#& sort of reflect inwards before you two would have been any good for each other

[wttcsms]

!!! did not forget abt any of my events; from the first sleepover event, someone requested invisible string theory with sakusa & we are getting 5 times you almost meet sakusa + the 1 time you two meet (at exactly the right time)

[aethramusings]

thread wishlist ! !

i have compiled an EASILY ACCESSIBLE post about thread ideas that i have ! ! we do NOT have to do any of these threads for me to be excited about roleplaying with you , but i understand that coming up with ideas on the fly can be stressful , so here are some brainstorm starters ! these can apply to ANY muse unless stated otherwise , but i have included some muses i have particular interest in ! i am more than open to the idea of modifying any of these so long as it does not include any phobias or smut . please note that just because a thread is in one " category " does NOT mean it has to stay that one ! angst can turn to fluff , romantic to angst , etc . i have included a RANKING system , three asteriks indicating a HIGH interest in doing this thread !

FLUFF —

( rapunzel , elsa , olaf ) sleepover threads ! ! particularly involving late night baking . my muses all have a WIDE range of baking skill ( from zero to . literally spent the first twenty one years of her life only doing that ) , so shenanigins could ensue !

* ( elsa , kristoff , rapunzel , joan ) snowed in ; preferably between two muses with some sort of negative tension between them , whether it be two muses who straight up cannot STAND each other , or good friends who just got into an argument ! being forced to stay in close proximity and resolving their differences ( note ; this does not HAVE to be fluff ! )

* ( honey lemon , joan , hiccup , nod ) animal care ! our muses , for whatever reason , have been tasked with training a dog , taking in a stray cat , or caring for a sick chick . whatever it may be , the two are forced to work together to care for this sweet animal .

SICK TW ; one of our muses caring for the other while sick !

ANGST —

** INJURY TW ; ( hiccup , nod , rapunzel , elsa ) your muse / my muse has found the other one injured in some capacity ; whether it range from a paper cut to something that needs serious medical attention .

NIGHTMARE TW ; ( constance , nod , elsa ) your muse / my muse has discovered the other waking up from a nasty dream , and the other muse is tasked with deciding how / if they will help to calm the other down .

** ( rapunzel , elsa ) our muses having an argument about something , forcing both of them to look inwards and reflect on themselves and their relationship , whether it be enemies to family . ( PLEASE NOTE : i would like the muns to have a good relationship before embarking on this kind of thread , i want to ensure it doesn't become a thread where one muse is forced to take all the blame in a situation where that isn't fair . )

ROMANTIC — ( PLEASE NOTE : i would like the muns to have a good relationship && for the muses to have had a few threads , even if they are canonically in a romantic relationship . i also do NOT do smut ; all " spicy " encounters will fade to black . obviously , olaf is excluded from all of these threads . )

*** ( everyone ) ANYTHING involving an argument interlaced with romantic tension , i am such a sucker for that . muse a gets mad about something muse b does , muse b doesn't know why muse a cares so much , bam . perfect romance plot . i typically like this type of thread BEFORE our muses are romantically involved , more so like a heated confession thread .

( rapunzel , elsa , nod ) threads where one muse gets surprised by the other ! not in a " throwing a surprise party " way , but where one muse has given the other a gift / letter / planned a date that captures how much they listen to the other individual and care about their interests .

( elsa , kristoff , joan ) meeting the family threads ; OH man . i completely understand it can be difficult to write another character / multiple other characters that you aren't normally comfortable writing , but if this is something you'd be willing to explore i would adore it ! this can be pre - an established relationship or post .

VERSE SPECIFIC —

*** ( rapunzel specific ) taking place in VERSE TWO for RAPUNZEL ; rapunzel has freed herself from the tower , and meets [ YOUR MUSE ] when she sneaks out of the castle for a night of exploration !

HOGWARTS TW / ANTI JKR ; ( constance , rapunzel , elsa , nod ) anything with any of my muses hogwarts verses . unless requested , all of my muses are around sixth / seventh years . give me classroom shenanigens , a quidditch match , bonding in the library late at night , discovering their patronuses - or even POST hogwarts ! working together , etc .

( elsa , rapunzel ) modern verse anything . i am willing to adjust my muses modern verses to better fit with the environment that they are in . i adore this kind of setting for " rom com " type plots , but i am also 100% for it in entirely platonic settings , familial , or rival !

the " actor " au ; while this isn't a set verse for any of my muses , it is avaliable to explore . essentially , our muses are not their characters , but rather the actors that PORTRAY their characters in a world ( so , ours i guess ) where their fictional characters are on a popular movie , tv show , etc .

*** ( elsa specific ) httyd au ; whether as a very young girl elsa ended up on berk by some tragedy , or is now stranded as an adult due to a shipwreck , an exploration of her in that world would be EVERYTHING to me .

MISC . —

** ( nod ) buddy cop ANYTHING . i adore two muses having to work together to solve some sort of mystery , especially when the muses likely wouldn't have had a run in otherwise .

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

just because you’re afraid it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Titans 3.05

once more into the cold dark void of the internet with my stream-of-consciousness take on a superhero tv show...

spoilers ahead.

1. i cannot believe that among the first things i get to hear in this episode with my own two ears is the line 'eluded our overdudes'. why must you give me such pain along with so much joy, show?

1.5. scarecrow stringing jason along on this path to red-hood-dom is not something i would’ve ever expected, but does kind of make sense. 

1.55. i don’t know all the details of the original resurrection arc in the comics but i like that jason, weirdly, has a greater role to play in his own demise and rebirth? i think it makes it easier to draw a line between his past trauma, the demonstrably shitty and terrifying responsibility of being robin, the ways bruce and the titans wronged him, his responses to that, the reasons he turns to scarecrow, and his final evolution to red hood. it makes for a smoother character arc rather than a one that was interrupted for two decades before somebody went oh hey let’s resurrect that kid that the audience once voted to kill and make him an anti-hero!

1.75. what’s crane giving him? anti fear toxin? anyway, crane is a fucking creep and i’m not sure i want to see a whole lot of him on my screen.

2. oh, um, heads up: there’s a long sequence of unsteady cam + flickering lights right after the title card upto the 3:16 mark. it’s a bit headache-inducing so if you want to skip, you can go ahead and do that. 

2.45. that’s... weird... why would he dream about... donna...

ok, who am i kidding. i’m going to jump right into my theory about Why Titans Makes Sense Actually because the show itself is apparently not interested in explaining itself:

a) it makes no sense for jason to be conjuring up donna--who famously did not care much for him!--in his dreams. (he wasn’t even there when she died.) or for her to be telling him don’t go or there’s still time.

b) this leads me to think that that’s actually donna, in some sort of limbo between life and death, the kind of place where jericho used to be

c) rachel has demonstrated that she has the power to link the minds of the titans across great distances--she called jason and hank/dawn for help in 2.01, she linked up everybody later in the season, projected dick’s hallucination of his father into their brains without even realising she was doing it, and in the finale, she managed to get dick into conner’s brain. she’s in themyscira now. is this how she gets donna back to life? but reaching out to her in that non-space between life and death?

d) the next obvious question is: why isn’t donna appearing in the dreams of the other titans? she probably is, but they have better reason to be dreaming about her since they were actually close to her, unlike jason.

e) but why would she warn jason in particular? does she foresee jason entering the afterlife--however briefly? does she have an idea of what jason plans to do and what he will become?

f) anyway, more trippy mindscapes and weird psychic powers, yay!

2.5. my heart clenched when bruce comforted jason post-nightmare: clearly i’ve been reading way too much batfam fic. this is a side of bruce we haven’t really been told to expect by all the characters on the show calling him a ‘psychopath’ (*cough*unreliablenarrators*cough*) and him getting jason to speak to a professional speaks volumes about the kind of self-reflection he’s done post dick’s departure, and maybe some of the regrets he has with regards to how he dealt with dick’s traumas.

i mean, just look at him when jason dismisses his concerns! BRUCE IS TRYING JASON

anyway, i have a whole lot more i want to say about this, but i’ll save it for later. 

also: LESLIE THOMPKINS!!!!

3. i really like molly--and i love that she’s a friend from before jason got taken in by bruce, the implication that they meet up regularly and that she’s a grounding influence on him (tho clearly not grounding enough to not go along with his dumbass idea about confronting a child trafficker alone). 

3.5. aw, jason. robin was his armour against everything in the world that would throw him down and chew him to bits, but san francisco proved that even robin wasn’t enough to protect him. it’s really interesting how ‘disillusionment with the idea of robin’ is so integral to the traumas of both dick and jason but in such different ways. 

4. LESLIE!!!!!!! i even forgive her office being so goddamn blue because leslie! 

4.5. it makes so much sense for titans!verse leslie to be a therapist, because this show is so inward looking anyway, and therapist sessions are a useful tool to showcase this character work in a story. besides, at least in fanfic, leslie often seems to double up as a counsellor anyway. 

4.6. oh man. i’m not terribly convinced by walters’ red hood (tho i think that may be the point--argh. i’ll come back to this thought later. have to stop getting distracted!) but he plays the asshole kid that’s trying not to let any real emotion seep through really well.

“you’d like me to punch you, wouldn’t you”

5. not sure what to think of batman’s little trophy case other than the show winking unsubtly at us and going look look - catwoman! the riddler! two face! you excited yet?! it’s like the scene from the end of amazing spiderman 2 when they were trying to drum up excitement for a sinister six spinoff by having harry osborne walk by a bunch of display cases with stuff from iconic villains in them.

... but then again, bruce does like to display a lot of shit in his batcave, including his dead robin’s bloodstained costume, so.

5.5. bruce is so soft with jason it’s killing me. beyond just trying to learn from his mistakes with dick, it speaks to his own genuine desire to balance his dedication to gotham with doing the best by his sons, although he’s often not successful with that. 

i love that titans is really playing the long game with bruce wayne, with each season and character-perspective sliding in fresh pieces of a bigger puzzle. titans’ bruce has always been a phantom of other peoples’ making, but now we’re getting the idea that he’s a whole lot more complicated than other people make it seem.

5.75. it really recontextualises some of his actions from previous seasons: the fact that he locked dick out of his security systems in 1.06 is likely his way of respecting dick’s independence and his desire not to be associated with batman/gotham anymore. jason knowing about bruce’s tracker while dick doesn’t is probably bruce trying to be more honest and upfront with his charges. bruce sending jason packing off to sanfran to spend time with the titans is probably not him passing on a big responsibility to dick (as i first uncharitably thought) but him trying to get jason out of the toxic influence of gotham for a while and a sign of his trust in dick as a leader and a mentor,

5.8. i mean, bruce is a prick, but he’s also human.

6. i think leslie is doing some good work with jason here, though she may have overstepped the line with her line about robin as a construct being projected by a man with BPD. her speculations about bruce’s diagnosis have no place in her session with jason, and if bruce confides in her, an egregious violation of patient-therapist confidentiality. 

(about the diagnosis itself... i don’t know. i can’t really confirm or refute this without a whole lot more information, and i’m not sure if the writer of this episode means BPD in the same way an actual professional might.)

6.5. i think a huge thing that gets missed out in a lot of recent comics as well as movies/shows is that bruce didn’t create the robin persona out of whole cloth. dick did. he’s the starting point of that legacy and to call it entirely bruce’s creation is blatant erasure of that. in fact, i’m surprised that dick doesn’t feature more in the conversations they’re having about the pressures of being robin. after all, the guy had been robin--bruce’s partner--for such a long time before jason. 

6.8. (and here’s the primal part of me that resonates the deepest with dick grayson--the Eldest Daughter part--that’s sort of resentful: that jason gets the therapy and softness and the learning from mistakes when it took years and years for bruce to reach out in any meaningful way to dick.)

7. oooh that was a great scene!

it’s fun to do these stream-of-consciousness live reactions, because the moment you step down from your soapbox, the episode goes right into tackling what you were just complaining about. bruce means well, he’s learning, but he goes about exactly the wrong way to help jason: taking away robin now can’t be read by jason as anything but a devastating judgment call from bruce. and iain glen really sells the moment that bruce realises this--too late--and his helplessness in trying to get jason to see that it isn’t jason’s fault that he’s trying to do this. he loves jason enough that jason is enough. 

7.5. aaaah so jason brings up the elephant in the room at last. dick got everything makes sense from his perspective, where getting to put on a costume and fight crime means approval, means being something stronger and better than you are. dick got to be robin, then nightwing, and a leader of a whole team of other costume-clad heroes. 

8. ... how did jason just walk into arkham????? this is ridiculous.

8.3. i mean, clearly jason’s not thinking straight, but betraying batman like this puts his possibilities of being robin again even further away. 

8.5. watching that chemistry experiment montage was strangely funny. this guy is looking for an antidote to fear? well, constantly mixing up and inhaling gases concocted by a mad-scientist supervillain is something only the very fearless--reckless to the point of foolishness!--would do. what’s to say crane’s not given you a formula for a drug that will keep you tethered to his every will and whim? hmmmm?

8.7. so he sought out the joker to... test the formula??? 

9. wow the “loud and clear... boss” hits different after a whole episode of them referring to each other as father and son.

9.3. waitwaitwait HOLD UP. wait a DANG MINUTE. you’re telling me that scarecrow had enough resources that he could not only have folks on the outside steal jason away and dunk him in a lazarus pit (i TOLD you that this show would bring up and dismiss ra’s al ghul in a ten second aside! I TOLD YOU) but also have his own little chemistry lab in the basement, AND have enough resources for jason to build his red hood persona???????? all of this in barely twenty four hours?

well there goes my ‘jason orchestrated his death’ theory. it was nice while it lasted. *cups hands to the sky* fly away, my baby.

9.6. a part of me is gleeful at the rushed nature of such an iconic transformation though, especially when compared to all the character work that went before it. we’re so used to getting the opposite that it’s fucking delightful to have a show that’s more interested in exploring its characters’ minds rather than battle scenes or recreating transformations from the comics. that’s taken such bold and exciting steps to fully convey all the nuances of its most recognisable character, bruce wayne, from casting an older actor to play him to unflinchingly showing just how damaging the vigilante lifestyle has been to him and the people he loves. BRILLIANT

*sporfle*

10. again, heads up: a whole lot of flashing lights between 40:28 and 42:00. 

10.3. i guess it’s the super-compressed timeline that’s really throwing me off. where did he have the time to get/develop the mind control thing from? or is it something that he got from the cabal of villains that he intimidated at the beginning of 3.02? very messy.

10.5. i love molly, i hope she shows up again this season.

11. aaaand that’s it! that was a solid episode as flashback episodes go, but now i can’t wait to return to the present.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 7 + 8: Heart-throb)

"It feels pretty good to have your wish granted by someone else.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *Will be taking a short break for one or two days for mental health reasons, so no TLs will be uploaded while I’m gone

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ✩Light & Night★

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✩ E7 LIGHT: Rest here ✩

MC: The view's pretty nice. How about we rest here for a while?

Evan: Sure. Let's sit here then.

I followed Evan and seated myself atop a rock by the river and gave a good big stretch, easing the tension out of my slightly sore hips and legs.

The vegetation around us was a little sparser now, and the golden sunlight fell upon us in mottled spots. The river had crystal clear water. The sunlight pierced through the waves, leaving shimmering gold patterns that wavered along with the current of the river.

There were occasional grey shadows that darted through the water. I excitedly patted Evan's arm to catch his attention the moment I saw it.

MC: Look! There are fish in the river!

Evan: There's quite a bit of them. Those look like striped bass.

MC: They're so big…

Staring at the plump and juicy-looking fishes, I suddenly became acutely aware of the snarling abyss that was my stomach as it slowly woke back up.

I never expected to get hungry just from that short trek.

Those fishes would be delicious steamed! Add soy sauce, a little wine to taste, and the meat will become tender and succulent, absolutely flavorful...

But it would also be equally good braised! Deep fry it first, then add soybean sauce, Sichuan pepper and star anise to spice it up. Then add water to let the sauce soak in, producing a flavourful, mouthwatering, aroma!

I couldn't help but swallow in anticipation. I guiltily cast a glance at Evan, hoping that he didn't notice my guilty inward musings of a glutton.

Evan: Don't tell me you're thinking whether this fish would be better braised or steamed?

MC: ??? ...Remove the camera you installed in my brain!

Evan: Why would I need a camera? It's written all over your face.

Evan: It'll be a little hard to steam or braise anything here, but we can try grilling the fish if we have a stove to work with.

Hearing the words "grilled" and "fish", I instantly felt rejuvenated. Gone were my sore hips and aching legs.

I jumped up from the rock I'd been sitting on with a start.

MC: Grilled fish sounds good! I've got the stove! And grills! And seasonings!

Evan: Brilliant.

MC: Then there's only one thing missing… How are we going to catch the fish?

Evan surveyed the area and pondered for a while before speaking.

Evan: There are traces of grilling being done on the ground. Someone must have grilled fish here before.

Evan: We can look around and see if there is any equipment left behind that we can make use of.

MC: Okay!

Evan and I each took one side of the river as we scoured the bank for any items that may be of use.

Soon after, I moved a patch of tall grass aside and lifted something in triumphant joy.

MC: Evan! Look at what I found! A harpoon!

Hearing me call out to him, Evan headed over. He took the rusty harpoon from me and gave it a once over.

Evan: Sharpen it on the rocks and it should be good to go.

MC: Great!

Evan took the harpoon to the rocks and gave it a thorough sanding to get all the rust off. Soon, the once-rusty harpoon regained its sharp, deadly, metallic glint. It looked as primed as ever.

After he was done polishing it up, I excitedly picked it up. Evan looked at me in slight surprise.

Evan: You want to try?

MC: Yeah! Plus, I'm wearing a dress, so I don't have to worry about getting my pant leg wet or anything like that!

Evan took one glance at the way I was brandishing the harpoon, looking ever so eager to try my hand at it, and softened. A helpless yet tender look dyed his orbs.

Evan: Alright, but be careful not to slip.

MC: Right!

I took the harpoon to the river bank and quietly searched for my quarry.

Soon enough, a shadow slid smoothly across the water. But, it had already gotten long out of reach before I had the time to react.

I observed the waters for a while more, familiarizing myself with how the fishes moved.

When another fish appeared, I timed myself, raising the harpoon high and bringing it down hard!

The harpoon jostled the river and disturbed the dirt at the bottom of the riverbed. However, there was no fish in sight when the waters came to a standstill once more. There was only a harpoon, firmly embedded into the riverbed.

MC: Feels like I'm swerving my hits a bit…

A small laugh came from behind as a warm hand enclosed mine, wielding the harpoon together with me. He dislodged it and returned it to my grasp with surprising ease and finesse.

Evan: It's alright. Try again.

Evan: Throw the spearhead further to prevent hurting yourself.

I nodded and took the harpoon. Soon, I took my aim at another incoming fish.

I inwardly encouraged myself: I'll get it this time!

I swung the harpoon and sent it stabbing downward. This time, I felt like I'd hit the target quite accurately!

However, the fish wiggled for a bit beneath my harpoon before speedily making its slippery escape…

MC: *Sigh*...Is it because I'm too weak?

Evan: It's because you hesitated.

MC: Hmm, maybe a little. I suddenly feel a little hesitant to deal the finishing blow when I think of how this harpoon inevitably pierces the fish’s body.

Evan: Reluctance to deal the finishing blow is only normal. How about I do it instead?

A strong wave of reluctance surged up within my heart. I swiftly hid the harpoon behind my back.

MC: Nah. I’ve only tried it twice! Give me a couple more chances and I’ll definitely be able to do it!

Evan: If you say so.

Evan: Then you'll have to be faster, and you'll have to land harder hits than that.

Evan: Or you can think of it as your enemy, or maybe someone you dislike?

MC: Hahaha… Well, about that…

I thought about it seriously for a while, but I couldn’t think of anyone I particularly disliked.

Hence, I looked back at Evan and casually dropped him a question.

MC: I can't really think of any off the top of my head. Do you have anyone you dislike?

Evan was taken aback. His eyes were slightly lowered as if he was hiding some sort of emotion that dwelled within.

I suddenly recalled that we’d come on this trip precisely because something had happened beforehand to make him unhappy. Now, his expression only made me understand it more with stark clarity: yes, he did have someone he disliked...

MC: You don’t have to think about unhappy things! I’m sure that person’s not a good person if they’ve made even you dislike them! I’ll teach them a lesson!

Evan: Why, thank you.

With the harpoon in tow, I returned to the river bank. Reflected in my mind was none other than how Evan had reacted to my earlier question.

Just what sort of issue would trouble someone as strong as him? On that same note, just what sort of person would cause someone as powerful as him to become this restless and uneasy?

Then, a fish slowly swam into my line of sight. And it was precisely with this sort of mood that I raised the harpoon high in the air, sending it plummeting downward without a moment’s hesitation!

However, the sudden force I’d flung it down with made me lose balance as I went down with it. I felt my waist move backwards from the force as my feet slipped from beneath me...

MC: Uwah!

Splash!

Water splashed in all directions as I slipped right into the river...

Evan: !!

Fortunately, this river wasn’t deep and only reached my waist. Evan swiftly support me as I stood up.

Evan: Are you alright?

MC: I'm fine��� my butt's just a little sore… Ow…

Evan: Slowly.

He supported me back to sit on the rock. I looked down to inspect myself. My dress was soaked and dripping water everywhere.

I gathered my dress and wrung out a load of water from it. Ah, how I’ve screwed up...

Evan: Does it hurt anywhere else?

I gathered my hair together in slight embarrassment as I shook my head.

After ensuring that I was not injured in any way or manner, Evan moved to light the stove by my feet. He then removed his jacket and placed it over my lap.

Evan: Be careful not to catch a cold.

My stomach gave a loud rumble in protest the moment he finished. I quickly covered it in embarrassment.

Evan: Alright. Let me procure our lunch.

MC: I'll have to trouble you with it then…

Evan: It's no trouble at all.

Evan removed his glasses, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up my abandoned harpoon on the river bank.

Wrapping his jacket around myself, I looked up at him curiously.

I wonder what the CEO of Warson, ever dignified and well put-together, would look like brandishing a harpoon of steel?

❖☆———————————★❖

Just as I was thinking about that, Evan suddenly went rigid; and I, in turn, watched him with bated breath.

His gaze seemed to be transfixed on a particular fish. His dark red eyes narrowed with intent as the light in his orbs instantly turned to a cold glint; one as sharp as a deadly blade.

He raised the harpoon, the muscles on his arms and chest rippling as they made themselves known in their usage and exuded a raw, primal, sense of power.

The sun's rays glinted off the sharp blade of the harpoon, reflecting the cold light of the forest.

I watched him in a daze. It was almost as if I was watching a formidable and ruthless beast at work after having set eyes on its prey.

I'd rarely seen Evan with such an expression on his face. A thought suddenly popped into my head out of nowhere.

Maybe this was how Evan had always dealt with his enemies; swift and ruthless.

Then, the harpoon flashed through the waters as quick as lightning.

Water splashed everywhere as a muffled thud sounded. Evan had made his quarry, no doubt.

❖☆———————————★❖

With another slosh, the harpoon was withdrawn from the waters. A huge fish followed the length out of the water, trashing incessantly, its tail flicking to and fro.

When Evan turned to look at me, the usual warmth found in his eyes had returned.

Evan: Can you help me fetch a bucket?

I snapped out of the trance, hurriedly moving to fetch a bucket and brought it before him.

MC: You got it in a single strike! You're really awesome, Evan!

Evan: A young lady is waiting for me, hungry and cold, after all.

Embarrassed, I stuck my tongue out at him.

He removed the fish from the harpoon and dumped it into the bucket before returning to the river bank.

Following his return, the harpoon made continuous sounds as it pierced through the waters again and again. His actions grew increasingly precise, and I could tell that he was trying to let out some steam with how much strength he packed into each stab.

Soon, he managed to spear another two fish out of the river. They were both huge and plump, and he seemed to be much more relaxed when he turned back around again.

He knelt down and weighed his spoils with satisfaction.

Evan: The biggest catch weighs nearly 2kg. It should be enough for us.

Afterwards, he neatly killed the fish by the bank before putting them all on the grilling rack. I brushed the fish meat with the barbecue sauce that I'd brought.

The stove burned ever so strongly, and the place was instantly doused with the delicious aroma that rose into the air alongside the smoke. I rubbed my hands in anticipation, so excited about it that I couldn't quite sit still.

The fishes were finally cooked. I quickly took a bite out of it, leaning back in satisfaction as I did.

MC: How fresh! This is too delicious! You should try some too, Evan!

Evan: Sure. Careful not to burn yourself on it.

Saying so, he too, took a piece of the fish and brought it to his mouth. Under my watchful gaze, he gave it a serious chew or two as he contemplated the taste. Eventually, he gave a nod of approval.

Evan: Mmhm. Your sauce does a mean job too.

MC: Not bad, right? This is my personal recipe!

MC: With the fish you caught and my speciality sauce, these fish taste way better than any I've ever had in high-end restaurants!

Evan: We can always eat this again whenever you want to, so long as you're willing.

I nodded, unwittingly flashing him a smile, almost as if making a silent promise to him that we most definitely would.

MC: Have you ever gone fishing, Evan? You technically score full marks in wilderness survival!

Evan: I once lived out in the wild for a while at a time in the past, after all. But, I never had a harpoon back then, so today's my first time using one.

MC: Then you must be a naturally born hunter!

MC: I felt like you were exuding a predatory area when I saw you fishing earlier!

MC: How should I put this… It's as if you'll definitely catch the prey you set your eyes on.

MC: Unlike me… *Sighs*...

Evan: Why the sudden sigh?

MC: Well… I just thought that I'd put up a rather disappointing performance today.

MC: I was the one who got all enticed by the tasty-looking fish, but in the end, not only was I unable to spear a single one, but I've also rendered myself into a right state.

MC: The cat depicted in the cat emote pack online's definitely me. "Small, pitiful, and weak, but eats a whole lot like Tubbs"!

Evan smiled and shook his head. He rested his big hand on my head.

Evan: I don't think this is a fair comparison.

Evan: A kitten won't help me deal with the people I dislike, but that throw of yours earlier was one done with all your might behind the harpoon.

Evan: It makes me feel like I've met someone whom I can entirely trust.

His tone suddenly turned tender and very soft. So soft, that it was almost as if he had all his guards down; but so heavy, that it was as if he'd placed all his trust into it.

It was akin to a small drop of honey, the vicious liquid slowly spreading through my heart.

MC: Of course… I'll always be your most reliable buddy, ever!

MC: But, I'll be happier if I can really be of help to you!

Evan: You've already helped me plenty.

Evan: Next time I have to deal with them, all I have to do is to remember how brave you were and draw strength from that.

I froze. The only thing that my helpful brain provided was the image of me slipping right into the river, butt first. I panicked, instantly setting my chopsticks down.

MC: No! Forget that terrible throw I made earlier! Vanquish the thought!

I laughed as I ate, making a fuss of it all. Before we knew it, all the fish on the grilling rack had been swiped clean.

