#‘LIKE THE SONG. THE SONG CALLED VORE’

[excessive-moisture]

no offense north, but it is a common way to tell if someone draws vore based on how much detail they put in when drawing mouths

i'm going to nuke this website

[foxgloveinspace]

‘Putting down the roses picking up the sword’

[hyperesthesias]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Character

summary: Simon "Ghost" Riley makes the mistake of intervening on the behalf of a woman stuck in an abusive relationship. The only reason it's a mistake -- he has six months of leave, and he's falling for her. When he ships out, he promises that if she's ever in danger again, to call him and he'll come running. Ten years later, he receives that call -- only to find it's her daughter who's asking for his help.

author's note: this idea came to me while i was falling asleep, and it bothered me all night until i could write it today. i apologize for the chicken scratch. it's really just three ideas in a trench coat. i love this idea so much i might turn it into a book at some point. if that happens, i will probably delete this. but for now -- enjoy!

content: unformatted & not proof-read; references to past sexual assault; references to torture; abusive relationship (not perpetuated by Ghost); graphic sex; kidnapping; canon-typical violence; PTSD.

words: 10,692.

if you'd like music while you read, these songs are what i wrote this to: whiskey sunrise by chris stapleton // just pretend by bad omens // vore by sleep token.

He is on leave. He is attempting to assimilate into the usual crowd of a parking lot, but no matter how aware he is of his gait, or how many times he looks over his shoulder, he can't shake the feeling that he is inherently out of place. He's been home three weeks, back on English land, where the sea and river air feel damp on his skin, and he realizes home is an idea, not a place. He'll never feel the way he did all those years ago, when he was once a person he no longer recognizes.

He is content to stock up on the regular supplies: alcohol and caffeine -- caught in the perpetual sedative-stimulant cycle. He can make do with whatever else he has at his flat; it's sparse and barely furnished, but he's certainly had worse. He doesn't want to think of worse right now. He wants to think about getting a couple of six packs, and sitting in that in the living room chair that's too soft, and that's too difficult to get out of, he wants to think about putting his feet up, and pretending to watch football. He wants to pretend to be normal, if only for a few hours, until night falls and sleep waits in the corner for him.

But he's too observant for his own good -- it's always saved his ass, but sometimes, like today, it's a curse.

He sees a man in the far end of the parking lot, with the distinctive glint of a blade in his hand. He's growling behind grit teeth something Simon can't hear clearly. The man has gotten out of his car, and is slashing the tires of another man, who's trying to stay as far away from the sharp end of the knife as possible; there's a woman seated in the passenger's side of the aggressor's car, she's still as stone, terrified to move.

Simon swears under his breath, knowing he's not obligated to do a damn thing while on leave -- and knowing he's more than obligated, despite. His appearance is still obscured, he's wearing a black surgical mask, with a black aviators, and a cap; he looks like someone pretending to be tougher than they are. But no one needs to know otherwise.

He intervenes in the situation, trying to deescalate as quickly and as quietly as possible. Using a light pole and the position of the two cars as cover from the security cameras in the parking lot, he places himself between the aggressor and the victim -- who is now taking photos of the tires for insurance. Simon has one eye on the girl inside the man's car, and the other on the shaking hands of the coward in front of him. After his attempts to talk him off the ledge fail, Simon easily disarms the man and sprains his wrist as he twists the hilt of the knife out of his palm. He lands a punch into the man's gut, and tells him to stay down as he doubles over onto the pavement. When he doesn't obey, Simon kicks him in the head to make sure he doesn't wake up for a while. He briefly glances at the man whose tires were slashed, but he only turns a blind eye, still preoccupying himself with his insurance photos.

Simon makes his way to the passenger side, still avoiding the cameras, where the woman remains paralyzed from the violence that has occurred in front of her. He leans one arm on the roof of the car as he peers into the window, and ushers her out.

"You could do a lot better than him, you know," he says.

She looks her behind her to the man on the ground, then to the one who is standing above her. She doesn't say anything, but follows the instruction to exit the car.

"My advice --" Simon says, without prompting, "take this as a win. Leave him behind. A man like that will only bring you down."

It takes her a moment to register what he's said, but ultimately she agrees. She half expects him to be gone by the time she looks back at him -- like a vanishing stranger clad in all black -- but to her surprise, he's still there. He's standing beside her, looking at his smartphone. "Th--Thank you," she says.

He gives her half a look as he continues to fiddle with his phone. "Don't mention it."

She takes it as a command, rather than a pleasantry.

"I can call you a ride," he tells her, and hands her his phone -- a burner. "Put your address in, and I'll make sure the bastard doesn't start coming to."

She shakes her head. "I live just down the block. I'll just...walk home."

"He know where you live?"

"Yes," she answers, a cling of shame to her voice -- for a reason she can't quite discern.

Simon deviates from his plan, and instead puts in an anonymous tip to the police about a man causing a disturbance at the grocery’s address. The victim with the slashed tires isn't going anywhere any time soon, and would still be there to give a statement. "He won't be bothering you for a few days, at least. Long enough for you to get somewhere he doesn't know about." He walks her home.

She introduces herself as Cecelia, and all he replies is: "Simon".

He never got that beer. The next day, he goes to a different store, hoping he doesn't run into another moment of conscience.

The next week, he makes the misguided attempt to check on her. He debates for a while on whether or not it would come across as predatory that he remembered where she lived. He never vacillates in the field, but every time he remembers he's not in the field, he questions whether his decisions are appropriate for 'normal' life. He's made peace with never being 'normal', but for a moment, he'd like to not feel so unfit for human society.

Cecelia answers the door, and a part of him is disappointed -- disappointed that she wasn't far away from her ex-boyfriend, and disappointed that now he has to actually speak to someone.

"Simon," she welcomes him, to his surprise.

At her bidding, he steps inside her flat; he checks the corners around the door and the foyer, a habit of which he's painfully aware. "You always invite masked strangers in?"

She chuckles at the oddity, and closes and locks the front door. "You would be the first. But I don't consider us strangers -- not after your help last week. I am grateful."

"You able to find somewhere safe?" he asks.

"They're keeping him for now. He can't afford bail."

He nods and looks around at her apartment, that prickly feeling of being out of place starting to get worse, and more intense at the forefront of his skin. She has houseplants, a warm, well-used couch, paintings hanging from the wall. There's an electric tea kettle on a breakfast bar, with a lipstick stained mug sitting next to it. Her home looks like something out of a dream he had on occasion as a child -- after watching too many sitcoms on television. Everything always looked happy, everyone always laughed and got along. It was just as well it was on television, nothing like that could be real. Until it is, and until he's standing in the middle of it -- ill-fitted.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he says, hoping for a quick and quiet exit. "Just wanted to make sure he hadn't come back to give you trouble."

"Please -- can't I offer you tea?"

She had the good kind in a glass jar on that breakfast bar, and his well-engrained comforts gave him a moment of pause. It was just enough of a pause to let her move from him to the kettle, where she was already making him a cup. She tells him it's the least she can do for him. He waits until she takes a drink of hers first. It is damn good tea.

She tells him her ex's hearing will be in a couple of weeks. Simon tells her he'll check on her then.

Over the next few weeks, he keeps in regular contact with Cecelia. Every time he comes over, she makes him a cup of tea, updates him about the case against her ex, and then they sit in silence. It's become a routine. After two months, he starts coming to her house even without cause from her ex's case. He starts to feel like those feral cats she feeds on her patio. But the silence is nice. Sitting in the warmth of her living room, instead of his own -- cold and rigid -- it was a pleasant change. There's a subtle, subconscious thought that he's afraid to let come to the surface -- that in a way, she has saved him as much as he helped her that day.

"When do you go back?" she asks one afternoon, breaking the silence between them.

Immediate suspicion grows within him, and he doesn't answer for a while, he only stares at her.

"It's not a difficult assumption that you're military," she explains. "I had a brother in the Navy." She pulls out a gold pendant necklace from beneath her sweater and shows it to him, hoping the display of vulnerability might help him feel more comfortable to answer. "This was the last thing he gave me. He sent it to me while he was overseas. He never stopped worrying about me, even while he was in active duty," she smiles, but it's a sad smile.

The stiffness in his shoulders softens only mildly, and he breaks his gaze from her. "I ship out in four months."

She only nods. A part of her was hoping that it'd be longer, that they'd have more time to get to know one another. The mystique was enticing, but the comfort she felt sitting in his company was something she hadn't felt in a long time. She would miss it when he was gone.

"What happened to your brother?"

"He was killed," she answers. "In a training exercise. That never sat right with me, though. I always felt they weren't tell me the whole truth."

"Probably weren't," he says.

"I don't know whether or not that's a comfort or if it just makes it worse."

"Whatever the truth is, probably worse. Better to take what they give you."

"You always take what they give you?"

He looks at her again. This time, not with suspicion, but with guilt. Guilt of following orders, guilt of not. The weight of betrayal. The heaviness of killing the people who were meant to have his back -- the people he was meant to trust. The anger and despair that he keeps caged somewhere just below the surface of being double crossed by those meant to guide him. It's a long time before he answers: "No."

They don't speak again for the rest of the afternoon. He leaves, as he always does, but this time he washes the mugs before he goes.

Another week passes, and in the middle of the night, he's startled by his phone ringing. It doesn’t wake him, but it disrupts the cycle of blended thoughts and memories that blanket him at night. He has half the mind to let it go to voicemail; it's just his burner phone, no one important has that number -- besides Cecelia. The static of worry crawls beneath his skin, and he looks at the caller ID. It's her.

"You alright?" he answers.

"Simon --" panic is set into her voice. "I think someone's trying to break in."

"Lock yourself in the closet. I'm on my way."

He's armed to the teeth when he gets to her flat. The glass patio door has been jimmied open, and her apartment has been tossed. The paintings are broken and hanging crooked on the wall, the soil from the plants is spilled and pressed into the carpet by footprints. Simon stalks from room to room, until he hears Cecelia scream from her bedroom. He raises his weapon and pushes open her bedroom door -- the ex is pulling her out of her closet by her hair, with a baseball bat in his other hand.

"Drop it!" Simon demands. It surprises her attacker, that his grip lightly loosens from her -- she's trying to wriggle free from his hand beneath him. "Drop it, or I drop you."

"You! -- You bastard!" he yells back. "This is your fault! Look what you've done, huh! Look at it!"

Simon doesn't take his eyes off her attacker, but he can see Cecelia clawing at the man with every might of strength she has -- she's pulling blood from his arm. "Let her go. I'm not telling you again."

The man releases Cecelia's hair, and grips the bat with both of his hands. He lunges at Simon with full force. Simon deflects the bat with one arm, feeling the impact of the wood absent of any armor. He follows his hand around the bat and grabs its handle, flipping it out of the attacker's grasp. He holsters the gun -- wanting to draw as little attention to himself as possible; and in that same sentiment, he refrains from hitting the man in the head with his own bludgeon -- regardless of how much he wants to. With a powerful swing, Simon cracks the bat against the man's tibia. The bone snaps audibly and the man collapses to the floor, wailing in agony. Whether out of the assurance of safety, or out of the flame of revenge, Simon takes one more pass with the bat and breaks both of the man's kneecaps.

He once more calls the police, and her attacker is taken to the hospital for his injuries under police escort. Simon encourages Cecelia to be seen by the paramedics, even though she insists she's fine. But no matter how many times she refuses, Simon tells her she needs to. They take her to the hospital for a concussion. He makes himself scarce.

He debates visiting her the next day. Much to his chagrin, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, he's grown attached to her. He knows it's not inherently a negative thing, but it is a liability. Regardless of how much of an asshole her ex was, Simon couldn't help but feel there was some truth to what he said: that if he hadn't intervened that day, nearly three months ago, that none of this would've happened. He tries not to think about the long term consequences of his actions.

He visits her in the hospital anyway.

He brings her flowers in an awkward gesture -- though it’s no less heartfelt.

"You have someone you need me to call?" he asks.

She's lying in her hospital bed, scraped and bruised, still mildly concussed, but grateful her injuries weren't worse. "No. It's just me."

"No friends?"

She sighs. "Not anymore. He made sure of that."

He nods, knowingly. His own father isolated his mother, Margot, as much as he could, until she'd had no one left. "I heard the doc say he’s gonna release you later today."

"I wish I was happier to go home."

"You don't have to be happy," he says.

As cynical as it sounded, it relieves the pressure from her shoulders of having to put on a front. "I could use some clothes, though."

"I'll get 'em for you," he tells her.

He returns to her flat and packs her an overnight bag. Her flat is a wreck, and the doors are still compromised. When she is discharged, he brings her to his place instead.

"You take the bed," he tells her when they step through his door. "I'll have the couch. I'd offer you tea, but it isn't any good." Even when he's joking he never sounds like it.

She's gotten accustomed to this timbre, and looks at him with a smirk. "I guess I'll have to settle for a beer, then."

She can't see it, but he's returning the smirk. At his place -- which he doesn't call a 'home' -- he takes off the black surgical mask, and the cap; he takes off his gloves, and puts them all by the front door. It's one of the rare times she's seen him so bare.

He helps her get settled, and gets her the beer. She's seated on his couch and he joins her. "It's as cold as it's gonna get."

She stays with him for a week; the patio door is being repaired by the insurance and the landlord. She doesn't mind, she feels safer at his place anyway -- even if it is lacking warmth. He's always awake before her, and every morning, she's woken by the scent of coffee. When she comes out of the bedroom and into the living area, there's always a cup waiting for her on the table.

Simon adds reinforcement to her front and patio doors. "Don't tell anyone where you got this," he tells her as he installs the locks and alarms for her. He helps rehang her paintings, and scrub the carpet. It takes his mind off of other things that try to come to the surface. His mind is emptier of its evils than it has been in a long time, and he's acutely aware that this is temporary.

When Cecelia is settled in her place again, she asks him to stay. He doesn't want to say no.

So he doesn't.

It's a whirlwind romance -- one they both know will end in only a few months' time. Despite the fact that he's only known her for a brief period, he can't recall feeling so comfortable. He won't say safe. He'll never say safe. Because he never is. He won't say at peace. And he won't say happy. But he is comfortable. It's a foreign feeling, one that he distrusts if he thinks about it too long. But when he's lying next to her at night, the brutal images in his head are less vivid, the screaming voices are quieter, sometimes he even sleeps.

They haven't had sex. It's not a subject he's even broached, and neither has she. When she lies beside him, the most contact they have is her hand on his chest, and her face nestled into his side.

She kisses him on the cheek once, and it takes him a moment to process it. He's still and quiet, his eyes are downcast as he's contemplating it. She asks if she's done something wrong. He tells her no -- not at all.

One evening, when he's staying at her place — as he often does — they're on her couch after a couple of drinks. They were at one point watching television, but they've since been ignoring it -- talking, and in between whispered words, soft kisses. One thing leads to another, and she's sitting on his lap, his arms are around her, and he's kissing her deeply. He forgot how to kiss like this -- he didn't think it was still possible within him. That there was still some form of passion and intimacy that was in his spirit. He's hungry -- and with every kiss he's getting hungrier. She's laughing and enjoying herself. The way she feels on top of him feels good, it's just enough movement and pressure to turn him on. It feels good -- until suddenly it doesn't.

Simon immediately pulls away and stops. The passion in him is walled up, shut up, and where there was once heat beneath his skin, it's now cold, concrete.

Cecelia stops and looks for his eyes. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He tries to get himself to talk. But nothing comes out. He's not supposed to talk. He's not supposed to say anything. He's trying to squirm away from her now, and she takes the signal quickly. She gets off his lap, and sits beside him, still trying to figure out what happened. She gets them ice water instead of asking any more questions. He looks like he's still dissociating by the time she comes back, and she has to prompt him to take the water.

Simon goes back to his place that night. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, until the nightmares come.

He's startled awake the next morning by a sound that doesn't exist. It takes several minutes for him to catch his breath -- his heart is in his throat, and he can't focus on anything in front of him. Eventually, he's able to discern his own sheets, he's able to tell he's in England, that he's nowhere near Mexico — his captors. He's still shaking by the time he finally reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

There's a text from Cecelia. He opens it, expecting the worst: that she never wants to talk to him again after what happened last night. That his rejection of her was insulting, and that he was less of a man for it. It was for the better, he thinks. It saves him a messy departure later.

But the text is very different than what he thought:

She apologizes. She thinks his reaction had something to do with her.

It couldn't be further from the truth.

Cecelia was indescribably incapable of the evil done to him. He just doesn't know how to explain that to her.

Well, how to explain it to her and still maintain some kind of dignity and confidence.

It would be easier if he doesn't reply, he thinks. Again, it would save him a messy ending with her. If he ghosts her -- no pun intended, he thinks to himself, but fitting regardless -- he never has to explain himself. He never has to tell the truth. Even to himself.

But that would be cowardly.

He's a lot of things. But a coward isn't one of them.

He doesn't reply.

Instead, he's on her doorstep later that evening. Just like one of those feral cats.

Cecelia answers the door, and he can't look her in the eye. "I come in?" he asks, his head still on a swivel, both out of instinct, and also to provide an excuse as to why he won't look at her.

She agrees, and closes and locks the door behind him. She doesn't say anything for a minute, waiting for him to make the first move, but instead he's standing in the middle of her living room, awkwardly -- like a video game character in the loading lobby.

"I didn't think I'd hear from you," she says. "I hope I didn't --"

"It's not you." He cuts her off. "You didn't do anything." He takes his hat off, and runs a gloved hand through his hair as he tries to figure out what to do with himself. He still won't remove the mask. He needs something -- some kind of barrier.

"I'll put the kettle on," she says. It's going to be a long night, she can feel it.

It's been years, it's been a lifetime ago. But some things don't stay dead. Like memories. All those weeks under Roba's influence of torment, retreating into ugly corners of his mind to escape the evil being done to him at the drug lord's hand, and all those under Roba's command -- viscerally having his body and mind being used and crushed in the attempt to break him. He hasn't talked about it, except in veiled mutters under his breath -- only once -- to Price. Even then, he wasn't entirely sure he understood, Simon made no effort to clarify.

He doesn't go into detail with Cecelia. She doesn't deserve to hear about the gore, the blood and violence. But he gives her clear implications, with bullet points of what transpired after he clawed his way out of Roba’s torture, out of Vernon's grave: the deaths of his mother, his brother and sister-in-law, his nephew.

Hours have passed since he showed up without warning, and yet their time together has been mostly silence. His words few and far between, he said most of what he meant without speaking. She didn't interrupt him.

