would spare a training room porters feelings.”

“Did it work?” Seph glanced at Zack who looked a little too proud of himself.

“Yup” the younger popped the ‘P’ “he’s spent the last few hours snoozing to cartoons on mute.”

Sephiroth was impressed. Cloud had a tendency to be unbearable when he was in a funk. On a few quite memorable occasions it had been Sephiroth’s own blade that had handled the brunt of their frustration when dysphoria was kicking their arse, or when their ability was questioned as a Mako sensitive Third class.

Sometimes though, Cloud just woke up grumpy, and it really didn’t matter what was said. He’d stay that way until somebody realised he needed a cuddle.

Would Cloud ever admit that’s what they needed? No, absolutely not. When it came to stubborn, pig headedness the only one on par with him was Genesis, but it didn’t change the fact that that was the cure.

Sephiroth hummed amused and wandered out of the kitchen, back to the blanket fort. He knocked on the hard wood of the coffee table and waited until a little flutter of blonde pulled back the curtain of thick Duvets.

Inside, the fort was quite spacious, easily big enough for four of them, though they may need to adapt the design for future grumps if Angeal’s shoulders were to fit, let alone a entire fifth body. Cloud was cuddled up in the middle, dressed in one of Zacks too big hoodies, and what Sephiroth suspected was his own sweat pants.

The bottoms of them were rolled up and the general would never say it out loud (he values his knee caps, thank you very much.) but it was endlessly adorable.

“I’ve been reliably informed you are being a tyrant.” He goads, watching Cloud glower at him sleepily. “Am I to assume my person is forfeit to pillow duty effective immediately?”

The TV remote that was thrown at his chest was enough of a ‘yes’ that he scooted closer; pulling Cloud into his arms and settling them both into the downy soft comforter.

Cloud wiggles further down, getting their head directly under Sephiroth’s chin before huffing into the man’s neck. Sephiroth chuckles, tilting down to lay a Kiss on clouds spikes.

“Better?” He whispers fondly.

“I hate you,” Cloud half heartedly kicks at the man’s shin. There’s no impact behind it to hurt though.

“No you don’t.” Seph challenged gently.

Again Cloud huffed, exasperated but so, so content.

“No,” he mumbled. “I don’t,”

Ta da! Thoughts?

#final fantasy 7 #ffvii #cloud strife #Zack fair #sephiroth crescent #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #though he’s not present #ffviicc #ff7 crisis core #sephikura #agszc #cuddles #blanket forts #comfy cloud #everything’s good and nothing hurts

[banamine-bananime]

the forum werewolf game ever. of all time: night four

Start reading here!

Because they're down a wolf so early, the wolves unlock the ability to convert one player (change one villager into a wolf. It's a mechanic that's deeply hated by a few players. It was part of the design of this particular game to be unlocked only if wolves are at a disadvantage early). "You have gained one convert. You must use it immediately. You may convert any player."

By (deeply scary for the wolves) coincidence, Grif brings up the possibility of conversions. Sheila responds:

Sheila, in her mod PM:

....

Meanwhile, on thread, Sheila:

Church:

Okay yeah I'll feed Church's hologram "ghost" little colby jack slices until he gets drunk. why not.

Lopez:

Sheila:

Andy:

Sheila:

... uh

No fear.

[Andy the bomb, Sheila the tank, and Lopez getting drunk together, in defiance of science]

One fear.

Lopez, bored to spitefulness, tries to post-restrict someone again (mod reply: "You look for your spare voice box, hoping to find an extra, but unfortunately you were only given the one spare. You’ll have to put up with this canyon full of idiotas hablando el idioma ingles. Ugh.")

Caboose shoots O'Malley

Wolves have been fervently strategizing all the while, and they decide to convert Sheila, redirect Caboose to Tucker, make him kill Tucker, and steal his night result.

Doc protects Tucker. (Go Doc!!!!)

O'Malley's night results: N4: You pop into Caboose’s armour through the commlink and direct him to go kill Tucker. You linger in his mind long enough to make sure you remember what happened instead of him. From his mind's eye, you gather the following: On your (Caboose's) way to O'Malley’s tent, blind rage overcomes you. Unable to think straight, all you remember is that someone is killing your friends and you are going to stop them and YOU. HATE. THEM. You charge them at full force, sending them into a wall their tent was set beside with a speed that could kill even someone in power armour if they hit something vital. The wall gives, but they don’t. When they get back up, you shoot them. This time, you see that a strange effect surrounds their armour, absorbing the damage. As the rage begins to clear and your mind again feels like your own, you realize that the person you tried to kill, now fleeing from you, was Tucker.