I embarrassedly put the chopsticks away, awkwardly coming to the realization that I was, in fact, not full yet.

70% filled is still considered full… I inwardly hesitated, mentally debating with myself. I was so absorbed in it that I failed to notice how Evan had a clear view of the expression that flickered across my face yet again.

Evan: I'll go catch some more fish to grill.

MC: Uh… About that… I'm sure the fish meat gets digested quickly! I'm sure that's just what it is!

Evan: No worries.

Evan: The charcoal fire's still going strong and it's still early before sundown. Plus, your dress isn't completely dry either.

Evan: We have more than enough time to slowly eat here, and we can do it until you're full and satisfied.

Evan: And as for just how many fishes you ate… I'll make sure to keep it a secret for you.

MC: Wha?

MC: Evan! I never pegged you for one before, but are you actually up to no-good!?

Evan: I'm being serious here.

Evan: It lifts my spirits whenever I see you eat.

Evan: It makes me feel like there's no simpler pleasure than that.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

★ E8 NIGHT: Walk a while more before resting ★

MC: I'm good. Besides, it'll be hard to get going again once we sit, so how about we carry on a little while more and see how it goes?

Evan: You're here for fun, so you don't have to be so hard on yourself.

But he'd probably seen the determination colouring my eyes, for he immediately added on to his previous sentence.

Evan: But I'll listen to the leader.

MC:  Hehe. Now that's more like it.

❖☆———————————★❖

We continued our trek deeper until the forest. Enamoured by the various sights and sceneries, the sky had turned dark long before I knew it.

Evan: Let's find a place to put up the tent. I think this place is pretty suitable.

MC: Okay!

We chose a location with a wide expanse of flat ground. Then, we set about executing the next step of the plan: set up the tent.

I took the tent from my bag, spreading it out on the ground.

First, we had to insert the two rods into the tarpaulin sheet. Then, we had to insert each end of the pole into the small hole on each corner of the tent.

However, this tarpaulin sheet was just way too big. One corner came loose right after I secured the other.

I tried my hardest to spread my arms as far as they could go, but it was still a struggle to secure both ends of the pole at the same time. I fought valiantly, only to end up covered in sweat from my moot attempts.

MC: This is the only time I hate having short limbs…

Evan: Let me help you.

I looked back in surprise. Evan had already returned from fetching water by the river.

He put the bucket down and came up behind me, spreading his arms and holding the curved poles in place with ease.

However, doing so made our positions very close to one another.

His arms were warm, firm, and much longer than my own; long enough to entrap me within when he spread it out horizontally like that. Adding on to that, our clothes were both slightly damp and sticking to our skin. I could acutely feel the faint rise and fall of his chest from behind.

The surroundings seem to be growing warmer, and I felt an inexplicable sense of panic.

Evan: You just have to pin the four corners down.

MC: Okay...

I fumbled as I ducked out of the cage of his arms, putting the rods into the small holes.

❖☆———————————★❖

With Evan's help, the tent was soon set up in no time at all.

Afterwards, we ignited the kerosene lamp again and set up a simple table and chairs. And thus, our little fort out in the wild was finally complete.

Everyone has an innate love of small secluded private spaces at least once in their lives. Looking at our small lodging, I felt a sense of joy well up from the confines of my heart.

MC: Evan, let's go in and have a look inside!

I couldn't wait to delve right inside. It was only after I'd spun a full round in fascination that I realized Evan was still standing outside.

That's not right. How could I have fun all by myself? The goal of coming here today was to make Evan happy!

I thought of a way to nudge Evan into action. A light bulb lit in my head.

MC: Evan, I'm the leader today, so you'll do everything I say, right?

Evan: Yes. What do you want to do?

MC: I want to play a game.

MC: I'll be your personal Doraemon for the day. I'll help you fulfil any wishes you want!

A flicker of surprise passed his face.

Evan: Why do you want to play a game like that?

I pulled him along with me, sitting him down on a chair before sitting right across him.

MC: You've always been my Doraemon, so today, let me enjoy the joy of giving just this once.

Evan: I mean, it's not like you can't; but, what are you sure you want to be doing that here?

MC: Challenges only make it that much more interesting! Feel free to shoot any request you may have!

Unable to ignore my insistence on this matter, he folded his arms and lapsed into thought.

Evan: Then I'll just make a random wish… I want this tent to look prettier.

MC: Gotcha! Leave it to me!

This was probably the first time Evan had ever wished anything of anyone…

And now, the one to listen to his wishes was no one but me… Thinking this, the yearning to fulfil his wishes for him only burned ever stronger.

I suddenly remembered how I'd brought a string of small, colourful, fairy lights with me; if only because I'd seen someone decorate their tent with it online some time before!

I held my excitement in check as I rummaged through my bag for the fairy lights, connected the battery to the string of light and turned it on. Then, I flashed it before Evan.

MC: Ta-daaaa! Look!

❖☆———————————★❖

It was well into the night. Dishing out the fairy lights in peak darkness lit up our surroundings in a dazzling array of colours.

Evan widened his eyes in surprise, gently taking the fairy lights from me and scrutinizing them.

Evan: You actually bought fairy lights? You're a competent Doraemon, all right.

The bedazzling lights shone on our faces, adding a couple more watts to his smile.

Evan lowered his eyes, seemingly lost in his memories.

Evan: You know, these fairy lights remind me of the New Year holidays.

Evan: I walked on the streets and saw the doors of many families decorated with fairy lights like these.

Evan: Celebratory and homey… I really adore it.

Watching Evan's wary manner of carefully selecting his words, I couldn't help but feel my heart clench slightly.

Maybe… this was what he imagined home to be like…

However, he quickly snapped back to reality, his gaze falling to the fairy light before us once more.

Evan: The workmanship of these fairy lights are very intricate, and each bulb is shaped differently.

MC: Yeah. Look, this one’s a small pepper and this one’s a little eggplant...

Evan: Yes. And this one here. This one looks like you; the little rabbit.

MC: It really is a rabbit! You've got some keen observation skills.

MC: But, why am I the only animal? That sounds a little lonely…

Evan: You won't be lonely; because the one right beside the little rabbit's me.

Evan spread his arms, displaying the light bulb beside the little rabbit on the string of lights. But, all I saw was a red ball of light there.

MC: And what does this one look like? I can't really tell

Evan: It doesn't matter what it looks like; because I'm the only one who will stay by the little rabbit's side, regardless.

Although his smile was much warmer in the light, his tone still held an undeniable wistfulness.

I felt an odd sense of panic, but I didn't feel like fleeing from it.

❖☆———————————★❖

Eventually, we put the fairy lights up on the tent.

The constantly flickering and changing lights made the tent look cuter, and much more lovely. It felt like home.

I watched as Evan entered the tent, settling himself comfortably within, his eyes narrowing into happy little slits in a closed-eyed smile. Seeing him this relaxed made my heart fill with joy.

MC: Time for your next wish, Evan!

Evan: Are we continuing? I'm already pretty satisfied.

MC: The game's only just started! You can be a little more willful; just like a little kid!

I gently tugged at his arm, softly coaxing him into giving in.

Getting him to relax was no easy feat; and now, I was finally seeing a glimmer of hope! I can't let it go to waste!

Evan: Alright, one more then.

MC: I'll say this first, but you're forbidden from wishing for something overly simple! I'm Doraemon; you've gotta put your trust in me!

Evan: Okay. Then I want to drink hand-brewed coffee.

He levelled a calm gaze at me, seemingly waiting for me to admit defeat; but I only smiled triumphantly.

MC: Just you wait and see!

I knew that Evan loved coffee, so I’d brought some ground coffee powder along with a set of simple brewing tools.

I lit the stove, boiled a pot of hot water, and slowly poured it into the filter where I’d placed the powder, balanced atop an empty cup, going in circular motions. Soon, a cup of fragrant hand-brewed coffee was made.

I handed the cup of coffee to Evan. He lowered his head to give the aroma a whiff, a pleased smile appearing on his face.

Evan: A fragrance that I love.

Evan: But it's missing a little something.

He then moved to personally make a similar cup for me. We both sat down across each other, nursing our cups of coffee and taking small sips from it.

Even while sitting on a foldable chair, the way he drank his coffee was still as elegant as ever.

The forest was silent. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of intermittent chirping of the insects hidden within the foliage, adding to the relaxed and leisurely atmosphere.

MC: Evan, don’t you think that it’s been a long time since we’ve stepped away from the bustling city life to simply spend time together like this, thinking about nothing?

MC: You seem busy lately. I'm honestly a little concerned if you actually have time to wind down…

Evan: Thank you for your concern. I do have the time to do so once in a while.

He raised the cup of coffee in his hand.

Evan: This is the aroma I settle down with every lunch break, to watch a movie, or to read a book.

MC: Right, I often do the same as well.

A flicker of thought entered my mind, and I immediately latched on.

MC: I know! I've helped you think of your next wish!

Evan: Oh? And what is it?

I smiled mysteriously at him, turning around to rummage through my bag.

I happened to bring a book along with me today, so I searched the contents of my bag for it, pulling it out and handing it to him.

He ran his fingers across the gold-gilded text that had been printed onto the book cover. After a while, he suddenly returned the book to me. I raised my head in slight surprise, only to see the slight smile hidden in the corner of his eyes.

Evan: If that's how it is, then could I trouble you to read a paragraph for me?

MC: Sure.

Opening the book, I picked out a story that was about the forest and slowly started reading aloud.

It was seemingly enough to please him. He held onto his coffee, slowly leaning into the soft pillow, closing his eyes in satisfaction.

After finishing a paragraph, I closed the book, only to find him staring at me seriously. There was a fire flickering within his crimson orbs.

Evan: You know, I actually like this story a lot.

Evan: The first time I read this book, I imagined myself in the protagonist’s shoes.

Evan: Riding a small boat in a remote and secluded river, letting the current take me wherever it goes.

Evan: Expecting nothing, with no destination in mind. It doesn’t matter if I get stuck in a rapid, or if I’m just turning around in place.

MC: Sounds romantic enough. What happened after? Did you ever try doing so?

Evan: Not yet. Later, I ended up coming to the forest many times, but unfortunately, none of it was to seek recreation.

Evan: Which means, this is my first time.

Evan: So, thank you; for making this a memorable night for me.

He seemed a little tuckered out, and his voice was as soft as a mere whisper. His eyes were slowly fluttering shut as he spoke.

His eyelashes slid down as his eyes closed, casting a faint shadow on his features. I quietly observed how picturesque he looked like that as I thought back to everything he’d just said. A new plan was born within my heart.

Perhaps this wish was something that I could truly fulfil for him.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next morning, at exactly 5 AM. I was roused from my slumber as my alarm clock rang.

I gave a big wide stretch, casting a glance at Evan. Thankfully enough, he hadn’t been awoken by the alarm and was still curled up in the sleeping bag next to be, fast and soundly asleep.

After doing a simple wash up, I quietly exited the tent.

We passed by a commercial campground yesterday while searching for a suitable campsite. It provided rental services of a wide variety of camping equipment.

That’s why my first thought had been this place when I heard Evan mention boating last night. Hence, I contacted them and reserved an inflatable kayak.

With the help of my mobile GPS navigator, I walked the forest for about half an hour before I finally arrived at the campsite.

After waiting outside for a good long while, the owner whom I’d previously made an appointment with came up to me in a right state of panic.

Campsite Owner: Sorry! Some trouble cropped up, so I’m late…

MC: Don’t worry about it. What happened though? Do you need any help?

Campsite Owner: Can I bother you? If so, then yes please! I’ll tell you what happened…

After a while, I handed a trembling kitten to the owner.

It began rolling about as soon as it returned to its owner’s arms, acting like a baby as it rubbed itself against the owner’s palm, as if expressing regretfulness for its actions.

MC: The little guy must have been scared out of its mind.

Campsite Owner: Yeah. Thank you so much, Miss! I have no idea what I'd have done without you.

MC: Don't worry about it. It's no big deal.

When I came to the campsite earlier, the owner had been in the middle of a cat problem. It had climbed to the top of the tree without anyone's notice and didn't dare come down.

It had been meowing helplessly at the very top. Hence, I immediately joined the rescue effort without a second thought.

I hear that it had already been stuck up the tree for about 10 hours or more. We didn't have a tall enough ladder, so it took a great amount of improvisation to finally save the poor kitten.

Campsite Owner: Oh, right. J nearly forgot your kayak. This isn't light, though! Can you carry it alone?

MC: Huh?

I stepped forward to test its weight. The folded inflatable kayak was indeed heavier than I expected. But thinking about how Evan would react upon seeing this kayak, I suddenly felt that this extra weight meant absolutely nothing in comparison.

Campsite Owner: *Sigh* Since you've helped me, I ought to repay you the favour by lugging this back for you. But I've still got appointments later so I really can't afford to leave...

Campsite Owner: Rental's free of charge then! Have fun with it!

MC: It's alright, I can just take my time carrying it back. Thank you!

After bidding my farewells to the owner, I took the kayak with me and left the campsite.

I hadn't made it fat when my arms started feeling sore. All I could do was to put the kayak on the ground and take a short breather.

As I spaced out, I suddenly heard a muffled sound coming from within the depths of the forest.

My ears tuned in to the sound in full alert. Whatever that was, it was by no means small. 

Was it an animal? Or was it someone?

The crunching sound of leaves approached closer and closer. Now, I could tell without a doubt that those footsteps were most definitely human. And it sounded a little rushed; panicked, even.

Feeling a little uneasy, I couldn’t help but stand back up.

Then, a familiar figure emerged from the dense forest.

MC: …Evan!?

He seemingly breathes out a long sigh of relief upon spotting me. He quickly strode up to me.

Evan: I finally found you, at least.

Evan: I woke up in the morning to find you missing, and you never picked up even when I called. I was worried sick.

He looked as calm and unruffled as ever at first glance. The only difference was that he seemed a little out of breath.

This place isn’t close to our campsite at all. How long has he been searching for me out in the woods?

Thinking about it made me feel a little guilty.

I ended up telling him briefly about the unexpected situation I’d encountered in the commercial camp and everything before that.

MC: I left really early. I initially thought that I’d be back before you woke up, but I never thought that I’d take that long to get back...

MC: I’ve been busy this entire time so I didn’t have the time to check my phone. Sorry for worrying you.

Evan: It's okay. Just… Don't leave my side without saying anything next time, alright?

I nodded and lowered my eyes in embarrassment. Unexpectedly, I then noticed that he’d buttoned a button near the hem of his dress shirt wrong.

Having never seen Evan disregard his appearance in this manner before, I very nearly failed to suppress my snort of laughter.

Evan: Hm? What's the matter?

I shook my head, undoing that button and rebuttoning it right. It was only then that he noticed his slight gaffe. He laughed at his own mistake.

Evan: …Thank you.

Looking into his eyes, I couldn't hold back the urge to ask him the one thing that had been nagging at my mind.

MC: This place is not anywhere close to our campsite. How did you know I was here?

Evan: I couldn't contact you in the morning, so I searched around the tent to see if you left anything resembling a note behind.

Evan: I remembered that you seemed interested in this place when we passed by it yesterday, so I thought that maybe this was where you'd gone.

I hadn’t expected him to see completely through me as he cast a glance at the kayak on the ground.

MC: *Sigh* Why did you figure everything out like that? I wanted to surprise you!

Evan: Don't worry about it. This is also a surprise in and of itself, don't you think? Thank you for all the effort you've put in.

Evan: It feels pretty good to have your wish granted by someone else.

He gently took my hand in his, enveloping my palm in his bigger one, transmitting his unusual body warmth.

Evan: But I also want you to know that just you being by my side's more than enough for me.

My train of thought was disrupted by his tender gaze, making it hard for me to gather my thoughts together.

MC: But I don't think that's enough.

MC: You’re always taking care of others and listening to their wishes, but you can’t forget yourself and your wishes.

MC: I want to hear more of your wishes. You can always be a little greedier when you’re with me, Evan...

He looked at me for a fleeting second before suddenly closing in on me. He only stopped when my figure was completely enshrouded within his shadow.

Evan: Then, can I be greedy one last time?

MC: Huh…?

Not waiting for me to give him an answer, he advanced a step forwards, pulling me into a hug.

His arms were solidly wound around me, and the fragrance of wormwood that came with his embrace was lasting and stronger than ever.

The strength behind his action made it hard for me to reject him, hard for me to escape. 

Oddly enough, I felt a little intoxicated by it, slowly closing my eyes.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[froog-water]

howdy and hello

and thank you for finding this! If you enjoyed this madness that I have somehow managed into a story, then, please do not be afraid to interact! I am relatively new to the whole Apex scene and am, obviously, prone to make mistakes. If there is anything wrong, like spelling errors or something like that, just point it out and I will try to fix it :) This goes without saying but, apologies in advance if Bloodhound appears to be OOC or anything along those lines. As I said, I'm new to all this but I still wanted to try my luck with writing something so, yeah. Though the reader is written with the intention of being a female (she/her), there is really no specific mention of their gender (unless I missed it somewhere) so for now, the reader is greatly gender neutral :) Other than that, I hope whoever reads this likes it. This story is purely selfish and my response to the clear lack of good Bloodhound fics out there in the world 

Upwards Over the Mountain (Bloodhound x Reader)

Chapter 1; next

From somewhere outside, beyond your stone walls, the world raged. The overhead night sky rumbled thick and dark with heavy rain clouds that every so often flashed with brilliant lightning and shook the ground with terrible thunder. Tonight was the last good storm of the year before winter set in to turn everything to ice and chill, and Mother Nature was holding nothing back.

The wind howled painfully and threatened to rip the bar's front door clean off its rusty, old hinges. Worriedly, you pass the rickety things a brief look, unsure if the storm would make due on its promise to ruin your night. Rain hammered endlessly on the ceiling and your lights gave a concerning flicker - there was still time yet.

As your hands busied themselves with the cleaning of the day's mess, wiping down tables, and stacking plates and glasses for washing, your mind wandered to the security of your late-evening patrons. You whisper to yourself, and whatever god was listening, a silent prayer for their safe journey home.

The town you had precariously made your home was a terribly small farming community nestled tightly to the base of a mountain, families here were numbered and small and people were old and simple-minded. At the center of this plain society sits your bar, the beating heart of all the people, where conversations were light and bubbled easily with the flow of alcohol and food. Your connection to this hub of activity, being its sole owner, meant that on a near-daily basis you had the privilege of intruding in on these strange people's lives, of which they were more than eager to allow you entry.

Though in the beginning, you tried to keep them all at a safe arms-length, smiling at their jokes only when necessary, they had a way of seeping under your skin. The country life was most infectious and her inhabitants, even more so. They were plain people plagued by simple problems and naively narrow mindsets and it was all so intriguing to you in a sort of enjoyable manner. Their ways of life, views on the world and politics, the way they treated each other, and, of course, their stories. Especially their stories. All this brought out of you a sense of interest, albeit a somewhat back-handed one. The imagination of these people, whether it be for the better or worse, always struck you as so strange and wonderful. The fishermen who strolled into your bar would regale you with the tales of their daily catches and how the ocean had favored them thanks to their abiding of some ancient traditions. The farmers would entertain you with wild gestures of their experiences in the fields, proclaiming with great conviction that they had seen something almost magical in the early rays of the dawn. Such simple things when compared to the true, harsh reality of the machine-driven world beyond your doorstep.

Having known nothing but bitter metal and concrete jungles for the majority of your early life, these seemingly insignificant worries of old entranced you and teased out a seemingly lost sense of childishness. Despite your heavy scrutiny, these people prevail and their stories linger long after your doors shut for the evening.

Your thoughts often drifted back to their many tales, replaying their absurdity like television in your head in times of quiet with gentle bemusement. It was always more preferable to occupy your time with fairytales than to dwell on more intrusive voices. Tonight, however, the usual whimsical wives' tales were instead replaced with ill tidings.

Again the front door pushes inwards as the wind picked up and the glass windows rattled in place. You exhale loudly in a desperate attempt to soothe your racing heart. This bar was old and stable, earning the title of being reliable after many years of resistance to this tortuous climate, and though it whined at the force of nature beckoning down on it, you had to trust that it would not fail you this time. Your night was not going to be ruined by faulty foundations.

You fill your arms with dirty cutlery and take it back to the kitchen to be washed and packed away. While walking you pass the front window, a beautiful piece of stained glass gone yellow in its corners from age, and there you hear the noise again. Your mind immediately flickers back to the prominent story that had not left your consciousness since the first rumblings of the storm.

The caw of a raven.

A large part of you scoffed at yourself and your childish notions for even humoring the idea. It was absolutely, totally, 100% ridiculous. But, you muse to yourself, there was nothing else to listen to and your mind had a tendency to drift away.

You had heard this wild tale about the Winter ravens from a group of old ladies who had visited the bar in your early years of employment. They had occupied a large table in the corner of the room and blew tobacco smoke out their pipes whenever you approached them. Eventually, they eased into your sweet hospitality and offered you some advice, curling their elderly fingers in a motion for you to sit with them. Their ‘advice’, if you could be so generous with the word, was to never feed the ravens who arrived in winter. They foretold of a great danger to those who stupidly talked to these birds and of a stranger who followed them, whose eyes glowed in ominous moonlight and who was nothing like anyone had ever seen before. How vague a description but how fascinating it all was. It captivated you at the time, how entirely peculiar this story was and how it had entrapped the women in its grasp of fear and worry.

It was in their wrinkled, old eyes that you wondered if maybe there was such a person, if perhaps their story was somehow based on true events. But your rational mind was quick to corral your thoughts and you slipped back into unphased independence. It was just a fancy story made up by people who had nothing better to do than to smoke and spread rumors.

Even so, through all the talking down and condescending, the story still held a tight grip over you. And it did not help that over the storm you could hear the very ravens you had been so warned about. The previous winter was bizarrely devoid of these animals, drawing even some backward comments from the more normal of your patrons. It seems that this year, the birds were determined to make amends for their absence.

Over the clattering of glass and metal and the ever bellowing of the storm, you could still hear the birds calling. They scream loudly, their voices seeming to get closer to the front door with every passing utterance as if drawing in on your location. Despite everything, the corners of your mouth twitch upwards in a smile. How exciting it would be if such a wild story was true. Imagine the looks on the ladies' faces if you were to tell them you stole a look at their raven stranger or even, heavens forbid, you spoke with them. The bird outside caws again and, against all your better judgment, you stop your washing of the plates and quickly dash for the door. A soapy hand grasps the handle and before you could reason with yourself to stop being so ridiculous and easily persuaded, pulls it open to reveal a world wracked with night and storm.

Immediately, the biting cold of the rain stings your bare face and the wind pulls mercilessly at your clothes. A hand shoots up to cover your eyes and the other grasps the collar of your coat closed, a feeble attempt to remain steady in the torrent. In the darkness of the night, your eyes squint, darting up into the sky to find any sight of your midnight visitors. They sounded so close, as if sitting right on your front porch waiting for you to open and allow them inside. Unsurprisingly the ravens were nowhere to be seen, supposedly their black bodies giving them the advantage of hiding perfectly in the night. Surprisingly, however, when your eye level lowered to the empty street before you, you caught sight of the outline of a figure in the rain.

In the instant, all your whimsical fantasies and daydreams flee your head and are replaced instead with very real concern. That was a person.

“Hey!” Your voice hardly makes a dent over the orchestra of water and thunder and you swallow hard before trying again. “Hey!” You yelled, your free hand coming down from your eyes and cupping your mouth. This seems to have finally grabbed the attention of the troubled figure and they suddenly turn in your direction. The moment your eyes make contact, you barely manage to stifle a shocked gasp. Two reflective disks stare back at you, catching the light of the storm in an almost hypnotizing way - you were sure that had the moon been out, you could have mistaken them for glowing eyes. The story of the raven stranger starts afresh in your head but you quickly shake free of its grasp. Now was not the time to reminisce on fictitious gossip - right now there was a person who needed your help getting out of the storm.

You beckon the figure with urgent hand movements and a hasty side-step, revealing the warm glow of the bar inside as invitation. Your message was clear - please come inside. Luckily, the stranger was willing to follow your orders, reacting before you could even blink, and swiftly making their way towards you in powerful, strong strides. You hold the door open with your shoulder as they approach and it is only when they enter the doorway do you finally get your first good look at the figure.

Your first thought - they were much larger than they had appeared to be while standing in the darkness. Closing the door behind them you try your best to remain aloof and polite, casting your eyes to the floor so as not to stare. With the door closed the bar fell back into subtle stillness and you could finally come to bearing with your panicking mind. You had just invited a most odd-looking stranger into your bar, one who fits to the T the very weird description of an even weirder story and now, you were alone with such a stranger. A part of you, the one who scorned your carelessness, lashed at the back of your mind - this was a most stupid and potentially dangerous folly. But there was no going back now. It would be rude to turn possible patrons away especially in this sort of storm.

“Well,” You remark a little too breathlessly, shaking your wet head and walking behind the front bar. You reach underneath the long table and produce a towel with which you begin to pat dry your hair. “What horrible weather.” You offer the stranger your best winning smile - this would be easy, you try to convince yourself, you know how to deal with all manner of people and though this particular one, clad in heavy hunters gear and animal furs, was a little startling, they were just like anyone else who strolled in through your doors. You force your anxieties to leave your chest as you exhale and prepare to make light conversation.

“What an odd coincidence this all is.” Your voice carried around the bar without much-needed volume, the atmosphere somewhat lightening as you broke the quiet. The stranger remained motionless, their head turning ever so slightly to scan their surroundings. You push on. “I had no idea anyone was even out on such a night as this. Had I not looked out the door at that exact moment, who knows how long you would have been-”

“This is The Drunken Mule, is it not?” The stranger suddenly spoke, ripping the carpet right out from under your feet with how loud and potent their voice was. After a minute of composure, you nod even though they were not looking in your direction. Something about their tone made you narrow your eyes and set your warnings on high alert.

“Yes.” You answer strongly. “A most unfortunate name.” Out of nowhere the stranger rounds on you and steps forward, drawing you into their mesmerizing appearance with their illuminated lenses and towering physique.

“Vhere is the owner, Andante?” There it was again, unmistakable and oh so violent. Carried over their heavy accent and muffling mask, the anger in their voice was most noticeable. At the rising sense of threat, you drop nearly all of your trained mannerisms and you furrow your brow. Your thoughts momentarily flicker to where your gun was stashed and you shudder at the thought of retrieving it. Never have you had a fight occur before in this bar and tonight, you were not looking to make this encounter be your first.

“What business do you have with him?” You ask with professional coolness that only appeared to irk the stranger for their hand twitched and an annoyed scoff could be heard. You had to keep it cool despite their obvious rising temper and though your heart beat around your ribs like a wild rabbit caught in a cage, you knew better than to back down.

“That is of my own.” They shoot back with half-bitten venom.