At last she asks: "Did you get them?"

He looks at her, for the first time since he arrived. But he can't hold her eyes long, and he nods. "I got 'em."

"Good."

The next week, they're on her couch again -- two drinks in, with the television mindlessly on mute -- and this time, he lowers her onto the cushions, where he settles on top of her.

Foreplay last for several days. He gets to a point where he can be shirtless, or have his pants unzipped, until he backs down. He lies on her chest instead, and falls asleep as she runs her hands through his hair. She tells him more than once he doesn't have anything to prove. He knows, he tells her, it's something he wants to do; his mind and body need to do some catching up, is all. She waits.

It's the weekend, and she's invited him to stay over the next few days. She'll make them dinner. He comes by with a six pack and some fresh bread. There's a box of condoms in his back pocket, but he's not going to tell her that -- he doesn't want to promise anything and then not deliver.

But it happens. And it happens because they're not trying to make it happen.

They move to the bedroom; he has half his clothes off by the time she follows him. She's in her bra and panties as she gets on the bed -- she regrets it's not the matching pair, but it doesn't even look like he notices. At his request, she doesn't sit on top of him, she sits beside him as she rubs her palms into his chest, down his abdomen, trailing every outline of his body with a single finger.

She has a cute nose, he thinks -- it scrunches as she smiles, and she hasn't stopped smiling since they ran to the room like teenagers trying not to get caught. He cups a hand on her face, tracing her nose and the lines of her smile. He leans to put a kiss on her mouth, her hands taking his jaw gently. Every movement is gentle and deliberate. She moves her lips from his, down his neck, where they follow his sternum, his stomach, to the trail of soft hair that leads beneath his briefs. With his help, she removes them, and puts them with the pile of clothes on the floor.

He's already getting hard, and she wraps her hand around his cock, gently pumping him to help him along. She feels him twitch as he takes a deep breath, and when she looks at him to see if he's alright, he brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear. She dots gentle kisses along his tip and frenulum, and his hand moves from her hair to twist into the sheets beneath him. She laughs as she takes him into her mouth, and the vibration of her laughter onto his cock makes him swear.

Simon takes another breath and watches as she bobs up and down his length, now fully erect. As she feels his body tense, she stops and returns to putting kisses along his shaft.

"You're teasing me," he says.

"I'm warming you up," she laughs again.

He reaches for the box of condoms on the floor, and rips open the package to use one. He sits up and pulls her close, onto his lap. He buries his face into her the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.

Cecelia takes him, inch by inch, as she sits on his lap, and the moan that escapes her sets his mind on fire. He pulls her closer to his chest, and grabs the pile of her hip as she starts to rock back and forth against him. She's whining as he tenderly bites into the soft skin of her neck -- leaving a pleasant mark behind in his wake.

He starts to feel unsure of himself, unsure of the position they're in, when Cecelia stops and nestles her nose into his hair. She puts another kiss on the top of his head, and they sit there for a moment -- barely moving, except for the rising and falling of their breathing.

Simon initiates the next movement, where he begins to thrust into her. One hand behind him among the pillows to balance him, the other holding her hip to keep her steady, he's looking into her face as she puts her hands on his shoulders. She begins to rock back and forth again, finding a rhythm with him, and as she does, she puts her hands behind her head, fanning out her hair as she seems to dance on top of him.

He has a brief moment of feeling foolish -- in believing she looks like some ethereal spirit, or a nymph. Like one of those paintings that he's seen on the walls of great leaders. But his doubts are drowned out by her leaning on him and putting her mouth on his.

They stay in this rhythm for some few moments, until he gently turns her on her back, and settles himself between her legs. He takes one of her feet and kisses it, before he wraps her legs around his waist.

He keeps a steady pace into her, the feeling of pleasure wafting through his body with unfamiliar electricity, his appetite suddenly whetted, and his thrusts become harder. Her moans and whimpers getting louder, more intense, as she touches herself. Simon reaches his hand to massage her sex, and her whole body tenses -- her core grips around him in soft waves. He comes -- intensely, and at the feeling of her, at the sight of her lost in the pleasure of him. A gasp sputters from him at the sensation of satisfaction that takes hold of his mind and body.

She reaches up to him and takes his face in her hands again as she puts her brow to his. His breathing is heavy, and it washes over her damp skin, sending a shiver of cold throughout her.

He lies beside her again that night, as she puts her hand on his chest, and her face into his side. Except this time, he turns to her, to see her -- face on. He usually tries to obscure himself as much as possible, but just for this moment -- just for the time he has left with her, he wants to be seen. Just for now.

Simon lives at her flat for the remaining weeks he has left of leave. He tries not to lean into the fantasy as hard as he wants to -- but when she invites him to the market to get ingredients for dinner, he can't refuse her. He's on edge the entire time -- searching the crowd for anyone who might become a threat, the sinking feeling of waiting for a detonation to occur when there isn't one keeps his eyes fixed on the periphery of the farmer's market. He briefly loses track of her, and he's ready to pry her from the arms of an enemy that isn't present -- he finds her picking fruit from a basket at a vendor's stall. It's the moment he knows he can't ever have a normal life. It's something he's always known, but the image of its reality is materialized as he watches her smell peaches from a distance.

His recall date is approaching faster than he wants it to. As strong as he is, he can't slow Time. Every night when he lies awake in bed, he watches her sleep. With the images of her bedroom, and of her living room, and the breakfast bar with the kettle and well-worn mugs upon it, with the image of her sleeping peacefully, cuddled beneath her blankets beside him, he builds a new place in the dark corners of his mind. Somewhere into which he can retreat when the night gets ugly. When the job gets uglier.

The night before he's recalled, they make love again. He adds the blissful memory to that place in his mind. He holds her tighter, fucks her with an intensity and a desperation he couldn't speak in words; he keeps her as close as he can until the moment he has to give her up.

Cecelia wakes up early the next morning, before dawn, to see him off. His bag is already packed, the coffee is already made, with her mug, full on the counter, just as it always is.

"Will I ever see you again?" she asks.

He stops. He heard her get up, heard her come out of the bedroom, but even still, he was hoping to leave unseen. He doesn't have an answer for her.

"No," he says. He still doesn't look at her.

She stays quiet, but sits at the breakfast bar, where her cup of coffee is waiting for her. He's still in the kitchen, washing the dishes he used to make her breakfast. She sees him put his head down, thoughts flooding themselves behind his brown eyes. But still, he says nothing.

After he finishes leaving no trace of himself in her home, as he readies himself to leave, his duffle bag in hand, his mask and gloves fitted against his skin, he stops before he opens her front door.

"Come here," he tells her.

A part of her hopes that he'll change his mind -- that he'll say he'll be back whenever he gets leave again. But she doubts they will let him go for a very, very long time.

"Look at me."

Her eyes are wet, but she tries to hide it. She does as he says nonetheless.

"If you are ever -- ever -- in trouble..." he pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, "...you send this to this address." On it is written a word: 'MAYFLOWER', along with an encrypted email address. "I will come running." He hands her the paper and she takes it with a trembling hand. "Memorize this. Then burn it. Do you understand?"

She nods as she studies the paper. She tries to hold back her crying, but the harder she tries, the louder she sniffles.

Cecelia wraps her arms around his waist and holds him, just for a moment. Her tears stain his jacket, but she can't bring herself to care. When she lets go, she kisses his mask. She feels him return it, despite the barrier between them.

She watches him leave, before the sun is up. He vanishes from her life as quickly as he entered it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

TEN YEARS LATER

Ghost is preparing to ship out on an assignment to Eastern Europe with the rest of the 141 in two weeks. He and MacTavish are paired together to arrive first before the rest of the crew. They are currently both in England, going over the plans for the next assignment.

He sold his flat a long time ago, he no longer has permanent residence in England. He rents out places in cash when he needs a temporary place to stay. Simon and Soap are staying together while they prepare, then they will fly out to the drop zone.

As Simon prepares for the next assignment, he receives a transmission on an encrypted email. It is reserved only for emergent scenarios, usually used by his other teammates or superiors when an assignment goes sideways. As he opens the encrypted message, he anticipates that he and Soap will have to ship out sooner than expected.

The message reads:

'MAYFLOWER'

He gave this specific code only to Cecelia. No others have it. He remembers his promise.

In the ten years since their separation, he has not heard from Cecelia, nor has he sought her out in the time he is on homeland. But he thinks about her in moments when the dark begins to suffocate him. He thinks about her during the springtime, and when the world comes alive again. He shares this with no one. Not even Soap. Now, he might have to.

MacTavish sees Simon gearing up, as if he were ready to leave for the hanger at any moment. "You goin' somewhere without me, Lt.?"

Simon stops, and deliberates. A gnawing feeling tells him not to confide in a teammate again -- to not make the same mistake he did with Sparks and Washington. But when he turns and looks Soap in the eye, he knows that honesty -- even obfuscated honesty -- is what will help Cecelia in that moment. "You trust me?"

He tells Soap to pack as they talk, and he debriefs his partner with as little information he can get away with: he promised a woman a decade ago that if she ever needed help, he'd come running. She was calling in the favor.

"What's so special about this woman, then?" Soap asks.

They're driving to the location from which the message was sent -- a house in Manchester, that was bought under her name. She moved, then, he thinks -- from a flat to a house, he hopes she's doing well enough for herself. And whatever family she might have. It would be foolish to think she wasn't married with kids by now. It was just statistics.

"Lt.?"

Ghost takes a breath, as silently as he can, before he answers: "She helped me out. Just returning the favor." It's as close to honesty as MacTavish was going to get for now -- if ever.

The house is visibly disturbed by the time they get there -- the front door is broken, there are signs of a struggle in the living room. There are no police on the scene, neighbors seem to mind their own business. Simon takes the front of the house, while Soap takes the rear. Every room he enters is clear, the house is empty.

"You seeing anything, Lt.?"

"Negative," Ghost answers. "The house is clear."

"I'm doing a perimeter sweep," Soap says.

"Report back."

"Copy."

Ghost tries to piece together what happened as he steps through the chaos that transpired -- they entered through the front door, and tossed the entire place. Desks and dressers tossed; a file cabinet thrown on its side and emptied. The nightstand in the master bedroom rifled through, the closets emptied. There's a child's room adjacent to the master bedroom -- also tossed and empty. A child’s bedroom…It was just the statistical probability that she'd moved on, he reminds himself.

A noise comes from the secondary bathroom in the hallway, and Ghost raises his weapon. He pushes the door to the bathroom open and sees nothing. He prods at the shower curtain — nothing.

There's a linen closet. He raises the rifle, stands to the side of the door, and opens it -- waiting to hear a barrage of gunfire. But there was nothing. He sees the interior of the linen closet in the bathroom mirror:

A child is hiding inside of it, huddled with her hands over her head.

"Perimeter check," he radios Soap.

"Clear, Lt.. Converging on you now."

He checks her for weapons before he continues. "What happened here?" Ghost asks the child.

She's shaking and looks up at him with terror.

"Your mother called me to help."

"She -- She told me to c-call you."

"You sent the message?"

She nods.

"Do you know who did this?"

She shakes her head.

Ghost lets a silent breath, as he looks around the bathroom again -- even the medicine cabinet was tossed. "Whoever they were, they were looking for something." He lets his rifle fall to his side, and he helps the girl out of the closet. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head.

"Was there anyone else in the house?"

"No. Just me and mum."

"Is anyone supposed to come home?"

"No. It's just us."

Soap arrives at Ghost's side, surprised to see the girl. "Casualty?"

"Just shellshocked. Get ‘er a blanket."

MacTavish does as he says, and pulls one from the girl's room. "We're the good guys," he tells her. "Give it a minute, an' when you've had a breath, tell us what you remember." He leads her from the bathroom, to somewhere warmer in the house, careful that she shouldn't step on anything broken on the floor. "D'ye have someone we can call, then? Gram? Da? A friend from school?"

"I -- I don't know."

"Alright, it’s alright. Let's start with somethin' easier, then." He adjusts her blanket and helps her put on a pair of shoes that was left by the doorway. "How 'bout we start with your name? How 'bout that? What's your name, love?"

"My name is Margot."

Simon stops. He looks at the girl, he studies her. She looks much like her mother, yet a part of him thinks he saw a resemblance of himself. But it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he insists. It makes no difference anyway.

"Margot. Pretty name, lass, very classy," Soap tells her.

"Call child welfare," Simon says.

"No!" Margot turns and stops him.

"It's only temporary -- 'til we find your mother," Soap tells her.

"No --"

“This isn’t a discussion," Simon snaps.

Soap looks at the Lieutenant, knowing him well enough to hear something other than the weight of the mission beneath the surface of his voice. He looks back at the girl, who keeps trying to take off her blanket, and ties it around her. "Like a cape," he tells her. "We're very good at what we do, lass. You'll be back with your mother in no time."

"You're not listening!" the girl finally says, she stands, facing Simon. "I don't know who they were," she tells him, still trembling, "but I know what they were looking for."

The girl doesn't seem to be intimidated by either him or Soap, and he finds it unusual. That sinking suspicion settles itself at the forefront of his mind, and he keeps it in check. "What were they looking for?"

"They said -- they said they were looking for something my uncle gave my mum." Tears are coming back to her, and she cowers at the feeling of guilt.

"The necklace?" Simon asks.

"But she doesn't have it. She gave it to me." She pulls out the gold pendant from beneath her shirt.

"Sir, can we have a word?" It's more of a demand from Soap, rather than a request and he turns to Margot. "Don't take off the cape." He pulls Ghost to the side, and speaks as quietly as he can, hoping not to scare the girl: "They're gonna find her eventually. I don't think child welfare is the best option for her."

Simon still hasn't taken his eyes off of Margot, he's still studying her -- her features, her nose, her eyes. She has brown eyes, but so does her mother. Even if his suspicion is true, it still doesn't mean anything, he convinces himself. He wouldn’t be able to be there for her in any way that matters, he tells himself.

"We can offer her better protection. We track the bastards, neutralize the threat, and get her mother back. We send her into foster care, she's a sitting target once they realize her mother doesn't have what they want."

He hates it when Soap is right.

Finally, he looks at his partner, and they mobilize. Soap helps Margot pack a bag out of what remnants of clothes and necessities are strewn all over the house. Simon is standing in the master bedroom, he tells himself he's looking for any sign of what the attackers were after, but he knows it's a lie. He wants to see what has become of Cecelia. But he knows he shouldn't linger.

They regroup at the house Soap and Ghost are renting. Simon asks Margot to hand over the necklace; she does, although she hesitates for a moment, a thought crossing her mind that it might be the only thing of her mother's she'll have left when this is all over.

"I'll give it back," he tells her.

She looks up at him, into his eyes -- he's still wearing that balaclava and all his gear. The greasepaint obscures the depth of his eyes, but she can see their glint in the low light of the living room. She's trusting him as much as he's trusting her. She gives him the necklace.

Simon holds it in the center of his gloved hand -- it looks no different than any other pendant one might find at a jewellry store. It was a plain circle, with no ornamentation, except for an asymmetrical raised texture in the center. He turns it over, there's no stamp indicating the carat or quality.

"All that trouble o'er a necklace?" Soap asks, looking over Simon's shoulder at the small thing.

"She said it was the last thing she ever got from her brother," Simon tells him. "She tell you anything else about him?" he asks Margot.

She shrugs somewhat, still clinging to the blanket around her shoulders. "He was in the Navy. But he died, though. I never met him."

Simon shakes his head once. "No, you wouldn't've. He died overseas, she said. Training mission gone wrong. MacTavish, check records," he tells Soap. "We find out what he was doing when he died, we might find out who's after this little bugger."

The adrenaline finally wears off, and Margot crashes. She's asleep in the master bedroom, curled underneath the blankets, still terrified, even in her sleep. Simon can see it -- her shoulders are tense, her head is tucked, her breathing is rapid. He wonders if every Riley is cursed with poor sleep.

Soap isn't having any more of his bullshit. They're talking in the other bedroom, while combing through personnel records and calling in favors to find out more about the 'training exercise' Cecelia's brother was involved in.

They haven't spoken in a while, which is unusual for Soap -- the air almost feels absent without his gabbing. But Simon knows he isn't being silent for courtesy's sake, Soap is irritated with him.

"Is she yours?" he finally asks, without looking up.

But Simon looks at him, unsure how to reply. Unsure of the answer -- but certain all the same. He doesn't reply for a long time, and Soap doesn't push him; even no answer is an answer.

Simon looks back at his laptop. "She's the right age."

They don't say anything for a while more. Simon is finding it difficult to concentrate, but he compartmentalizes, until Soap interrupts his thoughts again.

"You know I've got your back."

His other teammates, Sparks and Washington, said the same thing. Until they were taken, and turned. Until his family was all murdered in cold blood during Christmastime. He tries to tell himself it's not the same -- the present isn't the past. Yet, the past has a funny way of repeating itself.

He wasn't turned by the torture inflicted upon him, he tells himself. He'd like to think MacTavish wouldn't be, either, whether or not it's true.

"I know, Johnny," he says.

"You need your rest," Soap tells him. "I'll take watch and keep looking. You get some shut eye." He leaves the bedroom and sets up in the living room.

He tries to sleep -- he falls into a restless slumber. It feels like he's closed his eyes for only a moment, when Soap comes back into the room to tell him his watch is over.

It's still dark outside. Simon gets up. He checks on Margot.

She's still lying in bed, curled into a ball. But her breathing has changed -- he thinks she might've fallen into a deeper sleep, but he realizes she's awake, she's crying. He's tempted to turn and leave, to give her space, or to absolve himself of vulnerability. But he knows it's not the right thing to do.

"You should be sleeping," he says.

He hears her sniffle. She doesn't move for a while, until she sits up and looks at him. "I tried. I can't."

He sighs and enters the room, closing the door halfway behind him. "What's keeping you awake?" He sits on the edge of her bed.

"I keep...thinking." She wipes her tears on her sleeve.

"About what?"

She's trying not to look weak in front of him, but she can't help it -- she starts crying again. "All I did was hide. Mum told me to hide. But I didn't want to -- But I was scared..."

He doesn't think less of her. He sees a lot of himself in her, from when he was a boy. "Sometimes the best strategy is to hide. You're no good to anyone dead. Especially not to your mother."

Margot settles, taking hiccupped breaths until she can breathe again. "She said you'd come."

"I told her I would."