Caboose's night results: N4: Even more than usual, your memories of last night are a confusing blur. Some of the fun functions in Tex’s armour, the more deadly ones, are no longer functional.

Doc's night results: "N4: You give some bandaids and aloe vera to [Tucker's player] to keep her safe. They’re pride flag colours, how fun! In the process of giving her a quick med scan (it lit up green for healthy! Or maybe for pregnant! Or maybe for chronic myelogenous leukemia! It’s hard to tell all these shades of green apart. But probably for healthy!), you accidentally activate something in her armour. “PROTECTION MODE ENGAGED.” Huh, okay, works for you!"

Tucker's night results: "N4: While enjoying some much-needed beauty sleep and you-time, someone bursts in. Holy ****! They knock you straight through a wall your tent was set up beside before you have time to process who they are, let alone to draw your sword. Luckily, someone triggered some sort of automatic protection mode in your armour tonight and it momentarily locks upon impact, shielding you from damage. The same thing happens when the assailant then shoots you. Okay, no, you’re not taking your chances with this bull****. You get the hell outta there while you have the chance." [every villain in a ten mile radius deciding to try to kill Tucker as per fucking usual]

Sheila's night results: N4: Your artificial body can’t be killed so easily, but your artificial mind is unfortunately still vulnerable to corruption. Something has gone drastically, drastically… wrong? right? in your programming. You is woof now and will be added to wolf chat with Wyoming, The Meta, and O'Malley. Oh no? Oh yes.

Wolves results: "Sheila is among your number now. She is an AI in a big beautiful 60 ton mechanical body immune to night kills, looking fly and ready to make some sim soldiers die."

Sheila's reaction in wolfchat:

Sheila's reaction in her role PM:

While players wait for the morning writeup, they get a bit silly. Lopez:

Mod:

Donut:

Finally, writeup is posted:

Next: day 5

#red wwersus blue

[frizzle-mcshizzle]

!!!!!!! OKAY WOW I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS

about Amias and Regaila; did amais actively dislike josie or was he mostly indifferent to her? and how would that affect the way he parented her compared to regaila?

(i'm enraptured with this story now but I'll try not to spam you with asks lol)

(als BABY JOSIE!!!! SHE WAS SO CUTE OMG SHE'S SO TINY AND BABY. i have a few questions about her design but I'm trying not to flood your inbox haha. ALSO I'M IN LOVE WITH HER OUTFIT)

FLOOD MY INOBX, PLEASE, IM BEGGING YOU, IT IS LITERALLY WHAT I WANT i miss getting tons of asks

at first he was indifferent, just like ok this is my kid now I guess? it doesn't matter of being around her reminds him what he lost or that hes not ready for another kid. she makes my wife happy so thats all that matters.

he cared about her but not as much as you should about your own child, burshed her off a lot didn't spend a lot of time with her, he thought of her as Regaila's daughter not his

when she had an allergic reaction when she was three he was genuinely terrified, he may not have loved her as much as he should but he didn't want to lose another child, she only because Forkle did end up helping in a disguise and making sure she didn't die, but both he and Regaila refused to ever give her another exiler so they wouldn't risk losing her again.

But as she got older she started to act oddly, would stare at Callista and Evander's wanderlings and ask people if they could hear them singing, which confused everyone because only Gnomes could hear the songs, she would write notes in a "secret code" that Amais recognized from his father's papers from the council but couldn't remember what they where for. the way animals seemed to just a little to friendly to her. she knew the names of every star because of all that she was mostly unpopular with the kids outside her family because they thought she was strange, so she mostly hung out with her cousins, and Amais just kinda brushed it off when she was picked on telling her shes gotta be tough.

when she manifests as a telepath at nine rumors start going around about how she’s some kind of weapon that was made by the council especially after people realize telepaths can't get her mind. (when originally the only rumor about her origin was that she was Oralie and Kenrics illegitimate child) some people around them even mention project moonlark. Ideila Cyrus and Regaila acknowledge to her that she’s possibly something like that, but tell Josie if that’s true whatever she was made for they won’t let them hurt or use her.

around that time Amias starts to actually say that Josie is not his kid when Josie and Regaila arnt around when people ask and just say she’s his wife’s kid, and when Josie overhears him saying that to some of his friends sue realizes he doesn’t love her for the first time. Josie goes to Regaila about it but shes is in denial for a bit before trying to convince him that Josie is still his child, because she loves them both, and Amias loves her, so he just had to learn to love Josie.

she pushes them to spend more time together and it really doesn't go anywhere, Amais just stops denying that Josie is his daughter because it upsets Regaila not because of it's effects on Josie.