“I am afraid not.” You replay placidly, swallowing your bubbling fear in favor of remaining in control, “Andante More died last spring. I am the sole inheritor of both his bar and his inn. So whatever business you have with him, you also have with me.” Thankfully, your voice did not betray how shaky your knees had become and you puff your chest out and glare in an effort to portray false courage.

There was a moment of tense quiet, neither one of you moving or speaking, all that could be heard was the constant drumming of rain on the roof. Then suddenly, movement from the stranger, and although you cannot see their face, you can most definitely feel contemplation slowly corrode their malice. This action, along with your revelation, made the stranger hesitate in their defense then deflate in an almost defeat, although it was hardly discernible under all that heavy clothing and armor.

“I ask again,” You pry further, your arms crossing over your chest and your trained eyes never once leaving their daunting outline. “What is your business here?” A moment of silence passes before the stranger manages to speak, their voice devoid of their previous hostility but not of mild irritation - you could tell that they were trying to rein in their heated emotions even if some residue still clung to their words.

“I had an arrangement vith Andante. I have a cabin out in the mountains, he vas to maintain it vhile I vas away. I vas kept busy last year and vas unable to visit until now. It vas not in my knowledge that Andante had passed.” They were certainly quieter now, their voice smoothing out into a relaxed and almost apologetic tone. News of the man's death must have struck a nerve with them and you could feel the room shrink as their fury did. You take in the stranger's words, rolling them over your tongue before deciding how best to answer.

“This is the first I have heard of such an arrangement. Had I known, I would have happily taken up Andante’s duties.” You admit plainly, allowing some sweetness to ooze back into your words and extend out to the stranger in a metaphorical olive branch. You were quick to forgive the grievances of this troubled stranger - a personal fault you had yet to decide was virtuous or not. You would have to wait and see. “Is there a problem with your cabin?” It was obvious what the answer was by the way the stranger had arrived in all their unfriendliness and from basic deduction, but you still asked the question with genuine concern.

“It has been left unchecked. The roof is torn and the rest is in disarray.” They replied after a moment of debate, unsure if they were allowed to speak to you after their appalling entrance. Suddenly the stranger lowers their head in a short bow, a gloved hand touching the brim of their helmet. “Please forgive me and my intrusion vith such reiði. I vill leave now.” In a blink of an eye, the stranger had moved to the front door and already had their hand around the handle.

“W-What? Wait!” You react off instinct, a hand reaching out to follow the retreating figure. It was so abrupt to have this person switch between such potential anger to this somehow polite and embarrassed individual that it took you at least a few seconds to gather your bearings. “Wait.” You say again, a tired laugh passing through your lips as they stretched back to their gentle smile, all your pent-up repentance bleeding away into comfort and ease. “I am afraid that I cannot let you leave. Not after all,” you make a motion with your hand, “This.” The stranger does not turn to face you completely, instead, they hover by the exit, offering you only their ear to listen to what you have to say. If they really wanted to, this person could just push their way into the night and you could do nothing to stop them - it was only courtesy that kept them in place long enough for you to speak.

“You say your cabin has a hole in its roof. And I imagine it would not be very pleasant to sleep in, especially on a night like this.” You step out from behind the bar and stride over to the door, moving close enough that you could start to make out the more fine details of their unusual outfit - a collar of thick fur, many odd pockets and bags covering their chest and hips, and a head hidden behind a most bizarre gas mask and goggles. Something about them strikes you as extremely familiar but you cannot remember ever meeting someone quite like this person before. “As I have said earlier, I own Andante’s Inn which, unsurprisingly, is empty this evening.” You manage to edge yourself into the stranger's field of view, successfully bringing their attention back to your face. You smile encouragingly under their unwavering gaze.

“Did you walk here?” Your curiosity gets the better of you and makes its presence known through the form of impertinent questions. The stranger does not answer, rather they slowly and deliberately tip their helmet downwards in a quiet yes. “Then I really cannot let you leave.” You boast, your arms once more folding proudly around your chest. “Please, I insist you stay the night here where, at least, you will not get wet.” They made no moves, showed no indication that they had even heard your request.

“If not for your sake, then for my own.” You add on, your tone gentle and beset with sincere worry, “I would not be able to sleep tonight knowing that I willingly allowed someone to brave this horrible storm alone.” This roused something in the stranger and after a few silent minutes, they nodded in reluctant agreement. Your smile doubled in size and you clapped your hands softly.

“Wonderful! Thank you so much for agreeing.” You bow your head slightly before darting back to the kitchen to secure the bar for the evening. After grabbing your coat and turning the lights off, you return to the waiting stranger and motion for them to follow. Over your shoulder you throw them a tease, winking in a terribly playful and scripted manner.

“Do not worry. Our boarding rates are quite manageable and I may even throw in a free breakfast.”

~

As the warm smell of sizzling bacon and fried eggs fills the small kitchen in the early hours of the morning, your mind wanders back to the events of the night before. You can not help but cringe pitifully and wrinkle your nose in disgust.

How idiotic you had behaved, how unnecessarily childish you had been - all with a complete stranger no less! It is the most common knowledge to be wary of strangers, especially ones who appear at night dressed as if ready to go to war. What had compelled you to be so reckless and to willingly invite such a danger into your abode? You had put yourself in jeopardy's way all in the name of some old promise of benevolent kindness. Always help people, Andante drilled into your head. Always. Perhaps your unwise behavior was the result of too many late nights or maybe a far too-convincing patron had indulged you in one too many beers. Whatever the cause was, you cursed it wholly.

Over the crescendoing noise of your own self-degradation, the sound of the kitchen doorway creaking brought your head up and towards the solid figure suddenly occupying its space.

“Ah!” You jump slightly, the spatula you have been using to cook the bacon flying up in a defensive position. It takes you only a heartbeat to relax, laughing airly and banishing your vile self-criticisms to be examined on a later date. “You scared me!” You say to the stranger, waving them over to the small, prepared table with a well-oiled smile. “Please,” You motion to the chair, “I woke up feeling rather generous this morning!” After a moment of consideration, the stranger silently slipped forward and took their place at the opposite end of the breakfast table. You afforded them their stoic silence, deciding rather to lead the conversation yourself than to try drag a word out of them. Clearly, the two of you were both still in equal shock over last night's events.

“I have not had the honor of sharing breakfast with someone in quite a long time so forgive if my culinary skills are,” you turn around and slide two pieces of bacon off the pan and onto toast, “lacking.” You lift your eyes to meet their emotionless mask, an unconscious and unwelcome shiver travelling up your spine as the thought of what lay beneath bites at your curiosity. Something was most certainly familiar about them but what exactly it was still eluded you. “Coffee or tea? Or, better yet, do you even want the bacon?”

“Coffee vill do. No sugar. And bacon is velcomed.” They finally speak and greet your ears with a much admired and amused delight - no longer were their words dipped red with unidentified anger but now, rested and offered food, were decent and alluring. Their accent is on full display to your interest and your keen ears lean in. You feel your painted smile shift more in favor of sincerity as you prepared your guest their meal.

“I must commend your sense of timing.” You push on the conversation much to the gratitude of the stranger who eased at your playful words, as did all your patrons. You were the master of teasing people, talking them up with trained comfort and care until eventually they paid you or offered you something more. You were a most tantalizing host. “It was just last week that I had helped old Carter on the hill rebuild his disheveled cattle shed. See, I have never done such a task before and had provided him with…” You pause, carrying over to the table the stranger's made-up breakfast and drink, “an overabundance of supplies.” The silence from the stranger wordlessly implored you to explain where exactly you were heading with this discussion.

“What I mean to say is, you have a roof with a hole in it. Correct?” They nod, the beads hanging from their odd helmet swaying with the motion. “And I have a heap of unused materials just laying around taking up space.” You plop down in your chair with a small huff, “Do you see where I am going with this?”

“You vish to help me?” They ask without missing a beat, taking up your offer with the grace and judgment of a butcher at a slaughterhouse. You blink in surprised confusion.

“Is that so wrong?”

“I know that service from people is not like air - it is not free. Vhat do you intend to gain from helping me?” Though their apprehension to your rather forward proposal was expected, you still felt a twinge of hurt at their words.

“Nothing at all. What could I ever want from you?” You mockingly place a hand over your wounded heart, an attempt to break the blooming ice in the stranger's concerns. “If anything, you will be doing me a service and getting rid of my supplies. Plus, I might add, you technically have paid me already.” This draws a curious reaction from the raven stranger, their head cocking to one side. You stand quickly and from the counter, grab a piece of crumpled paper.

“For the longest time, ever since I first got my hands on the finance documents of this place, I wondered where the hell these quarterly sums of money were coming from. If perhaps, Gods forbid, Andante was involved in a more shady money-making scheme. But now I know.” You offer the paper to the stranger and they take it with a thick, gloved hand. As they scan over your business's finances, their thumb tracing over a particular underlined article, the very one you had spent all night pondering over. “It's from you, isn’t it? No name, no details. Just money.” You watch them for a reaction, shuffling over to your seat and taking it up once more. “Money you paid Andante to watch over your cabin in the mountains.”

“You are correct.” They answered after a minute, handing back the paper and sealing together the theory you had come up with. You sigh your relief.

“Then it is settled,” You announce, taking your fork and jamming it into your food, “We leave after breakfast.” The stranger waits in strained quiet, an uncomfortable atmosphere ebbing off their totally unreadable appearance. You wonder what could be ticking behind those moonlight lenses of theirs, what kind of person were they really. The same curiosity that compels you to store and maintain the stories of a fantasy people tugged at your chest - this stranger, as unpredictable and bizarre as they are, attracted you more than anything before.

“I eat alone.” They announced suddenly, snapping you violently from your daydream. You shake your head and return to your autopilot hospitality.

“Of course. Down the hall, second door on your left. There is the lounge. It is empty and you are welcome to close the door.” At your orders, they rise from their chair. “Oh and just one more thing.” They pause, training their unblinking mask on your face under which you did not cower. “As crazy as it sounds, I don’t remember asking for your name last night.” The raven stranger tenses at your request, almost as if taken aback by your lack of recognizing them, then lifts a hand to their chest.

“I am Blóth Houndr. You can call me BloodHound.” You tell them your name and they dip their head in acknowledgment. And with that, they collected their food and made their way to the other room.

~

The sun overhead gave little warmth as you stood in the field, dying blades of long grass coming up and raking across your pants like zombie fingers of the earth. Bloodhound had asked to visit Andante’s grave before departing to the mountains and you were more than willing to oblige. Typically graveyards were somber, cold places, filled with the forlorn memories of people no longer walking. But this place was the furthest thing from that plain description.

Sure, it housed many a sad memory but it certainly was not cold and somber. It occupied the top of a hill, overlooking both the town and neighboring mountains. The air up here was clean and always blew with the faintest hints of lemongrass. In a most unusual way, it was peaceful up here, light and alive as if untouched by time, people, and maybe even death. You hesitate to even call it a graveyard.

In the distance, you could see Bloodhound, their head lowered over the late man’s grave in some unimaginable prayer or curse - you were not sure which they had chosen to say. They were a most weird enigma and you found yourself inclining into them with every passing conversation. People who wore masks obviously had something to hide and you often prided yourself on not being too nosy and digging in on their private business. But with this raven stranger, you could not help but want to know more. No matter how much it pained you to have to admit it. You knew everyone else who lived, worked, or passed through this town but not this one. You pinch the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger and whip yourself anew. You have to get out more often, have to meet new people, and be reminded of your own insignificance. These old town’s people were incredibly boring and were starting to make you act desperate.

Bloodhound shuffles and you assume their grievances to be over. With a hand full of freshly plucked wildflowers, the last growing of the season, you make your way over to them. Silently, you slip beside them, eyes downcast and focused on Andante’s headpiece. You kiss the tips of your fingers and touch the cold stone - a true sign of admiration.

“I know it is not proper to offer flowers such as these at a grave but,” You bend down and gently place your makeshift bouquet on the dirt floor, “They are so beautiful. And I know he would not have wanted it any other way.” You remain kneeling for longer than you had expected. Suddenly your chest feels tight and something made of iron drops heavy in your stomach. You had never been accompanied to his grave before and apparently being there with someone was enough to draw out of you, long-buried emotion.

“You must forgive him.” You whisper to the open air, your mind slowing and your tongue working off an unpracticed instinct. Your shoulders sag and your knees begin to ache. “Andante was not all there when he died. In his last few days, he could not even remember his own name.” Yellow grass tickles your hands as they follow the engravings of the man's name in stone. “You cannot blame him for forgetting.”

“I do not. I hold no biturð against Andante.'' Bloodhound answered next to you. That weight in your stomach lightens and you find the courage to stand up straight again. “My journey here vas long and left me unfocused. My reiði vas improper and unjustly pointed towards you. I am sorry.”

“Please do not apologize.” You murmur softly, shaking your head in a slow gesture, all the while with your eyes remaining fixed on the grave before you. “We all have our reasons for performing and yours was perfectly adequate.” You finally manage to tear your gaze away from the ground and towards Bloodhound. You are startled to find that they were already looking at you. “You are human under all that, right?” You joke, your signature playfulness sweeping back into control over your actions. Bloodhound curtly nods and you smile, charm gleaming off your eyes. “Then you don’t need to apologize. It is an occupational hazard.”

~

When Bloodhound had first told you that their cabin was up in the mountains, you had foolishly hoped that it would be a short drive to get to. This whole town was, by all technical reasoning, ‘up in the mountains’ so how much further out could their cabin be? It took you nearly an hour along a treacherous dirt road to finally reach their hidden paradise. By the time you stepped foot out of your dingy old truck, your back was aching and your legs whined to be stretched. The sun was right above your head in a gloriously mild midday. Clearly, your hopes for a short day were quickly going down the drain.

Their cabin was modest, but then again so was everything else here so how much of that was a virtue still hung in the air. You complimented it regardless. The small wooden house blended seamlessly in with the forest scenery, even as the greens turned to yellows and browns, so too did the wonderful dark wood of the house. The trees surrounding the building were tall and ancient which all stretched high above your head, standing tall and unphased by man's will. This was no ordinary house, you said to yourself as you stepped into its shadow, it did not claim itself different from the wild world. Instead, it sat in it all, watching as everything moved untouched around it. You pass a cheeky look at the raven stranger and contemplate if they shared their cabin's sense of independent aura. Bloodhound led you around to the side of their home and even from your viewpoint on the ground you could make out the extent of the damage. After a very minimal inspection, you nod your head, grab the ladder from your truck, and set to work removing the fallen tree branch.

It was a long and tedious job, your hands acquiring many new scraps and splinters and your muscles gaining a sort of stiffness you would regret in the morning. Bloodhound had offered you gloves but you politely declined, you did not wish to ask too much of the stranger and plus, they were doing all the heavy lifting. By the time the sun had started to dip behind the horizon, your work was thankfully nearly complete. With a triumphant and defeated puff, you land ungracefully on the forest floor. Exhaling loudly, you flex your red and sore fingers and watch as your knuckles acquire a purplish tint - it sure was getting colder now. Bloodhound approaches your resting position and sits across from you, a glass of water in their hands. They extend it to you and you gratefully take it.

“Your vork is done here. I vill handle the rest. I thank you again for your rich generosity.” They say, their signature head tilt making an appearance as a sign of unspoken, and unnecessary, gratitude. You scoff and brush them, and their charming words, off with tired bashfulness.

“Please, I had you do most of the hard work.” The water goes down with much praise from your tired body and you relish for a moment in the relaxing quiet of the forest. The air was cold and getting even more so as the sun’s warmth retracted behind trees and clouds. Around you, the world was at a complete silence save for the mere brushing of leaves and the odd call of a bird. You open your eyes at this sound and see before you a raven pretched surprisingly on Bloodhound's extended forearm. It looked at home on their arm and playfully nipped and pulled at the many beads dangling from their unusual helmet. With the back of their forefinger, they gently stoke the black bird's chest feathers, a forgein whisper escaping their masked mouth.

It was a marvelous sight indeed, something you had never seen before and you were certain to never see again, but you found yourself unable to truly relish in the scenery. Your internal confusion must have made its way to your face for Bloodhound cleared their throat.

“Clouds cover your mind. You look troubled. Something the matter?” They asked and you felt embarrassment well-up in your stomach.

“No, of course not!” You dismiss haphazardly, flicking your hand around your face as if trying to shoo away an annoying fly. When it became clear that your flimsy denial did not please the raven stranger, you relented slightly. “Well, it’s just that…” Never had your words betrayed you like this and you inwardly screamed at yourself for being easily moved to speechlessness. “You seem awfully familiar to me. I mean, I know I have never met you but ever since last night I have this nagging feeling that I have seen you somewhere before?” You frown and break eye-line with Bloodhound’s disk-like goggles, shaking your head slightly in befuddlement and apprehension. You were getting too comfortable with this stranger, going so far as to feel safe enough to share such personal and tripe worries with them as if they were more than but a most perfect and dangerous stranger. Bloodhound hums and sends their bird away with a jolting motion of their arm, rocking back onto their hunches and then into a crossed-legged position. They fold their arms firmly across their chest and watch you as you try to fruitless pluck an answer from your frazzled mind.

“Your intuition rewards you. I am the many seasons vinna of the Apex Games. Perhaps you have seen me on the television.” At this you snap your head around to them and stare with wide, unblinking eyes. Suddenly you laugh and run a hand through your damp hair.

“Oh my god, of course! That makes so much sense!” You practically shout, straightening your back and coming to life in a most comedic fashion. “Then that means,” You turn to Bloodhound again this time with awkwardness flickering in your eyes, “You’re like a celebrity.”

Bloodhound shakes their head in disagreement, “You’re flattery is misguided. I am merely a hunter for the Gods.”

“Still that's… wow.” You breathe, defeated by your own stupidity and reaction. This was the furthest thing from the cool persona you had worked so hard to create and maintain - you were speaking freely and from your own ass. Was it such a shock to your system to meet this wild and unfamiliar person that you could no longer remain in your aloof loft? You were crashing down to earth and embarrassment clawed at your corpse to claim it. You send out a silent prayer that maybe Bloodhound would not notice or take offense to your spontaneous giddiness.

“I must admit.” Bloodhound’s voice wafted to your ears as if through a dream. You turn to look at them, offering what little smile you could muster. “I have never had a reaction so adverse like yours before. Most people just cower.” Their teasing comment turns your smile from artificiale to one more earnest. “I did not think the people here vatched such programs.”

“They don’t.” You answer in between breaths of laughter, catching their amused tone and running with it - playing along with them much to the ease of your heart.

“I had my suspicions that you vere not of this place and now it is clear I am correct.” They admit.

“Oh really? What gave it away? Was I too rowdy? Or was my tongue too harsh, as I have been told many times?” Your face beams with reigniting vigor, the last of your energy seeming to only grow as Bloodhound spoke more with you. They shook their head.

“Nei. Your spirit is strong and velcoming even in the face of danger. And your tongue is quick. The people of this planet, however. They are more…” They hesitate, fingers drumming on their bicep as they rake their brain for the correct words to use.

“Old-fashioned?” You offer, leaning over in their direction. They shake their head again, this time rather absent-mindedly. “Suspicious? Sheltered? Inclined to gossip?”

“You speak such harsh words yet I detect no hostility in them.” Bloodhound gazes at you from behind their mask, eyes flickering over your form in search of any hint of malice. Your airy laugh only relaxes your shoulders and brings to life your weathered face. They notice this and observe with meek delight the way your face stretches with a genuine smile. It was wonderful to see, they had to admit.

“I don’t mean any. The people here are wonderful and kind. They gave me a home when no one else did.” Your heart thumps painfully in your chest and you quickly avert your eyes back to the grassy, forest floor. It was so easy to overshare with Bloodhound, whom you had to hotly remind yourself, was a complete stranger to you. You steady your mounting nerves by plucking yellow grass in your hand and crushing the blades in your fingers. “They do have their flaws however and often, that involves making up wild stories.”

Perhaps Bloodhound had sensed your apprehension for instead of questioning your previous comment or casting you away after your needless exposure, they simply continued on with the conversation. You appreciated that.

“I have had many stories made about myself.” They say, almost proud in their odd accomplishment. “Some say that I am half bat. Others that I am fabulously vealthy. None, I assure you, are true.”

“Are you sure?” You snicker, gathering the courage to once more look them in their moonlight lenses. “That bat one sound awfully convincing.” After your comment, the world falls back into blissfully silence. The air between you two feels somewhat lighter and you breathe deeper, taking into your lungs the smell of oak, of cold earth, and of the open wilderness all around. While you know you will kick yourself later for all that you have allowed yourself to get away with, in this moment you are relaxed and content - happy to simply sit and exist.

All too soon the wind blows, dragging its boney talons along your exposed skin and reminding you of the time. You shiver and hurriedly jump to your feet, eyes glancing to the setting sun. “I should get going now.” You turn towards Bloodhound and find that they too are standing, looking up at the sky. They lower their head to you and you hand back their glass. “I must go before it gets too dark. I hope you enjoy your time here now that everything has been set right.” You take a small step backwards, “Goodbye.”

“The Allfather goes with you.” Bloodhound responds, their body bending as they bowed stiffly. You offer them a smile once more before turning and walking your way back to your truck. Suddenly you stop and spin on your heels.

“You are more than welcome to come round to the bar again! Any time! I might even throw in another free breakfast!” Though you could not see it, Bloodhound chuckled at your offer. They did not answer, however, because before they could you had already jumped into your truck and sped off down the dirt road and into town, leaving behind nothing but dust.

[casuallyimagining]

Jealousy Headcanons - OT7

Anonymous asked: Hello! Could you please do a jealousy headcanon for yoongi? Thank you!!

I’ll do you one better, anon. I’ll do jealousy headcanons for all of them. This strayed from headcanons into reactions/preferences very quickly, so if you’d prefer I write some dedicated headcanons, I’ll gladly do that.. (also I’ve combined it with an idea I’ve been tossing around in my head for the past day or so. I’m sorry if Taehyung’s isn’t good—I know the least about him.) Hope you enjoy!!

Jin

He knew you were friends with his bandmates, but he couldn’t help but think you were a little closer with Hobi than the rest.

He hated to admit that his stomach would drop when you laughed at one of Hobi’s bad jokes. He hated that it made him angry when you would go to Hobi with a problem and not him. He wanted to be happy that you were such good friends with one of his closest friends, but every time Jin sees the two of you together, he just ends up upset.

It comes to a head when Jin is walking down the hall one day at the dance studio and hears you laughing. He hears Hobi mumble “Worldwide Handsome” as Jin enters the room and you burst into a fit of giggles, and it makes his blood boil.

As much as he wants to yell and scream at Hobi—at you—not for making fun of him, but to make fun of him to his own girlfriend, and then to hear her laugh at Hobi in a way that she doesn’t laugh with Jin… he wants to badly to fly off the handle.

But at the same time, the rational part of his brain won’t let him. He loves you too much to let something like this get in the way of your relationship. He knows Hobi too well to know the joke was only in good fun, and he knows you too well to know that you would never laugh if it was mean-spirited. Jin doesn’t know if that makes it sting more or less.

So instead of yelling, he spins on his heel and walks right back out the door of the dance studio. He hears Hobi call his name, but he’s too far down the hall to care. He doesn’t hear the door latch, though, and the soft footsteps behind him alert him to the fact that he’s being followed.

The only reason you were even at the dance studio that day was because Jin had asked you out to dinner that evening, and while they were a little late finishing up, the two of you could still get takeout from your favorite spot on the way back to your apartment.

So Jin isn’t surprised that you catch up to him by the elevator, your hand slipping into his as easily as if it were meant to be there. You quirk an eyebrow at him silently, and he hangs his head.

“I’m sorry, jagi,” he mumbles, his thumb ghosting along your knuckles as you wait for the elevator. “He just knows how to push my buttons. Even when I’m not there.”

You hum in response, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to be jealous of him, you know. I love Hobi, but I’m in love with you, Jin.”

The elevator comes then, and he’s glad that pressing the button gives him an excuse to turn away from you so you can’t see the blush or the shit-eating grin that’s plastered on his face.

Yoongi

Yoongi feels like a third wheel when the two of you hang out with Namjoon. You and the Bangtan leader always end up talking poetry, or books, or film, or music in such an intellectual way that Yoongi ends up not being able to follow. So he always ends up sitting silently at the restaurant or in the living room as one of his closest friends monopolizes his girlfriend.

He hates the way you hang on Namjoon’s every word, hates the way that you nod in thought, your eyes focused solely on Namjoon as he says something that Yoongi can only assume is the most brilliant thing in the world.

Yoongi loves Namjoon, thinks of him like a brother, but sometimes he really, really wants to just tell the guy to shut the fuck up.

He finally builds up the courage to tell Namjoon off when the Bangtan leader’s phone rings and he gets up to answer it, leaving you and Yoongi alone in the shared living room of the BTS dorms.

“What do you think of the movie so far, Yoongi?” you question, turning your whole body to face him. You reach out and pull him closer so your legs are touching as you sit on the couch.

It’s then that he realizes that he can’t stay mad at you, not really. Namjoon is charismatic, and you’re friends, and Yoongi wants nothing more than to see you happy. And if that means putting up with you not paying attention to him when Namjoon is around, then so be it.

“I’d like to be able to hear it,” Yoongi jokes, pushing your shoulder lightly and giving you a wide smile. You laugh and promise that you’ll shut up so he can enjoy the rest of the movie.

You turn back to the screen after that, the remote in your hands waiting for Namjoon to return so you can press ‘play.’ Your back rests against Yoongi’s chest, and he slings an arm around your waist to pull you tighter to him.

“You know it’s harmless, right? Me talking with Namjoon?” Yoongi hums in response, but he can feel his face heating up, having been caught. “I really respect his analyses and knowledge. But he’s just a friend.”

Yoongi rests his chin on your shoulder just as Namjoon walks back into the room. You press play on the movie, and true to your promise, you don’t talk nearly as much with Namjoon as the rest of the film plays out.

Yoongi can’t help but smile when you take his hand and lace your fingers together. You might enjoy talking to Namjoon about intellectual stuff, but it’s the love you show Yoongi in the silence that makes him feel like he’s enough.

Hoseok

It was hard for Hoseok to watch you shamelessly flirt with Jin. He knows that’s just your personality—you’re friendly and affectionate with your close friends—it’s part of the reason he fell for you.

But holy shit, watching you and Jin cook together, watching the two of you come up with cheeky dance moves and sing along to the songs blasting through your phone, it really gets to him.

Hoseok is the jokester of the group, and normally, he’d come up behind you and make some sort of wisecrack, but today, he’s not particularly into it. He just feels sad.

Sad that you’re paying more attention to Jin than you are to him. Sad that you hadn’t even noticed him walk through the door. Sad that there’s a hole in your life that Jin seems to fit perfectly into.

He knows that you’re just friends. Hoseok knows that you love him, not Jin. He trusts you to remain faithful. But a small part of him is insecure in your relationship still. And it screams at him that maybe the two of you aren’t on the same page when it comes to how your relationship is developing.