The crying has passed for now, she doesn't feel like she can anymore. But she likes sitting beside him. She wonders what he looks like -- he's still wearing that balaclava. "Do you sleep with that on?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"So people don't know what I look like. To protect myself."

"That must be annoying."

He scoffs. "Sometimes."

"Mum told me you wear a mask all the time. She told me a lot about you."

Immediate suspicion rises in Simon, and his mind interprets her words as a threat at first. But he proceeds with tempered rationality. "What'd she say?"

"You both loved each other, she said. You have a job that's really dangerous. She talks about you all the time."

It would've been better if Cecelia had forgotten all about him, it would've been easier for him. But to know that she kept him alive, in memory, somehow hurt worse than being forgotten. "She tell you anything else?" he's fishing, and he hopes Margot takes the bait.

She hesitates, she's thinking, debating -- unsure of herself, unsure of what he'll say. "She said...she tells me that you're my dad. Is that really true?"

He's never one to believe something without concrete proof, he's distrustful by nature. But he knows it's true. It's more than conscious, it's something visceral inside of him that knows something better than the doubt at the forefront of his mind. He only nods. "It's true."

Margot sits in silence, thinking.

"I'm going to find your mother," he promises her. "I’m going to make sure both of you are alright." He speaks to her, but also to the family he lost all those years ago: to his mother, to his brother. He has the chance to right the wrongs of the past. To change the future. "Get some sleep."

"What if I can't?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to find some kind of parental guidance to give her. "I don’t sleep good, either. A long time ago, I saw a shrink. He told me to relax your body -- from head to toe. And imagine you're floating in a canoe on a lake, with nothing else around. Don't think about anything else. Just you...in the lake, breathing deeply. Can you do that?"

She nods.

"I'll wake you when it's morning."

He leaves Margot to her rest and continues to search for reasons why Cecelia's brother may have been a target.

He wakes up Soap at dawn. "We've got a lead."

Simon explains that Cecelia's brother, Gabriel, was involved in a classified assignment to infiltrate a weapons dealer syndicate. He was supposed to eliminate the head of the syndicate, and destroy his compound. Gabriel completed his assignment, and eliminated the syndicate head, and burned the compound to the ground. However, the official report states that Gabriel was killed during the raid -- he was killed by his other teammates, for treason, and for turning on his superiors. Simon managed to find a buried statement from another teammate who had been on the mission, which said Gabriel was killed days after the raid, and his body was dumped at the compound after it was destroyed. Gabriel found that the officer in charge of his assignment was supplying a portion of the weapons being sold. The officer was using his team to clean up evidence of his involvement in the syndicate.

The officer buried anyone else who knew the truth. 

Simon and Soap conclude the necklace must have something else to it, that Gabriel had to have sent it to for a reason. Simon examines the ridge in the center; he finds that the circular pendant is made with two pendants flat pieces soldered together. He halves it with a knife, jimmying the pendant open like an oyster. Inside, is a micro-SD card.

"That's what they were after."

"Obair mhór, Gabriel," Soap mutters.

"Mum's necklace..." Margot stares at its pieces in Simon's hand as she comes out of the bedroom.

"It was for a good cause," Simon says.

"But why --" Soap asks. "Why after all this time? Why go after it now?"

"The good Admiral is up for a political promotion. He's trying to clean house."

"So the Admiral finds out that Gabriel had a contingency, and he knows that the last contact Gabriel had was with his sister. So he puts the pieces together, figuring she knows more than she's saying."

"We need to find her. Now."

They're holding Cecelia at an abandoned farmhouse. It takes them thirty-six hours to track her down, by nightfall Ghost and Soap are converging on the target. Margot is left behind, locked inside their safehouse, with the doors and windows fortified.

They're outnumbered, but they have the element of surprise. Quietly, they close in on the farmhouse from opposite directions, using blades to wound and eliminate the men in their way, utilizing the ignorance of their presence to its maximum capability. Until an enemy fires his rifle, and the secrecy is over.

Ghost breaches the front of the house, firing two shots into the guard at the other side of the door -- chest and throat. He pushes the body to the side, and crouches, hearing more men on their way. He takes cover against the corner of a hallway, and fires two shots into the face of the next assailant who charges him. He uses the bleeding body as a shield, and moves into the line of fire, feeling the impact of the bullets pierce the corpse in his arms. He fires around the body propped against him, and lands three bullets into the torso of the man in front of him.

He throws the corpse to the floor, and moves into the center of the house. There's a locked bedroom door, and he pushes his blade into the jamb to free the lock. He can hear Soap's bullets from the opposite side of the house.

The lock breaks, and Ghost stands to the side of the door as he opens it -- he enters with his rifle raised. There are no men inside the room.

Cecelia is tied to a chair in the center.

"I've got eyes on the target," he radios Soap.

"Copy, Lt.. Three more guards inbound on the east of the complex."

"Copy." Simon cuts her bonds, and helps her stand. "We need to move. Can you walk?"

"Yes," she says, panting.

Ghost has one arm around her, practically pulling her out of the house as he rendezvous with Soap.

Soap covers them as the two limp off the complex -- into the cover of a copse in the distance. Their vehicle is waiting for them there, and Ghost puts Cecelia in the back, pushing her head down beneath the seats. Bullets collide with the metal sides of the doors, and Ghost returns fire as Soap jumps into the driver's seat and finds cover in the trees.

"They won't follow us," Ghost says.

"You'd better be right."

"Margot -- Where's Margot?"

"I got her -- She's alright."

"I'm sorry --" Cecelia says, out of breath.

Simon shakes his head. "Don't be."

They get back to their safehouse, and Margot is holed up in the bedroom until she hears the door. Simon gave her a pocket knife, and she's ready to use it -- when she hears her mother's voice.

"Mum!" she runs out of the bedroom, into her mother's arms.

Cecelia holds her tight. Simon only watches, and glances to Johnny when he puts a hand on his shoulder. He feels that out-of-place sensation once more, seeing mother and daughter embrace. Cecelia is checking Margot over, holding her small face in her hands, wiping away her tears. Simon doesn't know what to do with himself. He leaves them to their reunion. He hides -- in the other bedroom.

Later, he's triaging Cecelia's wounds. She's scraped up, she's got a black eye. The sight of it sends a rage through him that he can't put into words.

"I wanted to tell you," she says.

"I know."

He's bandaging her wrist, but he can't look at her. It's the same dance between them as it was a decade ago. Somehow, it feels like home.

"I don't know what they wanted from me," she tells him.

"I do. Your brother was a smart man. He knew he couldn't trust anyone above him. So he sent the intel he gathered to the one person he could trust. You." He looks up at her.

"What are you going to do with it?"

He gently puts her hand in her lap. "I'm going to do...what I wish I could've done many years ago." He grinds his teeth, and swallows. "I'm going to expose the bloody bastard for what he is: a traitor."

Simon arrives at the Admiral's office the next day. The Admiral is not expecting him, but he is aware of Ghost's reputation, and it precedes him. The Admiral has no reason to suspect Ghost is behind the attack on his off-books operation the previous night. As far as he's concerned, Ghost is scheduled to ship out in less than a fortnight, and he believes his visit has something to do with the upcoming mission.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

Simon chooses his words carefully. Everything he wants to say -- everything he's endured at the hands of men without honor -- floods to the surface of his stomach, to the surface of his face, and he holds the man's eyesight with a sharp edge of hatred.

He's kneading his fists open and closed as he stands there, still trying to get himself to speak. "I want to know if it was worth it."

"I'm sorry?" the Admiral scoffs, bemused and insulted.

"You're not sorry now. But you will be. Before that -- I want to know if it was worth it. The money. The job. The commendations. How many lives was it worth to you?"

The Admiral now realizes it was him who attacked the farmhouse the night before. His face grows hard, and he narrows his eyes. "I'd tread carefully if I were you, Lieutenant. Your reputation can only protect you so far, before enemies in high places turn on you."

"Was it! Worth it!" Simon yells. "You pricks -- who decide who lives and dies, who decide who turns on who -- you pricks, who let the job lead you to believe that you're God," he points. His face burns, his throat hurts. Memories claw their way to the front of his mind, just like he clawed his way out of Vernon's grave.

"If you kill me, you will be hunted for the rest of your life."

Simon shakes his head. "I'm not gonna kill you. You're not worth my bullets. I'm going to watch...as the world tears you apart. As you lose...everything."

The Admiral scoffs again, and moves towards his desk, where his service weapon lies locked in a drawer. "I doubt that. Surely, you didn't think you could come here and threaten me, and get away unscathed." He loads the chamber, and aims the barrel at Ghost's chest.

Simon doesn't flinch.

"Where is the SD card?" the Admiral asks.

"I've already given it to the press."

Military police storm the office, and take the Admiral into custody.

Ghost and Soap are taken off their upcoming assignment, they're needed for debriefing on the scandal that is unfolding regarding the Admiral. Cecelia and Margot are also asked to give account of what happened. The doors of their home are repaired, and they're left to pick up the pieces -- figuratively and literally.

Three weeks have passed; the trial is still in preparation stages; Margot is back at school, and Cecelia has set up therapy for her. Simon encourages her to be seen by a shrink, herself. She refuses, and he pushes her, telling her he'll take her himself if he has to.

"This feels familiar," Simon says, as he helps rehang a painting in her living room.

"Let's hope it never feels familiar again."

He wants to laugh, but he can't. He just shakes his head, and straightens the frame. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."

"Wait -- can't I make you a cup of tea?"

It's the offer that got his heart into trouble in the first place. But he still can't say no -- the pause he gives, gives her enough time to head to the kitchen, where she boils some water, and hands him a well-worn mug of tea. The good kind.

He stays with them for several weeks. Weeks turn to months. He tries not to give into the fantasy. Cecelia knows as well as he does, that he can't stay. Even if he wants to.

He wants to.

He has too many enemies. If he retires, if he gives into the dream, it will only put targets on their backs. Cecelia knows. She doesn't fight him on it.

"Just...don't let another decade go by...before I see you again," she tells him.

"I won't." He has her hands in his, pressed to his mouth. He's getting ready to leave, a new assignment is waiting for him on the other side of the door, and for the first time -- ever -- he feels human enough to wish there was nothing waiting for him. No assignment. No dossier. He feels human enough to wish — for anything at all. Even a family.

He takes a deep breath, and lets go of her hands. He pulls from his pocket an envelope filled to the brim with money, an accumulation of many years' worth of combat pay. "Use this. For her. Anything she needs -- anything at all. You get it for her, with this. Get her into a good school, get her an education -- don't let her do what I do. Promise me."

"I promise."

He kisses her, and turns to Margot's bedroom to say goodbye. She's holed up there -- she doesn't understand why he has to leave. He doesn't think she ever will. He doesn't understand it fully, himself.

Simon sits on the edge of her bed. He doesn't know what else to say.

"Will we ever see you again?" she asks.

"You can't get rid of me that easy, love."

She crawls to him, and embraces him.

Something flips inside of him, feeling her arms around him. His own child -- the bone of his bone, the flesh of his flesh. A weight sinks into his heart, and he takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling like it's the first and only breath he's ever taken. He puts a kiss on the top of her head, and they linger there for a long while.

When he, at last, pulls away to leave, she follows him. "Goodbye, Dad."

It's a searing knife wound to the center of him. But he turns and touches her face. "Goodbye, love."

Simon leaves, seen off by the two at their doorstep.

It's a home he can return to. Over, and over again. A feeling, and a place -- people who welcome him. Where his bed is always warm, where arms wrap around him and the blood washes down the drain. And where December never hurts as much.

[tomriddleslovergirl]

Spells from the Heart

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Muggle!Reader

Includes: mentions of war, memory loss, stalking, reader is naive, goes from third person to second, story is in Tom's p.o.v.

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: You come across something you shouldn't have, and Tom decides to keep you.

Passing through the war-wrecked streets of London, Tom made his way to his usual hiding spot where he could perform magic without being discovered.

It amused him to call it a hiding spot, because it was in fact a field, though — in all fairness — it was in the middle of the woods.

As Tom finally reached his destination, the smell of Earth surrounded him. He shut his eyes — a rare moment of vulnerability — and took in a deep breath, taking in the wet scent of soil and flowers with him.

He dropped his worn down satchel and discarded his coat on the ground. He sat atop his dark coat and grabbed an old book out of his bag. It was a book of spells that he was able to convince the Hogwarts librarian to let him borrow over summer break.

He scanned through the contents of the book, trying to decide on the first spell he would like to practice.

As a small bunny came into sight, Tom selected Vera Verto.

He stood up on his two feet and grasped his wand. He pointed it at the unsuspecting creature and whispered, “Vare-ah vore-toe,” pronouncing it as was written in the book.

Before his own two eyes, the bunny went from a living being to a goblet of water. Pride bubbled in Tom’s chest.

As he was about to mutter a spell to reverse it, a gasp from behind stopped him.

Clutching his wand, Tom turned around to find a girl around his age standing in shock from what she’d just witnessed. Like she’d come to her senses, she scrambled into a run.

Fortunately for Tom — but unfortunate for her — he was able to point his wand at her and yelled, “Kahr-pay ruh-track-tum.”

The girl was pulled towards Tom's chest, and with a grunt he wrapped an arm around her waist. She clawed at his arm like a feral animal and he had the urge to ask her to stop it.

With his free hand, Tom pointed his wand at the stranger again. “Obliviate,” passed through his lips and instantly her body went limp. He dropped her onto the damp grass.

Tom wasn’t sure when her consciousness would resurface, so he made quick work in putting his coat and satchel back on and stuffing his wand back in his pocket.

Before leaving, Tom looked down at the girl. Hair covered her face and Tom reached down to move it away. He noted that she was quite pretty. 

After being caught using magic, Tom hadn’t visited the fields in a few days. But, his fingers twitched to grab onto his wand. To point it at something and mutter a spell. The children at Wool’s Orphanage got on Tom’s, but of course he couldn’t punish them for it like when he was a child.

Done with being reminded of his predicament, Tom finally decided to go on a walk. It led him to the edge of the woods anyways.

He couldn’t help but think of you as he walked. He hadn’t used a spell on a muggle for so long, and doing so left behind a certain thrill.

Tom stopped walking and squinted. A little ways away from him, he caught sight of a house. It was hidden behind several large trees, casting a darkness upon it and hiding it from view.

As Tom got nearer to one of the windows, he saw a glimpse of someone. You.

He ducked under the window, and thought of how much of a fool he must have looked. He certainly felt like one.

The walls were rather thin, Tom learned as he listened to her hum. He recognized the tune. “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire.” At times the song would play on the small radio during dinner time.

A few moments passed. In those few moments, Tom realized that you were home alone. You looked to be Tom’s age, and if he was right, that meant your parents weren’t home.

Tom walked up the steps to your front door and knocked. The humming stopped and Tom listened to the sound of hurried footsteps.

The door creaked open. You looked up at Tom with wide eyes. He supposed you were surprised. It was unlikely that many people visited your family much.

“Excuse me, Miss. If it’s no bother, I was hoping you could help me? I’ve seemed to have gotten lost.”

Your face relaxed as you took in Tom’s words. “Of course. Do you just need directions, or do you want to make a phone call to your parents? If you have a telephone, of course.”

Tom pretended to think for a moment. The latter would easily let him into your house. “Would you mind if I phoned my parents? They must be worried.” The lie slid off of Tom’s tongue like honey.

With a nod, you let Tom into the house.

Silly girl.

Tom followed you into a small living room. You pointed to the rotary dial resting atop the wooden table in front of the couch.

“I’ll wait in another room.” With that, you walked up the steps to what Tom assumed to be your bedroom. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” your distant voice called out.

Tom had no use for the telephone. Instead, he looked at what stood tall on the mantelpiece. It was the goblet he had created several days ago.

You must have been so confused when you awoke after being obliviated.

Tom picked up the cup and brought it closer to his face to inspect it. It was blue with carvings of seahorses and mermaids covering the upper half of it.

Tom placed the cup back to its rightful place. He’ll be kind and let you keep it.

Tom slowly walked up the steps, careful not to make the steps creak.

Once he reached the top, he scanned the three doors. One was yours, one your parents, and one the bathroom, he assumed.

Tom opened the first door. It was obviously not your parents, as the only way the bed could fit two people was if they crammed together. The sheets were pink, and books littered the vanity.

He picked one up. Pride and Prejudice. The copy looked like it had been well loved. He tucked it into his coat pocket.

He shut the door and proceeded to open the next one directly across from your room. Disappointingly, there was no sight of you in the small bathroom.

Tom shut the door again and walked towards the room at the end of the hall. He opened it up and saw you sitting on a chair, rummaging through a desk drawer.

You looked up in surprise as Tom entered, halting your movements.

Tom clasped his hands behind his back. “I just got off the phone with my father.”

You nod. “Um.. I’m just looking for my parents' map. I know they have one, and I thought I could give you directions to help you get back home.”

How sweet.

He walked over to where you sat, and took note of how your breathing quickened as he got nearer.

You would make a nice summer plaything. And the best part was you wouldn’t even remember.

a/n: that poor bunny stuck as a cup forever😭 Also, I loved going through the Harry Potter Spellbook to write this. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! divider creds: @saradika

[stormblessed95]

Watching Are You Sure?! EP 2

A reminder of how I do these reaction posts as I watch things. I just write my reactions and thoughts down literally as a happen. Think more of a bullet point format. I'll include links when I can to videos, thanks to the people who twt who upload clips. And at the end, I'll do a better wrap up of all my opinions. I hope everyone enjoyed the show so far!!

July 15th now! Day 2 here we come! Over an hour of Jikookery!!

Starts off with JK on his motorcycle and Jimin riding witht the crew and admiring how cute JK is, while they are on the phone the entire time. Adorable. "He likes being cool." Lmao

I love how the staff indulge them too, like with Jimins "prank" of spraying washer fluid at JK 😂

Jimin lagging super far behind everyone in the hike at first saying it's because he thinks is nice to go slow now that he is older.... But also honey, are you sure (lol) that's not just your upset tummy talking? 😅😂

JK asking Jimin for a cover of Seven. I know they were mostly joking.... But um, Jimin.... Where is our cover?!?! Please!!

Jimin showing off his beautiful smooth legs 😂😂

Jimin being bit by mosquitoes constantly and JK deciding to take a turn into vampirism and vore 😂🤣 as well as calling Jimins thighs the best entree? 😏🫣 Lol OKAY

You just gave me butterflies holding onto my back like that?? Lmfao has he said that EVERYTIME he drags Jimin around holding onto the back of his shirt?? 🤣😂🥰😍 Butterflies like love, JK?