When Josie is ten Regaila gets pregnant, she doesn’t tell Amais for a bit because she doesn’t know how he will react considering he still doesn’t accept Josie and its been ten years.

while Regaila is out with Athena asking her how to tell Amias asking her how to tell Amias shes pregnant, Amias goes in the tent exhausted and relaxes in his "room" leaving Josie watching T.v in the largest part of the tent. someone comes to the door for some arbitrary reason and Josie answers it and says her dad is in his room.

after Amias deals with the person at the door he turns to Josie and tells her to stop telling people he’s her dad because he’s not, Josie asks what he means. Amias tells her he just "only let Regaila adopt her because it made her happy to have a baby again and all he wanted was for her to be happy, he didn’t want another kid, he just wants his baby back, but that wasn’t going to happen, so he made a sacrifice for her sake. but he didn’t sign up for some thing who stares at trees and draws odd symbols in the dirt. and he definitely didn’t sign up for a kid who manifests four years early and who’s mind no telepath can get into."

Josie starts crying and saying she'll try to be normal promising nit to use her ability until the normal manifestation age. Amias starts scolding her saying it’s impossible for her and it escalates to the point that Josie manifests as a inflictor and inflicts on him. they both collapse and when Josie snaps out of it and runs over to him and starts shaking him trying to wake him up, when he comes to he shoves her away and tells her to stay away from him, she scoots closer crying and says “dad, i didn’t mean to hurt you!” and he backs away and says “i’m not your dad get away from me!!”

Josie starts crying harder and she starts to spark again and Amias realizes whats coming and runs to his and Regaila’s room and zipps the door shut, Josie follows him to the door and keeps apologizing through it but he keeps yelling at her to shut up and stay away from him sounding completely terrified of her.

Regaila comes home because of all the commotion and finds her 10 year daughter curled up at the door apologizing to her husband and promising she would be normal over and over.

Regaila scoops up her up and takes her to the couch and asks her what happened and Josie is to upset to explain properly so Regaila gets her to transmit the memory of what happened to her and Regaila is pissed, she takes Josie over to Idelia’s house and leaves her there over night while she and Amias talk (fight).

Amias spends the time trying to convince Reagila to leave Josie and they can move to a new village and start a new life there, because Josie is dangerous and not even their child.

Regaila spends the time trying to convince him that Josie isn’t dangerous, and she is their new life. But Amias doesn’t agree and ends up saying that Josie is monster who attacked him, Regaila says she wasn’t trying to but Amias is insistent that she did it on purpose. Regaila ends up kicking him out of her house and telling him to find somewhere new to live, not even mentioning her pregnancy because she didn’t trust him with how hes treating Josie.

they try to convince each other to change their mind for several months, Josie staying with her family during the late nights that her parents are talking thinking to herself how she definitely ruined her parents marriage

at the end of the few months Regaila picks up Josie from Idelia's tent and takes her home telling her that "Amias is gone and he won't be able to treat her like that anymore, apologizing for not noticing sooner and telling her that she loves her, and no matter how many abilities she manifests she won't stop loving her" trying to hide the fact that she’s upset about it but Josie notices she’s upset and reads her mind and finds out about the conversation and gets upset again almost enough to inflict and Regaila tells her "it wasn’t her fault, but thats why she shouldn't read people's minds, sometimes you're not being told information to protect you"

#i already had this half written #thats why it took way less time #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #twin sophie! au #josie lore #thanks for the ask!

[ironychan]

The rising river has been making us think we might want to move further from the banks.  Today we put it to a vote, and ended up deflating our tents and setting them back up again about a hundred metres further from the water.  The ducks watched this with some interest, probably in the belief that they have won our territorial dispute.  Joke's on them if the lander tips over.  It was designed to handle a lot of surface conditions but I don't think a flood was one of them.

When we reinflated the EHMs we drew the attention of several birds that resemble knee-high chickens.  They wandered around inspecting our little encampment and looking very confused, although if dim childhood memories of my great-uncle Uriasz' farm are anything to go by, that is a chicken's normal expression. Although more skittish than the gigaducks, they aren't nearly so strong, and we managed to kill two of them.  Wang named them Churkeys, because they're turkey-sized chickens.  He may be losing his touch.