But then you finally notice that he’s home, and your eyes light up in that way that they only do when you lay eyes on him. And Hoseok can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face.

“Jagiya! You have to come try this,” you call, waving him into the kitchen. “Jin was just showing me how to make this and I think you’d love it.”

You grab something out of the pot with a pair of chopsticks and offer it to him, your hand under it so it doesn’t drip. He hums in response. Whatever it was, you were right. It was good.

You smile and wipe a bit of sauce off his face with your thumb, and just like that, his insecurities are gone.

Namjoon

Namjoon knows he shouldn’t feel like this. He knows that the strangling sensation in his heart is just irrational jealousy. He knows that however close your friendship with Jungkook becomes, you would never leave him. But does he?

He walks in late one night after a long meeting with Big Hit and an even longer rehearsal with Hobi and Jimin to find you and Jungkook curled up on the couch fast asleep. Jungkook has his head in your lap, and one of your hands is in his hair, the other resting between his shoulder blades. Your laptop is plugged in and sitting open on the coffee table in front of you. Watching a movie, he surmises.

Namjoon can’t help the exasperated sigh he lets out, can’t help rolling his eyes in frustration. It’s times like this when the youngest Bangtan’s pretty face really gets under Namjoon’s skin.

Silently, Namjoon sets his jaw and goes about his nightly routine, washing his face and changing into his pajamas before deciding what to do about you and Jungkook on the couch.

He appreciates your friendship with Jungkook, truly, he does. But it’s nights like this—when he finds the two of you being overly affectionate, or when you seem to confide in Jungkook more than you do him, or when the two of you feed off each other’s competitiveness and end up in some ridiculous competition that only adds fuel to your friendship—nights like this where his insecurities seep through and he doubts himself.

He can’t bring himself to blame you for this. You’re far too amazing, and he knows that you care about him deeply. No, he tends more to reflect inwards when he feels like this, because he knows it’s his problem to sort out. If he caught you asleep on the couch with any other member of the group, Namjoon didn’t think he’d feel nearly as jealous. So what was it about Jungkook, then?

Of course, Jungkook is kind. And he’s energetic. And your personalities match in ways that Namjoon had never thought possible. It didn’t hurt that Jungkook was handsome. And there it is, Namjoon thinks as he steps back into the living room to check on the two of you. That old insecurity flaring its head again.

He considers leaving the two of you on the couch for the rest of the night. It’s late, and he really doesn’t want to wake either of you if you’re truly resting. But then he sees the odd angle that your head is resting at, and he takes pity on you. So ever so gently, he shakes your shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for you to wake up, stretching when you do. Namjoon hears your shoulder pop, and you rub it, a scowl on your face. Then, you see him, and you shoot him a tired grin, your eyes lighting up,

“Hey handsome,” you whisper, making grabby hands at him, beckoning him closer. Namjoon smiles, and he knows that he would believe anything you said, so long as you say it with as much conviction as you just spoke with. He believes you when you kiss him, soft and tender and full of love. He believes you when you chuckle softly at Jungkook snoring softly in your lap, the look on your face saying everything he needed it to. And he believes you when you tell him that you cleared your schedule for his next day off, promising to devote yourself solely to him.

Sure, he might have to deal with feeling jealous of Jungkook every once in a while, but he wouldn’t give you up for the world.

Jimin

Jimin prides himself on keeping a cool head when it comes to you. The two of you have never seriously argued before—he likes to think that he’s good at communicating his needs.

Except for one: your friendship with Taehyung can be a bit much. Jimin knows he should be grateful—he and Tae are close, so it should be a blessing that you fit right into the fold. But he just couldn’t help it.

He gets frustrated that Tae knows your go-to order at coffee shops by heart, and that he always gets food to share with you when he orders out. Jimin knows he shouldn’t get frustrated by that—Tae knows his orders, too—but for whatever reason, it just gets under his skin. Especially when you shoot Tae a smile, or you ruffle his hair.

That is, until one day when Tae, Jimin, and you are hanging out one afternoon and Tae offers to buy dinner that night. You smile warmly at Tae and ruffle his hair, and for a moment, Jimin’s heart sinks again. But then he hears you hum in response.

His heart soars when you cheerfully decline. “Jiminie and I were going to hang out tonight. Next time for sure, though.”

Tae accepts it with a laugh, and a joke about how the two of you are lovebirds, but Jimin doesn’t pay attention. His heart is pounding in in his ears, and he can feel his face flush. He can’t help it—he’s just so happy to hear you choose him.

Taehyung

Tae hates how you and Jimin connect on what seems like the molecular level. The two of you can carry on a conversation about literally anything. Fashion, pop culture, the universe. You and Jimin could talk at length about anything.

When you hang out with Tae, though, the two of you end up sitting in silence. Where you and Jimin could watch a movie and talk the whole time about your favorite characters or what you think will happen next, you and Tae watch in silence, only making comments to each other once in a while.

He knows that Jimin is his best friend, and that he would never intentionally do anything to hurt him. But there are only so many play arguments and deep, meaningful conversations Tae can walk in on before it starts to affect him.

He knows deep down that you love him, and he knows you wouldn’t leave him, especially for Jimin—he knows in his heart that you aren’t actually in love with him, despite his insecurities—but he just loves you so much, and the amount of attention you pay to Jimin makes him feel like he doesn’t make enough of an effort to connect with you.

You tend to notice when Tae is feeling jealous. He doesn’t particularly try to hide it. So when you notice him start to draw into himself, when he starts to get tenser around Jimin, you make sure to pay him extra attention.

Tae never talks about his jealousy, and you don’t want to push him, so you don’t bring it up. You know that someday, you’ll have to address it, but for now, you’re happy to dote on your grumpy boyfriend when he’s feeling this way.

Jungkook

Jungkook’s competitive side doesn’t really play well with his jealousy. He can’t help but see you hanging out with Yoongi as a challenge for him to be a better boyfriend.

He notices that you spend a lot of time with Yoongi, especially when the days are long and hard and when Jungkook can’t spend much time with you. He notices the quiet conversations the two of you share over coffee in the mornings, and the silent looks the two of you send each other before busting out into smiles and giggles.

Jungkook likes to see you happy, but it stings a lot that he isn’t the one making you smile.

When you’re hanging out with Yoongi, he does everything in his power to try to pull your attention away. And yeah, Jungkook knows he’s probably being annoying, but he rarely gets your undivided attention. It upsets him that you try to push him away to continue to pay attention to Yoongi.

You confront him about it one morning after Jungkook successfully manages to chase Yoongi from the shared living room of the dorms. Your ‘what’s your problem?’ is venomous, and Jungkook can’t help but feel like a child being scolded.

He’s silent for a long while, and you let him be. He tries to speak several times, but no matter what he wants to say, it isn’t the right thing. He knows he can be an ass, but he just wants you to love him.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of silence, you silently wrap your arms around him, and you can feel all of the tension in Jungkook’s body disappear. “You don’t have to be jealous of Yoongi,” you mumble into his chest. “He’s just a friend. Sometimes, we both need quiet, y’know?”

And he does know. He knows how sometimes, crowds exhaust you. He can only imagine how the band’s whirlwind schedule affects you.

You kiss him gently then, cupping his cheek in your hands and playfully squishing his cheeks together. “Not all of us can be an endless source of energy, my love.”

He smiles, your hands still pressing his cheeks together, and you can’t help but crack up at the sight. He promises himself then that no matter what, he’ll do better at hiding his jealousy. You love him. That’s what matters most.

[novantinuum]

Is the “villain card” really a VILLAIN card- or something else?

So, I’ve been thinking a lot today about @faelapis​‘s recent post (link in reblogs so this can go in tags) discussing the corrupted Steven theory, and specifically how he pointed out how in the intro... that the camera “zooms inside Steven’s heart” when transitioning to the shot that features Big Looming Pink Fella.

And I know the fandom generally refers to threatening spreads such as these as “villain cards,” since- at the time of the intro’s release in October, all of these characters were heavily implied to be antagonistic to our main characters in some way. But after seeing the first ten episodes of SUF in full, I feel we should pause and ask ourselves-

Are any of these characters really villains?

And if not, then what IS their role in the greater story of this epilogue, and more importantly- their role featured prominently in the show’s intro?

Let’s take a quick look at the characters we’ve seen already.

_

Jasper

Thus far, Jasper has played the least antagonistic part she ever has in the entire history of Steven Universe. I’d even go so far as to consider her a shaky acquaintance of Steven’s, at this point. 

But as far as her purpose in the show goes so far, Jasper is important because she is the very first person to mash it up with Pink Mode Steven. The very first person who catches a glimpse of this new ability of his to begin with. When Steven first shifted into this state, it was because she pushed him into a situation that was both emotionally and physically compromising. Jasper is every bit as stubborn as Steven. She knows exactly how to push his buttons. It’s for this reason that I don’t think he would’ve discovered his pink state without her, without her egging him on to fight.

Steven tries his best to be very patient with everyone, and yet his frustrations with Jasper’s inability to move forward (hypocrite, much?) elicited a rather jarring rush of directed anger that- before- he generally seemed to keep bottled inward. 

I get the strong sense that he didn’t allow himself to freely and openly express these sorts of “negative” emotions at all before this encounter. 

Furthermore, Jasper slapped him in the face with the biggest call-out of his mental state ever.

Jasper: “I don’t need your help. You’re the one that needs help. You think you’ve beaten me, but you’ve never beaten me on your own. You’ve always been a fusion. You’ve always had your friends because you’re nothing without them. You think everyone needs help.”

Steven: “I – I just…”

Jasper: “But it’s only you. No one is as pitiful as you.”

Every other episode of the show so far has only gone to further showcase that this is what Steven believes about himself right now. (See: Little Graduation, especially.)

And what happened with Jasper that day... was just the beginning of his slow decline.

Bluebird Azurite

This character... also isn’t big villain material. She’s barely even a threat.

Rather, Bluebird serves as a stark reminder for Steven that there are people out there that hate him for being him. Not only that, but those who would fuse for just that reason.

To hate him together.

(I must admit, I still find the notion of Steven potentially falling apart because of a lack of self-love interesting, as much as it is heartbreaking. But I already wrote that post, so moving on-)

But she also is a reflection of how Steven is resistant to change right now.

Greg: “I mean, everyone can change, but not everyone wants to.”

Steven: “Yeah...”

He used to believe in the idea of positive change wholeheartedly, and yet... I think the passing years have led him to a place where he himself is scared of it, of the unknown, of moving on from what’s comfortable, of all the nebulous what-ifs. Which is why when Bluebird shows up, he projects his own resistance on this scenario. He doubts Bluebird’s ability to change for the better because he now doubts that for himself.

Instead, I think he fears he may be changing for the worse.

I strongly believe we’re going to see Bluebird again. I just get the sense that there’s more she can bring to the table. 

“Mean” Lapis and “Nice” Lapis

Also not villains. Just obstacles.  

Similarly to Bluebird, they seem to push that “resistance to change” theme further for Steven. Some people just... are stuck in their ways. (Thankfully though, not all of them. Thanks, Freckles. Love ya lots!) 

Since Why So Blue is focused squarely on capping Lapis’ character arc, there’s not as much Steven-related meta threads I can glean from their first appearance, truth be told. 

I think we’re likely to see more from these two, as well. If they do serve a greater role in the overarching story of SUF, it isn’t complete yet. Fingers crossed!

Cactus Steven

Dear goodness, this creature is completely innocent. Poor baby. XD

This poor fella plays the role of being a physical embodiment of- at the time of Prickly Pair- Steven’s mental state, and pushing the lad to repress his turbulent emotions even further.

Throughout SUF so far, Steven has become consumed by negative self-talk, (”I used to be helpful, but the Gems don't need me anymore”), a stark reluctance to let anyone see the evidence of his mental instability, and explosive anger he cannot gain a handle on. 

And as his mirror, Cactus Steven: 

Repeats things Steven says, spilling all of that negative self-talk and the reasons why he doesn’t want to approach the Gems about his issues.

Is shoved away under a box, representing Steven’s emotional repression.

Warps into a monstrous form, explosive anger brimming at the surface.

Notably, Cactus Steven only fights in direct response to what others lay on him. He is not overtly antagonistic until Steven himself makes the first strike. Later, while the Gems are attempting to fight him back, he desperately tries pushing them away... much like Steven has been all season.

Cactus Steven: “Just... get... OUT!”

Furthermore, Steven creates him. He creates this monster. He’s the reason he becomes so messed up in the first place. That has to feel pretty awful, especially when he’s doubting his ability to be helpful nowadays. He tried to nurture this creature, and look where that got him? This furthers the narrative idea mentioned earlier, of Steven perhaps fearing that he’s now changing for the worse.

Finally, by by the end of this episode, it seems worryingly as if Steven’s reluctance to open up about his problems has solidified.

Pearl: “Is there anything you need to talk about...?”

Steven: “...I think I’ve said enough.”

_

To wrap...

We don’t yet know what role White Diamond will play, but it’s probable that it’ll be something that strongly impacts Steven in a personal way. And at this point in the show, I’m doubtful she’ll suddenly heel-turn back into villainy.  

With all this in mind, my current theory is that... 

These characters are not on this title sequence card as ‘villains’ at all, but rather, each serve as important ‘road markers’ on the path towards the eventual climax of SUF.

Meaning, Steven’s encounters with each of them will influence his way of thinking in a way that leads him further down the road towards eventual corruption. Or whatever else is waiting for him at the end.

And the camera specifically “zooms into Steven’s heart” because these characters, standing in front of that monster, represent the moments that lead him into that state. 

What we’re seeing here is a visual record of the burden he carries inside him.

[swan-of-sunrise]

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Three)

Summary: Steve drops by the VA and listens in on one of Sam’s meetings and later that evening, (Y/N) reflects on her unusual day with the super-soldier.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief discussion of PTSD

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Three (Previous Chapter)

After placing sugar packets and stirring sticks next to the coffee maker, (Y/N) took a seat beside the refreshment table and watched as Sam took his place at the front of the crowded room and began the meeting. One by one, each person would share their struggles with PTSD and how it had affected their lives as civilians; with each person’s story, (Y/N)’s heart clenched in sympathy. These vets have put their lives on the line to protect us, they don’t deserve to suffer, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d woken Sam up from a nightmare or had seen him suddenly grow silent and have to distract him from his memories of war. But it was wonderful that people like Sam, people who face the same exact struggles, run programs to help each other out.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) turned to see Steve Rogers leaning against the doorframe of the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the meeting. Smiling and tugging her sweater tighter around her, (Y/N) turned her attention back to the woman speaking. “The thing is I think it’s getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week, he thought I was drunk. I swerved to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

Sam nodded. “Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It’s our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase or in a little man-purse? It’s up to you.” Everyone clapped and began standing, so (Y/N) jumped to her feet to man the table. She greeted each person with a smile as they grabbed cookies and filled their cups with coffee, delighted to see so many new faces among the usual crowd. After about twenty minutes of mingling and making small talk, the crowd started to leave so she decided to begin packing up the refreshments as Sam bid them goodbye out in the hallway.

“Don’t take those away those cookies just yet, darlin’, I wanna bring one home to my gran’daughter.”

(Y/N) looked up to see Gary, an older man with an incredibly bushy grey beard and a Vietnam War veteran’s baseball cap, and she smiled brightly before offering him the half-full container. “Take the whole thing if you’d like, Gary, and be sure to say hello to Katie for me!”

That made Gary grin toothily as he took the container. “You know, darlin’, you’re sweeter than this whole damn box of cookies. I’ll be seein’ you next week!” (Y/N) gave him a small wave and resumed cleaning as he limped away.

“You’re pretty popular around here.”

She turned away from the coffee pot and smiled when she saw Steve standing before her, his blue eyes glimmering and his hands shoved in his pockets. “If I am, it’s only ‘cause I give away free cookies; the vets that visit all have a massive sweet-tooth, you know.”

“Are you a vet, too?”

“Nah, I just work here.” She tossed several used paper coffee cups into the trash and chuckled. “A year ago, when I finally graduated with my master’s degree, I started writing my novel and since I was writing about soldiers and government agents I needed to interview some about their personal experiences. So, I decided to come down to the VA. I met with Sam, who had just started working here, and asked if I could interview some people for my writing. He agreed, and I spent the whole day just talking to the vets. All sorts of vets, too; men, women, old, young, you name it. And at the end of the day, after hearing about their struggles with PTSD and how hard their lives became once they returned to civilian life, I went back to Sam and asked if he needed any part-time employees. He said yes, and we’ve been best friends ever since.” Steve smiled, and the impressed look he was giving her caused her to blush so she hurriedly changed the subject. “So, did everything work out earlier? It’s just that it seemed a little serious, so I hope that everything’s okay.”

Steve’s smile fell a little but he nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine…I was just visiting a friend who hasn’t been doing too well lately.”

(Y/N) impulsively placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult. I hope they get better soon.” The ghost of a sympathetic smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and Steve’s eyes softened after a moment; realizing that her hand was still resting on his arm, she hastily withdrew it and began folding the tablecloth to keep her hands busy. “Um, Sam and I were planning on going out to dinner after we finish packing up, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

She glanced up at him and saw a glint of something in his eyes, but it disappeared before she could get a closer look. “Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to pass; I’ve already got some plans later…”

“That’s okay, maybe next time!” (Y/N) smiled, but inside she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Just then, Sam walked into the room with a stack of pamphlets in his hands. “Pretty good turnout today, huh? Five new faces and Captain America!”

Steve chuckled. “Well, I’m glad that I stopped by.” He glanced at the clock on the wall before continuing, “I should probably get going, but it was good to see you two again.”

(Y/N) shook his hand. “I’m not gonna lie, it was a little weird seeing you in your own exhibit earlier but it was great hanging out with you!”

“You too, and good luck with For Queen and Country, I’ll keep my eye out for it in the bookshops.” His bright smile caused her heartbeat to once-again quicken as their hands dropped.

“It was good seeing you too, Cap, you made me look really awesome in front of Maria, so thanks for that.” Sam grinned and shook his outstretched hand.

“Glad I could help, Sam; see you two around!” Steve gave them a small wave before turning and walking out of the room.

Tearing her eyes away from the doorway, (Y/N) resumed her cleaning and glanced at Sam. “What do you feel like tonight, Thai or burgers?”

Sam grinned and began unplugging the coffee maker. “Burgers. So, did you have a nice day chilling with your new boyfriend, Booksmart?”

“Sam…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, (Y/N) sat down at her desk and put her music on shuffle before flicking through her notebook to the pages of notes she’d taken that day at the Smithsonian. She bit back a smile when she recognized the difference between the carefully printed notes she’d taken by herself versus the illegible scribbles taken from the elderly security guard’s long-winded explanations. He was kind of a fast talker, wasn’t he, she thought to herself; as a way of honoring the enthusiastic old man, she ultimately decided to name one of her minor characters after him.

“Stan.” She sounded out the name and gave a satisfied nod. “Yeah, that’s got a nice ring to it…”

(Y/N), now finally having all the information she needed to best describe Soviet Cold War missiles, wrote for nearly three hours straight, only taking breaks to skip songs or to glance down at her notes. She would’ve probably continued writing well into the next morning except that her eyesight was beginning to blur around the edges, an unfortunate symptom of exhaustion.

Well, you have had a pretty busy day today, (Y/N) silently reasoned as she saved her evening’s progress and booted down her laptop. Since Sam was already fast asleep in the room across the hall, she went about her bedtime routine as quietly as she could, washing her face and brushing her teeth before tiptoeing back into her room. She slipped on her mismatched pajama set and was about to crawl into bed when the record player on her bedside table caught her eye. Making her way over to what Sam affectionately called ‘The DJ Bookcase,’ she scanned the shelf devoted solely to her record collection until the right one stood out to her, and then she carefully placed the record on the turntable and lowered the needle. After a moment, the soft tones of Glenn Miller’s ‘Stardust’ filled her room and with a smile, she finally got into bed and turned to watch the record spinning on the turntable.

Thoughts of the super-soldier who’d inspired her choice in bedtime music began to fill her mind, making her smile softly to herself. (Y/N) had enjoyed seeing Steve again, even if it had been in a highly unconventional place like the Smithsonian, and she quietly marveled at how effortless it had been to talk to the larger-than-life man. He really was different from how the history books portrayed him: not only was he kind and polite, but he was also intelligent, sarcastic and extremely understanding. Also a little lost, I expect, (Y/N) thought, remembering his guarded expressions and withdrawn replies whenever she’d ask him a personal question; it couldn’t be easy adjusting to a brand-new reality, especially without a fixed support system to rely on.

“Hopefully he ends up getting the help he needs.” (Y/N) murmured to herself, her sleepy eyes continuing to watch the rotating record as more thoughts of Steve Rogers filled her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all liked my little Stan Lee cameo in this chapter and the last :) I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien​ @lahoete​ @awkward117​ @cminr​ @momc95​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @khuang3​ @supersouthy​ @benakenalove​ @brooke0297​ @hufflepeople​ @becausewelie​​ @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum​

Chapter Four

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

[darling-archeron]

this is as good a place to fall as any + feysand for the fic request thing? angst would be good (;

ask and you shall receive - i hope you like angst. I may have used this as personal catharsis and it came out as one of the rawest, and, in my opinion, most painful things I’ve ever written. Not super edited, but I hope you enjoy!  <333.

TW for minor mentions of suicide

Music in the Night

It was the end of another infinitely long day, and Feyre found herself on the roof of the townhouse. The same place she had spent lazy nights with Rhysand, curled up with the stars until dawn. They had once promised each other infinite nights like this, filled with love and whispered secrets and lazy touches.

This time, she was alone.

She had gone out into Velaris by herself today, walked the streets, and been with her people in a way that she hadn’t in years. It had left her bone-weary deep in her soul. After the war, when what was left of her family returned to Velaris, she had been too broken by her grief to mingle with her people. The only thing she was aware of was the emptiness of the void in her head where such life had once flowed. The funeral had been hell, numbness coating her mind and tongue when the priestess asked if she would say a few words.

After she had finally picked herself up, convinced herself to keep going, there was so much to be done. Simply going for a walk never seemed to make the list. Mor had kept Velaris running for years, but she didn’t rule the entire court. And Feyre had never run anything of the sort. It wasn’t long after he was gone that she realized how much Rhys had left to teach her, how much he had not known himself. It had been exhausting as she turned all her energy on fixing the Court instead of looking inward at the dark shards within herself.

 Learn as best as she could from Mor and Lucien what it took to rule, to heal rifts with the Hewn City, who barely recognized her as High Lady, and to Illyria, who only began to respect her once she showed what she was capable of. When they had time, she did physical training with Cassian. Continuing to explore the facets of her magic had been harder. The two beings who might have taught her something more about it were gone.

So for the most part, she gave herself over to her court. They deserved that much. It was nights like these when she allowed herself self-pitying, angry, sorrowful moments. Just her, the night sky, and a bottle of whiskey she had swiped from Rhys’s huge stash. The roof seemed as good a place to fall as any. To ask the Cauldron why so much of the good in her life had been taken. To ask why she always seemed to end up alone.

Because Rhys…Rhys had been taken from her. She had loved him with a passion and fury she knew had been called foolish. But the only foolish thing about their love was how she hadn’t seen the end coming, hadn’t realized that he would sacrifice everything he had to heal the cleaved Cauldron. And when Rhys was truly gone, and even trying to bring him back as he had done to her hadn’t worked – she didn’t reflect on those moments. Ever.

She had survived poverty, Amarantha, and being made, the Ouroboros, and the War. She had been born a fighter.

It hadn’t stopped her from reaching for a knife to turn on herself on that battlefield, in moments when everyone else was too distracted. Azriel had only just stopped her, and there were days she could still feel the sharp kiss of the blade on her chest.

Most of the time – most of the time she was glad she hadn’t done it.

A breeze came up, and Feyre shivered. The backs of her thighs were beginning to dig into the roof.

In the emptiness of the weeks that had followed, she found that she hated silence. Because there was never again going to be passed jokes and musings down that bridge of gold. Never again going to be music sent to her in her darkest moments.

The townhouse became emptier as well.

 Amren had sacrificed herself to end the war. Elain had eventually left Night to pursue a life of travel, slowly healing from the horrors she had witnessed. Lucien was building alliances on the continent, though only after he had been convinced that she wasn’t going to fall apart. Nesta…was complicated. She still lived in Velaris, off of accounts Feyre kept filled, but she barely saw her sister anymore. Feyre wasn’t sure which one of them was more broken, some days.

Mor needed out of Velaris too. Feyre knew she was losing her mind. Though no physical wards kept her here as they once had, she couldn’t abandon the duty she had. Because she didn’t think Feyre was strong enough.

Feyre still doubted herself every step of the way. Because in the end, she did blame herself. She had made a bad choice with what mattered the most, hadn’t seen that his final “I love you” was not a declaration, but a goodbye.

He had known what she would want to believe, apparently known her better than she had known him.

She had always been a fool for a happy ending. Had always wanted it for herself. Her mate had helped her believe that she deserved it until she saw it herself. She had been a dreamer in a Court of Dreams.

Feyre watched the city below, taking a swig of the whiskey. There was a revel in the streets a few blocks away, the beautiful, seductive music taking away the emptiness that lingered in her head.

The Night Court needed a strong leader. They deserved someone who dreamt of a better world, who wasn’t falling apart. And as much as she was unqualified, she knew she had to learn. And as much as she had wanted to let the world fall away as she descended into her grief – she had made a vow. To Rhysand, to her people, to herself. To deny that – it would make her an utter failure.

So, she had forced herself to become that person, and learn to lead, to play the games of Court. To heal wounds the war had ripped open. A leader with an iron heart and mask of steel.  

The one thing she couldn’t learn again was how to forgive. She couldn’t forgive Tamlin, or Hybern, or herself. No matter how much Mor and Elain beseeched her. Elain had dragged her to the same mind-healer that she had been seeing in Dawn. Not a daemati – but someone who focused on emotional and psychological wellness. After a few visits, she had stopped going.

She needed closure, Elain had told her. It was easy for her to say. Every inch of this place didn’t remind her of their father. How could you find closure when the wound was ripped open again every day?

Another swig of whiskey and the music grew louder. A sob hiccupped in her throat, and she pushed it down. She wasn’t drunk enough to stop caring yet, and if she started crying now she would never stop.

She wondered how the history books would be written, sometimes. Human and Fae alike. Would the fae praise how she had defeated Amarantha, or as time went on, would the ballads and stories be edited and brushed under the rug to hide how helpless the faeries had really been? Would they tell how she fought her way across that bloody plain, each swing of her sword for a better world?

Would the elegies they painted eulogize Rhysand properly?

Would they tell how she had let him die?

She shook her head violently, strands of hair shaking free from the tight braid she had pulled it back into. She had cut it to shoulder length a few weeks after the war – practically a cliché from one of the books she had read. Since then, she had never let it grow back out.