Turns out, he said making my heart flutter. I think that makes it worse. And the informal/formal flirty tones. Yup. Definitely worse 😅😍🫣😂 and it absolutely usually has romantic connotations. Both in English and in Korean

Someone get Jimin a dang bottle of bug spray!! The heck!

The way they both felt so free and peaceful on the ocean that they fell asleep for a nap together. Jimin sleeping for much longer since he wasn't feeling good though too. Also brief mention for the way JKs hands kept straying over to rub on Jimins smooth legs and kept getting cut in the video lol

JK telling Jimin he looked so pretty when he first got to NY and now our poor baby is so tired and sick

JK preforming Seven for Jimin. Lol let's NOT talk about how he sings the "I kiss your waist and ease your mind" line while staring into Jimins eyes. Or how he turns back to look at Jimin while singing "you wrap around me and you give me life" before playfully swatting him too. Just for Jimin to end things there by playfully wrestling back 😂

Jikooks Titanic 😂😂🥰🥰😍😍

JK exploring and touching all over Jimin's body looking for mosquito bites.... Lmfao ALRIGHT. "You are obviously looking for bite marks" why is this so flirty? Why are they doing this with all their staff right in front of them STARING AT THEM with the cameras too 😂🤣😂 I guess at some point you get so used to it, you start tuning them out. And Jikook are, for the most part, 10+ years used to it. And all that play wrestling comes to an end when Jimin's upset stomach and toilet issues come back to remind him that they exist 🤣🤣 (see first picture at the top of post lmfao)

Thinking of things to name the show and among the many suggestions JK makes, "come out" is one. That would've been an interesting title lol

JK sharing a whole bag of food with the staff on the other boat. He is such a sweetie

Jiminie somehow ending up with JKs hat between cuts while eating

The way they spent almost all day on this boat man. And we got a montage of them just smiling at each other through the day 🥺🥺🥺

JK looking up their song stats and the way they both got so excited for how well their songs were doing on the charts 🥰🥰🥰 I'm so proud of them both!

And I love hearing JK talk about his goals with Golden. Same with Jimin about Face/Muse. I'm so so proud of them, it's unbelievable

The way everyone shops so different is why some people won't grocery shop with others 🤣🤣 the cuts between Jimin sighing frustratingly "Jungkook ah" and JK going "cheese cheese" had me CACKLING lmfao 😂😂 and it's all really because of what JK wanted to cook FOR Jimin for dinner 🥺

The parking lot dance break was adorable 😂🤣 their giggles are my favorite thing

The way that Jimin keeps taking cute little pictures of JK at their destinations. That's his baby

They rented a house with 4 entire bedrooms. Lmfao for what reason?! Jikook technically got separate rooms here.

Why do they take such MASSIVE bites when they eat? Lmfao is this engrained behavior from spending their formative years living with 6 other teenage/young adult boys? 🤣😂

"I'm just honored to have your food" JIMIN 😭😭😭

JK being very insistent about hearing Who. Lmao not Like Crazy or any of his songs that are out. But his new song. It's giving how sulky he was when he didn't hear Face songs first. Making sure he wouldn't get left out again! I loved this though! I really genuinely love listening to them talk music and singing techniques though. Loling though at the way JK told Jimin he should growl more in his vocals. Think his YouTube algorithm showed him any fan made comps about said Jimin vocal growls that always caused ARMY to lose their minds 🤣🤣

"should I sleep next to Jungkook tonight? Will he hit me again?" 🤣🤣🤣🤣 And JK already being in the room lol

Toothbrushing acrobatics. You know, the norm lmao followed by the huge cut too lmao what happened

The way they filmed JK tossing and turning in his bed for a bit and then absolutely zero filming in Jimins room after bedtime.... And in the morning, JK had to turn the camera outside Jimins room back on.... I'm not saying that JK didn't spend the entire night in his own bed and instead slept in Jimins... But I'm not, not saying that either 😂

(we are now in July 16th!)

JK joking about leaving Jimin behind since he is sleeping in so much, just to immediately go climb into bed with him. This is the most domestic type of morning waking up intimacy and cuddles. Because TF Jikook. Lol all that. And it was clearly a lot because of the amount of cuts in that short period of footage.... Where they were laying next to each other just sharing space, cuddling, being a little silly. And then randomly going like "oh we need to remember to get a sponge today." Lol domestic 101.

No because really, let's talk about that cuddle? TF Jungkook. First we got him coming up to crawl into Jimins bed where he like palms his bare thigh, straightens his leg out so he can rest against his bare (shaved/waxed) thigh. And he makes that growling/groaning sound he ALWAYS does when presented with a sexy Jimin or often when he touches Jimin's bare skin. Like CMON dude.

Followed by Jimin then being silly and pretending to go elbow JKs nose. Lol and JK clearly went to retaliate by simply wrapping him up in a hug to start spooning, but Jimin ready to defend himself so he kept blocking JK with his arm. Lmfao only to be quickly overpowered. Spanked, ass caressed, and then JK snuggles into him and basically disappears behind Jimins back he is snuggling so hard. And then spanked again when JK got up 😂 so much ass appreciation in this clip

Not to mention apparently it's being suspected that JKs mic was already in Jimins room and he just picked it up and pretended to unhook it from his shirt before climbing into Jimins bed... Who knows

Round 2 of Jikook walking around the house this time with Jimin hanging off the back of JKs shirt. This is really just the natural state for them huh. Lol

Riding to Walmart on the motorcycle together is the cutest and most amazing thing. JK reminding Jimin to be careful because the motorcycle is really hot underneath. 🥰

When JK accidentally steps on Jimins heel walking into the store... The way that Jimin pinches his neck in retaliation was crazzzyyy lol

Them meeting the ARMY in the store to buy the pizza is the cutest freaking thing. The whole interaction. And when JK goes in his sponge adventure, she got a hug and autograph from Jimin 🥺🥺🥰🥰 and how complimentary and excited they were about meeting her too!

Jimin being like those damn dongsaengs after losing JK in the store for the second time 😂😂😂

JKs water curse has to be one of the funniest unexpected recurring themes of these episodes lol "I don't think there has been a day where I didn't get wet." Lol poor Kookie

Jimin with his sleeve rolled up and that backwards hat transported me STRAIGHT back to 2014 😳😂

Rainy day fight pt 2 with the umbrella in a parking lot, followed by JK step it up dance in the rain edition 😂🤣

JK ordering for the table again 💜

Someone count the amount of times that Jimin fondly watched JK and said that he looks cute or cool, because it's been a lot lol

Jimin waiting patiently while his TikToker boyfriend bestie takes crazy cinematic videos of their food before ending on a close up of Jimins face 🤣😂 Beautiful honestly lol

They ended their trip with comments about being so happy and having such a good time. 🥰💜

And JK saying they should do at LEAST 12 seasons and travel together until they are like 50 😂🤣😂

Wrap up thoughts:

I am both not surprised by anything and yet also fully taken aback by their little morning routine in bed there that one day 😂 I've pretty much said all I can say on that though above.

Jikook both clearly have the exact same sense of humor, sarcastic and dry at times, stupid giggly at others. Again, nothing new information wise but something I'll always enjoy seeing. Boy do they bicker in the cutest freaking ways lol

That hyung/dongsaeng relationship, yeah that doesn't fucking exist for them at all. Lol yeah sure, they use the words.... Sometimes. But that is not their dynamic. Again, we been knew. But the constant consistency from them is always nice. Lol

There is zero filter and zero boundaries and yes, we knew that too. And while yes we technically should have known that all of BTS, having lived on top of each other for so many years, have absolutely seen each other at their absolute lowest. It's another thing to witness the zero filter about toileting troubles 😂 and how zero issue it was too. No embarrassment, no judgement, just taking care of him and jokes and having fun anyway.

Jikook are the definition of matching each other's freak. 100% lmfao

They LOVE taking care of each other. The cooking, the babying, the constant wanting to do something for the other, the musical praise and discussions.

I liked this episode even better than the first! This is my new favorite show, thanks Jikook!!

[prettyklttenprincess]

🎀 She/her, 25

🎀 call me: baby girl, kiddo, daughter, sister, kitten, princess, little one, m-maybe mutt? (more to be added)

🎀 MDNI!!!! This is a 18+ blog and hard kinks may be discussed here! Have your age visible or “bye bye”👋🏻

🎀 love asks!! So please don’t hesitate to send 💕

🎀 dms; only mutuals, and pls be nice to me, respect me too, thank you.

🎀 I don’t send pics, but doesn’t mean I mind… getting pics 🫣(maybe ask first?)

🎀 all on this blog is to be presumed consensual and fake, none of these actions are to be presumed as real actions by real people

🎀 likes: fauxcest, somno, cnc, breeding (+fauxcest and pregnancy 🥰), praise, (more to be added)

🎀 dislikes: gore/vore, general violent and not asked for behaviours, scat, no stalking/kidnapping, rape (more to be added)

🎀 tags: #🐈 words, #🐈asks, #🐈song recs, #🐈yapping

[tiramihime]

simon ‘ghost’ riley, who’s got a twice broken nose, the slope of his nose slightly crooked from healing hidden underneath his mask - he spoke like he had a stuffy nose for a while but it didn’t sound so unusual when he wore his balaclava.

it doesn’t make it any less kissable when you press a kiss to the spot between his eyes.

simon ‘ghost’ riley, with the most obnoxious eye bags. who when you ask “have you ever had a good nights sleep?” is quick to respond with a curt, “once or twice.”

you notice they are almost tinted purple against his pale skin once the eye black is discarded. he’s really ghostly, you notice now. if the call sign fits!

simon ‘ghost’ riley, peppered in moles that your plush lips find themselves itching to kiss. they make him look more dainty than he’d ever be.

one placed by the gods right along his jaw, unnoticed by anyone other than your intent study of the man. you can place a kiss on it - bullseye, without having to see it.

bonus! songs that are ghostie coded 2 me!!

western nights by ethel cain, vore by sleep token, hypnosis by sleep token, still take you home by attic monkeys, CIRCLE BY FLYLEAF!!!!!

[vagueconfusion]

@softcoresuffering

My Vore Clothes, the clothes I wear for sexual cannibalism, and also regular cannibalism, and also listening to Sleep Token's hit song Vore. They are multipurpose in that way (and regularly covered in blood, hence the need for washing)

need to try to nap

[aestherians]

Remnants of the Danish otherkin* community

*Otherkin used as shorthand for otherkin, therians, nonhumans, linkers, and anyone who might feel at home in these communities

In 2014 the Wayback Machine crawled a personal website called Tusmørke (Dusk/Twilight), belonging to an unnamed (presumably) therian. According to the Wayback Machine, the website had three articles about therianthropy, which have not been archived and are only recorded through their dead links from other pages:

The articles were: Therianthropys 3 løgne (the three lies of therianthropy), Skifte (shifts), and Fakta og teorier (facts and theories). I visited the site while these articles were still up, though I don't remember their contents. The only note I took was that they used the word "andenslægt" to refer to otherkin.

The Wayback Machine additionally archived page 13 of the site owner's webcomic, Et Andet Liv (Another Life):

On the comic's page there are links to bios for the characters Marcus, Shela, and Chez, none of which have been archived.

The website additionally has a link titled Det Ukendte (The Unknown), which leads to a fantasy roleplaying forum called Moranien. In the single archived thread (from 2006) we can see a user, named Sündir, playing as a wolf character named Cheza, and on a list of recent threads the same user is playing as a character named Marcus. This is likely the same person who created the comic characters Chez and Marcus, but impossible to know for certain.

Additionally, on a current iteration of the Moranien RP (character page last updated in 2011, though the site was seemingly update months ago), there is a character named Sündir who is a wolf shapeshifter and follows a god named Therian. This RP group also wrote the song "Therians Ulve" (Therian's Wolves) in 2006 for one of their live sessions.

I assume that, by the time the Wayback Machine crawled Tusmørke, these pages (the articles, the comic, and the list of links) were not meant to be seen by anyone except the site owner, as the front page had, by this point, become a link redirecting visitors to a forum by the same name, Tusmørke.

The redirect had the following description:

"Tusmørke er et forsøg på at skabe et dansk hjemsted for furries, therians, wiccans og alle andre slags spirituelt interesserede. Lige nu er vi ved at revurdere vores side, men du er altid velkommen til at besøge vores forum, hvor vi blandt andet debatterer alt mellem himmel og jord, hyggesnakker samt arrangerer vores næste årlige træf! Vi glæder os til at lære dig at kende. Ønsker du yderligere oplysninger, kontakt en af administratorerne på forumet."

In English: "Tusmørke is an attempt at creating a Danish home for furries, therians, wiccans, and all other kinds of spiritually interested. At the moment we are reevaluating our website, but you are always welcome to visit our forum, where we, among other things, debate everything imaginable, chat, and arrange our next annual meet-up We look forward to meeting you. If you wish to know more, contact one of our administrators on the forum."

Though no individual threads of the forum have been archived, we can see the titles of one thread from 2010 and two from 2012, started by users Fenrisskorh and Ulven, respectively. Ulven was also a member of the Moranien forum. Everything related to Tusmørke seems to have started in 2006 or earlier and ended around 2012.

In 2017, a hyena therian from Denmark, calling himself Dæmien, started an English-language blog about the daily life of an adult therian. The blog was abandoned after 4 posts.

Also in 2017, I tried to get a forum going titled teriantropi.jcink.net. It only gained one other member, a dragon furry who questioned whether or not he was otherkind (he wasn't), and I abandoned it within a year.

[transmechanicus]

As a non-metalhead, who is this masked Vessel fella you're posting a ton about? What's the story on this guy? And if someone wanted to give this band a shot are there any particular albums you'd recommend starting with?

Vessel is the lead singer and grand keyboardist for the anonymous metal band Sleep Token. The theme of the band is that they’re representatives of an extra dimensional deity called Sleep, which may or may not be romantically involved with Vessel. The other members are known as (II, III, and IV). There are 3 albums, Sundowning, This Place Will Become Your Tomb, and Take Me Back To Eden in order of release. I recommend Take Me Back To Eden to start, as it’s the most rich and developed so far, but the prior two are amazing if you find you like the band. I recommend listening to the whole album in order if you have time. If that’s not possible, Take Me Back To Eden is a good middle ground song, Vore is the most heavy metal, and Euclid focuses the most on piano and Vessel’s vocals.

From This Place Will Become Your Tomb I recommend Alkaline (first song i heard), Like That, and Atlantic. From Sundowning I recommend The Offering, Gods, and Sugar. If you find you like certain songs and want more of the same i’m happy to advise.

[twistedtummies2]

The Three Banditos - Chapter 1 (Trade)

WHAT BLASPHEMY IS THIS?! A TWISTED WONDERLAND STORY...THAT ISN'T KINK-FOCUSED?! THE DEVIL YOU SAY!!!

Well...yes. XD This is the first chapter of a very, VERY fun trade piece for @hooter-n-company. While there are references to various kinks throughout both halves - including vore, stuffing, belching, and so on - the focus isn't on them.

This is a story wherein three Twisted Wonderland OCs - my lads James Killian and Elias Inque (based on Captain Hook and the Phantom Blot, respectively) and Hoots' character Taoka Latronis (based on Tamatoa) - have a little competition with each other. Also featured in the story are appearances from various canon characters from TW, and the POV shifts back and forth from third person to second person. I've done stories that shift perspective before, but never quite this much, at least to my recollection. It was an interesting experiment.

It was wonderful fun having these three OCs meet up. Part two will be found here. Hope you all enjoy!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“You remind me of the babe. What babe? Babe with the power. What power? Power of voodoo! Who do? You do! Do what? Remind me of the babe…” It was a typical day at Night Raven College. The heels of many polished uniform shoes clip-clapped across the tiled floors of the great castle that the university called home. In the cafeteria, students of dark magic were milling about almost constantly; taking their time between classes to indulge their appetites and rest a bit when able. One such figure was a young man with well-tanned skin and deep violet eyes. His hair - shorn at the sides but long and glamorously styled on top and behind - was dyed a similar color, with pinkish accents, and two particularly sharp locks that almost resembled some form of antennae, if one were to squint. He was dressed in a standard school uniform - the color of his vest and the ribbon on his arm indicated he belonged to Pomefiore house - but with a few noteworthy flourishes. First, and least obvious, arguably, was the single dark purple glove he wore upon his right hand. The other difference were the various ornaments he wore upon his person: every finger on his left hand (minus the thumb) was decorated with a golden ring, and a collection of golden necklaces dangled from his throat. His pants were upheld, similarly, by a rather fancy-looking gold-buckled belt, with said buckle having a unique spiral pattern etched upon its surface. Another point that might have stood out about the young man was that, when he grinned as he scoured the food bar of the cafeteria (long fingers drumming around his plate eagerly), one could perceive that he had a jaw filled with jagged-looking teeth, including notably elongated canines. However, given the great number of beastmen and mer-people the school admitted, this would actually not be considered especially odd at all. He was more likely to get comments on his hairdo than his dental work. Not that Taoka Latronis MINDED comments about either…as long as they were complimentary. After all, it was always good to be reminded he was absolutely fabulous…not that he NEEDED the reminder after his ritual wink and kiss to himself in the mirror each morning, but still. Taoka was still humming a song as he sauntered around the cafeteria. His stomach was rumbling deeply; it took a lot for the half-crab in disguise to sate his abominable appetite. Right now, his heart (and his gut) were set upon one particular delight for lunch…but as he found it difficult to spot, his eyes narrowed, and the usually cocksure grin he wore began to diminish with disappointment. His smile returned, with a sort of cheery, almost childlike exuberance, when he finally saw what he was looking for. It was the prized dish for many of the carnivores on campus: NRC’s specialty Deluced Minced Meat Cutlet Sandwich. They were made in limited quantities, and wrapped up in wax paper, each day: if you didn’t get them while they were hot, so to speak, you likely wouldn’t be able to get it that day at all. As it turned out, there was still just one left. “Hey-hey!” chuckled Taoka, and quickly moved forward to try and take the sandwich. “Must be my lucky-!” SWIPP! He was cut off when another hand suddenly seemed to dart out of nowhere and snatch up the sandwich. Like his own left hand, it was decorated with several gold rings upon its fingers. Unlike his, it also bore a tattoo, inked upon the back of the palm…in the shape of a hook.