We were also witnesses to one of the most traumatizing BBC Nature Documentary moments we've seen since we got here.  It started off with two gigaducks trying to kill one another in a pond.  I thought they had actually ripped each other's intestines out but were still going at it, until Reynolds gleefully told me that the pink spirally bits flopping around were their penises.  I didn't know birds had penises and I would like to un-know it, please.

The fight was still going strong when the water suddenly opened up and dragged one duck under.  The other one honked and flew back to shore, where he preened a bit before heading up to the nests in the lander, presumably to enjoy a spirally orgy he hadn't earned.  Us primates crept closer to the water but not too close, trying to figure out what the ever-loving fuck had just happened.

Eventually, we saw something surface, and it turned out to be a turtle the size of a double mattress, with a giant hooked beak.  Maybe crocodiles are extinct in this future or maybe they don't go this far north, but this monster appears to do the same sort of thing crocs are known for - it lurks just below the surface until something gets too close, and then it grabs it.  We will be much more careful about wading and fishing in the future.

Wang suggested we call it a Terrorpin, so I guess 'Churkey' was just him having an off day.  But we vetoed that in favour of Rossi, who declared it a Tarasque.  This is apparently the name of a mythical man-eating monster with six legs, a turtle shell, and a human face.  Medieval art frequently depicted it with a half-devoured victim in its mouth, being lectured by an angry saint.  I am very upset that I have never heard of this beast and even more so that there is no internet for me to find pictures.

Commander Singh asked if there's any particular reason we're taking the task of naming things so seriously.  Rossi said it's a way of asserting power over surroundings that make us feel powerless.  That's probably true, but he didn't need to say it.

#the last humans #speculative evolution #churkey #gigaduck #tarasque

[thefakerachelray]

Since it’s fall, aka prime Camping Season, and some people may be trying tent camping for the first time, here’s some Basic Camping Advice from me. (Keep in mind this is all aimed towards recreational camping in an organized campground and not all of it applies in all situations.)

Book campsites ahead of time if you can, especially in the fall when they’re busiest. Halloween is the absolute busiest time of the year, and sites need to be booked months in advance at some campgrounds.

Halloween is fun though! People decorate their campsites and golf carts (yes, a lot of campgrounds have golf carts for rent), and there’s trick or treating. Some even do it for a few weekends before Halloween.

Advice on picking campsites: notice whether your campground differentiates between tent and RV sites, and decide if you want your campsite to back up to the woods or not (woods give you privacy but you might also be further from amenities).

This seems obvious but CHECK THE WEATHER and be prepared. Camping is no fun when you're freezing or wet or both.

BUG SPRAY. Bring it. Use it.

Believe it or not, you CAN pitch a tent! Most modern tents are fairly easy to set up as long as you follow the directions that come with them.

Make sure the corners of your tent are spread out as much as possible before you stake it down. You don't want to lose space.

Bring a hammer. Sometimes the ground is soft enough to drive the tent stakes into with your hands/feet, but it's better to assume it won't be.

You'll want to face the opening of your tent away from the fire so smoke doesn't get inside, and you probably want to set it on a flat, grassy area.

Listen to me. Starting a fire is harder than movies make it look. Make sure at least one person in the group knows how to build and safely start a fire. And no, you can't start one by rubbing sticks together. You need a lighter. Preferably one of those long ones for candles, not a cigarette lighter.

Fire starters exist and they’ll make your life so much easier. We use these.

Most campgrounds sell firewood at the camp store, and pretty often grocery stores and gas stations nearby have it too. Your best bet is to have some with you before you ever get to the campground, in case the camp store runs out.

Speaking of firewood, you probably need more than you think you do, and you want a mix of sizes. Big full-sized logs will keep burning longer, but smaller kindling and split logs will catch faster and are good for starting your fire.

Wear gloves when handling wood as well, to avoid splinters. And sometimes spiders.

Smoke is inevitable. The smell of it will get into your hair and clothes. It will blow in your face, and as soon as you move, the wind will change and it will blow right towards you again. Just accept it. It’s part of the experience.

Please be careful around fire. Again, that seems obvious, but I can’t stress enough how much you don’t want to get burned. Also keep in mind that metal conducts heat, plastic melts, and paper ignites when they’re near fire, and those things can burn you too.

Seriously, it’s so important I’m going to say it again: take fire safety seriously. Be VERY aware of your surroundings any time you’re near a fire. That goes double if you’re drinking alcohol.