She wouldn’t let herself think of all she hadn’t done now. She had done that enough – days where nightmares tore her from sleep and she replayed those minutes on the battlefield over and over, trying to find a different way.

 Instead, she thought back to what that healer had told her at the Dawn Court. She had given Feyre breathing exercises she couldn’t remember now, and she had told her that it was okay to talk about them. It had all seemed so useless at the time.

Elain had found catharsis in it, though. She didn’t just talk about their father – she talked to him, she had confided.

Another swig of whiskey – longer, this time. It burned as it went down, and it made her buzzed enough to say what the hell.

“Rhys?” She whispered, so softly. She had never – never spoken to him like this. Screaming his name as she was torn from his arms in every last nightmare, yes. But this - she had always thought it would hurt too much.

“I hope that you’re happy, Rhys.” She knew that he thought he was Lord of Nightmares, that wherever he went after he died wouldn’t be pleasant. It was something she had been working to slowly changed his mind about, making him see that he wasn’t damned.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t stop you – didn’t realize until it was too late. I didn’t find any other way. I know – I know that you wouldn’t have had it any other way. That you didn’t want to stop me. But I’m so sorry and I will never stop regretting and hating myself for it –” Her words broke off with a sob as she finally let the tears come. “And if you can somehow hear this – I just need you to know that I will never stop loving you. And I’m trying my best to fill the void you left behind, to be the leader everyone needs me to be.” For a while, the only sound was her breathing and the distant music as her words were swallowed up by the night.

She sniffed a little. “Do you remember our last night up here? It was just a few days before we left. Did you know you wouldn’t be back?” Another long pause, like she was giving him time to reply. “I’m sure even then you were planning. But I just remember – we were up here, it was a night a lot like this. No wine or lingerie – it was just us, the stars, and the city. I fell asleep up here, in your arms. You told me stories of your adventures years ago. The time you and Azriel got lost in Malwich and – well, I never heard the end of it. I was so exhausted. Do you think Az would tell it to me if I asked him?”   

Silence echoed as the distant song wound down.

“I miss you.” She said quieter than ever, barely a breath. “You spent your last breaths telling me that you loved me…and I never said it back. Because I thought I would have a million more times to say it, and so you never heard it that final time even though I’m sure you knew –“ Snot plugged up her nose and she sniffed again, voice ugly and cracking. “I love you, Rhysand.”

She buried her head in her arms as the music slowly started up again. It slowly grew louder until she could make out a familiar tune.

Feyre could have laughed. It wasn’t the music Rhysand had sent her Under the Mountain. It was an echo of it, an answer to the original piece’s question. The haunting melody and drifting notes filled her head and her soul. They chased out the awful silence and made her feel new, if only for a moment.

She recalled back when she was human, laying in her cell as that music floated down. She had drifted somewhere in the clouds, seen faces she couldn’t make out. Just as it had been then – as she gazed out at the unclouded sky, she could have sworn she saw Rhysand peering back at her with love in his eyes – for just a moment.

Perhaps just a trick of her eyes, of a desperate soul. But as she gazed up at those bright stars, she didn’t stop the tears from falling.

I love you, Rhys. 

She stayed out there long after the music had died down until she could see a hint of dawn’s rosy hue rising over the Sidra. The memory of the song echoed in her head, keeping the silence at bay.

[away-from-anthills]

chapter seven- 

A couple of weeks later, the sky felt wet with heat, despite the beautiful, almost green tinge that hung above White Hart Woods.

Russetfoot was uncharacteristically panicky, Antstar had to note, but the red tom was trying his best not to look the part. How could he not be, really? Stripedwing was due with their kits for that very night- and by Whitetooth’s estimations, given the size her abdomen had swelled to and peculiar instinct only medicine cats and queens could pick up, it would be a large litter. However, when Antstar had offered Russetfoot a break from assigning patrols, Russetfoot shook his head- this was his duty, he said, and his alone.

“Nightblossom, Juniperfang, Emberheart, Webwhisker, would you all go on the night patrol?” he asked. Nightblossom and Juniperfang were once part of the misshapen band of loners that Antstar had recruited; they had received proper warrior names- along with Birchshine and Lilystone- at a ceremony a few days prior. Antstar had given them purposely fancy warrior names, both to ease them into the Clan easier and to set himself apart. Good names make for good publicity in leader-speak, he had heard.

“I was already on the patrol in the morning,” said Juniperfang flatly.

“Oh- well- that’s okay! Would anyone like to be on the patrol?...”

He looked around, almost sort of aimlessly, until his eyes met with Sandwhisker’s. “I’ll join,” said the old pale molly.

“You don’t have to-“

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” She laughed a bit- her voice was tangy but slightly crisp, like an orange beginning to dry in the sun. “You and Antstar act so funny about me. You know, he was trying to get me to join the elders’ den just a week ago. I don’t think he understands. I don’t know how much life I got left-“ she shot a glance at the elders’ den- “-but I don’t intend spending the rest of it rotting around in camp.”

“It’s better than whatever the hell you’re doing,” joked back Talonscar, who was in an unusually light mood. “You’re gonna dry up like leather eventually if you keep runnin’ around, thinking you’re still a spring hen!”

“I’m surprised you haven’t turned into a bat with all the sleeping and lounging in caves you do,”

she shot back to them before walking off with the other cats who had been selected.

“You mad hare of a molly!”

“Lots of talk, coming from old ragged-ears!”

Why was Talonscar so cheerful? Antstar thought. Usually, they’re just sort of bitter and quiet. …Right! The Gathering! It’s tonight!

Besides the glimpses of ShadowClan and RiverClan on the borders- and, of course, the time RiverClan had helped them, although Antstar was trying his best to forget it- Antstar had not heard much of what the other Clans had been doing. It worried him, at times. ThunderClan could take on anyone in the forest and win if they wanted to, and SkyClan was too volatile to be left to their own devices. They shared no borders with his Clan, but Antstar sensed that if something were to happen, conflict could spread to WindClan quicker than the crow flies.

When the patrol returned, he decided, he’d round up the Clan to go.

Stripedwing’s cry cut through the air like a slightly-dulled knife. Antstar could not see much beyond the yellow grasses that lined the nursery, but he heard whispers of “They’re coming!” as the permanent queens huddled around. Cherrycloud left the nursery, bringing her kits with her, just as a panicking Russetfoot rushed inward.

“Why do we have to leave?” protested Amberkit.

“I was comfortable, and I forgot my moss ball!” added Brindlekit, with crumpled frustration only a kit could muster.

“Let Stripedwing have her privacy,” she said simply. “And I don’t want any of you getting in the way.”

Whitetooth leapt out of their medicine den, practically flying over their Clanmates. Within mere seconds they had slid into the den between Sparrowpetal and Houndnose’s flanks, and Antstar could hear them take authority: “Here, madam, lie down on your side. Marblepaw-“ they flicked their head out of the nursery entrance, towards where Marblepaw stood near a camp wall. “Bring me a stick of good size.” Then, they nudged Russetfoot out of the den. “With the queens and I, it is already crowded enough. Stay out here until I give you permission.” Russetfoot began to protest, but stopped mid-word and sat down. Rockscratch joined him, and the two brothers began to share tongues in order to keep Russetfoot’s mind off of the birth unfolding behind him.

Wait, realized Antstar. If Russetfoot will be with his mate, and Whitetooth will be busy with the birth…

The commotion felt as if it would continue forever, and Antstar- trying not to look overly nosy- kept trying to shoot glances into the den from where he was sitting. Then, after what must have felt like eons, Antstar heard a kit’s cry, and saw the faintest moment of Whitetooth holding a small, dark red bundle.

He felt the patrol arrive beyond him. For a second, he inched towards Russetfoot, but the expression on Russetfoot’s face gave him all he needed to know.

For a second, his mind wandered to Marblepaw.

But he could not let her escape her mentor.

 He felt lonelier than ever, walking to Fourtrees that night, despite half his Clan being behind him.

Russetfoot, his best friend and the cat he wished he was, was in camp, and Whitetooth was bringing his offspring into the world. How strange it was, Antstar thought, that the very same cat who had watched emotionless as Sparkthistle’s throat closed and her heart gave out was now prying out and beholding life. An end to one story, the beginning to another.

Then Antstar remembered. Whitetooth had no attachment to life or to death, to good or to evil. Their sole allegiance, it seemed, was their role as a medicine cat- no matter what that had entailed.

No sooner than he had arrived did he see Fourtrees open itself in front of him, like a pop-up book. The trees seemed taller than ever, looming over him; for a moment Antstar thought he saw pairs of eyes meet his gaze from the dark leafy branches. SkyClan was already here, as was ThunderClan; he could see the silhouettes of RiverClan cats on the horizon.

“I’ve heard Twolegs call this place Druid’s Hollow,” said Nightblossom to Lilystone, her yellow eyes pried wide with the new sights and sounds around her.

“What’s a Druid?”

“No clue. Some Twoleg nonsense, I bet.”

Antstar leapt up onto the Great Rock. He could see the medicine cats that had already gathered looking around with confusion.

“I hope they’re alright,” said Honeyfur, SkyClan’s medicine cat. He was large and rather oafish, but quite docile- a far cry from the other SkyClanners Antstar had interacted with, who shared Pigeonstar’s white-hot temper.

“They’re fine,” Emberblaze assured. “They’re probably busy. Russetfoot is gone too, so something must just be happening. Like how Rosettepelt wasn’t at the gathering a few moons ago because she was monitoring a sick apprentice. Things happen.”

“I do worry about Marblepaw, though,” Honeyfur added. “Poor little thing. Whitetooth treats her well, but she looks so lonely. Every time she looks at her mother it’s like she’s been abandoned all over again…”

Antstar had never pried into Adderthorn’s private life, but it was no secret her kits were unplanned. And Antstar had a working theory as to why- any time she was at a Gathering, her eyes were glued to a ShadowClan tabby who bore striking resemblance to Marblepaw and Twigpaw. He never said much about it- it was none of his business, and besides, one secret could spill another.

“Hello, Antstar.” He fell out of his thoughts to see Pigeonstar and Tatteredstar staring towards him. Antstar noted they were physically quite close to each other. Unusual- Pigeonstar almost always liked to keep a distance, as did Tatteredstar.

“Hi.”

“We heard about Sparkthistle’s passing from a RiverClan patrol,” said Tatteredstar, bowing her head. “Deepest apologies.”

“I- thank you.” He wanted to think about Sparkthistle as little as possible. Part of him worried: What if he told everyone about it on accident? What if-

Then, a calming, river-like scent flowed through the Fourtrees air, and Antstar turned to see RiverClan. From the Gathering rock, he noted, their numbers looked quite small, compared to ThunderClan and SkyClan’s. Tulipstar lead them, although she was hard to spot among them because of her size. She leapt up onto the Gathering rock and bowed her head, before turning to Antstar. “Did you-“

“- Yes, we buried her. Near the farm.”

“I’m so sorry about it.”

“Thank you.” He knew Tulipstar was trying to be nice, but the constant mentions of the cat he had in part killed made him feel dizzier.

“Now we wait for ShadowClan,” Pigeonstar huffed. “Always late...”

“Don’t complain,” said Tatteredstar, nudging him. There was a peculiar closeness to the two leaders this particular Gathering- not one of fondness, but definitely some sort of bond. Were they working together? And why?

After a few more minutes of small talk, ShadowClan finally entered the clearing. Antstar had to admit he looked forward to seeing Currantstar most of all. The tom was something of a reminder to him that there was hope for him. Currantstar was a paragon- not even Pigeonstar could find complaints with him, besides how he tended to be late at Gatherings. The ruddy-colored tom leapt up onto the Gathering rock, his eyes almost permanently in a calm, nearly half-lidded expression. He and Russetfoot were the cats Antstar wished he could be, instead of the reflection that greeted him every time he got himself a drink. Chatter continued to ripple through the clearing until Pigeonstar gave a yowl.

There was a long silence, until Tulipstar tapped Antstar’s side with her plumy orange tail. “You go first, Antstar.”

Right.

“Well- uhm- WindClan has been doing mostly well. My- uh…“ He looked around to see Pigeonstar and Tatteredstar, who were reacting to him with what was at best an expression of secondhand embarrassment. “My deputy Russetfoot and his mate Stripedwing are having their kits tonight, and that’s why my deputy and the medicine cats aren’t here. Also, we found a group of loners on the edge of territory and took them in; two elders and four warriors: Juniperfang, Nightblossom, Lilystone, and Birchshine.”

“Of course, the loner cat lets in more loners,” snickered a cat from below with a sharp SkyClan accent. Antstar pretended not to hear them.

“We have three new warriors; Spiderfoot, Coalclaw, and Sparrowpetal. Finally, you may have heard already- I know RiverClan has- but one of…” His breath was shaky. He took a moment to capture it again before continuing. “One of our warriors, Sparkthistle, tripped over the gorge and drowned in the waters below. RiverClan helped us locate her body, and we are thankful for their help.”

There was a murmur of condolences- but a rather half-hearted one. Sparkthistle was not a popular cat in other clans, either.

“It has been an eventful moon, but- but not one we can’t handle. I have nothing else to report.” He stepped back, catching his breath. Someday, he thought, he’d try to get used to this.

“RiverClan has been doing alright, but not as well as we hoped,” added Tulipstar. “There has been less fish in the water than usual, and it has been taking a toll on us. In addition, we worry about Greencough rippling through our clan. While all those infected are currently on the mend, it worries us greatly, as it is a stubborn illness to deal with. However, I have optimism that things will be on the mend. Owlpaw has become an apprentice; he is Squirrelface’s first.”

There was a cheer for the little dark brownish-gray tom, who sat next to his mentor near the front of the crowd. Antstar looked at Squirrelface, who he had recalled as the son of Redfeather, the cat who had helped WindClan find Sparkthistle’s body. He was her spitting image, albeit visibly younger, and his eyes glowed with the pride and the daunting experience of one’s first apprentice. There was something slightly haunted and hunted, however, behind that pristine red-furred expression- and given what Antstar recalled having been told about his youth, he figured there was something more to what Squirrelface saw in his apprentice.

Currantstar stepped forward. “We in ShadowClan have been doing pleasantly. The charred remains of the fire from a couple of moons ago have given way to new life, and prey is returning to normal levels. Besides that, however, we have no news to report.”

Antstar shot a glance into the ShadowClan crowd to see their reactions to their leader- something he had neglected to get a good look at before. But what he saw shocked him. Despite how flawless he had thought Currantstar to be, ShadowClan’s denizens were looking at him with scorn. A calico and a golden tabby in the first row were trading whispers of insults about their leader with each other, and a white molly with pale gray patches seemed too hurt to even look at him. Even Whitestone, Currantstar’s deputy, seemed to regard his leader like he was the aftertaste of a rotten piece of meat. But why? From what Antstar saw, everything Currantstar did was perfect…

But he had no time to ruminate on it, as ThunderClan and SkyClan stepped up to the plate.

“ThunderClan,” Tatteredstar announced, “is having an unprecedented number of kits. In addition to Sootyspots and Sleetwhisker’s litters, Foxbriar had her own litter of three just a quarter-moon ago: Spanglekit, Turtlekit, and Maplekit. We also found a stray abandoned litter on the border, which Sleetwhisker has taken in as her own to raise: Seedkit, Yarrowkit, and Ryekit.”

Antstar soon realized why she might have taken in the abandoned kit litter: Sure, it would be against Code otherwise. But she was also using them to boost population numbers for whatever point she was going to make here. Thirteen kits had more persuasion power than ten.

And then it began to hit Antstar. If Tatteredstar was using them for that… back when he had been taken in as a kit… Did Shalestar-

“Thirteen kits is a massive number- not one I myself have seen since I was young. But if we are to raise them, especially in the upcoming fall… we are going to need plenty of territory.”

Antstar began to see where this was going.

“That’s why,” Pigeonstar stepped in, “I and Tatteredstar have struck a deal. We will share more territory than usual for the upcoming six moons. SkyClan will provide more territory for ThunderClan to hunt upon, and ThunderClan will be our allies in battle in exchange.”

Tatteredstar, however, seemed unpleased that Pigeonstar had interrupted her. “However, even with our alliance we are uncertain of if we will have enough.”

Their gaze turned to Tulipstar, who suddenly looked like a flower between stones, trying her best to blossom.

“And you will recall, Tulipstar,” Tatteredstar continued, “that our deal has run out, now that we are on the brink of leaf-fall.”

“I- yes.”

“So we will be asking if we can have Sunningrocks. From you.”

Antstar watched as Tulipstar suddenly struggled in place. She stammered, looking for something to say; she struck a glance into the crowd of RiverClan cats behind her. “I am aware, Tatteredstar, our deal has run out. But is SkyClan’s grounds not enough for you?”

No reply. The clearing was so silent that one could practically hear a shrew think.

“You have asked for Sunningrocks. But with my Clan already on the brink, with illness and hunger mingling among us and with Sunningrocks being our current best hunting spot… I can’t in good conscience grant you it.”

“Well, well,” said Pigeonstar. Tatteredstar however only flicked her ears in response.

“If you will not let us have Sunningrocks, I am afraid we will have to resort to more extreme measures. I would not want this for us- your Clan is outnumbered.”

Tulipstar turned to Antstar and Currantstar, a flash of desperation peppering her jade green eyes. For a moment, Currantstar stepped forward, only for sharp cries of anger to ring out from his Clan.

“What has RiverClan ever done for us?”

“Don’t sacrifice us to them to make peace, you son of a bitch!”

“Oh, now the fickle coward’s going to tell us about how important loyalty and unity is!”

Antstar still couldn’t wrap his head around why ShadowClan seemed to detest Currantstar so much. For a second, he opened his mouth to defend him, but he realized it would only make matters worse. The damage was done, and Currantstar stepped back, bent over as if he were about to fold into himself and be gone. Antstar turned to see Pigeonstar’s teal eyes and Tatteredstar’s wearier yellow ones burn into him like comets upon the Earth.

And yet…

He had to make a decision here. Tulipstar’s guidance was invaluable to him. He couldn’t let that go.

“I’ll fight with RiverClan,” Antstar butted in. “Or rather, we will. They have been a close ally for many moons.”

He looked to WindClan, who seemed hesitant but open about the idea. He caught Molethroat hesitantly eyeing the bulky ThunderClan warriors. Even Toadpool, stalwart as ever, looked slightly uncertain. But the younger warriors, like Spiderfoot and Juniperfang, burned with ambition; the courage only a cat under two years old could truly have.

“Thank you, Antstar,” said Tulipstar, the tenseness leaving her body like a slowly-draining water spring. Pigeonstar seemed insulted, but Tatteredstar remained absolutely still, analytical as always, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two leaders against her like a clock pendulum.

“Fine, then. We shall battle at noon a week from now. If RiverClan and WindClan win, we will let you keep Sunningrocks. And if we don’t…” She narrowed her gaze- she did not need to finish the sentence.

 Antstar made no conversation on the way back, his ears pinned flat against his head. Would WindClan hate him for what he had chosen? He hoped not. Most WindClan cats seemed to like RiverClan, after all. Was he overthinking?

The gorse flowers that marked home were a welcome sight. Antstar wanted nothing more than to rest in his den and sleep- it was like the other leaders had drained his energy.

But he would not get rest, as Rockscratch greeted him immediately straight to his face. “There’s seven of them!”

“Seven of-?” Antstar attempted to ask, but he was cut off.

“Seven kits! I’ve never seen a litter so large! Oh, Russetfoot’s going to have his paws so full…”

Seven? Antstar tried his best not to look nervous. That meant seven warriors, yes, but also- seven mouths to feed, seven apprentices to track and train… With Cherrycloud’s litter, that meant WindClan nearly had enough kits to rival ThunderClan’s supposedly massive amount.

Whitetooth greeted Antstar, smelling of kit fluid and freshly-nursed milk. “There’s seven of them, yes. Most of them are strong and healthy, exception being the runt of the litter, but that’s usually the case. The parents are very tired, they’ll show you them tomorrow.”

“How will we manage seven kits?”

“Same way we always do, my friend,” Whitetooth reassured. “They have excellent name choices, too. There’s Rustkit and Aphidkit, the dark red tabbies; Runningkit and Dewkit, the gray tabbies; Wheatkit, the fawn tabby…”

Antstar already felt his head spin with all these new names.

“-And Mousekit and Thistlekit, the brown tabbies. Thistlekit is the runt and the weakest of the litter, but I assure you he is not as weak as he may seem.”

“That’s…”

“It is a lot, yes. An unusual amount. We are very glad fortune has smiled on Stripedwing, as she seems well. We have enough queens to care for the lot of them.”

Antstar nodded along, making a mental note to himself to reassign Goldenpaw’s mentorship to Webwhisker. She had originally been Shadeflower’s apprentice, but she had drifted away from queenhood and Shadeflower clearly had her paws full.

“Do you have any concerns, Whitetooth?”

Whitetooth thought for a moment, but simply shook their head. “No- not that I know of.” Their eyes narrowed. “But if you ever need anything, you know who to ask.”

Away they slunk to the medicine den, Marblepaw greeting them at the entrance. Even from the other side of camp, Antstar could see a glint of fear in her sunset-colored eyes.

Part of him wanted to do something.

But a larger part of him was wise.

Antstar barely has turned around, however, before another Clanmate of his greeted him with bright yellow eyes. It was Stoatslink, looking unusually alert even for how alert he was. He was a rather stiff, sinewy fellow, with a snout that was round and exaggerated like a bull terrier’s. His fur was short and white but very coarse to the touch, always flattened against his body to the point you could often see his muscles peek out beneath them. His eyes were small and often at a squint, yet they still were the yellow of gorse in full bloom.

“I have to talk to you about something, Antstar. It’s beginning to worry me…”

Antstar nodded, and Stoatslink motioned for them to leave camp together. Something terrible and black and cowardly began to bubble in Antstar’s belly as he remembered who he had often once seen Stoatslink with…

 It was a peaceful night, now that the clamor of the birth had died down and cats were falling asleep one by one. He could hear Birchshine and Emberheart chattering in the distance as the two cats took up the night watch, and, faintly, the soft hoots of the first owls to awaken.

“I know RiverClan said Sparkthistle drowned.”

Immediately, Antstar felt nauseous.

“But I can’t help but think something else happened. I mean, hunting out on her own? In the dark of night, just before a storm?” He shook his head.

“I think something else had to have gotten her… and they used the gorge as a cover-up.”

Antstar felt as if his heart was pulling itself apart, into smaller and smaller pieces. He wanted to crawl into himself like a snail into its shell. Part of him wondered- should he already give himself up? Should he tell? Should he also say Whitetooth-

“Now, I don’t think it was anyone in the Clan.”

Relief sprang across Antstar, although it felt fleeting.

“I trust Whitetooth. I think they’re telling the truth. Besides, Sparkthistle had her enemies outside the Clans. She’d go over and pick on the barn cats when she was feeling restless. She’d get into spats with them. I tried to warn her not to, but she was on a path to self-destruction. Not even the will of StarClan could stop her.”

“So…” Antstar tried not to fidget in place. “What do you think happened?”

“I could see her going out on her own.” He looked off into the distance sagely, and Antstar could see the gears of his mind turn like a polished watch. “I think a loner cat- one she would have been enemies with- came across her and had enough of her. They probably strangled her, given the lack of blood, and then threw her into the river to cover their tracks.” He clicked his tongue. “And the storm would act as a perfect curtain, washing away the scent.”

Antstar wasn’t sure if he should have felt hidden, safe, just escaped from his own doom; or exposed, just an inch away from his downfall.

“I think that’s a bit of a reach.”

“It might be, Antstar. But I worry. Sparkthistle was on her way to Hell, no matter what anyone- including myself- said otherwise. But there’s the off-chance that this stranger had a vendetta against our very Clan.” He looked back to camp, where his daughters, Milkpaw and Goldenpaw, were falling asleep trading gossip and sly insults about the other Clans with Twigpaw. “I worry about my kits, I guess, that’s all. I wouldn’t want them to suffer that fate. Or lose me to whoever this stranger might be. I was Sparkthistle’s closest thing to a friend, after all. They already lost their mother… I can’t bear the idea of them having a warrior ceremony after all.”

There was a long silence between them, punctured only by whispers from beyond.

“I dunno. Maybe I’m wrong and she really did fall over into the gorge like that. But if I see anything suspicious… I’ll tell you about it.”

Away the wiry white tom went into camp to sleep, and Antstar found himself alone once again, surrounded by his own Clan.

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys and an Insecure MC

Alternate Title: Coping mechanisms? In my demonic dating sim? It’s more likely than you think.

I honestly didn’t mean for this to be so long, but hey.

CW: Depression, self hatred, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Lucifer: It was subtle, but nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. He saw them fidgeting with their tie before heading to class, watched the frown tug at their lips when all they managed to produce was a rumpled tangle of silk. Caught them poking ruefully at their acne scars in the reflection of their D.D.D. Heard the frustrated sigh as they tried to sit in a way that hid the meat on their abdomen. But, above all, he paid close attention to those comments.

“Wow, I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“You would have to be a professional makeup artist to fix this mess, haha!”

“It’s alright, you can say I’m ugly.”

That was it. Lucifer stood from his seat at his desk, an errant paper fluttering to the ground in his wake. The Firstborn made his way over to where they were sitting, working away diligently on their laptop. Their breath caught in their throat when they turned to face him, and Lucifer fought back a sadistic grin when he felt them shudder at the feeling of his gloved hand sliding beneath their chin. He would file that away for later.

“That’s quite enough.” his voice was low as he lifted their face. They averted their eyes, clearly uncomfortable, but he kept his hand where it was. “Self-deprecation is unbecoming on anyone, but I certainly will not have it marring that beautiful face of yours.”

Nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. Especially not the shy smile they wore as they bade him goodnight.

Mammon: Call him an idiot all you like, but if there was one thing that a solid gambling career had taught Mammon, it was how to read a person’s tells. The way they stood with their arms folded and body turned inward said they were trying to hide. Their habit of avoiding mirrors told him they hated the way they looked. The twinge of resigned sadness on their face when they carefully deflected Asmo’s blatant flirting made it obvious that they thought they didn’t deserve it.

It must have been particularly bad one night. The two of them had made themselves comfortable on the bed in preparation for movie night, but instead of cuddling up next to him like they normally did, they sat far enough away that Mammon had to actually scoot forward to jab them in the shoulder.

“Hey, what gives, human? Why’re you all the way over there?”

“I’m just feeling a little warm.” they shrugged, pulling their knees to their chest. They were trying to pull some reverse psychology bullshit by purposefully staring him in the eye while they lied to him. Mammon snorted.

“You really think you’re going to fool me like that? You’ve got at least a millennia until you can even think of lying to The Great Mammon!” he opened his arms and his voice softened when he spoke. “Come here.”

They hesitated - eyes flicking back and forth between him and a knot in the branches that made up their bed frame, nervous - before they tucked themselves into his waiting arms.