Taoka looked up and scowled, lips and nose curling and crinkling a bit as he looked the other person up and down. They were a little shorter than he was, though not exceptionally small in stature. Like him, they currently wore a school uniform, but the house they were marked as belonging to was Heartslabyul. Their eyes were the color of chocolate, and their long raven hair was partially kept by a purple bandana, wound about the top of their scalp. Unlike, Taoka, their right hand bore no glove, and was decorated in like fashion to the left (minus the tattoo). Perhaps the most notable thing, however, was that their arm they carried a rather extravagant looking cane, with a crooked gold top. The cane-and-tattoo-bearing fellow turned to look at Taoka, still holding the sandwich in one hand. They had a look of what could only be described as “flamboyant smugness,” nose stuck up and seemingly very proud of themselves…as if they were constantly trying to prove they were better than somebody else. Taoka squirmed internally; he knew that look VERY well from experience, and it only made him scowl more crossly. “Ahoy there!” the young man in the bandana boomed, in a voice that was so loud it almost made Taoka jump. He then gestured behind Taoka, pointing with his cane towards a distant table. “If you would be so kind, my dear sir, as to pardon me and allow me passage? I must retire to consume my vittles at my chosen port.” Taoka blinked a couple times, taken aback. “Uh…you mind runnin’ all that by me a li’l slower, babe? And without blowin’ my eardrums out?” he grimaced, wringing out one ear in emphasis. The other student smiled patiently. Perhaps TOO patiently. Patronizingly, in fact. “I’d like to get by and get to my table, please, and you’re blocking my way currently,” he replied, in a slow, overly-polite-sounding tone that matched his expression. “Oh, so I’m holdin’ you up?” Taoka glared, and advanced slightly. “Well, from where I stand, you’re holdin’ ME up, too! You’re definitely holdin’ up my lunch!” “Your lunch?” frowned the Heartslabyul student, and smirked as he held the sandwich up and gave it a slight wiggle with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t see your name stenciled upon the paper here. As far as I’m concerned, this is MY lunch.” Taoka’s eyes narrowed further, till they were amethyst slits…then, a slow, sinister sort of smile came over his face. Steadily, he prowled closer to his rival for the honor of the mighty sandwich… “Mmmmm…funny thing about that, cutie-pie…I’m not necessarily talkin’ about that sandwich.” He grinned, showing off his sharp teeth. Instantly, a change came over the other student, as their eyes widened and their bold, cocksure smile faltered. Cautiously, they stepped back, and Taoka met each step with a threatening forward step of his own. “I-I, ah…ahem! Is…is th-that so?” the other student stammered, trying to sound bold, but stuttering too much to manage. Taoka chuckled low in his chest and nodded, licking his fangs. “Uh-huh,” he said. “See, it takes a lotta meat to keep this fed…” He patted his belly with one hand as he moved closer to his prey. “...And you, babe? You look like seafood.” Latronis made a show of sniffing the air and chortled. “Ho-Ho…kinda smell like it, too. You sure you’re a human and not just some fishsticks someone left out for me to snap up, huh?” he cooed teasingly.

Taoka’s grin widened as these taunting words only made the other party gulp nervously…and a blush came to their face. “Maybe I oughta just…lead you somewhere less public…gobble you up for my supper…send that sandwich down after you…” The Heartslabyul student froze as they suddenly found their back flat against a wall. Taoka immediately thrust out one arm, slamming his palm into the wall behind them and to the side of their head. He chuckled softly as they let out a shrill sound of startled fright; he could hear their heartbeat, smell their fear…and something else. His mouth watered as he saw their cheeks flush an even brighter shade of red, those brown eyes seeming doe-like and so soft. “How’s that sound, fishfood? Huh?” The other student whimpered a bit, and smiled a sort of crooked, anxious smile, lifting their right hand shakily in a placating manner. “N-Now now, I…um…ahem. S-Steady there! Th-there’s no need to take such drastic measures! I-I’m sure we can…uh…c-come to some sort of agreement, yes?” Taoka hummed thoughtfully in the back of his throat, still rubbing his belly with his free hand. He tilted his head, smiling in a sultry sort of fashion. “What’s your name, babe?” he asked, in his lowest, smokiest sort of voice. “Seen you around. Heard about ya. Don’t think I ever caught it, though.” “James,” the other student answered, and, to their credit, they didn’t stammer when speaking their own name. “James Killian.” “Mmmmm…well, Jimmy-boy…” “James!” “Uh-huh, that’s what I said…tell you what, I’ll let you, heh, ‘off the hook’ this time, ‘kay?” James blinked twice. “You…you will?” he peeped, and almost sounded disappointed…but quickly covered it up. “Er, that is, ah…w-well, I…um…thank you, but…m-may I ask what the condition is?” “Awww, there’s no condition, codfish. Ya see…” Taoka grinned anew, a twinkle in his eyes, lifting the hand that had been at his belly…and suddenly revealing a familiar wrapped sandwich now rested between his fingers. “...I already have what I really wanted.” James’ look of fear and strange longing fell away, changing to an absolutely gobsmacked look. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out; he really did look like a fish in that moment! Taoka sniggered as Killian lifted the hand that had been holding his sandwich, flexing his fingers, shocked as they clasped around thin, empty air. James froze up again as Taoka playfully patted his cheek and winked. “Better luck next time, cutie-pie,” he crooned. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go have some ‘vittles’ of my own. Catch ya later.”

So saying, Taoka blew a teasing kiss into James’ face, which brought the blush back…but only briefly. As Taoka turned on his heel and prepared to find a table, he didn’t notice as James’ expression changed from a look of flustered startlement to a snarling sneer…nor when the raven-haired young man undid a secret catch upon his cane, and silently, stealthily withdrew a long, thin blade from his walking stick… “BAD FORM!” Now it was Taoka’s turn to let out a yelp as, suddenly, the point of a rapier-like cane sword thrust itself into his field of vision…and skillfully pierced itself through the wax paper and the sandwich within. The sword then withdrew, bringing the sandwich back with it. Taoka whirled about just in time to see James stuffed the sandwich into a pocket and run off, sheathing his blade as he went. “H-Hey! HEY! GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE CODFISH!” roared Taoka, and sprinted after Killian. “Oh, come now, WHY DO PEOPLE DEFAULT TO THAT NAME SO EASILY?!” James shouted to the sky above. Taoka didn’t even think to answer THAT question: he was more concerned with getting his sandwich back! He gritted his teeth as he chased James clear out of the cafeteria and onto the grounds outside. James had not gone far - the cafeteria doors were still plainly in sight - when he rounded a bend and abruptly bumped into somebody else. Both parties jolted and jerked with a pair of matching grunts, each startled by the other’s presence. “Oof! Oh, excuse me, pardon me!” James sputtered. “No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine, my fault!” the other student said, and helpfully reached out to dust off James’ uniform…only to pull back and put his hands up when James let out a slight growl and defensively swiped at them with his hands, like a cat swatting away unwanted affection. “Sorry about that!” “Not at all,” muttered James, and arched an eyebrow as he looked at the other person. The newcomer was taller than him, Killian noted, with a lean, athletic sort of build. The features of their school uniform indicated they came from Diasomnia house, but at first glance, he might have mistaken them for Savanaclaw: they were a beastman - specifically demi-dog, of some sort. Their hair was slightly shaggy, though short-cut, and brown in color, with pointed canine ears that had inky black tips. This coloration matched the doglike tail that swished behind them. Their green eyes were half-hidden by the odd, indigo-tinted shades they wore, and they wore black gloves on each hand. Their belt was fastened with a silver buckle in the shape of an inkwell. “Elias Inque,” the other student greeted with a broad, amiable smile. “Nice to meet you.” “James,” Killian said, shortly, with a curt nod. “A pleasure, I’m sure. Now, if you don’t mind, I REALLY must-” “GOTCHA!” James yelped as he was suddenly tackled to the ground by Taoka Latronis. Elias nimbly skipped back out of the way. James cried out as he found himself pinned beneath Taoka who grinned viciously down at the pirate’s anxious-looking face. “Thanks for being easy to catch,” cackled Taoka, licking his chops. “Mmmmm…that little race worked up an appetite though…” “A-Alright, alright, easy there!” Killian squeaked out. “Let’s n-not forget, you’re the one who stole from me first, after all!”

“You say that like I should feel bad,” snorted Taoka, and glared ferociously. “Now GIMME!” “Shan’t!” James barked, trying to glare even as his cheeks reddened once again. “I stole it back fair and square!” “You either give me back my lunch, or you’re gonna BE my-!” The sound of rustling paper, and food being bitten into, distracted both scoundrels. Each wore matching, stunned expressions, as they turned and looked upwards towards the source of the sounds. Elias leaned back against the wall, cheeks stuffed with one half of the sandwich, the other still gripped in one of his gloved hands. He smirked in a self-satisfied manner, green eyes glittering behind the blue-violet tinting of his sunglasses as he swished his tail from left to right. He swallowed the mouthful with a loud, almost taunting GUUULLLP, and smacked his lips as the thick bulge went down his gullet…before stifling a burp in his cheeks and fist. “BRRRLLLMMMPH…phew…‘scuse me,” he chuckled, and held the remaining half of the sandwich up a little higher. “This what you’re both looking for? Huh. That’s a shame.” Before either Taoka or James could respond to that, Eli promptly stuffed the other half of the sandwich into his gaping jaws, letting out a relishing “Mmmmm…!” of contentment between gnaws as he chewed it up, just to tease the pair. James and Taoka, for their parts, swore they could feel their eyes twitch, still in the same posture as before, as if they’d been petrified. Elias chuffed with laughter as he swallowed the rest of the sandwich and patted his stomach with pride. He belched again, this time without a hint of restraint, and licked his incisors. “UUUUURRRRRRRP! Oof…sits heavy in there sometimes. Ah, well…thanks for bringing me my favorite from the cafeteria! I’ll be on my way, gentlemen. Ta-ta!” Waggling his fingers in farewell before tucking his hands into his pockets, Eli whistled a jaunty tune as he turned to leave. However, he hadn’t taken more than a half dozen steps (if that) before he found Taoka barring his way, crouched slightly in a ready position. Elias paused…then shrugged and turned around again…only to grow irritated when James Killian blocked him in the other direction, holding his cane out like the rapier hidden within its casing. “Oh, come on,” Elias sighed. “It was just a sandwich!” “It was the last one for the day!” Taoka exclaimed. “It should have been MINE!” “Nonsense,” sniffed James. “I got me hands on it first!” “Heh. Yeah, and how long did that last, fish filet?” teased Taoka cockily. “Oh, as if I didn’t manage to plunder it from your crabby mitts, ye barnacle-brain!” snarled James. “It ultimately doesn’t matter, since I managed to steal it from you both,” Elias almost giggled. “Sorry, boys! You just can’t compare to a TRUE master thief!” “Say that again,” growled Taoka, fists clenched. “I dare you.” “Really? Well, as you wish: you just can’t compare to a true master thief!” grinned Elias, seemingly amused. “Bite your tongue, ya scurvy sea dog!” snapped James. “I’ll have you know I was pilfering long before you were even born!” “I think we’re about the same age,” Elias responded blandly. “That’s beside the point!” huffed James.

“I’ve been picking pockets for years,” snorted Taoka, crossing his arms firmly. “If anybody here is the best thief, it’s gotta be me.” “Oh, then how do you explain me managing to snatch that sandwich away from you so deftly, hmmm?” James teased. “I dunno. I snatched it from you first. And I was subtle about it,” Taoka taunted right back. “And I got without either of you noticing!” sang Elias. “Again, seems like I’m the top here!” “Babe, I’m the bottom if you’re the top,” droned Taoka. “...I am…not sure what that means, unless you’re referencing a song,” Elias replied blandly. “I’m not,” was the equally bland response. “Oh, what difference does it all make?!” James scoffed. “It’s pointless arguing with animals!” “YOU TAKE THAT BACK!” both Eli and Taoka snarled violently. “Make me, ye blathering pair of Cinderella-slipper-wearing bilge rats!” James yapped. “Girls, girls, you’re ALL beautiful, please stop.” All three stopped short in their arguing as they heard a familiar voice and turned…and when they saw who had just spoken and gone past, all three wore matching, nefarious grins. “Come to think of it…we could always ask for a second opinion,” Elias suggested, slyly. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said so far,” Taoka said drearily. “Bite me,” growled Eli. “Don’t tempt me,” the half-decapod replied back, and the three hurried to catch up with the person who had just gone past…

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…And this is where YOU come into the story.

You had no idea what James, Elias, and Taoka were nattering about as you headed on your way to the cafeteria. For once, Grim was not at your side: the feline-esque critter had taken ill, and was back at Ramshackle trying to recover from a common cold. You had promised to bring him some of the finest fancy tuna you could find from the cafeteria during your lunch break between classes.

So, when you had seen the trio shouting at each other, you had just decided it was best to put your two cents in, hoping to break up the argument quickly, and move on. That would be one less problem for you to worry about…and considering it seemed like half the school would literally eat each other alive if you weren’t there to do SOMETHING about it for the headmage’s sake, you needed as few problems as possible.

It was regrettable that your decision to call attention to yourself had resulted in the exact opposite of your hopeful interest. Not but a few more steps away from the bickering gaggle of college mages, you almost skidded to a halt as they suddenly swung in front of you and barred your way.

“Hey, sweetheart! Got a minute!” Taoka teased with a wink.

You blinked three times…then sighed and put your hands on your hips, hoping you looked as unfazed as you wanted them to believe…not easy when two of NRC’s Most Ravenous (which was saying a lot) and a dashing pirate were in your path.

“Seems like I haven’t got a choice,” you snorted. “What do you three want?”

“We have a question, my dear Prefect, and we’re hoping you can give us an honest answer,” James explained.

“Okay,” you replied, slowly, after a brief pause. “And…what exactly is that question?”

“Which of us is the better thief?” Elias chirruped, hopefully.

You gave him your most withering stare. You hoped your voice matched it.

“...Are you seriously asking me that question right now?”

“HA! You see. That means it’s me!” Elias grinned proudly.

“In what universe?!” hissed Taoka, angrily.

“I’ll be clam chowder before you two beat me at piracy!” boomed James, waving his cane around dramatically.

“No one, and I mean NO ONE, is a better thief than the Phantom Blot!” bellowed Elias.

“Uh…who is the Phantom Blot?” Taoka asked, lamely.

“ME!” Eli almost screamed, ears dipping, a whine of dejection entering his voice. He quickly changed it to a rough tone of anger: “Not that I’d expect a garish buffoon like yourself to recognize magnificence!”

“Jeeze, how many people here talk like that?” mumbled Taoka, and then added aloud: “If you were as good at stealing as you are at talking fancy, maybe this would actually be a contest!”

Halfway through the newest yelling match, you facepalmed…but as Taoka uttered the last few words, you suddenly felt a metaphorical lightbulb go off over your head.

“There!” you suddenly exclaimed. “You’ve got it!”

“Got what?” Taoka asked, as all three looked at you in confusion.

“A contest,” you smiled. “Why don’t the three of you compete? Create some sort of…I dunno, TEST, to see who is really the better thief?” All three looked at each other…and slowly started to smile. “By Jove, I think that might be an excellent solution!” James declared. “I don’t know who ‘Jove’ is, but I think it sounds fun!” laughed Taoka. “Agreed,” Elias nodded, and placed a finger to his chin in thought. “But how on Earth are we to manage such a thing? We’d need a judge who could remain objective: I don’t think of any of us can be completely unbiased working on the idea ourselves.” “You’ve got that right,” Taoka concurred. “Especially since we all know I’m going to win anyway.” Elias just let out a decidedly doglike growl as his tail-fur fluffed up irritably. “Well, good luck with that!” you said with a salute, and hastened to try and move past the three. “If you don’t mind-” “Hang on, mates!” piped up James. “I have a suggestion!” “Aww, Chernabog, give me strength,” you groaned under your breath: you had a feeling you knew what the suggestion was. You were correct. “Why not elect the Prefect here to be our resident judge?” James said, and clapped you upon the back. “I believe they would be an excellent choice for the objective party!” “I second the nomination!” Elias said, lifting one finger with a grin. You looked helplessly at Taoka, who just smirked back and lifted his hands as if to say, “Outta my hands.” You sighed dismally and shook your head before giving the three a sort of wane smile. “Well…no one’s trying to take over the school or murder someone yet, so…I guess I have a little time on my hands,” you conceded. “Marvelous!” James cheered. “I’m excited already!” Elias agreed. “HOWEVER,” you spoked up, and lifted one hand. “There are a few conditions.” “Sounds fair,” shrugged Taoka. “Go ahead then, name ‘em.” “First of all,” you said, counting on your fingers, “I will decide how the contest is run, and what the rules are. And if any of you break those rules, you will be disqualified. ‘Honor among thieves’ is gonna be a thing here. Got it?” “Seems reasonable enough,” James nodded. “Second of all, my word is gonna be the FINAL word. So no rematches or whatever; if you guys wanna beat each other up about it after, do it as far away from me as possible.” “Understood,” Elias conceded. “And what are the rules you have in mind?” “I don’t know,” you admitted with a shrug. “I mean, you JUST sprang this on me. I need time to figure out what this contest is gonna be like.”

“How much time?” Eli urged. You paused thoughtfully, then answered: “Meet me at Ramshackle Dorm this Sunday, around lunchtime. That’ll give me a few days to work out some plans.” “It shall be done,” James said, obeisantly, with a courtly bow. “Heh. Well, now I know I’m gonna win,” sniggered Taoka. “What makes you so sure?” you asked, raising one eyebrow, while James and Eli glared at him. “Well, no offense, hun, but you aren’t exactly a Master Thief yourself,” Taoka smirked, swinging his hands behind his head in a slothful pose of relaxed arrogance. “So any plans YOU have in mind are bound to be a cinch.” You paused, looking Taoka up and down…then smiled slowly. “Y’know what? That’s a good point,” you confessed. Taoka grinned wider than ever, chest puffed out proudly. “Which is why,” you went on with a grin, “I’m gonna call on some professional help.” Taoka cussed, while James and Eli snickered.