If you get air mattresses (and you’ll probably want to, they're much more comfortable than sleeping on the ground, even with sleeping bags), look for Coleman or another brand that specializes in camping gear. They're designed to stand up to the outdoors.

Make sure you have a way to inflate your air mattress too. Some have built in pumps, but not all. Inflate them while it’s still light out so you can see if they’re leaking air.

Trash bags are a necessity. I recommend at least one per day. It sucks to forget trash bags and have nowhere to put your garbage, which I know because I Have Done That.

Also, check the rules about what to do with your trash, especially in places where there are bears. I don’t think I have to explain why those campgrounds have strict rules about how to store food and dispose of garbage.

Disposable plates, cups, and cutlery are also nice to have. We keep some in our “camping box”.

Pay attention when cooking. It’s really easy to burn food over an open fire.

Reese’s Cups, especially Reese’s Thins, are great on s’mores! The classic chocolate bar version is always good too.

As my dad once said, “battling The Dark is one of the biggest challenges of camping”. Bring plenty of flashlights and a camping lantern if you can get one, and make sure they have batteries.

On a similar note, make sure your phone is charged when you get to the campground in case of an emergency. You may or may not have access to electricity at your campsite, and you’ll at least want your phone as a backup flashlight.

Campground bathhouses aren’t always very clean. Like smoke, this is just a fact of camping that can’t be avoided. You can’t really avoid going in them anyway. You’ll have to go to the bathroom at some point (and probably shower if you camp for multiple days), so it’s just a thing you gotta deal with.

Camping can be really fun, just make sure you’re prepared!

#camping #tent camping #long post

[strywoven]

@crystalcracked has requested a story : “All these thoughts have never stopped.” // tohru to kaen!

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

❝ Tohru … ❞  Soft , gentlespoken comes his name upon a ever-worrying tongue.  Dark gaze searches his – seeking , asking without asking ( is there really nothing i can do ? is there really nothing that can help ? ) – before drifting down to look at his hands clasped in their own.  His words , solemn with resignation to his design / heavy with the earnestness of his cynical truth , add another measure to all the ways they are ENTIRELY TOO SIMILAR ( at times , kaen noticed once , like looking in a mirror ; they share joys much as they seem to share miseries ) .

Their eyes follow the thatching , p u r p o s e f u l wounds marring his wrists ; the very same on their pale own ( each with a memory attached , they’re sure , each carving a sentiment of sorrow that held a story as to why it was made at all ) .  Gingerly , Kaen smooths their thumbs over his scarred skin , tracing them with a tentative thumb as if – should they not be careful enough – they might split open.  Kaen closes their eyes to gather themself.  A shaky inhale , followed by a trembling sigh , a teary-eyed smile offered forth ( does he think them foolish for crying for his sake ? does he think he’s unworthy of their sympathy ? ) .  Yet how it HURTS to know that this selfsame pain is something they SHARE , something they AGREE ON , that he has gone so far as to want to cut it free from his skin just as they have— ❝ I- I wish … ❞  For many things , actually ; to be of SOME USE to him , mostly , to p r o v e to him that – beyond a doubt – they would love him despite everything he’s ever said or did ( as much as despite everything he may ever say or do ) .  ❝ … Tha’ this was somethin’ we didn’t have in common. ❞  If only it could have been a n y t h i n g else but this ; if only the great thread that strengthened their bond was not so awfully MISERABLE to behold.

Lifting one of his hands , they kiss his wrist , repeating the process with the other , neverminding how they blink a few tears onto his skin , staining it with their empathetic wetness ; a slight display of REVERENCE .  Kaen glances to him again , holding his gaze.  ❝ But … How lucky we are to be alive , Tohru , ❞ The words seem bitter coming from them , even in trying to wield them in good faith.  Still they try , ❝ How lucky I am , ❞ Kaen’s grip on his hands t i g h t e n s , ❝ To know you , to be with you , to— ❞ Love you , they want to say , but stop themself.  ❝ —Have made all these memories with you.  An’ if only I could grant you peace of mind , would tha’ be enough ? ❞  They’re not even sure how they WOULD when it has been years since they themself knew the grace of peace , but for HIM , they would try to gather up even the smallest pieces of it.

#❧ ⸺ how can ( queue ) say there is no story here ? ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. kaen | answered ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. kaen | verse iii: human ❞ #crystalcracked | adachi #crystalcracked #early days... kaen and tohru... #like high school... #don't look too hard at me incorporating h*milton lyrics skjcnd #self harm tw