He leaned his cheek against the top of their head, inhaling the sweet smell of their freshly-washed hair and internally purring (maybe externally, but you wouldn’t be able to get him to admit it) when he felt them snuggle in a little deeper and release a pent up sigh.

Mammon stayed silent, absently stroking the back of their neck. Words had probably done the damage, and they definitely weren’t going to fix it. He knew that from experience. But shielding his human from their own poisonous thoughts for a few moments was a good place to start.

Levi: Self-deprecating comments were one of Levi’s main forms of communication. It was a defense mechanism, a low-level shield someone would cast when the enemy was ridiculously OP but the game didn’t give you a retreat option. He knew this mechanic.

But when he heard them use it, it made him angry.

How could someone as amazing as them - smart, pretty, brave, loved gaming, made sure to feed Henry 2.0 when Levi was at a Sucre Frenzy concert - think they were anything less then perfect? No, more importantly, who hurt them so badly that they started thinking that way?

He felt like he did that one time Mammon had dropped one of his limited-edition Ruri-chan figures from a balcony. Someone damaged something precious to him, and he wanted blood.

Of course, that would involve talking about feelings and other mushy, normie stuff, and he just wasn’t ready for that. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

Leviachan: Hey, you down for a raid? There’s this new set of armor - it’s suuuuuuper rare, and you’re the only one good enough to get through the dungeon with me!! Pleeeeaaaassseee?

Satan: These little reading dates had started without him really noticing. One day, the human had came into the library seeking a quiet place to study and finish up their homework. Then, they came in with a human world book that Satan had never heard of tucked under their arm and were more than willing to talk about it. This lead to the two of them huddled on the sofa with their noses buried in the same book, and the human surprising Satan by being able to keep up with his reading speed. And here they were.

Satan had chosen a detective novel that he was positive they would like, and the both of them had taken advantage of a quiet Sunday morning to let themselves get absorbed into the story. Satan had his long arms wrapped around them holding the book, and they were leaning against his chest as they flipped the pages. An easy routine that the two of them had fallen into.

He felt them sigh heavily against him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I just...” they trailed off, gazing out the window at the dusty purple sky before snapping back to the present. “The love interest in this book is amazing. I’m a little jealous of them.”

“Jealous?” Satan echoed, looking down at the small frame curled up in his arms. “Why would you be jealous?”

“They were able to do so much with their life. They’re so young, yet they’ve got their life sorted out, they’re smart, beautiful, charismatic, and they’re confident in themselves despite all the shit people put them through...” they sighed again, and this time Satan heard the note of self-hatred on the exhale. “I can’t do anything like that.”

“Now where did you get that idea?” Satan said incredulously. “In the few months you’ve been here, you have excelled in every class you’ve taken, stood up against all of us in our true forms at least twice each, solved a murder, and convinced me to stop plotting to rip Lucifer’s throat out. All while adjusting to life in a world where most of the citizens could kill you by poking you a bit too hard. I would say that goes above and beyond ‘having your life sorted out.’“

The blush that bloomed across their face was so hot that Satan was able to feel it through his shirt, right next to his heart. He chuckled softly as he bent down to kiss their hair. 

“I could write for eons about how amazing you are and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Asmo: Emotions fell right into his area of expertise, and even if they were immune to his charm, Asmo still could smell their emotions like a perfume. And their low self-confidence reeked like rotten fruit. A beautiful arrangement that had been abandoned and left to decay.

The Avatar of Lust was an inquisitive soul (Lucifer would call it being nosy, but whatever.) He was also a firm believer in the theory that you can tell everything you need to know about a person by their skincare routine. So that’s what led to him sneaking into their bathroom while Mammon had dragged them out on one of his stupid get-rich-quick schemes.

“Oh, I don’t think so!” Asmo cried in alarm as he picked up the bottle of human world acne treatment. “They might as well be washing their face with snake venom!”

With a scoff, Asmo kicked the waste basket out from beneath their counter and tossed the face wash in. Bottle after bottle followed it, and Asmo was just about to dump the last bottle of what he assumed was straight rubbing alcohol when he heard the door open.

“Asmo, what the fuck.”

“Darling, we need to have a very serious discussion about your choice in skincare products.” Asmo grimaced as he glanced at the label on the bottle before unceremoniously dropping it into the bottle graveyard. “Can you even pronounce some of these?”

Ah, there it was. The sickeningly sweet smell of self-hatred. Asmo fought the urge to recoil as they practically dove for the trash can.

“Asmo, come on, I have gross skin as it is, don’t take away the only things keeping me from looking like a slice of pizza.”

The sound of glass breaking echoed somewhere in the back of Asmo’s head. That rotten smell was rolling off of them in waves, but he fought off his aversion and knelt down next to them.

They nearly hit the ceiling when Asmo clasped their hands between his own. “Now, now, none of that.”

“None of what?”

Asmo giggled. “You know I wouldn’t bother associating myself with someone unsightly.” one of his hands moved to gently cup their jaw. “You poor thing, you’ve been ruining that lovely face of yours.”

“I didn’t think I could make it any worse.” they muttered, looking away as Asmo stroked a thumb over their cheekbone.

Asmo’s heart clenched, and he leaned forward to kiss them gently on the forehead. “Oh, I can’t stand hearing that kind of talk, especially coming from you. That settles it, then.” he stood with an air of finality.

“Settles what?” they tilt their head in a manner that reminded Asmo of a very adorable puppy.

“We’re going to get you some proper skincare products, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night making you feel like the divine beauty you actually are.”

It was only for a second, but Asmo swore that overpowering smell of rotten fruit was replaced with something just a little fresher.

Beelzebub: Normally, the Avatar of Gluttony wouldn’t complain about someone not eating. More for him. But he didn’t like the way the human was pushing food around their plate without actually eating any of it. They usually loved fried bat wing, too.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low so his brothers wouldn’t butt in. “Aren’t you hungry?”

They laughed sheepishly, pushing their plate towards him. “Nah, not really. I was snacking all day. Here, you can have it.”

“But I just heard your stomach growl.”

Shame flashed across their face before they looked up at him with a grin that didn’t quite make it to their eyes. “I guess, haha. Just trying to watch my figure, you know?”

Before Beel could swallow down the mouthful of bat wing - when did he even pick it up? They had stood from the table and excused themselves, saying something about having a lot of homework.

It was a few hours before they got back to their room. What had started as them doing their homework in the living room had turned into Mammon begging them to help him study, which then somehow turned to Mammon challenging Satan to a pillow fight. Finally, they had decided to give up and do their homework in their room.

Something delicious wafted out of their room when they opened the door. The source was an overly full plate of food - with extra bat wing, they noticed - sitting on their desk. Blinking in confusion, they shut the door behind them and approached the plate. When they got closer, the note tucked underneath the plate came into view.

Please eat properly. I don’t want you to starve.

-Beel

Belphegor: He never would have called himself needy or touch-starved before. But after spending so long stuck in that attic room with his only interaction being with Lucifer, Belphegor couldn’t seem to get enough physical contact. Especially with the human.

He knew he didn’t deserve their affection, not with how he took advantage of them, manipulated them, murdered them. But the human had enough room in their heart to forgive him, and he would take any ounce of affection they were willing to give.

But it still stung when they flinched.

It was only for an instant, but Belphegor could feel the instinctual tightening of muscles when he draped himself over their shoulder. Feel them jump when he bumped shoulders with them in the hall. Feel their heartbeat speed up when he decided to use them as a body pillow.

“You know you can tell me no, right?” he murmured sleepily as the moment passed and the human settled down.

“Would you stop if I did?”

“Hm...” he hummed, cracking open one amethyst eye to peer at them. “If you don’t like me touching you, why do you let me do it?”

The human sighed, scooting down from their position against their headboard so they were face to face with Belphegor, who still had his hands around their waist like they were a giant teddy bear.

“It’s more like...I can’t believe you want to touch me.”

Now that woke Belphie up - well, as up as he could be while still doing his best impersonation of a koala. “What?”

They laughed, but it sounded strained. “Come on, Belphie, look at me. I’m all...jiggly.”

“So?”

Silence. They looked at him like they were trying to solve a puzzle, and he met their gaze like he was trying to figure out why they couldn’t figure it out.

“It’s not like it matters,” he shrugged, snuggling down into the soft blankets and holding the human a little bit tighter. “I like touching you because you’re you. You being soft and warm is a side benefit.”

“Belphie - “

He yawned, and they genuinely couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Shh, I’m going to sleep. You’re my pillow, so don’t talk. Especially if it’s negative stuff like that.”

Honestly, that was the best nap they’d had in a while.

[mecomptane]

Blew up my old laptop so I’m trying to recover things from it. (Okay, a slight exaggeration. Maybe.) Apparently I decided to write Star Wars fic at some point? It’s here for posterity, definitely no beta, can’t guarantee the quality. So, the usual. (Pretty sure this was also a 3am sort of thing.)

-

Yoda has been Grand Master of the Jedi Order for going on five centuries, alive for nearly nine, and still, sometimes, feels like he's barely one.

It's few and far between, admittedly--history doesn't exactly repeat, no, but the motivations of sapient beings don't particularly change, and once you understand why people make the choices they do, then you can generally guess what any person or group might do in response. It's not flawless and has failed him before, but between lived experience, his strength in the Force, and the Republic having little changed, overall, he's usually right. Or at least, unsurprised.

The Councilors call him unflappable, the Masters and Knights steadfast, and the Padawans and Initiates whisper that he is Ancient and Omniscient.

Yoda, mostly, calls himself tired.

This is a song and dance he knows well, has all but memorized the steps to. Padawans become Knights become Masters and find an Initiate to teach and mentor and raise, the closest they will ever be to children of blood being children of their hearts. Years--in some cases, a decade or more--will weave the two into a knot of compassion and knowledge and reliance (but never attachment), and with the Trials the Master shears their Padawan's braid and the Padawan shears the rope that had once bound them so tightly, and the two walk away, together but inherently separate, to live their lives as sole individuals connected only by the gossamer web and weave of the Force, as all living things do.

Countless have come and gone, all with slightly different steps or rhythms. Not all have been successful. Jedi walk in the light and dream of the sun, but shadowy corners and secrets in darkness are tempting, too intriguing to pass up the chance to investigate. Rare are those who give in; rarer still are those who find their way back. But it does happen, as much as they might wish it otherwise.

Yoda has seen all of them in nearly a millennia, can trace the pattern and knows the steps of that dance, too. Not that of true Sith, no, but the path to becoming a Darksider is identical to that of a Jedi with only a few steps reversed, repeated, skipped over. Once the first misstep occurs, it takes barely any thought to see where and how the dance might change. Will they weave back and forth, between light and darkness? Will they flit into the shadows briefly and find it not to their taste, thereafter choosing only the path strung with the lanterns of faith? Will they stumble into the shadows once, twice, again and again, until the light itself hurts their eyes and they cannot see save anywhere but darkness?

One step, two, a few more--that's all it takes, now, for Yoda to know. He's been wrong, true, but those times were more that he'd given into hope. Hope that they'd find their way into the light, that their dance would one day realign with that of the rest of the Jedi.

So as Yoda sits among the Council, the dimming light of Coruscant's pale setting sun struggling in through the windows, he is thrown. Surprised. Confused.

"I will take him as my Padawan," Qui-Gon Jinn says, hands resting reassuringly on the shoulders of a supernova given form. So bright, so powerful, spilling everywhere with little control, care, or concern. Yoda can barely look.

Behind the duo stands a white dwarf of the Force, the light and warmth turned inward and controlled, peaceful but puissant and exactly like a Jedi should be, but.

But.

"Obi-Wan? He is ready for his Trials."

"Decide that, the Council shall."

In a room of so much light, where the brightest and most powerful Jedi in the galaxy sit in state, there is an undercurrent of shadows. A slight dimming in the corners, a hint of something obscuring the warmth and nurturing rays.

Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker.

Yoda looks between them and the Council, and wonders.

-

When he was younger, Yoda delighted in his Padawan learners. That he lived so much longer than any other species or race was a detriment to others, but it allowed him to have generations of Padawans and their Padawans, Grandpadawans and Greatgrandpadawans. Each of his students had siblings, younger or older; each had nieces and nephews; all had someone to fall back on, to speak with, to rely on. To be family with.

Attachment was not the Jedi way, but compassion and selfless love was. All of his students--and their students, so on and so forth--understood that, embraced that.

Eventually he became the Grand Master and became so busy with duties he could not devote the time to another Padawan, to his Lineage as he once did. They understood, relied more on each other, and while some came to him with questions or concerns it was a rarity. And then--somewhere along the lines--it stopped happening altogether. A Lineage was called after the oldest surviving member, but when there were gaps of three, four, ten generations... did one really still count as part of that Lineage? But that was fine, as it should be; the Force is Life and Life is forever changing, growing, renewing. Yoda had learnt at the side of a Master long gone but fondly remembered, now part of the Force; his students, too, memories and trinkets, memorabilia tucked carefully away in a chest in his room, never opened but a reminder nonetheless.

The desire to teach Dooku had been unexpected, unanticipated, almost unappreciated. It had been years since he last had a Padawan learner of his own... but why not? He'd long since turned over immediate day-to-day responsibilities to an aide, now the Master of the Order, and aside from popping in to teach classes or spend time in the creche, he had ample time for a personal student again.

Of course, the way that had turned out... but Dooku's own Padawan, Qui-Gon, had been bright and sensitive to the ways and wills of the Force, and always willing to help another Padawan, always willing to lend an ear or support. Maybe Dooku hadn't turned out as Yoda had hoped, but surely Qui-Gon would be better.

And he was, with Feemor. Maybe not the most in-touch Master, preferring books or research or his plants and animals and following the eddies of the Force invisible to most others, but he cared. He wanted Feemor to succeed, to thrive, as did Yoda. And Feemor did, passing his Trials with little difficulty and much grace; a Jedi Knight to be, surely, proud of.

Xanatos, however....

He'd deserved to be repudiated, true. Yoda had even cautioned Qui-Gon about his second Padawan, having seen the steps and the missteps and the constant swaying between light and dark. A Shadow, he'd suggested. Cautioned. Xanatos could not walk in the light, not like Feemor, but enough light he had in him to walk in both, to be a Shadow of their Order. Qui-Gon hadn't listened, still too proud, too arrogant, after Feemor.

In the end, Xanatos became a Darksider. Qui-Gon, as custom and duty and common sense demanded, repudiated him. But not just him, no, for if he'd gone so wrong with Xanatos, surely Feemor, too, was secretly not what he appeared to be? And so Feemor had suffered for his younger brother's choices, for Qui-Gon's pride and lack of attention to detail, for his desperation to not stain or blemish the Lineage of the Grand Master.

Two students, one Jedi Knight, one Darksider. Two repudiations, one earned, one not.

Qui-Gon had sworn off all further students, had nearly been convinced to take another, had rejected them in the end. The Force had brought them back together, and Qui-Gon could not ignore such a sign, but--

Obi-Wan is quiet in the Force. As a child he'd been as a river, calmly flowing one minute and the tempestuousness of white water the next, but always moving, always steady. As a babe... Yoda remembers the young human, presumed Stewjoni, being brought into the Hall of Healing for the first time, so young and already so part of the Force it had nearly wrapped around him. Not a vergence, not power, but a pin in an ever-changing tapestry, a marble dropped into the center of a taught sheet, a boulder in the middle of the river he'd become part of.

Chaos in the midst of calm, or the calm waters of the eye of a storm?

Obi-Wan learnt the steps of those around him, learnt to dance between light and darkness with Quinlan Vos and somewhere along the lines chose to remain in the light. But these were not his steps, Yoda could see. They were the steps of the Masters, the Knights, the Padawans, even other Initiates; they were what should be, what Kenobi himself clearly wanted to do, to be, but were copied from others, a reflection of truth and not what actually was.

The only times Yoda could remember Obi-Wan stepping out on his own, trying to make his own dance--Melida/Daan. Mandalore. Qui-Gon had either left him alone or with minimal guidance, and without the framework of the Order to guide him, Obi-Wan had fallen back on what he believed to be right, to be the will of the Force. Protect the Young. Protect the Duchess. Stop a war. (Even if it meant fighting.)

Obi-Wan wouldn't be happy strictly as a Peacekeeper, no. He had the knack for it, a skill with words and negotiations that most Masters could only wish for, but the boy's heart--his desire--was to defend and protect that which was Good.

And now, here. Naboo.

Qui-Gon's body lays in repose in the next room, waiting for the sunset and the pyre. Obi-Wan kneels before him, a Knight in a Padawan's garb, and while he never fails to make eye contact, there's a careful guard to it.

Peacekeepers do not kill, after all. Jedi are Peacekeepers; ergo, for all that he's tried to emulate them, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a Peacekeeper. Not a Jedi.

He's a protector, and Yoda can see him realizing this even as he kneels and Yoda paces, otherwise in perfect silence.

Protectors need things to protect, things to cherish, attachments. How do you value something enough to protect it while maintaining a necessary distance? Even the Sentinels, guards as they are, keep their distance from their charges, no matter how many Younglings jump around and climb them and offer them sweets and pies.

"...even if I must leave the Order, I will train the boy."

And there is both the problem and the solution. Qui-Gon did a disservice to his student, leaving him to find his way alone. Even now, in death, Qui-Gon cannot complete the ritual to break their bond, to cut their ties so Obi-Wan may move forward alone. Yet it's clear that between the Council chamber and the reactor, the bond between them had already begun to unravel. Now what ritual there might be--it wouldn't have mattered, anyway. A sham, a farce, to be done with, if it would even happen at all.

Not that they didn't care about each other--no, he'd seen enough of them together to know that they did, but it was the care between two Knights or two Masters, not teacher-and-student, not father-and-son. Removed, careful, expecting and understanding that each could exist without the other ever in their lives again, but grateful for this brief opportunity to spend time beside each other.

So maybe Qui-Gon was right, in the end: maybe Obi-Wan had been ready for his Trials, having been acting the part of Knight already. No Trials now, Darth Maul's death is more than enough to count, and no ritual Knighting. Just the burning of a body... and the decision of a Knight to train a boy he barely knows.

A boy for the first time away from family and friends and familiarity, a boy... much like Obi-Wan once was, if only Yoda had paid more attention. A boy that, like Obi-Wan, will need to find his own path through life, his own steps through light and dark that might--will--be different from any Yoda has seen before.

A boy that, for right now, needs less guidance and more care. More compassion. More... protection.

It goes against the teachings of the Jedi, to encourage attachments. But Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, feels out for the boy on the other side of the door keeping vigil over his once would-be Master's body, and knows the will of the Force, too.

"Train the boy, you shall," he decrees, and blames the rest of the Council. "A Knight, you are."

Obi-Wan bows his head, like he'd expected nothing less, like he's grateful they're in accord and he won't have to fight for it.

And like he'd never expected a Knighting, a ritual, a ceremony.

Yoda watches him quietly enter the next room, kneel down beside Anakin Skywalker and join the silent vigil. Sees Anakin lean into him, just slightly. Sees Obi-Wan pause, then wrap one arm loosely around small shoulders.

No, he decides, turning his back on what's left of his Lineage. They'll make new dances, a new path, and he won't recognize a single step of it.

And he feels the slightest hint of relief.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirty: blood on the dance floor

we’s gettin’ naughty here, gang. big ol’ smut warning~

That fine drizzle of rain welcomed the circus on the third day there in Seattle, such that Sam didn't want to return back to the Bay Area or to Catalina for that matter. Therein lay a feeling about the Emerald City that something was about to happen. Something huge and beyond what they all expected. The fact that she learned about Metallica touring there in the month before and the whole entire set being a literal flame only added to the feeling. A premonitory feeling that they were all upon a shift of a tide of some sort.

The next morning, as she slipped out of Joey's hotel room on the second floor and past Alex's room next door to the elevator, and she made her way down to breakfast, she overheard Anthrax speaking amongst themselves about it there in the lobby.

“Alright, gang—we've reached the end of the line,” Scott declared. “We're facing on a new decade after this. Who knows where we go from here, really.”

Even though he hadn't been there for his own band for a time, Sam couldn't help but feel that he was completely right. If Anthrax didn't get it after all the nonsense they had been through, Sam guessed that it would be Testament to take the reigns for the ride straight into the next decade, the Nineties. If not Testament, then the door was open for the Cherry Suicides. One of those three had to get it if Metallica hadn't already.

Only a few months left of the decade and it was officially anyone's guess from that point onward in the music world.

She sat there at Testament's table with her cup of coffee right before her: she set her fedora there on the seat next to her in anticipation of Alex showing up. If Joey showed up there in the lobby first, she would have to run over to Anthrax's table on the other side of the room. But she had faith that Alex was coming, however.

All the while, she sat there next to Greg who appeared to be growing the first beginnings of a beard. Every so often, he showed her a little glimpse with a raise of his eyebrow.

She still owed it to him, but she was really doing it to settle the bet with Alex.

If she did it with Greg, Alex had to be there right before them, just to punish him for being such a bad boy. It seemed unlike her to think these things but she was in the thick of it all, right within the heart of it all.

She moved her fedora out of the way once she recognized that little plume of silvery gray in the doorway.

He showed her a little smile as he took his seat there, and she eyed his little black button up shirt, the lapels of which were covered in slight little wrinkles and a bit of dust.

“Is that new?” she asked him.

“Jesus, Alex, there has to be an iron in your room of some sort,” Louie said from her left.

“I dunno if there is, though,” Alex confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“C'mon, you dusty boy,” she encouraged him, and Eric and Belinda both chuckled at that.

“Dusty?” Alex laughed himself.

“Yeah, dusty—” She brushed off the shoulders of his shirt. “You're all dusty and messy and slovenly.”

“I ain't slovenly,” he insisted.

“Shut up and drink your medicine,” she teased him as Chuck passed a little white cup of coffee past Tiffany and Louie, and across the table over to him. Alex picked it up without a moment's hesitation and took a hearty swig of it.

“Medicine indeed,” he noted.

“So—Souls of Black,” Chuck declared, “I hope we can actually do this and get on Clash of the Titans. If we get it, I foresee us being on top of the world afterwards.”

“Who else is on the bill?” Eric asked him with his eyebrows knitted together. “You told me just a little bit ago and I can't—for the life of me—remember it.”

Sam giggled at him and he showed her a smile.

“Brain's fried from touring,” Greg cracked as he took a sip from his coffee.

“Megadeth is gonna be there—and I think Anthrax, too? Someone else will be there, too, I forget who, though—so that leaves one spot wide open. I hope we get it good.”

Sam pictured them on the same bill with Anthrax and Megadeth, and with Joey and Alex jamming together on the same stage. One could only hope, and she could only hope for herself. If it happened, she had faith that the two of them could look at one another in the eye and not feel a need to kill each other.

If there was one drawback with that whole tour for both Practice What You Preach and State of Euphoria, it was the fact that the two of them never seemed to be in the same room together, as if they did that all on purpose. Joey always hung out in his room and Alex always did as well. If Testament got that final slot for Clash of the Titans, then they had to have a reconciliation of some sort.

It would be the Nineties at that point anyways.

To leave behind the old decade in favor of a new one seemed perfect to bury the hatchet between the two of them. It just made perfect sense as they would be given a big reset button. If they buried the hatchet, then she wouldn't have to sneak around as much with Testament. But then again, if that happened, she probably wouldn't see Alex as much in the meantime. She would have to return to Joey and give all the love in the world.

That is if Alex's hand on her knee underneath the table and out of everyone's sight had anything about it. She jerked her knee inwards but his expression never changed for a second. She glanced down at his hand there in between their knees: his fingers bent a bit as if he was ready to touch her again.

Eric made a joke about undoing Belinda's bra right there when Sam felt his fingers once again.

During the whole road trip up from the most southern tip of Los Angeles to Lake Tahoe, not once did he employ that trick on her. But then again, they were both alone on that trip: here they were with the rest of the band as well as Belinda and Tiffany. His pinky and ring fingers caressed over her knee, and she nibbled on her bottom lip at the feeling there. It was amazing to her that he could do that without the ceiling lights reflecting so much on his watch face.

She wondered what he wanted.

But then again, Greg was right there.

She still had to do it with him.

She still had to settle that bet.

Alex was still a bad boy for thinking these things.

That cool demeanor hid something and she had cracked into it by some black magic. She nibbled on her bottom lip again as his middle and index fingers joined onto her knee right then. She thought about the drink he had mentioned before, the virgin screaming orgasm. A part of her wanted him to have a full on screaming orgasm right then for touching her with everyone there and for giving her such a bet to sleep with Greg.

“Alex—a word?” she offered him once she polished off her cup of coffee.

“Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing,” he confessed. He slid out of there first and allowed her to put her hat back onto her head.

Sam led him over to the front doors where it was pouring rain outside. Once she ducked around the corner and he followed suit right behind her, she turned around and put her hand right on the crotch of his jeans and fondled him there. She leaned into his face and put her lips to his; he jerked back and looked on at her, baffled.

“You're a bad, bad boy,” she taunted him in a hushed voice.

“Thought I was a good boy?” he recalled with a shake of his head. She gripped harder on his crotch: he wasn't firm, but she could feel him in there.

“You're a bad boy and you ain't getting your milk and cookies for it,” she teased him, to which he pouted his bottom lip at her.

“Please?” he begged her with a little tilt of his head.

“You ain't getting it,” she scoffed at him.

“I want my milk and cookies, though,” he begged her.

“You'll get your milk and cookies when you behave,” she insisted.

“How do I behave?” he asked her. She gripped even harder on him. “Ow—ow—ow—”

“What's the matter?” she teased him.

“It hurts—”

She loosened her grip and stroked him with the pad of her thumb.

“Come on—” she encouraged him to the closet right behind her. Just like with Cliff, except this time it was in a hotel rather than the subway.

They slipped inside of that cramped closet and he closed the door part of the way. Through the darkness, she held onto him once again, that time with more force. He groaned in pain from the feeling.

“Ow—ow, Samantha—Samantha—you're hurting me—”

“You like a little pain, though, don't you?”

“I do—just not this much, though.”

She let go and then slipped her hand down his jeans.

“You're a bad boy,” she whispered to him: the edges of her nails grazed against his skin just a bit, enough to bring a soft groan from the inside of his throat. She pressed her fingers a bit harder on his skin. “You're a bad boy—trying to get me to get down with Greg,”

“Oh, shit,” he breathed out, and he snickered at that.

“Bad, bad, bad boy—I ought to just bite you right now.”

“Why you wanna bite everything, Samantha,” he scoffed. “Bite everything and hurt me.”

“'Cause you're a bad boy.”

“You call me a bad boy again I'm not gonna give you your milk.”

“Oh, you're really bad for that.” She held onto him and squeezed him extra hard. He showed her his tongue and he pinched his eyes closed. She moved her chest closer to his so her breasts brushed against him. He gave her a soft pained whimper as a result. She kept her mouth closer to his, but she never touched him or kissed him for a second.

Alex shuddered a bit at the feeling between his legs. Sam ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she felt something wet on her finger.