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“Shishishishi! Okay. Okay, this…this is a joke, right? Is there a camera somewhere? I mean…you wouldn’t ACTUALLY be asking me to…to, uh…um…” Ruggie Bucchi trailed off at the look on your face, as he sat beside you on the couch in the Ramshackle Lounge. “...Oh. You, uh…you’re actually serious.” You nodded mutely. Ruggie cocked his head to one side and scratched behind his own ears, his expression lopsided. “Well, uh…I AM pretty nifty when it comes to picking pockets and such, but…are you sure you even wanna DO this? I mean…it’s not really your thing, Herbivore.” “That’s why I need YOUR help,” you replied. “I have to figure out a way for this contest to end the way I’m hoping it will.” “Oh?” Ruggie blinked, and then smiled sneakily, wiggling on his seat as he scooted closer. “That sounds like you’ve got some schemes of your own in mind.” “You could say that,” you smirked. Ruggie snickered in his usual way, hiding his mouth with his hand. “You may not be Leona, but you’re a lot more sly than people give you credit for,” he remarked, grinning and showing off his own sharp teeth. “I guess that makes you brain food, huh?” “You can save the kink-teasing for after I work out a plan,” you huffed, blushing a little…though, to your credit, it WAS only a little. “Fine, fine,” Ruggie drawled rolling his eyes, then cocked his head the other way. “What exactly IS it you want to do?” “Simple. Stop them arguing. Permanently.” “I could eat them! Would that help?” “Tempting, but not why I called on you at all. What I want is to get them to realize there’s no point in this stupidity, and hopefully get along better in the process.” “Awww, trying to make them all buddy-buddy,” teased Ruggie in a sing-song voice. “Well, aren’t you just a softy?” “Softer than most of you,” you scoffed. “But actually, it’s nothing so sentimental: to be blunt, the less they yell at each other, the less likely I’ll have to put up with whatever chaos they cause.” “Heh. Well, I can approve of ulterior motives,” Ruggie chuckled, then narrowed his eyes. "Although…you seem pretty confident I’ll agree to help.” “Will you?”

Ruggie shrugged. He looked a bit uninterested. “I mean…I haven’t said yes yet,” he reminded you. “What’s in it for me, anyway? I’m not taking place in the contest, and even if I was…psh. I don’t feel I need to PROVE anything, I KNOW I’m a great thief.” “Well,” you began thoughtfully. “I can’t PAY you. Not with money, anyway…” “That’s what I figured,” Ruggie nodded, seeming like he was about to get ready to leave. “However,” you went on, quickly, “If you help me, I can offer you the next best thing.” Ruggie’s ears perked up and his eyes widened. His spotted little tail began to thump the cushions of the sofa. He knew what that meant. “Food?” he asked, hopefully, eyes very large and sparkling. “Yup,” you smirked. “Free meals each day you assist me.” “Hot meals?” Ruggie almost woofed. You had to hold back a giggle as you nodded. “Of course. Made by yours truly. And, when it’s all over, I’ll take you out for a special treat myself.” Ruggie grinned wider than ever. You could hear his guts singing your praises already. He thrust out one fingerless-gloved hand, practically panting with excitement. “Deal!” he declared. “Excellent,” you said, and the two of you shook hands. “You know I can’t resist your cooking,” Ruggie winked. “It’s almost as tasty as you are.” “I am NOT going to be the special treat, if that’s what you’re implying.” “Ooooh…that means it’s gonna be a SURPRISE then! I’m even more curious!” “We’ll see what happens,” you smirked, mysteriously, as you withdrew your hand. “Now. Let’s put our heads together. What do you think would be the best way to test how good these guys are at pinching people’s property, huh?” Ruggie let out a thoughtful sound and reclined on the couch, turning his eyes heavenward…then slowly, he smiled in a slippery, almost serpentine way. “I’ve got a couple ideas,” he said, with a slight cackle. “For a start…”

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“‘Ill-met by moonlight, proud Titania.’” “‘What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence!’” “Look, for five minutes, could you two NOT talk like that?!” James and Elias “harrumphed” in nearly perfect unison, while Taoka rolled his eyes with an utterly exhausted-sounding sigh. The trio were approaching Ramshackle Dorm, at the appointed date and time the Prefect had set up. They had all chosen to wear their selection of casuals for the occasion: Taoka was gaudily garbed in his favorite gold-and-purple jacket and coral-colored shirt, with the image of a crab stenciled upon it, along with cerulean trousers and glammed-up boots similar in color to his coat. James, meanwhile, was costumed in a bright red coat, a white shirt with frilly, lacey sleeves, maroon-toned pants held in place by a belt with a golden skull-and-crossbones-bearing buckle, and tall black boots. Finally, Elias was dressed in a near skintight black turtleneck top, and similarly form-fitting black pants (fastened by his own unique belt and buckle), with shiny black shoes; combined with his beret cap and purple shades, he looked a little like a stereotypical, pretentious beatnik. It is therefore totally understandable that when Ruggie opened the door and saw the trio…he immediately burst out into a peals of high-pitched giggles. “What’s so funny?” scowled James, fidgeting his fingers around the topper of his cane sword. “Noooothing,” Ruggie sang back, grinning wider than any Cheshire Cat. He then stepped to one side and swept out his arm in an over-the-top way; he spoke in a similarly exaggerated “posh” sort of voice: “Please, fancy gentlemen, DO enter!” All three could tell they were being mocked, and glared at the hyena…but they entered anyway. “So, where’s the Prefect?” asked Taoka, slinging his arms behind his head and half-groaning as he stretched through his sentence. “They’re waiting in the Lounge,” Ruggie answered, and waved for the three to follow him as he strolled in front. “C’mon!” The three strode after the half-hyena as he led them down the hall and into the lounge in question; Ruggie’s ear twitched as he could hear the tapping of Killian’s cane upon the floorboards As they entered the lounge, Ruggie glided over to a loveseat near the entryway. Eli, James, and Taoka all paused as they soon saw you. You were sitting in a rocking chair at the other end of the room…with Grim in your lap…stroking him with a most sinister smile. “Welcome, gentlemen,” you intoned, in your most velvety voice. “I’ve been expecting you. Your timing is impeccable…and by impeccable, I mean ‘completely peccable!’” The three just…blinked at you. Three times each. Slowly. “...Wow,” Elias said at last. “And people say I’M a ham.” Taoka snorted with laughter while Ruggie snickered in the background. James merely smirked, shouldering his cane.

You sighed and pinched your brow. “Everyone’s a critic,” you mumbled. “ACHOO!” All of you jumped slightly as Grim sneezed, sending sparks and smoke flying from his nostrils. The flame-eared, trident-tailed cat looked rather tired and miserable as he slowly rolled his head up to look at you. “Nyaaaa…Minion…can I be excused?” he whined. “I’m still not feeling too good…” “Of course,” you said with a gentle smile, scratching under his chin. “Go rest up. And thanks, Grim; sorry the big entrance didn’t work.” “That’s okay,” sniffled Grim, sounding as stuffed up as he doubtless felt, and nuzzled you slightly. “Hey…bring me some tuna soup when you finish, please?” “Sure,” you nodded, and Grim bounced off your lap and dismally padded off to find his bed. “Goodness, he really MUST be under the weather,” frowned James, worriedly. “I’ll say,” Eli murmured, scratching his head. “He was actually being POLITE.” “I know, right?!” Ruggie broke in. “It’s not natural!” “Grim will be fine by the end of the week,” you said, folding your hands in your lap where he’d been (after dusting a few stray imp-hairs he’d shed away). “You three have more to be concerned with.” “So, you got everything worked out, babe?” Taoka inquired. “I sure do, with Ruggie’s help,” you nodded, and waved a hand towards a sofa near you. “Have a seat, all of you, and I’ll tell you how this is gonna work.” The three self-proclaimed master thieves obediently marched over to the sofa and sat down. For a moment, all three growled as they fidgeted and tried to get comfortable, clearly incensed at being in such close proximity to each other, but finally they settled and looked at you expectantly. You took a breath, and then began to elaborate on the plan… “I am preparing four challenges, each to be completed on a separate day, starting tomorrow. The day after tomorrow will be the second task, the day after that the third, and of course the fourth would follow thereafter.” “Ooooh, ‘thereafter,’” smirked Taoka. “You rehearsed this a little, didn’t you?” “Alternatively, I can call on a favor from Riddle. Then you can all be collared, and no one wins, if you keep making fun of me while I’m talking.” Taoka made a motion of zipping his lip. James and Eli remained respectfully silent.

“That’s better,” you mumbled, and then went on: “Each challenge will test your skills for your chosen…hobby. Every task requires you to find a playing card, which I have hidden somewhere on the campus…” “AHEM!” Ruggie coughed, crossly. “...Which either I or Ruggie have hidden on campus,” you corrected, which satisfied the Savanaclaw student. “One of the four Aces. Ruggie has helpfully put a special marking spell on the cards, so if you try to cheat me with a phony, we will know. Whichever one of you has collected the most cards by the end wins, barring the possibility of a tie, of course. All clear?” “Yeah, so far,” Elias nodded. “Good. Now, there are three basic rules,” you continued, lifting up two fingers in emphasis.“First and foremost, you are not allowed to harm anyone else, or their property, whether they are involved in the contest or not. You also cannot tell anybody who isn’t already aware of the contest anything about it. On that note, while I may enlist the help of other students to make the challenges possible, none of you will be allowed to get help from others who are not involved.” All of you looked pointedly at James. He pouted. “No help from Smitty,” he grumbled. “Got it.” You nodded. “Like I said before,” you finished, lowering your hand, “Break any rules or regulations, and you will be disqualified. That’s all, I think, at least for now.” “Great!” grinned Elias, and leaned forward on the couch slightly, rubbing his hands together. “So, what’s the first challenge? Which card are we getting?” You smirked and looked towards Ruggie, giving him his cue. The hyena was lounging on the loveseat, head propped up on a pillow against one arm rest, his legs crossed and outstretched. Bucchi flashed a devious grin and made a show of flippantly inspecting his fingernails.

“This morning,” he reported, “I managed to sneak into the locker room of the gymnasium and hid the Ace of Clubs in one of the lockers. Tomorrow, you guys have to try and figure out a way to get the card out of the locker, without being caught, then bring it back here to Ramshackle before…uh…” “Dinnertime,” you reminded him. “Around six o’ clock in the evening.” “Right, right,” Ruggie nodded, and then snapped his fingers. “Oh! And I should let you all know: the person whose locker I hid it in? They’ve got no idea it’s in there. At least, I don’t think they do.” “Definitely helpful to be aware of that,” mumbled James, scratching his chin ponderingly. “Hey, no sweat on my back!” grinned Elias, cracking his knuckles and neck in a showoff fashion. “A locker’s no great challenge!” “Well, that depends,” Taoka said, surprisingly seriously, and looked over at Ruggie, raising one eyebrow. “Whose locker is it, babe? Kinda gotta know that, don’t we?” Ruggie glared. “First of all, don’t call me babe.” “Whatever,” shrugged Taoka, uncaringly. “Second of all,” Ruggie went on, and grinned devilishly, “The locker is Azul Ashengrotto’s.” All of the color drained from Taoka’s face. His jaw dropped. A strangled sort of sound left him, as if all the air had been sucked dry from his lungs. His whole demeanor was one of absolute, mortified terror. James and Elias giggled like naughty little boys. “You know, I daresay this game is getting interesting already,” James commented.

“Same here,” chuckled Eli. Taoka said nothing. He looked like he was trying to remember how prayers worked…or perhaps what he wanted to write in his will. You smirked and shook your head in amusement. “You’ve got all the rest of the day to plan this first one out,” you reminded the three. “Good luck, guys.” “Yeah,” Ruggie snickered. “You’re gonna need it…especially crab cakes. Shishishishi!” Latronis could only whimper.

---------------------------------------------------------

The following day, a head of purple-dyed hair poked its way around the corner of the entrance to the locker rooms. Two similarly violet-hued eyes darted this way and that, before the owner of these features tip-toed carefully through the quiet backroom area of the gym. Taoka took a deep breath as he approached the locker designated as Azul’s, drumming his fingertips against each other nervously. “Okay…okay, you got this,” he whispered to himself. “It’s just one locker. One simple, ordinary locker. Just a locker with a playing card in it. That’s it. That’s all you gotta worry about. Just…one locker…that belongs to…your absolute worst living nightmare…one locker that belongs to one of the scariest Housewardens in Night Raven history…one locker that belongs to someone who could c-crack your shell and s-s-suck out your s-soul-ohhhhhh, Poseidon give me strength…”Taoka slapped his own cheeks and shook himself out of his fear, taking another couple of deep breaths before moving closer to the locker. It was secured with a rather large and shiny-looking padlock; no doubt Azul, with his personality, had made sure to buy the very best he could afford. Still, any lock had a key or a combination, and Latronis was sure he could figure it out. He just prayed he could do it before Azul showed up; he knew his employer at the Lounge had PE classes in a short while. But if he could get in and out without even SEEING the Octopus…well. Not only would he win the first trial, but it would do a lot for his stress levels. Taoka stuck his tongue out thoughtfully as he brushed his fingers against his own PE uniform, and then took cautious hold of the lock; he half expected an alarm to go off or something, but no. The lock seemed relatively ordinary. Encouraged, he took hold of the dial, and started to turn it this way and that, listening closely to try and pick up the sound of the tumblers tucked within the mechanism. Unfortunately for the demi-crab in disguise, before he could even make a second of headway in that regard, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching…and his blood ran cold as ice in his arteries as he heard a familiar voice speaking…

“Come in! Come in, and follow me. This business shouldn’t take too long…”

The Octopus!

Taoka cursed under his breath, and scurried like a rat (or…well…a crab) across the gymnasium floor, hiding behind a wall that separated the lockers from the showers. He flattened himself back against it, trembling, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Contest or no contest, if Azul caught HIM anywhere near his locker, he could end up being made into crab bisque! Literally!

As Taoka hid, he heard Azul enter the locker room, muttering something to himself. As his crabby brain raced to try and figure out some sort of way out of this situation (and into the half-cephalopod's locker to snatch the Ace of Clubs), he suddenly heard another, equally familiar (though much less scary) voice come echoing down the hall…

“I’m so glad we could arrange this so easily.”

“Killian?” Taoka murmured to himself in recognition.

“No trouble at all, James!” Azul’s voice crowed, as they moved increasingly closer to the lockers. “Once you told me what you were working on, I simply couldn’t refuse! You know how hard it is for me to say no to my favorite seafarer…”

“Flatterer. At this rate, you’ll have me blushing!”

“Well…you DO look delicious when you’re embarrassed.”

“Oh, come now, that was a trifle forced, don’t you think?”

“Sorry. I have to get at least ONE tease in whenever I meet you, it’s practically law.”

“Indeed? Did we sign a contract on that point at some time and I didn’t know?” “We could, if you like.” “No thanks, I’ll pass. Now, let’s see about opening that locker and-” “CHEAT!” Azul Ashengrotto and James Killian both jumped, startled, as a familiar voice shouted at them, echoing through the locker room. Taoka, rather impulsively, had leapt out from his hiding place, pointing an accusatory finger at James. “Taoka!” Azul gasped in surprise, looking rather amazed at the boldness of the Pomefiore half-crab. “What are you doing here?” James exclaimed, seemingly even more bewildered. “The same as you,” sneered Taoka. He was about to reprimand James for apparently breaking the rules, when Azul spoke up: “Interesting…I didn’t take you to be much of a reader, Latronis.” Taoka blinked. “...Much of a what?” “Well, James was hoping I could lend him a book I borrowed recently from the library,” Azul explained, gesturing towards his locker. “I told him to meet me early, before athletics class, and I would give it to him then and there. Meaning, of course, here and now.” “Oh.” There was an awkward silence. “So…uh…what is the book about?” Taoka asked, with an innocent smile. “Don’t try to change the subject,” Azul glared, eyes glittering in a stormy way behind his glasses. “Given that it’s obvious that’s not what you are here about, why were you skulking about in the showers? And how long have you been here?” “Indeed,” James smirked, and crossed his arms. “And what did you mean by calling me a cheat, hmmm?” Taoka clenched his gloved fist and gritted his teeth behind closed lips. Not only did he now have a rather suspicious Azul looking at him crossly, but if he called James’ bluff and answered the latter question, he’d be disqualified for breaking the rules. Thankfully, the crab-man in human clothing was nothing if not quick-thinking, and rapidly came up with an out. “Oh, I wasn’t calling you a cheat for anything related to that book, whatever it is,” Taoka purred, mimicking James’ own actions. “You ought to know already what this is about.” James Killian’s smile faltered.

“Why should I explain, blast it?! You’re the one who was hiding.” “And you’re the one I accused of cheating.” “How does that put ANY blame on me?” “Well, I have to have a REASON to accuse you, don’t I? Go ahead, give the reason.” “That’s not how this works!” “Isn’t it?” “I can’t simply say what’s going on!” “Then you admit something IS going on, and you know what.” “Yes! NO! I mean…curse it, I can’t say!” “Why not?” “Because…because…YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHY NOT!” “Do I?” “Of course you do!” “Hmmmm, I’m not so sure…” “Oh, you are a VILE creature, sir.” “What’s the matter, Little Codfish? Feeling cornered?” “Says the one who could easily be made into crab cakes!” “Okay, that’s uncalled for-” “Will one of you KINDLY explain what’s happening?” Azul groaned, clearly growing annoyed with both of them. “We can’t,” both answered at once, then glared at each other before looking back at Azul again. Ashengrotto was completely puzzled…then his expression cooled. It was now HIS turn to smirk and cross his arms. “I see,” he said, in a soft, slow way…and then moved to stand firmly in front of his locker. “Well. Then perhaps I can make a guess.” The two gulped nervously, but said nothing. “I’m going to make a wager - hypothetically, mind you - that both of you want something I have,” Azul said, calmly, and adjusted his glasses. His usual sly, smarmy smile came to his face as he spoke. “Presumably, something inside my locker. Am I right?” Neither said a word. “I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Azul almost giggled, and then plastered his most charming, winning smile upon his face as he swept some stray silver hairs out of his eyes. “Well, this is hardly a great issue! You know I’m more than happy to help my underclassmen! Why don’t you simply tell me what it is, and we’ll see about coming to an arrangement for one or both of you. Simple enough, isn’t it?” “Not quite,” James said slowly, and bowed slightly in respect. “You see, Azul, we ARE after something you have…” “...But we can’t tell you what it is,” Taoka finished.