“I thought you said you weren't going to give me any milk,” she whispered to him.

“Hurt me,” he begged her in a little whisper. “Hurt me for that—god, please—do it. Do it!”

She dug her nails into his skin a little bit, but it was enough to coax a gasp out of him. He pinched his eyes shut and he parted his lips as if he beckoned a kiss from her.

But she resisted. She need not give that to him as of yet.

“What are you,” she whispered to him.

“I—” he breathed, and his chest heaved from the feeling. “I—I—”

“What are you,” she insisted, still with her voice low.

“I—oh, god—Samantha—”

“What are you,” she breathed right into his parted lips.

“A bad motherfucker,” he blurted out in a husky voice, and she paid him with a delicate kiss right on the lips.

“What are you,” she breathed again: she held onto him so tight that even in the dim light, she could see his face turned bright pink.

“A bad motherfucker,” he repeated, and she did it again.

“For real, though—what are you?”

“A bad, bad boy who wants his milk and cookies from his mama,” he pleaded to her.

“Oh, you'll get it,” she vowed. “You'll get it when the time is right.”

“Isn't the time right now?” he asked her in a small voice.

“You need your cookies, though. Can't have either one without the other.”

“I'm gonna get so fat hanging out with you...” His voice was mellow and husky, as low as she had ever heard it before.

“I'll keep you going, baby,” she vowed to him in a light airy whisper. She put her other hand down his pants for the second part. Alex closed his mouth as she fondled him in the space right between his thighs, right there in the darkness like she did with Cliff. He tilted his head back and groaned in his throat at the feeling.

“Swear to god, you're gonna make me come right in my jeans,” he moaned in a pained whimper.

“You should have,” she told him.

He whimpered through his gritted teeth. She felt his hand move up her back towards the hooks on her bra, and she wagged a finger at him.

“Don't you dare,” she teased him.

“Why can't I?”

“Don't you dare!” she teased him again and she giggled at him.

“But—but—”

“Don't—”

“Sam? Alex?” Tiffany's voice floated in right then.

“God damn it!” Sam groaned.

“Just as I was starting to feel better,” he said, still in a husky voice, albeit one that was a bit lower so she wouldn't hear them. “Pick up where we left off later on.”

“Deal, baby.” She put her lips to his one more time before they bowed out of there. Tiffany had disappeared around the corner but Alex straightened out his shirt and that was enough for Sam to put on a scene for when she came back there. Even though Alex came in his pants, she didn't get any of it on her hands.

“God—such messy boys!” she declared as Tiffany returned to them in the opposite direction.

“Oh, there you guys are! Breakfast is ready.”

Alex let out a low whistle as he tugged down his shirt over his belt and the button on his jeans, which was undone for the entirety of breakfast. Joey still hadn't gotten up at that point, either: Scott, Dan, Frank, and Charlie all congregated around that table all by themselves on the far side of the room. Sam paid hardly any attention to the conversation at the table before her as she looked on at them.

She thought of going up to Joey's room and waking him up with her lips around him, but then again, his door might have been locked at that point. There was no way she could do it with him even if she could. Alex said something about Sam herself right then, but she still paid more attention to the table on the other side of the room.

“We've got to record that album, though,” Chuck pointed out.

“Samantha wants to go there, though,” Alex insisted.

“Don't even know if it's open, though, Alex,” Tiffany joined in. “It is Saturday after all.”

Sam herself turned to them with the tines of her forks nestled in her lips.

“Talking about the sound garden,” Louie explained from across the table.

“Tell you what—if there's time over Thanksgiving, we'll come on back up here,” Chuck concluded.

“You'd do that?” Sam asked him, and he nodded his head at that.

“Aw, Chuck, you're too kind.”

Since it was their final day there in Seattle, Sam decided to hang out with them all the way until they landed in San Francisco together. She would head on back to her father's house and sleep there for a long time given the sheer extent of the tour and she wasn't in school, either. But there was still one thing that she had to do before they did anything more.

And both Alex and Greg knew it themselves.

Indeed, once they had cleaned their plates, she put her fedora back onto her head and Alex led her back to his room, complete with a gesture to Greg to join them. But he lingered back for Chuck and Tiffany, however. As a result, Sam and Alex awaited them there at the elevator doors: she eyed the slight curve underneath his shirt and she wondered if it came from all of the ginger snaps or just from eating a hearty breakfast, but he looked good with it there. He tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and gave his lush dark hair a little toss back with a flick of his head.

“Man, you look—so utterly gorgeous right now, Alex,” Sam noted. “Really gorgeous.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely—decadent—” She lowered her gaze from his chest to his stomach and then his hips and his legs. “Absolutely gorgeous, my sweet friend.” She flashed him a wink and he returned the favor with a mischievous little smile: the smile disappeared when something behind her caught his attention. She turned and followed his gaze to the tall guy on the other side of the hall there with a diaper bag over his shoulder. She kept her eye on the thick dense mop of dark curls upon his head as well as his straight nose and the cupid's bow in his mouth.

“God, where's my wife,” he muttered, and then he looked on at Alex.

“You that guy who threw a jug of cider at Scott last night?” he demanded.

“Yeah, 'cause they sucked,” the guy sneered at him: he was tall, taller than Alex who was rather big himself, and made Sam feel rather minute in comparison.

“You must be that little brat from the Bay Area,” he scoffed.

“Me?” Alex chuckled.

“I've seen you up by the sound garden,” he said in a singsong voice. “And I've seen you at that theater, too. Total brat.”

“Yeah, like you would know,” Alex laughed at him.

“You guys are such rock stars,” he spat back.

“We ain't rock stars,” Alex insisted. “If you knew anything 'bout us, you would know that we're not rock stars. We're just a bunch of guys who happen to play rock n' roll.”

“Rock n' roll if it was on a butt,” said the guy, and Alex rolled his eyes at that.

“They're not rock stars,” Sam joined in right then. “Poison are rock stars. Led Zeppelin are rock stars. And not to mention, you say that like it's a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing,” he said to her with a little gyration of his head, “it's all hollow and soulless.”

The elevator doors slid open and he brushed past them both without pardoning himself, and he closed the doors before anyone else could stop him. Alex looked over at Sam with a disgusted look on his face.

“Had to have been the rudest person up here in Seattle so far,” he told her: for a second, he raised his gaze to right behind her again. “Everyone up here has been real nice to us all so far.”

“Wow, what a prick,” Chuck declared from right behind Sam. Alex sidled closer to her so he was out of the way of the elevator.

“Called us 'butt rock', too,” he remarked as he smoothed the front of his shirt once more, “—whatever the hell that even means.”

“Joke's on him, though—you guys are butt rock,” Sam pointed out and she slapped Alex right on the seat of his pants.

“We're more like booty rock,” Louie joked.

“Ass and titty rock!” Chuck joined in and they burst out laughing.

“Vagina rock,” Alex said under his breath, and Sam slapped him on the seat of his pants again.

“Stop spanking me!” he exclaimed, and the whole room froze right then.

“What?” Chuck couldn't keep a straight face upon saying that.

“—is what she said—in her sleep last night,” Alex stammered with a gesture over to Sam; all the while, his face turned bright pink with embarrassment and Sam chuckled at that.

“Dreaming about literal butts last night, Sam?” Eric teased her.

“Literal butts with a nice sheen on 'em,” she went along with it. “A nice sheen for a nice seat on the rock in question.”

Alex and Eric laughed at that; the former then gestured for Greg to follow them into his room there next to the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, that's right! I was gonna help you guys.” He raised his eyebrows upon his saying that.

“Help with butts?” Eric joked.

“Help with butts, yes!” Sam cracked back, and she bowed back into Alex's room with him and Greg both. She kept the door ajar behind her by about a half of an inch; she turned to the table underneath the mirror and she spotted a bottle of tomato juice next to a bottle of vodka and a high glass.

“Bloody Maries, Alex?” Greg joked as he took his seat there on the edge of the bed.

“Yes!” Alex exclaimed. “'Cause it puts hair on your chest. Let's see—the bartender told me how to do it... you guys get yourselves ready in the meantime.”

Sam turned to Greg and the warmth crossed her face as a result.

“He told you, didn't he?” she said.

“I never forgot!” he admitted.

“So you wanna—do this on the bed or the floor?”

“Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he said as he leaned back on the bed. There was a clinking of Alex's glass and he stirred his Bloody Mary.

“I'll watch,” he announced as he put his feet up.

“What!” Sam demanded, mortified.

“I wanna watch,” Alex repeated, nonplussed. “I wanna watch you guys do it. I am a bad boy, after all.”

Sam turned to Greg who raised his eyebrows at her. She hoped that his incoming beard was freshly trimmed as she reclined back on her elbows.

“Well—Frankie and I did watch Charlie and Marla perform oral when they were together,” she recalled, and Alex almost gagged on his drink at that.

“That wasn't you, that was the booze, I swear,” he promised her with his head bowed a bit. “Bit of extra pepper on that...”

Sam turned to Greg, who undid his jeans for her. She peeled off her top and she climbed on top of him. He smelled of French toast and cologne.

“C'mere, Greggy—” she beckoned him. She pressed her hands on either side of his face and she put her lips onto his and he was quick to set his hands on her back and unhook her. Her bra slid down her arms so he was face to face with her chest. The strap nearly caught on the fire opal bracelet that Chuck gave her but she shook her hand about to rid of it.

“Right there—right there—right on my tit—right there! Yes!”

“Should I use my teeth?” Greg asked her.

“Do it, Greg!” Alex cheered him on from the other side of the room.

A bit of nibbling from him: the first bristles of his beard grazed against her skin, such that it tickled her.

“Lemme get you below the equator,” he begged her with a twinkle in his eye.

“As long as I can get you below the equator,” she retorted.

“You dare me to do it? 'Cause I dare you to do it.”

“Dare to!” Alex cheered her on in a hushed voice.

“Gladly!” Sam said, triumphant over both princes. She let Greg caress over her breasts some more with those callused bass player fingers: long and lanky much like Alex's fingers. The rough skin tickled her more than those first sprigs of hair on his face. The thought of it against the skin between her legs tickled her a bit.

She leaned back towards his belt and she undid the buckle for him. She glanced up at Alex, who sipped on his Bloody Mary through a straw with his eyes hooded and his face blank. He then flashed her a wink; meanwhile, between her legs, Greg undid her jeans for her.

She kept her eyes locked on Alex as she put her lips around Greg's head. She wondered if a little deep into her throat would get Alex going, or perhaps the vodka in that Bloody Mary would do the job better than she ever would.

That smooth velvet tongue caressed over her and the hair that made up his beard brushed against her skin and it made her gasp. But she continued on with the job. She kept her eyes locked on Alex's face as she sank further down towards Greg's body.

“A little blood for your popsicle there?” Alex offered her at one point.

“Joey can never know about this,” she proclaimed as she kept her tongue around that erection.

“What if I knock you up, though?” Greg asked her.

“You ain't knocking me up, Greggy,” she pointed out, “not with the way you licked me just then.”

She gasped when he touched that little bundle of nerves at the way back there. That spot that Joey knew how to touch so well. But Greg was touching it.

Greg was touching it and Alex was watching them all the while: and the only thought that swam through her mind was where they would go from there. She was about to get off right then and there, all from Greg running those fingers on her clit. She was about to get off and also get off: she rolled right off of him onto the foot of the bed, out of breath and with her mouth filled with his taste as well.

She rolled her head over at Alex, who flashed her a wink. Completely naked, she sat upright and strolled over to him.

“We've got our very own stripper, Alex,” Greg pointed out as Sam leaned forward into Alex's face. That drink was already getting to him a bit.

“You smell like tomatoes,” she told him as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I'm spicy,” he said.

“You cheeky bastard.”

“I'm spicy!”

She took a seat on his lap and she put her bare breasts right up into his face. Alex raised his eyebrows at those tight nipples.

“Do I owe you anything, Alex?” she teased him.

“Do you owe me anything? No?”

“I feel like I owe you something, though.”

“You don't, though.”

“What if I do?”

“You don't, Samantha, I promise.”

She eyed the crotch of his jeans.

“Don't even think about it,” he nudged her off.

“I'm thinking about it,” she said.

“Yeah, she's definitely thinking about it, Alex,” Greg added from behind them.

“Bloody Mary and blood on your denim—bad boys need a little lap dance before they get their milk and cookies.”

Greg cackled at that as Sam lifted up and ran her bare ass across Alex's lap.

“Yeah, you like a li'l blood on the dance floor, don't ya?” Alex teased her.

“More blood to paint with, of course,” she retorted as she took a seat on his lap: she could feel him having risen up right underneath her. He took another sip of Bloody Mary with a hooded look to those deep eyes.

“I see you turning into a little fat rat,” she teased him.

“Little fat rat—little fat rat with his hair all over the place,” he retorted, and then he shrugged.

“Why'd you shrug?”

“'Cause I could,” he replied in a broken voice. She stood up from his lap and then he stood up. With his free hand, Alex undid the buttons on his shirt and showed off his hips to her. Sam set her hand there just to feel him.

“Nice curves, Alejandro,” she teased him.

“Nice curves... says the girl with the nice full curves,” he breathed out; Greg was still right there behind them. She stooped over for another vampire bite on Alex's skin. She stroked him first with her fingers and then nibbled on him.

“Imagine me as a little fat rat and you're doing this to me,” he said, and she ran her tongue over the spot to which he writhed about a bit.

“Does that tickle?” she teased him.

“You have no idea,” he said.

A pinch and a poke, a nibble and a lick, and then she rounded it out with a few little kisses. Alex once again had another little bruise on his belly, right above his belt. The mark of the mistress.

Alex finished the rest of his Bloody Mary and then he checked his watch.

“We better get going,” he told them. “Don't wanna miss that plane.”

Sam ran her fingers through her dark hair and then she turned to Greg, who had put on her bra over his still clothed body.

“Greg—Greg, why are you wearing my bra?” she asked him in a broken voice.

“Why the hell not?” he blurted out as he tossed her panties to her. Her jeans still lay on the side of the bed right next to him. Sam raised an eyebrow at him and the pale washed out tone to his skin.

“You better not get any puke on that thing or I'm going to—literally kill you.”

“Kill him after you blew each other into next week,” Alex muttered under his breath.

“That's hot,” Greg added to that, but Sam rolled her eyes at that as she put her panties back on, followed by her pants.

And the whole entire time, she kept her shoes on.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Two

Ao3,   MasterPost,   C.1

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality, platonic logicality (and mentioned platonic relationships)

Warnings: swearing, mild body horror, negative self-thoughts/mental state, guilt. 

Word Count: 2,822

Patton woke up the next morning to find not a single disgusting token hiding away in his room, and that was after half an hour of semi-paranoid investigation. While he did find a patch or two of what looked like shedded dog’s hair and a snapped nail, they were scattered on the carpet as though left by accident. He already knew that Remus’ body was naturally more of a debris-machine than that of a scrappy pet, occasionally shedding off parts of his body like a constantly regenerating zombie. He decided then that Remus hadn’t been secretly trying to prank him, after all.

Now, being the embodiment of emotions, Patton was almost always spot-on identifying which emotions were which. That was why he could say, with perfect certainty, he had never quite had this mix of emotions before. And if he was honest, he didn’t really want to think about it enough to learn; he didn’t want to think about the night before at all.

Pushing the events out of his mind (not repression! He argued to himself, just thinking about something else for a while!), Patton carried on with his morning routine. That always took exceeding amounts of time, anyway, thanks to the numerous distracting things littering his room. What could have taken fifteen minutes was usually closer to an hour or so, but that was why Patton got up early! 

Well, that, and the fact that he usually didn’t sleep very well, but he preferred to not focus on that. 

That day, Patton decided, was not to be one for focusing on anything bad. He’d had a rough night, oh sure, but he’d woken up more refreshed than expected and was still riding the high of physical affection (despite its questionable source). He could feel that good, excited mood he had on occasion lifting him, and such an energy was just what he needed to go downstairs, start his day, and try to convince Logan into finally letting him help cook. 

Logan never agreed, of course, because he was the only side that had any skill in preparing food. But Patton never stopped trying, his fiery history with the kitchen notwithstanding!

Patton rose up in the living room, instinctively at his usual place. He took a second to appreciate the trinkets, odds and ends, and personal effects littered around the room. That kind of personality-infused mess always made him feel strangely fond. Reflective, even, upon how and why each item had come to lay where it was just then.

The smell of fresh food and the crackling of a skillet got him quickly back on track, though. Grinning, Patton made for the kitchen. 

“Morning, Logan!” He greeted him in cheer.

Logan startled, spinning on his heel a bit too fast. He didn’t share Patton’s positivity, no, he looked worried. 

“Patton! How are you ‘holding up’, as they say, this morning?” He said softly, like if he thought a loud voice could break something now. Patton cringed.

“Oh, I’m doing fine!” Memories of the night before pushed against his skull, and it was everything he could do to beat them back. But he was good at that sort of thing. “How are you?”

It was an obvious redirection. Logan pressed further:

“You sank out so abruptly last night. The others were- we were all concerned for your wellbeing,” he glanced away, chewing the inside of his lip. “That, and… Virgil informed me that, before he went to bed, he saw Remus leaving your room,” Logan’s voice dropped, “He didn’t upset you in any way, I hope?”

“No!” The exclamation burst forth from Patton with a ferocity he didn’t know he had. It was defensive even to his own ears, and he flushed in embarrassment. “I mean, no, he didn’t upset me! We were just-” cuddling? “-talking.”

Logan tipped his head sideways, disbelief obvious on him.

“...Talking?” 

“Yup, talking!” 

“You were talking to Remus?”

Patton pouted performatively, setting a hand on his hip as he doubled down.

“Of course I was, Logan! He’s an interesting fella, you know.”

“I know that,” Logan rolled his eyes, “I didn’t know you got along with him at all, however.” 

Patton- to both his own and Logan’s surprise- didn’t say anything at all to that. He barely nodded before he left the kitchen, calling out an excuse that he forgot as soon as it was out anyway. It was almost rude, and he knew he’d be dreadfully ashamed of it later. What was another little regret on the pile after all?

Logan had things to attend to, and Patton didn’t want to hang around and distract anyhow. At least, that was a good enough excuse for him to use as he sped out of the kitchen to find his next distraction. 

 Patton put the talk with Logan out of his mind without any trouble. His plans for a good day would not be so easily foiled by one concerned friend- who really had no reason to be concerned in the first place, in Patton’s humble opinion. Besides, breakfast with everyone was still nice! He’d gotten roped into a very enthusiastic conversation with Roman- one that got as increasingly loud, as was usual for the two- and when Remus joined in, it wasn’t too terribly awkward anymore. 

The rest of the morning was inoffensive, if a bit slow-going as Patton got all his work done. The afternoon was much the same, but he did get to spend a while with Virgil! (Who must’ve heard from Logan not to ask about the night before, mercifully). 

Evening rolled around, though, and with it Patton found that he’d made short work of his jobs. With the deficit of busy-work, it really couldn’t be helped if his mind started to wander- and what a dangerous thing that could be.

It was hard not to think of Remus. To not recall the… the softness with which he had treated Patton, something that the intrusive side hadn’t even seemed capable of before that. He’d been downright empathetic, and Patton still didn’t know how to take that. He’d done nothing to earn that kindness, not really, and certainly not from Remus of all people. He wasn’t sweet, or considerate, and calling him sentimental sounded like a joke more than anything.

‘Sounded like’, there was the key word, Patton mused. However long he spent thinking it over, it became more and more clear that this was yet another thing he’d misunderstood. 

Months ago only, he’d honestly believed that none of Remus’ suggestions could be genuine attempts to contribute, and now he helped them balance almost all their creative works as part of the team. He’d proven at every turn that he was honest, yes, but he was not shallow, and Patton knew he’d only just scratched the surface of Creativity. 

But that was besides the point. It was besides the point and Patton didn’t want to think about how little he knew. 

The point was, he wanted to learn. He had to. Even if it proved him wrong about everything- especially then!

So there Patton stood, shifting from foot to foot, Remus’ door staring him in the face. He was stalling, he knew, but his fraught thoughts also knew his intentions were not for self-improvement alone. He wanted to repay Remus, repay him for the strange and gentle and impossibly amazing comfort he’d given to him. He’d given him what he’d been missing- affection, willing affection- but what did Patton have to offer in return?

That was the scary part. Thinking of what he’d be asked to do.

But he still had to reach out and risk it. He had to know. 

Patton raised his hand, shaking, tilted back to knock. And there the hand hovered, untouching the splintering and algae-covered wood. It was almost like the underside of a boardwalk, stinking like ocean and stained green from years of salt water exposure. Would it hurt to touch, Patton wondered? Would the wood break off into his hand, or would it come away slick, slimy?

He ducked his head with a huff; that kind of disgust was completely unfair to the creature he was trying to reach out to, and he knew it. He didn’t have the energy for this; Patton wrapped against the door thrice in quick succession despite the nagging of his instincts (it was slimy, and rough as well. His head ticked to the side at the disturbing texture). The knocks rang out, and then there was an abrupt stillness in the whole of the hallway, like all life had stopped at once. This was true for Patton, at least; he held his breath, balled his fists, and it seemed he was standing stiller than he ever had before. 

From the other side of the door, there was muttering. It was frantic, but not upset, and one voice alone. A lot of things happened very quickly after that:

First, the door slammed inwards, no one on the other side of it. Naturally Patton leaned to look inside, and as well as he had- ragged claws sank into his shoulders, a shrill noise rang in his ear, and he was spun around. Screaming, Patton toppled backwards and landed flat in the threshold to Remus’ room.

Speaking of Remus, the creature himself was looming over Patton, his skin rippling with bumps and ridges and colors like a continual shapeshift. He had his arms raised, his mouth opened hugely; it looked like a soundless laugh. 

But he glanced down at Patton, then- trembling, whimpering Patton- and his eyes widened in recognition. At once his skin smoothed over and returned to its usual color, his jaw snapping back into place. 

“Oh!” Remus reached down and hauled Patton back to his feet with a strained huff. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Logan’s the only one who seriously knocks for me, cuz he’s all polite and shit.”

Patton righted himself, trying very hard to stop shaking. After a deep breath, he said:

“Oh, haah, it’s okay!” He pulled his sleeves taut, with a smile to match. “I just wouldn’t want to interrupt you, if you were busy.”

Remus shrugged, cocking his hip. 

“Oh, I bet you wouldn’t,” a smirk then split his face, and he winked. “But you should know I don’t mind anybody walking in on me, Daddy.”

Patton nodded quick, having no idea what (if anything) he was agreeing to, when in reality he was Very Uncomfortable with All of those words. He tried for a laugh, but at the same moment a deeply horrifying growl decided to erupt from behind him. He realized that he did not want to have his back to Remus’ room for even another second. 

“Uh- could we-?” 

Remus caught his meaning, stepping deftly around Patton and into his doorway. It was almost a twirl when he switched their positions, aided by the fact that he always moved like water.

“Right!” He clapped his hands together, “What was it you wanted, Pops?”

Oh, yes. That. 

Patton didn’t meet the Duke’s eyes at all, the words lumped together on the tip of his tongue. Why did this feel so embarrassing?

“I was wondering if we could spend some time together?” 

Remus’ eyebrows went way up on his forehead, and his face split in a downright sultry grin that had Patton red-faced and abashed.

“Not like- I’m not- I meant, like, an activity-” Remus’ smile widened, “-No, um, something fun! Not that that wouldn’t- well, I just don’t like-” 

Remus erupted in laughter, throwing his head back not unlike a shrill bird.

“Oh, I’m just fucking with you. No, really, what’s up?” 

Patton frowned.

“I wanted to know if we could hang out. That’s what I was trying to say?”

Remus gave a derisive little sound, and his nose scrunched.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he propped his arm against the doorframe, his gaze boring into Patton. “You were being serious? I figured you needed me to help with, like, chores or something!” 

Before Patton could even respond, Remus snapped the door shut behind himself and dipped into the hallway. 

“So, what? You wanna bake cookies or some shit? That could be fun, but there will be fire and broken glass if I’m involved. Or- you like those zen coloring books, right? Although, the adult coloring books I use are much more emphasized on the adult, you know, and vulgar-”

Patton shook his head sharply, and- gathering some courage- placed his hand on Remus’ arm to halt him. 

“Um,” he said, “I was thinking that we could do something you like to do, actually.” 

Remus stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he’d been touched, looking at Patton like he’d sprouted another head. He tried out several different expressions, like he was trying to see what reaction they’d garner- first amusement, then happiness, then offense- but he finally settled on plain confusion. It looked the most genuine.

“Are you joking?” He asked, the question laced with a striking sincerity. Patton wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was dread or guilt, but either way he let go of the Duke’s wrist. 

“Of course I am!” He enthused- tried to enthuse. 

There was a beat. 

Remus, for once, looked uncomfortable; fidgeting his hands, arms, tapping his foot.

“Really?” 

“Really really!” And Patton really really hoped that this exchange could be over, so that he could get on with this- he meant!! Um! So that he could have a nice time with someone who had been nice to him. (Oh, what was wrong with him?)

Remus tipped his head to the side. He hummed.

“This is because of yesterday?” That hit the nail right on its head, yup. Patton winced. “I told you not to worry about all that. You don’t really want to do this, you know, and that’s obvious to both of us. My idea of fun isn’t nearly as conservative as yours, Pops.”

Patton felt a stab of offense at ‘conservative’. He dropped his smile.

“I- look, Remus,” a sigh, “You didn’t have to help me yesterday, but you did, and… I still don’t know why. And I don’t really know why I’m here right now, either, or what I’m doing with you. I barely know anything about you!” Patton shook his head, but an indignant conviction was filling up his chest. He met Remus’ eyes, steady. “But I do know that we never let you pick what to watch on movie night. I know we don’t always listen to what you suggest on really important projects, even though that’s your job. I know we- that I try so hard not to make things about you, even nowadays. That’s gotta get, um, disheartening, right?” Remus tilted his head, but Patton didn’t wait for an answer. “And that’s why I’m here. So whatever you like doing, you don’t have to do it alone- like how you didn’t leave me alone. And…” He knotted his hands together in front of him, shoulders low. “I can figure out the rest later.” 

He meant it. He was surprised by how much he meant it, having no idea where it had all come from. It didn’t erase his nerves, his discomfort, even his disgust, but he stood there and he honestly hoped that soon he wouldn’t have a reason to feel any of those things with the darker side of Creativity. He wanted to understand, if only he could know how. And maybe, that creature before him, smarter than he probably seemed, would show him how. 

Remus was silent for a long, long while. His face was blank, expressionless. He wasn’t grinning, and there was nothing glinting mischievously behind his eyes; his nose wasn’t bunched in a snarl, there was no show of huge and horrible fangs, and he wasn’t moving.

It was the most intimidating he’d ever been.

“You don’t have to do that,” and Remus’ voice was soft. It was almost unreal to hear it that way, his accent not fit for that kind of volume.

But Patton was emotions, and emotions knew at a glance what awe sounded like- what hope sounded like. It was shocking to hear them from Remus, but Patton knew the shock was good. He’d been right- right about initially being wrong, right that Remus had more to him than his outside. He was right, and now he needed to know more of him. 

 Patton smiled, sincerely, and for once he knew exactly what to say. 

“I know I don’t have to,” he admitted, “But I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Remus tilted his head one way, then the other, and back again. Slowly, he returned the smile, and it grew to look much more like his usual beam. He darted past Patton, swung his door open, and strode inside. 

“Watch your step,” he warned, “The floor isn’t entirely dead yet!”

Patton, amazing himself, hardly hesitated to follow.

Chapter Three

Taglist:  @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

[unholyplumpprincess]

Necessary Calibrations

Inspired by art on Twitter that can be found HERE

Summary: Pathfinder asks Ramya to make him a special little mod, and well, how can she refuse such a cute bot? On one condition, of course. She gets to be the one who gives him a test spin. Or!!!! In which Ramya rides the life out of Pathfinder and effectively makes him glitch out into a mess.

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog but makes my day :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Pathfinder/Rampart

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, mutual pining, uhhhh pretty tame except for overstimulation and wire play?

Words: 2.7k

_________

Modding was her thing.  

And Pathfinder was her mate.  

Put the two together with a lovely, tall robot shyly asking for a certain modification and how could Ramya refuse? Truthfully, she would have done it without the sweetness of him offering to buy her pizza. Or of the screen on his chest lighting up with a pink emoji with hearts and two index fingers pressed together. But it certainly did ease the small bit of nerves she had about pausing her current project.  

He wanted something to get off? Sure, she’d give him something to get off. “But on one condition,” She had told him, flipping up her face shield and wiping at grease on her cheek as she leans back on her desk, gesturing at him with her shut off welding torch. “I get to take you for your first ride. What better way than to see if I’ve got it all calibrated?”    

~Rest under the cut~

The joy on his screen had been rather heartwarming. His legs had bounced from one to the other, his hands clapping and the screen flashing yellow with bright joy. “Of course, friend! I wouldn’t think of anyone else I’d like to be ‘taken for a spin’ by!” And like the good boy he was, he’d leaned down, allowing Ramya to pat his ‘cheek’ fondly before shooing him on his way with a reminder he owed her pizza.  

Perhaps calling out to his retreating form ‘With extra sausage!’ went right over his head, but it made her laugh so that’s what really counted.  

Simulacrums had a line of attachable toys that had fancy little names for them. Ramya would disagree that saying ‘phallus module’ or ‘Vaginal attachment’ was anything horny sounding- she preferred ‘Homewrecker module’ and ‘Finger blaster 9000’ but okay. She wasn’t the one coming up with the brand names, just hunting for any of use ones. Turns out the compound had a few, and she couldn’t help but wonder who could have ordered these.  

So, the murder bot was getting it on, ey? Probably with his own left hand and fat tears. Poor sod.  

Modifying either to be able to be wired for a MRVN unit isn’t difficult- well, as long as your name is Ramya Parekh, she humbly thinks to herself. The wiring for Pathfinder’s unit isn’t on any blueprints, so she has to call him in during it to do a fitting. Mostly with the poor bot lying on his back and legs spread while she unhooked the paneling at his front. Whoever made him wanted to make sure he could have these attachments, the wiring was dead similar to a simulacrum’s, just needed a bit more adjustments.  

It takes maybe three days to complete it, and each day Pathfinder comes trotting in with a pizza in hand and a bounce in his step with excitement written all over his little screen. Normally, Ramya doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing someone come in to check out the work, let alone stay with her. The entire time he expresses his excitement, bouncing around her and well...Ramya can’t say she hates the company.  

When the project is complete, Pathfinder is lain out on the ground on a blanket she has folded for him. Damned bot was too tall to put up on a table. Ramya is sat between his legs, carefully clicking the module into place and checking by his hip where a hidden panel was to ensure everything was in place. “Alright, Path, you should see somethin’ about connection establishment. Hit that green button for me, will ya?”  

“Can do!” He responds as chipper as ever, hands folded politely at his waist with his screen going from its classic emoji to a bright green screen showing ‘Download’ on the front. Ramya pats his leg affectionately, sitting back between his thighs as she tosses her shirt and sports bra clean over her head as casual as ever.  

What? Could you blame a girl for being excited to hitch a ride on a heavily sensitive bot? Not to mention she made that cock gorgeous, if she does say so herself. The cock itself was a deep blue to match his paintjob, ribbed and made of a heavy silicone to feel every bit like a hard cock. The head was smoothed into the shape of it, all the same girth and about a good seven inches long with a girth thick enough she couldn’t quite circle her fingers around it. It was to die for, really, even if it was beautiful in its simplicity.   

A slit at the head area would allow his lubrication reserves to act as cum as well. She’d opted to give him options, flavored lubricants to more natural ones. Pathfinder had gleefully picked up the white lubricant, excited it looked like ‘real cum!’ all in that cheery little tone of his as Ramya had fit it within that panel for him.  

“Oh!” Pathfinder exclaims suddenly, drawing Ramya’s attention to him as she kicks herself out of her overalls. Little LED nodes on the side of the cock light up a soft pink, some ‘pre-cum’ leaking out of the tip and letting her know he’s all good to go with the bright ‘100%!’ on his screen.  

“Alright, mate, before we get you all sorted out, how about you get me all sorted out? Would hate to make you bust too soon.” Ramya teases, patting his thigh and moving to take his spot as Pathfinder moves with her. She doesn’t expect Pathfinder to be so  enthusiastic  about foreplay, but damn if he doesn’t go ‘Woohoo!’ as he sits up to take his spot between her thighs.  

His hands are cooler as they press at her strong thighs, pressing them apart to expose the dark hair between her thighs and undoubtedly how wet she is, or how her large clit peeks from her lower lips. Ramya wasn’t embarrassed at what she  had,  she knew she was hot. All her piercings exposed across her body including the one on her clit. Pathfinder seems enamored with them, tracing the dermals on her hips, up to the one on her navel then up to her breasts where he cups them and smooths his thumbs across them. A sigh falls from her lips, tossing her head back with a smile lingering on her lips. “You’ve done this before, mate?”  

“Yes!” He practically vibrates with joy with his voice module reflecting the tone. His screen is hot pink with a heart emoji on the front drooling with a dazed expression. Flattering... “I just have not had the right attachment to do anything besides touch- but! I don’t mind. Especially when they’re as pretty as you!” It’s a coy flirt, one that makes Ramya laugh with her head throwing back to hide a flush on her cheeks. Falling into a soft gasp when he pinches both her nipples, rolling the buds until her hips press upwards into nothing.  

“Less talking more stretching, yeah?” It’s probably the last full sentence she’ll get out for the rest of foreplay. Pathfinder’s letting out that little laugh he does, happily grabbing one of the  set  aside lubricant bottles to coat his fingers.  

Ramya learns rather quickly he wasn’t in the slightest bit kidding about having done this before, not when she’s got two fingers curling inside of her and pounding into her with his other hand pressing on her mound. Using his index and middle to lightly jerk off her clit and massage it, making her cum multiple times all whilst she  arches  off the blanket and swears the entire time.  

Again, and again, he wrings out her orgasms. Twisting his fingers inwards and letting her hump up against his palm with her fingers twisting into the blankets when three fingers now spread inside her. All while the bastard hums a happy little tone to himself, clearly leaking his own lubricant reserves onto himself in arousal.  

A third orgasm hits her with Ramya’s own hips humping against his hand and practically riding his fingers shamelessly with her back arched and her legs trembling. Her head falls back with a loud cry as Pathfinder keeps slamming into that same spot, until she’s twitching and grabbing his wrist with a shaky, almost whiny sound. “Uncle-- okay, uncle, uncle —P-Path!”  

His name catches his attention, his hand pausing and sliding out of her.  ”Oh! Are you alright, friend?” His screen is blue, the emoji yellow and looking alarmed up until Ramya waves a loose hand at him, panting heavily as her other hand grabs her own hair to keep herself grounded.  

“Yes, yes, yes- don't look at me like that, I’m fine. Just need a minute. Supposed to be calibrating you, mate, not having you rail my brains out.” Ramya laughs out breathily, wiping sweat from her brow as she sits up shakily on one arm. Helped up by Pathfinder gently resting a hand on her lower back and making tingles run up her spine. Hm. Feelings. Gross. Didn’t need those.  

Ever so softly Pathfinder gently winds his arms around her, bringing her head to his screen and pulling her ponytail free. Ramya’s about to complain, but when his fingers are running through her hair and soothing where her hair had been tugged at, well, can’t really complain. Instead, Ramya sighs hard, pressing her cheek to his screen and winding her arms back around his waist to lean into his side. “Alright ya big softie, you win your cuddling this time.”  

“Yay! Go me!”  

Ramya snorts, patting the plating of his thigh fondly and hearing the soft hum of static under her ear to signal his screen changing. She can only imagine his own little imagery on the screen with the flashing ‘go me’ across it. Silly bot.   

She can’t help the soft sigh from her lips when his hand tucks strands behind her pierced ear, cursing herself mentally for the fluttering in her chest. Instead, she presses at him, urging Pathfinder to lie down on the blanket in her stead just so she can get a good look at him to stop these damn fluttering feelings in her chest. Perhaps not the best course of action when she’s biting her bottom lip and trying not to smile.  

Pathfinder looked a mess without even being touched yet. His screen is hot pink now, a pastel pink emoji on the front with star eyes and his hands folded politely just under his screen. His legs bounce from one to the other as if he would when standing and excited, his cock standing to attention and drooling the white lubricant onto his own waist plating.  

A quick run of two of her fingers along its ribbed texture and his hips jerking upwards immediately gives her a hint already of how well it was attached. Ramya can’t help herself, wrapping her fingers around and giving two quick strokes from base to tip. Immediately, Pathfinder lets out this high whining sound littered with static in his vocal module, his head turning to the side and an arm going over his optic as if embarrassed. “O-oh! That feels great!”   

“Don’t need the confidence boost, mate, just lookin’ to see if it’s working is all. Of course it is, though, I modified it after all.”  

“A-and it’s always great if it has ‘Rampart’ on it!” He agrees in that ever so chipper tone, even if it does waver and shake when her thumb slides over the slit of his ribbed cock. Her grin is lopsided, soft and holding back the fondness in her heart.  

“Ya damn right it is. Now,” She pauses then, moving on top of him to straddle his waist. Letting her weight settle there, fingers wrapped around his cock to keep him sat upright. “Shall we give you a proper go?”  

With how well Pathfinder had stretched her out, sliding down onto him is like a dream. Ramya is a bit overstimulated from earlier still, a small quiver and tightness to her thighs. Pathfinder lets out this surprised ‘oh!’ as she slides onto his girth, his hands finding purchase on her thighs and squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. His screen flashes hot pink, a wave of glitches shooting across it in a wave as the emoji flickers back and forth from drooling with hearts to having its eyes rolling back and tongue lolling out.  

“Atta boy. Feelin ’ alright?” Ramya practically croons out, rolling her hips against his just to watch his screen glitch again and his voice module shake with a moan in reply full of static. ”I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes!”  

One hand rests lightly on his screen to keep her balance, splaying her fingers to make sure to monitor it if his ‘expression’ went sour. As soon as her hips start bouncing, Pathfinder’s voice module comes out with mostly static and glitching of his moans, his head turning to the side and his hands shaking on her thighs. Small sounds leave Ramya’s own lips, watching how well behaved he is under her and just how sensitive this poor bot was. Sheesh, remind her to help him turn that down--  

Or well...maybe he could leave it up that high for now. She’d love to be able to do a bit more calibrations on him later.   

“R-Ra— aaaa -mm-y- ya- ” His poor voice glitches and shakes, practically jittering when she starts bouncing her hips on him. She mimics the sound with a low moan, using her hand not balancing on his screen to reach up towards his neck, finding the exposed wiring at where his shoulder meets neck and quirking her fingers inside and lightly tugging.  

Pathfinder immediately starts shaking, his legs kicking underneath himself until he can gain purchase and trying to hold Ramya still. She can’t help the grin spreading across her face, slamming her hips down harder and focusing more on him. His screen is a glitched mess of rainbows, flashing an emoji with its eyes rolled back and tongue lolled out and doing two peace signs. She’d ask later where he got that one and for what purpose.  

“R-Ramya! My systems a-are overloading!” Poor sod sounds like he could cry if he had the tear ducts to. Pathfinder’s hands slide up along her waist, squeezing as a laugh falls from Ramya’s lips breathlessly.  

“Dope. Ya gonna  cum for me, baby boy? Let’s see it." She sighs out, resting both hands on his glitching screen as his voice dissolves into static when her hips pick up the pace. Pathfinder is cumming not long after, hands shaking on her waist, screen a glitching mess and the only sounds she can make out from him sounding like cut off, distant audio of him crying and whining out. His lubricant reserves feel like cum inside of her, thick and warm and bring Ramya to her own fourth orgasm. Weak and quieter than the others but still making her sigh out in satisfaction.  

By the time her hips settle, he’s still shaking and overheating. Concerned, Ramya’s brows knit, stroking a hand over his optic’s cheek and yelping in surprise when suddenly his grapple comes shooting out to the side, hooking into her work bench and grounding him.  

Loud laughter flies from her lips as Ramya rests on his cock, one hand covering over her mouth to muffle the snorts falling from her lips as Pathfinder’s screen starts to settle. His overload seems to reboot his systems, his screen flashing pastel blue with a yellow emoji blushing and looking surprised. “Oh dear! I did not mean to do that.”  

“Ey, no sweat, Path. Got a laugh outta me. Let’s get you cleaned up and check out the data we collected, yeah?” Ramya laughs faintly throughout speaking, going to move off his lap but quickly stopped by his hands on her waist. Much gentler as he makes a soft, sad sound.   

“Boo! Do you think we could cuddle a little before you get up?”  

“You want MORE cuddling?! Didn’t I give you cuddles not fifteen minutes ago? You’re  gonna  get spoiled at this rate, mate.”  

Immediately, his screen flashes to a puppy dog eye emoji with begging hands. Ramya groans, rolling her eyes dramatically as she flops down on top of him instead.  Instantly  hearing the ‘yay!!!’ erupting from him as his arms wrap around her and her cheek lies on his warm screen.  

Damn bot was going to be the death of her.  

Seems like her weak spot would always be machines, hm?  

[tarithenurse]

Nightingale - 24

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Bit of everything – fun, challenge, angst, feels, fluff, confusion, fear, violence. A/N: A long chapter for once o.O  As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 24

Kakashi's mind is pendulumming between serene quiet and something similar to a wasp nest. One that has been kicked. As someone who's used to logical thinking, he finds the status quo unsettling...but also strangely invigorating despite not carrying any direct risks as supposed to many of his past experiences. Perhaps, at least this once, something can dull the ache he has known for years? Looking at the monument with its sharp lines defining the stones – a design befitting the weight of loss and memories – guilt rears its ugly head.

"Surviving while others pass on can be a burden sometimes," the creaky voice of the Hokage interrupts, "but perhaps our very duty is to do more than just survive. It's to live...because they cannot."

"Hmm." I refuse to forget them even if I one day move on.

The silence between the two men is not enough to stop the rustle of the wind as it rushes between the leaves.

Four days have passed since Kakashi found out he was the warden of Uguisu and he has been doing his best to pay attention to both her and Team 7 and keep their focus on training – a task that's annoyingly easy with the former. Where the trio barely contain their curiosity, the woman has become withdrawn. A logical reaction, the jōnin reminds himself often, but one that leaves him awake most of the night with a head full of worries and nightmarish scenarios.

"She never got to mourn her loved ones, Kakashi. A lone survivor, stranded in the middle of a war-to-be. Our new comrade will need time before she can recognize friend from foe," the old man wisely ponders."

"Haï." I can't push her. Only wait and be ready.

...

Two out of three genin are paying attention to the exercises, refining their techniques to minimize waste of chakra. The last, however, is obviously ogling the fifth person in the clearing and as a result earning his sensei's disapproval.

It isn't the first time Uguisu joins when she's finished her lessons at the Academy. In the beginning, she would sneak closer in the cover of the forest and sit down in a partially obscured spot where she could observe from. To Kakashi, it had brought a sense of familiarity. From the kids, once they noticed her, the primary reaction would be insecurity and it had forced her out of hiding and eventually into training along side them even if her focus had been on other techniques.

The kunai zips past the fox boy’s face and slams into the trunk of the stump with a thud.

“Hey!”

But the boy’s complains fall on deaf ears. “Stay aware of your surroundings at all times...without losing focus of the task at hand, Naruto.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh slips from Sasuke, causing his team mate to cringe.

In a way, it feels like Kakashi has been in charge of the four “students” for years because he has already figured out their strengths and is trying to find ways to amend their shortcomings. And as the session comes to an end, bringing about sweet free time for the kids, the sensei has made a decision concerning Uguisu’s training.

“Iruka tells me you’re a diligent student,” the jōnin admits as they watch the trio leave, “not much for him to do but fill in some voids and have you polish off the theory. That’s good.”

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei.”

It’s strange how a title he’s heard before without blinking can morph and affect him all of a sudden. The heart beats a little bit faster. The air is a slightly stuffier under the mask. And something in his pelvis tightens enough to tell him he’ll have a different task at hand later.

“Yeah...well...” He pulls out a little bell from a pocket and ties it to one of his belt loops. “I’m maybe more critical.” She arches an eyebrow as an unspoken demand for an explanation. “Genjutsu. Ninjutsu. They’re not the problem...taijutsu is. It made sense for Orochimaru to teach you according to your role off the battlefield and so close combat really isn’t your forte, is it?”

Uguisu scowls. “I can defend myself.”

“I’ve seen. But can you attack?” Gut tightened, Kakashi hates himself for what he’s asking of this woman who has been through hell and finally is beginning the long way back.

Maybe to the untrained eye, the change in her stance wouldn’t be noticeable – it is to any shinobi worth their salt. A slight inwards rotation of the right foot, knees bending a smidgen, hands flexing before summoning the hardness needed to land proper blows. Show me what you’ve got.

Planted solidly, he easily dodges the first blows by bending and twisting, but then Uguisu buckles down to the task. Step. Jump. Parry. They are reflexes rather than active decisions. All too obviously, she prepares for a roundhouse kick which Kakashi can avoid by back flipping away.

“You’re wasting energy with the big movements. Keep it tight and clean -” the jōnin instructs and exemplifies -“to minimize your opponent’s chance to read your actions beforehand.”

Returning to a defensive role, he observes as she tries to implement the pointer. Precise...yes. Pushing a flurry of jabs aside, Kakashi steps around her with ease. And at least she’s quick to orient herself, he admits while scrambling backwards because the student has followed him.

“The perfection of your defence -” he leaps over the woman before continuing -”is what you have to bring into an assault.”

The thin line of her mouth is probably the result of biting back some snarky comment, and Kakashi smiles behind the mask. Fear can lead to fight, flight or freeze...but anger and frustration, on the other hand. So to taunt her, frustrate her, he presents the body language of a bored person and offhandedly blocks and dodges anything Uguisu throws at him.

“Umph!”

Although the strength behind is lacking, the kick still sends the man stumbling backwards, sucking in deep breaths of air to replace what was forced from his lungs. It carries the scent of damp earth, bark, and cotton.

“Ha!” Uguisu triumphs briefly.

“It’ll take more than that.”

A single sign is all it takes for a second Kakashi to appear next to the real one in a puff of white smoke.

“Cheater,” she smirks, seemingly unsurprised by the added figure.

You’re smiling now... Already, he hates himself for what he’ll be doing and the only comfort is the sparring that precedes. Throwing himself into the battle (and keeping the copy on the sidelines), the jōnin coaxes and coaches is student through the moves she has trained on the dummy targets day in and day out.

Slowly, her confidence grows. Not perfect, but better.

“Come at me like you mean it.”

She manages a wry smile. “Intent to kill?”

Yes. A glint of steel in the lowering sun is the only warning the warden has, but he doesn’t mind as long as they follow his plan (one of them without knowing). Kakashi chooses to cheer the woman on instead, finally having to defend himself in earnest although she isn’t on the top 20 of dangerous opponents.

As if in a dance, they circle and move with each other. Step, and leaps, and rolls create a pattern in the trampled grass while continuously bringing the sparring partners closer to the Shadow Clone. Now! The smoke bomb obscures the entire area and forces the combatants to separate until the cloud has blown away – somewhere, Uguisu is using the pause to regain her breath and calm the nerves while the jōnin applies the disguise he’s prepared.

The smoke slowly dissipates, revealing how Uguisu has backed off and prepared herself for anything – almost anything as it turns out when she lays eyes on the adversary and her face contorts in fear. Don't freeze. But how can she not when the mask and wig resembles Orochimaru?

"Take a moment to refocus. Calm down." At least the voice isn't that of her former tormentor. "Breathe."

A kunai shakingly reflects the low sun, knuckles are white from the tight grip on it even as the woman's immediate reaction morphs into bitter resolve.

Kakashi barely manages to dodge the trio of shuriken and is granted no respite as he finds himself under a powerful assault. Pent up hatred swirls and coalesces to drive the blue-haired fury forward – and he lets her for a while. Counting each unused opportunity, the jōnin keeps tracks of how many times he could have fatally wounded her for a while.

"Enough!" A kick to the midriff sends Uguisu tumbling backwards, landing on her butt. "If you want to beat him, you've got to keep your wits!"

She's panting and sweating from the fruitless efforts, but the pallor of fear still clings to her skin. "Haï."

Looks like she means it. Kakashi's own view is restricted more than normal, but he recognizes the way a fighter would evaluate their target: dark eyes are identifying the weak spots, the disadvantages of the opponent. He can see, she has formulated some sort of plan as she pushes to the feet.

"Cheap trick," the woman comments, "but I get your point, sensei."

This time, both of them give as good as they get and the disguised man tries to push every single button he can in an effort to test Uguisu's mind and skills. Hmm, he parries a kick, technique's lacking. Too often, the strikes aimed at him are deflected, resulting in a waste of energy and a gain in frustration. As he begins to outmatch her efforts, he can see the fear return along with the dangerous openings. Using one of those weaknesses, Kakashi strikes quick as a snake, his fingers brushing the delicate skin on her throat before she evades him.

Twice more, similar near-finishes happen.

Finally fed up and pushed to her limits, Uguisu charges. Ignoring any inkling of self-preservation, she attempts a feigned attack towards his right flank followed immediately by a punch which could have broken his nose if he hadn't moved in time. Guiding the woman's movement into a spin, the jōnin leans into her back, a hand on her shoulder to illustrate a potentially fatal situation.

"Never rush in mindlessly." His voice is muffled by the Orochimaru-mask.

Under his hand, Uguisu is tense and shivering, her breath superficial even if she tries to control it enough to say, "I might've left myself open, but at least it's a draw."

"Huh?"

A slight pressure to the inside of Kakashi's left thigh makes him look down between them to find a kunai resting against between the creases of his trousers at the groin. Femoral artery. A slight jangle catches his ear from their other side.

"You used your frustration to distract me and let you close enough," he comments with an unseen smile.

"Hm-m. Now let go and get rid of that hideous stuff!"

...

Uguisu is silent as they walk side by side back to Konoha. I might have gone too far. Still pale, lips reduced to a thin line, the woman appears to be swept away by thoughts, and her warden is loathe to leave her alone in her current state.

"How 'bout a bowl of victory ramen?" he offers quietly.

Nodding silently, a strand of blue hair disentangling itself so she has to push it behind the ear, the girl follows.

It's not until they're sitting with each their own bowl of steaming hot noodles that the usual healthy colour returns to her cheeks although she remains quiet.

...

Kakashi can't sleep.

Again and again, he replays the evening's test and categorizes everything he has learned throughout it. As suspected, close combat isn't the woman's forte although there's hope for further improvement. What worries him the most, however, is the emotional burden she carries. It'll become a lia-

A gentle tap on the windowpane disrupts his thoughts and he turns to see a familiar silhouette perched outside which he waves to welcome in. The jōnin wants to reach out to her when she has settled in the window sill, wants to take her hand and apologize for the hardships and the trauma lingering. Instead, he lies quietly with the hands behind the head and watches her squirm for a while.

"Can I sit on the bed?"

Even without the small, shaky voice, he would have agreed in an instant and scoots over. Uguisu waits until he's in place once more, then she comes to sit in silence.

One minute. I wouldn't have to stretch my arm to reach her hand.

Three minutes. When does her breathing calm?

Eight minutes. Is that...? A thin path down her cheek glitters in the moonlight breaking through the clouds randomly. Shit. This is my fault. A logic thought protests against the claim to blame but is immediately drowned.

"Ugui-"

"Please, don't talk," she interrupts.

He shuts up not just because she asks him but because she reaches out and grabs his hand, sending a bucketful of nerves into overloading as they race to relay the input. Warm. Soft, despite the expected patches of callouses that match his own. A slight tremor runs from her to Kakashi and only diminishes as he caresses her knuckles with a thumb.

"Is't..? Would..?" Her blush is unreasonable adorable when combined with the meek stammer.

Pushing the pillow sideways, Kakashi tries to contain a giddiness. "You don't have to ask, just make yourself comfortable."

"Carte blanche to do anything I want?"

"Well..." He contemplates the possible risks. "Yeah."

Uguisu insists that he keeps the pillow as she lies down on the side with an arm under her head instead. Knees tucked towards the chest and a hand still clasping his, she finally seems to find a sort of peace. I should apologize. But as he formulates and discards a variety of sentences, the woman's eyelids grow heavy and soon, she's sleeping. It's a light sleep, disturbed by dreams that furrow her brows and the slightest movement by Kakashi – when he tries to reach over and pull the covers around her, she's startled awake.

Through the night, the jōnin doses on and off, comfortable with the sound of the second heartbeat travelling through the mattress and into his ear. Finally calm.

...

Maybe it's the cold, emptiness of his hand that wakes Kakashi...at least it's the first thing he registers, quickly followed by the awareness that the mattress is only giving in to the pressure of his own weight. When he opens the eye, the weak dawn is battling against clouds and the mind of the jōnin takes time to theorize that they grey layer won't recede during the day. Something else adds to the shadows still filling the room: Uguisu is standing by the window.

"Mrug'shu?" At least the curses are clearly articulated in Kakashi's mind.

A sad smile tugs at the woman's cheek, softened by the light. "Go back to sleep, 'Kashi...and...thank you."

"Always."

The window swooshes as it slides back and forth in the rail, cutting off the connection between the two of them. Whyyyyy? Rubbing his face hard and scratching the white hair until his scalp tingles, he's left with no answers and only the scent of cotton that lingers in the sheets next to him. That's it...the unbeatable Copy-Ninja has been defeated. I'm done for! If anyone was watching him, though, they'd see the mask pulled askew by a goofy smile.