“Why not?” Azul inquired, raising one eyebrow. “For a start, you probably don’t even know you have it, boss,” Taoka said. “That is a fact,” James conceded. “You wouldn’t be aware you’re holding it.” Azul glared. A coldness came to his blue eyes that made both James and Taoka feel as if the whole room had lost all its warmth. Slowly, he advanced on both of them, stepping closer and closer. Both the pirate and the half-crab gulped anxiously and stepped backwards as he approached. “I am aware,” Azul said, very quietly, “Of every single coin in my collection. I am aware of every single thaumark my Lounge has made me, and then some. I am aware of each and every LETTER printed upon each and every contract I keep stored in my special vault. I am acutely aware of every single collateral and payment those contracts involve, from magical abilities to monetary fees. I am also aware of every single pound I put on and every single calorie I have to count after I overindulge at mealtimes.” James and Taoka were now backed up against the wall, the icy gaze of the head of Octavinelle boring into their very spirits. “So…are you two really telling me…I don’t know I have something that you really, really want?” “M-Maybe?” squeaked Taoka. “Quite possibly,” peeped James. Azul’s eyes flashed, and he leaned in closer still. “Say. That. Again.” James and Taoka almost whimpered. They had the sneaking suspicion that if they did just that, they’d be among the calories Azul would be counting. Given how James’ face turned pink, and Taoka’s turned white as a sheet, one could guess how each felt at such a proposition. While the pirate and the crab tried to figure out a way out of their sticky situation, neither they nor Azul noticed a dark, thin trail of what appeared to be blackish-blue ink, slithering across the floor like a snake in the grass. It wormed its way up across the lockers…and then slid through the gaps in the slats on Azul’s locker front. After a few moments, the dark tendril retracted, wriggling its way back the way it had just come, down the side of the lockers, across the floor, around the bend into the shower room Taoka had been in not long ago…and up the wall there, into a ventilation shaft, where it disappeared completely. It was only once the unseen, inky intruder had left the backrooms of the gymnasium that one of the two competing bandits was able to finally find his voice… “A RECIPE!” Azul’s eyes now fixed firmly on James, the look of unnerving frostiness changing to a confused expression. “A what?” “W-Well, you see…the Culinary Crucible is in a couple of months, and I-I was planning to p-participate!” James stammered, with a wide smile, and glanced towards Taoka. “He was going to do the same, and…we-well, you know how competitive that course is! D-Don’t you?” “I was? I mean, YES! Yes, that’s totally true, babe-AH, I mean, boss! Yes, boss, that’s what this is all about!” Azul did not look convinced, but he no longer looked like he was about to call on Floyd or Jade (or worse), either.

“I don’t quite understand,” he said slowly. “What do I have to do with that?” “Well, we both knew you participated a while back, and we also know you’re always looking for recipes to add to the Mostro Lounge menu,” James went on. Azul nodded steadily, still not quite understanding. “I had mentioned to my crabby associate here that I might try asking you if you had any recipes to share that might be in your locker. My guess is that Taoka was waiting here in the hopes of getting ahead of me, and thought that I had been trying to do the same.” “Yeah,” sighed Taoka, and made a show of looking shamefaced, kicking at an invisible rock with his shoe. “Sorry, boss, for worrying you. We just wanted to get an advantage over each other ahead of time. You can understand that, right?” “I can indeed,” Azul nodded, seemingly swallowing the story. “And as luck would have it, I think I might have a new recipe I discovered in my locker; I was planning to bring it back after class concluded. So, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll give one of you this recipe, but only on the condition that it stays secret between the three of us. And of course, you won’t be getting it for free.” “Name your price, we’ll see which of us can meet it,” promised Taoka. “Indeed!” James grinned, hoping he looked as eager as he sounded as he made a show of crossing his heart. Azul smirked. “Well, let’s see how much the two of you like it first,” he purred, like a cat settling a belly full of rich cream. Then, he turned on his heel and tromped back towards his locker. James and Taoka sighed with immense relief behind him, and shot each other a sour look…but their shared mixed feelings of animosity and relief were short-lived. As Azul opened his locker, each was thinking of a way to sneakily get the card supposedly stored inside… …But Azul letting out a perplexed, “Eh?” beat them to it. “What’s the matter?” James asked. “Something strange. Perhaps you two weren’t being as silly as I thought,” Azul frowned. He turned around, holding out what appeared to be not a playing card, but an index card, towards the two. “Do either of you know about this business?” James stepped forward to take the card and inspect it. His expression hardened as he then handed it to Taoka, who peered at what was written upon it. The half-crab felt something inside of him twitch, and his temple throbbed, as he saw the image of a smeared ink blot, and the following words: Better luck next time, fools! “No,” he said, evenly, with his best poker face. “This is totally news to us, boss.”

Azul looked Taoka up and down briefly, clearly dubious. To say he was concerned was an understatement. He hastily began to sift through the stuff in his locker, obviously checking to see if anything had been taken. His expression changed to one of great relief when he realized everything he knew should be in there WAS in there. “Thank goodness…a prank, no doubt, slipped through the slats,” he muttered, and retrieved the index card before tearing it up, grumbling to himself. “I’ll bet it was Floyd…or maybe Jade. Those two always love giving me a heart attack, one way or another…” As Azul went to throw the shredded pieces away, Taoka and James shared a sorrowful look. “I hate that mutt,” Taoka Latronis growled. James Killian said nothing, but he seemed inclined to agree.

---------------------------------------------------------

The next morning… “Ahhh! Look who decided to show up!” Elias greeted, grinning and wagging his tail as he stirred a glass of chocolate milk with one hand. He was seated in the lounge, waiting happily for James and Taoka. As they entered - each with matching, grouchy looks upon their faces - he held up the Ace of Clubs. “First game goes to me! You two might as well forfeit early; that was too easy!” “For YOU, maybe,” Taoka said with a shudder. “I thought I was gonna be fried and served on a bun!” “One could only be so lucky,” mumbled James, with a slight blush. “What?” “Nothing, never mind.” “Hey, contest’s only just getting started, guys,” Ruggie drawled from his spot on the loveseat as he munched on a strip of bacon. You had prepared breakfast for everybody present, and while Eli and Taoka’s plates were piled high with food, Ruggie had clearly gotten the lion’s share…ironically, perhaps, for a hyena, but that was another matter. “Well,” grunted Taoka, as he sat down and began to munch on some hashbrowns. He spoke through a full mouth. “What’s the next test?” You waited till he swallowed before answering between bites of your own, much smaller-served breakfast of bacon, hashbrowns, and scrambled eggs with cheddar. “Your next prize is the Ace of Diamonds,” you told them. “I took care of hiding it this time, myself. It’s in the Alchemy Lab.” “Hmph. You know, if every test is going to be, ‘get this thing I put here,’ without variation, it could become quite tedious,” James drawled. “Oh, it’s a little trickier than that,” you explained to the trio with a slight smirk. “See, there are two important points: first, I’m not telling you WHERE in the Alchemy Lab it is. You’ll have to figure out where it’s been stashed.” “And what’s the other point?” Elias asked, as he sipped his chocolate milk.

“When you took the Ace of Clubs, you did it before classes began; when there was no teacher supervising things, and no other students to potentially interfere,” you reminded them. You paused, before then saying: “This time, you have to get the card out of the Lab…while you’re all in Alchemy Class together. You will then all report back here this evening. Obviously, you can’t let Professor Crewel or anyone else in class see you take it.” “Are you daft?!” James exclaimed. “We all know what a strict taskmaster he is!” “That’s what makes it challenging!” Ruggie sang out, waving his fork around merrily. “What’s the matter, Little Codfish?” smirked Elias. “Afraid I’ll win again?” “Stow yer anchor in a place where the sun won’t shine, ye ink-brained sea slug,” and pointed his own fork at Eli…still with a bit of egg on it. “This time, I’ll get that Card, just wait and see!”

Elias laughed mockingly in response. Taoka, for his part, remained unusually quiet. He simply smirked to himself, licking his lips between gulps of milk, the fingers of his free hand drumming against the sofa cushions to a beat only he could hear…

To Be Continued in Part 2…

[hollow-lime-green]

I have just DEVOURED the last chap of 2scorc and what can I say.

WHAT CAN I SAY.

I'm in love. I have been screaming about it nonstop with my friend because this fic is just so good.

The foreshadowing. THE FUCKING META FORESHADOWING. I die.

Legit crying in the club during satoru's phone call. Poor boy.

Also I love how you write dialogues both in terms of words and in terms of layout. Extremely pleasant to read, chef's kiss.

I will leave a comment once a)I become more coherent and b)I'll finish re-reading the whole thing

Just fyi I'm now addicted to this verse and I cannot wait to see what you have in store for part 3, your jujutsu world building and lore is immaculate.

I'm in tears and broken by your writing, 10/10 would recommend (I have never forwarded a fanfic so fast in my life)

aaaaaa thank you so much <3

there's so many little breadcrumbs in previous chapters that lead to the hansel and gretel style witch cottage that is this nightmare of an ending (for Satoru, anyway :) )

the formatting has been particularly fun in this fic, and i wanted to pull back the curtain a little bit. the text alignment in this chapter in particular is a way to represent where the thoughts are coming from, for Satoru. so when you see a right-align, whether it's dialogue or an intrusive thought of his, it's kind of meant to signal hostility. center-aligns are complicated and unsure. and then left-aligns are standard character stuff. it's a similar thing for Suguru's dreams in previous chapters.

i've yapped a little bit about it here, but this is another inspiration i took from Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. (the other inspiration being the mission formatting in ch. 12).

when i write stuff like this, there's always a little voice in the back of my head going like 'oh god is this cringe' and 'will they think i'm taking myself way too seriously' etc etc. but.

a.) fanfiction is exactly the place for this semi-cheesy meta poem-prose fusion bullshit. b.) i hope no one is at risk of thinking that the twilight-rebecca black friday-minecraft parody song fanfic takes itself too seriously.

anyway! i am so glad you liked it, and it always super tickles me to hear about you guys talking about it with your friends :) I talk about writing this fanfic to my irl friends with the same energy of spraying an unsuspecting sunbather with a high-powered SuperSoaker™. and i get about the response that you'd expect, but I think they prefer it to me explaining the specific details of vore (more complicated than you would think).

i've got so much left for part 3, especially hyperspecfic jujutsu worldbuilding bullshit that we've been building up to since domains. in particular, we're gonna get really into Suguru's technique, barrier techniques, and RCT. we're gonna see clan politics, higher-ups, and of course, Satoru's taste in fanfiction.

[sleepanonymous]

i saw in a passing comment somewhere, i believe it was on a video of iv’s vocals in rain, someone said he previously did harsh vocals in another band and my brain.. oof. if that is indeed true i wish there was a way to listen to them without things being spoiled. but for right now if the closest we get to appreciating his growls are from rain, vore and tmbte we are blessed. and the antIVist performance, never forget 🙏🏻 that one altered my brain chemistry in the best way

I’m feeling ballsy today, I guess, so I’m gonna answer this one. Under the cut though, so people can scroll past if they wish 🖤

Okay Anon, ty for bringing this up because I’ve wanted to talk about this forever. It’s likely, of all the band's he's been part of, that the comment you saw was talking about an EP IV made with a total of five members from two other bands, one being Wilderness. (UK) and the other being another band that IV was a tech/guitarist for.

This group called themselves Mourn, and IV was the vocalist. They unfortunately only released four songs on an EP titled The Next Life. Mourn’s genre was metalcore, and they described themselves as delivering “a powerful sonic experience of crushing instrumentals, vicious vocals and relentless energy.” The lyrics have a heavily religious undertone, backed by the The Next Life’s artwork being a distorted rendition of the Annibale Carracci painting Christ Crowned with Thorns.

It’s unclear exactly who wrote what for Mourn, as all five members are listed as composers. There are also no credits to a producer, so the EP may have been produced by one or multiple band members as well. In Wilderness. (UK), Mourn’s bassist is credited as the lyricists, and Mourn’s drummer is credited as the recording, mixing, and mastering engineer. In a playthru video on the band’s YouTube channel, IV is the lead vocalist and he is backed up by the bassist (he’s definitely been working on breath control and stamina, compared to some recent videos of his screams in Rain). I was thinking about taking the Full Band playthrough on YouTube and editing IV out, but I have no energy for that 😅 I do have the ripped MP3 in the Lost Media folder, if you want to give it a listen.

The Next Life EP was released September 3, 2021, just a few weeks before TPWBYT. The band was only set to have played one live show, in February of 2022 supporting Decapitated, but it’s possible the band dropped out or the show itself was canceled. All I could find online for the date were some news articles/Facebook posts from the announcement but no photos or videos from the actual concert for any band listed on the bill.

It's theorized by fans that this band dissolved after IV left to focus solely on Sleep Token, but I’m not entirely sure that’s the case, or the sole reason. The first tour Sleep Token did in 2022 began in August, and the last tour they did ended in November 2021, so it’s not exactly like IV would have been incapable of performing with both bands. It wouldn’t be the only instance of one of the members of Sleep Token performing in multiple projects at one time.

I’m not confident enough to upload the music onto Tumblr, but I’ll happily share the band name and YouTube/Spotify links with anyone who asks. I ended up compiling the lyrics to the four songs on the EP in a Google Doc a while back for a fan who wanted to avoid IV’s name (since his name and face are plastered onto this band). Also, there were two posts from last month (? maybe September) that brought this band up, and I’m pretty certain they both had audio attached. Unfortunately, I could only find @kaddyssammlung's post for one song, and its the studio version of the same song I added to the Lost Media folder.

If anyone can direct me to the second post, please do so and I will link it here 🖤

I’ll leave you with this gem of a photograph from the band’s Facebook page. Man loves his hoodies and sneakers istg.

[escxelle]

i'm convinced sleep token are stem girlies because the amount of physics, maths and chemistry in their lyrics hmmm. lemme list all the references below the cut <3 (just as an fyi: this is a joke and i'm not being serious!! i'm just pointing out all the science references in their songs, dw)

alright, bit of a stretch to start but: "sulfur on your breath, granite in my chest." - granite from take me back to eden (2023). sulfur obviously being an element and granite is a rock (i'm not a chem student, i do astrophysics sorry idk anything else skdjsjd)

i'm being really picky but like "these days i'm a circuit board, integrated hardware you cannot afford." - aqua regia from take me back to eden (2023). vessel is an engineering girlie!! /j also i could point out the latin title is a mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid sooo

still in aqua regia, we have "sugar on the blood cells, carbon on the brain." mhm, speak stem girlie!

aqua regia is full of stem textbooks: "oxytocin running in the ether. silicon ballrooms. subatomic interactions if it's all good. gold rush, acid flux. saturate me, i can't get enough. cold love, hot blood." so the debrief: oxytocin is a hormone. ether are a class of compounds. the rest i think is self-explanatory, as they're elements and cute little stem terms oxox

i love stretching. "your viscera welcome me in." - vore from take me back to eden (2023). viscera are the large organs inside the body, including the heart, stomach, lungs, and intestines. biology girlies!! /j

more stretching <3 "who encrypted your dark gospel in body language? synapses snap back in blissful anguish." - ascensionism from take me back to eden (2023). encryption is the process of encoding information!! a computer science girlie!! then synapses are the places where neurons connect and communicate with each other <3

"half algorithm, half deity. glitches in the code or gaps in a strange dream." who ate a programming textbook?! /j

"digital demons make the night feel heavenly." side note but i think we should start calling trolls digital demons.

"lipstick, chemtrails, red flags, pink nails." has someone maybe studied chemtrails in their chemistry classes hmmm? /j

as i'm an astrophysics student i have to mention this: "the shifting states you follow me through." - the apparition from take me back to eden (2023). states, huh? liquid turning into a solid time is it? /j

"i feel my shadown dissolving." - rain from take me back to eden (2023). a metaphor or a chemistry textbook? /j

"it's that chemical cut that i can get down with." have many chemical cuts, huh?? /j

i'm an astrophysics girlie (gn) so i have to include this one: "a dangerous disposition somehow refracted in light, reflected in sound."

"i dream in phosphorescence." - take me back to eden from take me back to eden (2023). phosphorescence is a type of photoluminescence related to fluorescence. i mean, come on! the rest lyric? really?

"sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and make-up. just two days since the mainframe went down and i'm still messed up." biology and software engineering much? /j

"if my fate is a bad collision." - euclid from take me back to eden (2023). collision? huh are you a particle, hm? also euclid was a greek mathematician ! currently in my special relativity notes i have written "flat euclidean space"! riddle me that, sleep token. /j

"just orbiting the vacuum i am." - atlantic from this place will become your tomb (2021). yes, orbiting like the sun and moon and planets, right?? /j

"push down into membranes and layers, creating a slow dissection." - like that from this place will become your tomb (2021). yeah we get it, you're a biology student /j

"you lie an inch apart on your own continuum." - the love you want from this place will become your tomb (2021). continuum, huh?

"and though echoing futures are the buckling sutures." - fall for me from this place will become your tomb (2021). i bet you've seen many sutures huh dr. vessel! /j

right prepare for a lot of references here folks. "she's not acid nor alkaline." - alkaline from this place will become your tomb (2021). do i really have to explain the actions of this chem girlie? /j

"ooh, let's talk about chemistry 'cause i'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules 'til the particles part like holy water. if anything, she's an undiscovered element." i'm sure you'd love to infodump about your favourite subject! /j

"'cause i am broken into fractions." - distraction from this place will become your tomb (2021). i bet you deal with fractions all the time, you maths nerd!! /j

"and we go beyond the farthest reaches where the light bends and wraps beneath us and i know as you collapse into me." - telomeres from this place will become your tomb (2021). light bending? how very relativity of you. also telomeres are structures made from DNA sequences and proteins found at the ends of chromosomes.

"and i choke myself on sacred vapour." - high water from this place will become your tomb (2021). vapour because it's changed state, right? /j

"keep up on the charm offensive anymore." - missing limbs from this place will become your tomb (2021). i'm doing particle physics right now so i know exactly what a charm quark is! also limbs??? hello again dr. vessel /j

"'cause i look for scarlet and you look for ultraviolet." - higher from sundowning (2019). using ultraviolet filters for your astrophotography are you?? /j

"let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one." - say that you will from sundowning (2019). entangle? entanglement? quantum entanglement? i'm connecting the dots.

"i want to roll the numbers. i want to feel my stars align again even if the earth breaks like burnt skin." - blood sport from sundowning (2019). an astrophysics fr /j

"and somewhere, somewhere the atoms stopped fusing." more stem!

"and out there, stuck in a quantum pattern, tangled with what i never said." this is something a theoretical physicist would say is all i'm saying. /j

now you have to listen to sleep token to hear these bangers >:)

[random-vore-blog]

May I ask for more sanegiyuu vore? It's so cuteee 😭😭

Of course! I am just gonna use an au I have cooked up. Plus, this gives you an idea of what happened to Giyu :3

Harpy's Lake Gem

The moon was up, its rays casting over the forest where mythical creatures resided in, illuminaring the landscape with its its gentle touch. The forest that held mysteries no human could solve, a puzzle too difficult for the human mind to complete. A foreign, but also familiar space for many who travel across the land to find the place.

Those who entered never came back. Many went missing upon entering the forest, many remains left out by the borders- a warning to any who dare to try to enter the forest without permission. Be it an arm or any other limb or a corpse, it didn't matter. It was still a warning.

But deep in the forest, a lake stood proud in the open in the heart of the forest. Its surface shone like gems, the water calm and at peace. The moonlight caressed the precious surface with care and a gentleness no one knew about. But as gorgeous as it looks from above and on land, there was a sinister aura that lurked beneath the surface- hidden from anyone by the facade of the innocent surface of the water.

The most deaths of humans occured here, in the heart of the forest, where no one would ever find the remains- gone and nowhere to be seen or to find their way out of this place. The lake was a trap- a deathtrap that had worked succesfully for the creature that resided in the lake it called home. It lured the next victims by just its voice alone, a song that no one could resist and follow.

A seastack on the far side, close to shore, sat comfortably with the water gently lapping at it. Ontop sat the cause of all the missing people that dared to enter the forest, right into its webbed hands.

A Siren.

Mythical creatures with the lower half of a fish and the upper half of a man, beings sailors told tales of- with a taste and appitite for human flesh, an appitite no human could understand. Its beauty hid away the sinister side deep beneath the surface. The beauty of the creature used to trick mankind, a facade to disguise their true intentions from mankind- violent beasts that drowned man for its own pleasures and needs. Sometimes feasting on the corpses of the victims it drowned.

The siren on the seastack had a beautiful tail as blue as sapphire stones with white diamond-shaped dots on the sides, the fins a transluscent baby blue colour, hair as black as a raven's with hints of almost invisble blue hues under the moon, dark blue eyes that pulled many in their gaze, fins acting like ears the same colour as the tail, the fingers a light blue colour that spread up to the elbow, claws a beautiful dark blue and webbing white, the upper torso covered in robes of red with a checkered pattern consisting of green and yellow.

The scales reflected the moonlight that caressed them, giving off a faint glow from the tail. It made the creature not only look majestic but also gorgeous and etheral, a beauty no one could take their eyes off of. A mask crafted over thousands of years to perfect the beauty.

The gentle sound of a song escaped its throat, sounding masculine in comparison to most feminine songs sung by the normal female sirens. Thus being identified as a male siren, a rare sight to behold as thete are few left in the world.

The fins on his head twitched as he heard something, another creature that he was all too familiar with. Someone the siren knew and had been friends with im the past, despite their historical rivalry, the wars both of these two mythical creatures had for thousands and thousands of years.

The siren turned his head slightly to look behind him, seeing all-too-familiar bird talons clutching onto the hard ricky surface, latched onto the stone to ensure that they don't let the creature slip off. He looked up, seeing a familiar face he had grown used to.

White hair that illuminated silver when light caressed the strands, purple eyes that glared daggers at him, scars on the face and lips formed into a frown. Dark green armour covered the chest, a black shirt underneath, a cloth of sorts hanging from the sides and tied to its waist, dark green pants that stopped right above the knee where the bird feet began to form. Black wings with white feathers at the edges, the tail matching the colour scheme of the wings. Green streaks right by the cheeks, feathers placed on either side where human ears would be acted as the ears.

" Shinazugawa-san."

" Tomioka."

The voice of the creature was a lot deeper and rough, as if it ate sand for breakfast instead of its preferred food. The hint of venom in the tone gave the siren, dubbed as Tomioka, an insight to what the creature wanted.

It wanted him for something, and that something he was unsure of. He couldn't place a clawed finger on what the winged creature wanted. And that creature was an expert at aerial hunting.

A Harpy.

Winged beasts with the lower half of a bird while the upper half was a human, arms replaced by wings larger than a human's body. Maybe larger than two humans stacked on each other. They came in many shapes and sizes, but they took on the species of any predatory bird. Their excellent aerial control in the air was phenomenal and more executed than any bird, surprassing their bird of prey counterparts.

" Is there something you need?"

The siren asked softly, a curious glint evident in the blue orbs that watched the Harpy with caution. He was aware that he was a delicacy for these aerial predators, nothing but a meal to them. He had to tread carefully if he didn't want to become Harpy food. However, he was unsure if the Harpy viewed him as a food source, seeing as he- identified by the masculine voice- never laid a talon on him.

" Does Kagaya-san need us in his presence?"

" No,"

The Harpy lowered his upper torso, bending it to be on eye level with the aquatic being.

" he does not need us in his presence."

Tomioka made a small frown, eyes squinted in confusion at the words that left Shinazugawa's- as Tomioka called him- mouth. The confusion did not leave his features, not until a talon pinned him against the rock, on his back. His back arched from the sudden contact of the cold surface, eyes widened as they stared at the purple ones that glared at him.

" It is you."

" What are-"

" It's your late night swimming that irritates me."

" Shinazu-"

" NO! Every time I patrol, I always see you swimming late at night!"

His jaws clenched in anger, body shaking with rage.

" And tonight is NO different! You think I don't notice the smallest of hints that you have insomnia?! Or the details like the dark circles under your eyes known as eyebags?!"

He growled, snarling at the being under his taloned foot, wings opened slightly to prove his point, to imply what he meant by his words. Tomioka just stared at him in disbelief, as if the Harpy had said that he had commited a crime...

" Don't try to hide it! I can see it from a mile away! Even Iguro can smell it from a mile away!"

" Sh-"

" No-! I am DONE watching you swim late at night when Iguro and I are on patrol!"

The pressure on the Siren's chest increased, before he was lifted up, off of the cold floor as his tail laid limp on the ground beneath. He had never seen the Harpy this irritated before, let alone concerned for his wellbeing. A warmth blossomed in his chest at the thought of someone caring for him.

" And I am going to do something about it."

He said dangerously low, above a whisper and his voice dripped with anger. Not only that, but the talons brought his face closer to Shinaguzawa's.

Before he could say anything, the lips in front of him parted, reavealing a cavern of flesh. Strands of saliva clung on the roof an anywhere it could cling onto, a tongue slipped out to give him a taste. He didn't react to it, however, as his attention was drawn to the pearly white teeth that were sharp and could snap him in half, crush bone. He was in a state of shock, not able to tell his body to move as it failed to co-operate with him.

It closed in front of him, and he stared at Shinazugawa wide-eyed.

" You taste better than I expected."

The Harpy murmured, tilting his head to the side, squinting his eyes in glee, something the Siren never saw.

Before long, the Harpy tilted his head straight and licked his lips. He- he wasn't going to- right? Tomioka felt a wave of panic hit him like a ton of bricks, a slap across the face full force.

The maw opened again and this time, his head was placed inside. He wanted to struggle, to scream and cry out for help, but his body refused, still in shock and trying to process what was going on.

It was warm, very warm. The humid air inside messed with his gills, threatening him to gasp for air a lot nicer than the dry air he was forced to inhale-! But he didn't, he couldn't. His body didn't belong to him as he was swallowed, body sliding down the now tight tube with ease like he was nothing. As if he was a small fish that slid down the throat of a crocodile... His skin got irritated by the dry air, unable to handle the warmth the air inside the Harpy provided. It was unbearable, and quite itchy.

By the time he got his body to struggle, it was too late as his head slipped into a roomier organ, the rest of his body following soon after.

It was hot, humid and with a liquid that filled tbe organ, stopping the itching he felt on his skin and scales. He panicked, body jerking away at the sudden pressure on his back. His eyes wide as realization of where he was dawned on him. He was in Shinaguzawa's stomach, a place he feared the most.

" Shinazugawa-san! Let me out!"

He panicked, body about ready to hyperventilate as the shock wore off, adrenaline the new booster to help his body to hyperventilate. His body shook.

" Let me out! Please! I beg of you!"

He yelled, trembling as his eyes were blurred by the tears that formed, jerking as a sob left his form. He held his head with both webbed hands, covering his finned ears that flattened against his head and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. The waterfall got out of the walls known as tear ducts.

" Please- please Sanemi! Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease-"

He repeated, unable to do anything but beg Sanemi to let him go, to not let him die in this place other sirens had died.

<_>_<_>

He stared at his middle in shock, where his hand would've been if he had human arms rested on the slightly bulged area his "meal" was in, begging for his life to be spared, pleading.

Did- did he not realize that he... oh no-! Oh nomonononono! He didn't-

Panic enveloped his body when he was called by his first name. Did his insomnia affect him to the point of not thinking rationally? That him and Tomioka were a thing? This- oh god... The thought of digesting a living creature and his mate alone made him sick.

He rubbed his middle, trying to soothe and calm the the hyperventilating Siren down as best as he could while he hummed.

" Hey- hey-! It's okay! It's okay!"

He wanted to calm down his poor mate, tried to reassure him that he was not in any danger- that they have done this before with comforting words! But they didn't leave his throat after he spoke or tried to speak again. The words evaporated from the tip of his tongue.

All he could do was push thrpugh it all and just head back to his place located on a massive and broad seastack where a cave was.

He opened his wings and crouched down, jumping in the air and took off, heading back to his cave- his home. He couldn't use words to calm Tomioka down... he'll just hope that he realizes that he is safe-

His feathered ears twitched as he heard shaky breathes, the heartrate of the siren inside the organ slow and at a pace he was familiar with- that he grew fond of. He sighed in relief, in time to land gracefully on the edge of the cave.

His talons scraped against the stone beneath them as he entered, checking his surroundings to make sure that nothing was out of the ordinary. Besides Genya sleeping in the mest he built for him.

It was a long night, and restless one. He was tired, wanting to gain energy for what the next day wpuld bring. He stopped in his tracks and laid down like a bird, eyes closing as he focused on the weight in his crop. He'll rest his eyes for a few minutes... It wouldn't kill anyone if he rested a little, right?

And so, he dosed off, joining his brother and Giyu in dreamland where everything that had happened was nothing more than an old and bad memory.

The End

Sorry if this is not what you wanted, but I did enjoy writing it! It was a lot of fun to play with these two boys I ship so much!

[alexcutecolly]

The Tenor

Greatly inspired by that anon asking about preds putting on a musical number before eating their prey, I wrote this short story!

Warnings: some cursing, fearplay, unwilling g/t vore, uncaring pred.

Mainly NSFW vore accounts DNI!!

Words: ~2.1k

°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

Your head feels heavy as you start regaining consciousness, your vision all blurred and confusing before your eyes focus on your surroundings.

“Mhhh?”

W…where am I?

It looks like you’re in the backstage of a massive theater. No kidding, every single equipment around you is gigantic compared to your size. The curtains are still closed, and the dark engulfs everything. The only exception being a single, big reflector casting its beacon of light before you.

Looking down, you realize you’re all tied up to a chair of your own scale.

“Uh???” You can’t move an inch, and any attempt at budging is vain; plus you can feel the ropes almost digging into your sitting form.

W… what happened? I was waiting in a queue to buy a ticket for Mr. Biggs’ next performance-

“Is… anyone there?” you call out, your voice resounding in the seemingly empty room.

“Oh! There you are! It took you longer that I thought to wake up!” a booming voice breaks the eerie silence, coming from above but behind you.

“U-uh?”

This voice-

“The Titanic Tenor…? Mr. … Mr. Biggs? Is… Is that you?”

He chuckles, moving from his previous position to face you.

“That is me indeed~”

“Mr. Biggs, w-what’s going on? Is… is this a joke?” you ask him, doing your best not to make a puppy-eyed face as you look straight at him.

“Oh, not at all! You see… you’ve been randomly picked for an unique, extraordinary event involving the one and only me!” he exclaims, putting his arms out with theatrical emphasis.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Ooookaaaay…? Aaaaand… Why does it require me to be bound to a chair, in dim light, in the backstage?” you question him, wriggling a bit in place.

“Oh it’s rather simple.” He grins menacingly.

“I’ll give you 60 seconds to escape. If you don’t make it, I’m going to eat you. How’s that sound?”

“W-WHAT-“

“I won’t repeat myself. The ropes are tight. I’m just sure you’ll come up with something” he says, keeping the same excited grin.

“But- this is absurd!!”

“Oh yeah it is! Absurd, that I haven’t done this before!”

You gulp nervously.

“And in the meantime, allow me to perform a cavatina dedicated to your despair only. It should last for the perfect amount of time as well.”

“B-but wait! Why do you want to eat me? I’m just a random spectator from your usual audience! Also… Aren’t tenors supposed to play the heroes, the good guys in operas? Not that we’re in a play right now but-“

“First of all. Although you’re technically right, there are some interesting exceptions in 19th century plays where the tenor plays the bad guy, and the main male protagonist/hero is played by a baritone. Just check out Giuseppe Verdi’s ‘Rigoletto’, so you’ll know what I’m talking about” he responds, moving his hand in the air as to shoo your doubts away.

“And for the reason why I’m so eager to make a meal out of you… Why can’t I? Shouldn’t I enjoy a snack every once in a while?”

“You can’t be serious-“

“Ta-ta, less complaining and more working on those ropes, or the only symphony you’re going to be listening to in a minute will be my belly’s. C’mon, the play is starting!”

“Just wait-!”

“Oooooh~ oh my dear preeeeey~

You should’ve walked awayyyy~

From the moment you feeelt

Your impending dooooom~”

The giant tenor is ignoring you now, his back turned to you as he starts to sing his malicious song.

Great, just great. You sigh.

So you begin wriggling and struggling, with your hands doing their best to release your wrists first.

Shit, he wasn’t lying about the ropes being tight, you think with a grunt.

“… And whaaaaat

are you going to doooo

once you’re all settleeed

inside my guuuut~… ”

Ugh, shut up.

His eyes meet yours, when he turns around as he continues with his mocking cavatina. He licks his lips for just a moment, causing you to flinch and look away from him.

Clenching your teeth, you feel a small wind of relief when you finally manage to untie one of the knots. The ropes feel a little loosened now. You don’t stop, and keep insisting on the other knots. Thankfully, it seems there’s only one remaining.

“… 20 seconds… is all that’s leeeeft~

Before you’re plunged

Down into my chest~…”

You curse under your breath, your sore fingers now attempting to undo what remains of the thread binding you to the chair. It’s all been wrapped around you, which makes it even harder to make it come off.

Eventually, you pull the rope and it finally releases you from your sitting position, and that’s when you toss it away and run for your life.

But that’s when you realize…

Wait… I’m not on the ground! He placed me on a fucking table!! Or… Is it a… stage?

“Was… was there not an escape route the entire time?” you ask yourself, horrified at coming at your conclusion.

“Nonono, there has to be one-”

“Oh my dear prey~

Your time is uuup~

And now you will be

Miiiiiine~”

He lets out the last word with a nice, prolonged High C before approaching, rubbing his hands together at your sight.

“Wait, nonono, I refuse to be eaten!” you say, standing up to him with your fists clenched.

“Oh c’mon sweetheart, you’ve had your chance. Now, give up and accept it.”

“’My chance’ your ass, you’ve tricked me! You made me believe I could run away in safety, but… How was I supposed to get down from here?” With a stern look you point at the edge of the table, which is at least 3 feet in giant size.

The tenor sighs. “Gorgeous. The actors aren’t supposed to leave the stage until the curtains are pulled! Don’t you know that?”

“B-but… we’re not in a play right now.”

“Says who?” the opera singer asks rhetorically, grinning from ear to ear.

!!!!

“Y-you didn’t correct me before! When I said the same thing!”

“I didn’t, yeah. Aren’t you happy, though? You’ve been promoted from mere spectator to main acting role!”

“A-as if this is what I was waiting in line for! I’m- I’m done with your stupid game!”

“Oh yeah sure, feel free to complain to the big boss if you’d like, then! And that is…”

He does a little twirl, turning around before doing a theatrical pose with his arms stretched out wide.

“ME!”

“…”

You have nothing else to say. The situation is already crazy enough for your understanding. Plus it feels so demeaning, it’s like your mind is detaching itself from your body.

“Anyhow, I hope you’ll behave now. Because…”

He leans forward with the usual wicked smile plastered on his face. You instinctively take a step back in fear, looking up to the famished giant.

“You’re going to be the spotlight of my lunch.”

You shake your head. “N-no please! Have mercy!!”

“And I will! Plus it’s not like you’re going to die, you silly goose!” he says loudly, reaching out towards you with his large hand.

You almost dodge his fingers, but they manage to grab the back of your jacket at the very last second. And so you’re lifted up in the air, wriggling in the caging fist of your captor.

“Ha-have you taken into account the fact that maybe I just don’t want to be eaten by you?” you wheeze out as you attempt to free yourself from his grip.

“Oh, I have. I just decided not to care.”

He raises you above his head, his lips slowly parting to reveal the teeth and the inside of the maw.

You shake your head again, as to wake yourself up from this terrible dream. But when reality sinks in, all left for you to do is a desperate attempt at reaching for the fingers that are holding you up in the air.

Though Mr. Biggs doesn’t waste any more time, and he drops you right into the wide, very welcoming opening below.

Letting out a scream, you land right onto his spongy tongue. Covered in saliva already, you cough and immediately try to slip away towards the front, but the giant keeps you in place by pressing you even more into his taste buds with his index.

“MMMMMM!!~” the tenor hums loudly, rubbing your body up and down to get more and more of your peculiar flavor. And you must taste amazing, because more and more pools of saliva are accumulating fast all around you.

After a while though, he retracts the finger to close his mouth and seal you inside. As soon as the light goes out, the muscle underneath you pins you to the palate, unperturbed by your struggling; and as if it wasn’t enough, it brushes against you tirelessly to gather even more of your taste.

In the end, there’s nothing that doesn’t make you feel like you’re being sucked onto like a tiny piece of candy.

On the outside, the giant can barely contain his appetite. Oh, to have a feisty snack like you before any of his shows!

Once he’s grown tired of having you stuck to the roof of his mouth, he starts swirling you around, moving you from cheek to cheek. His continued humming makes the whole damp cave vibrate, which you’d find even soothing in a totally different situation. And it only gets worse when he picks up the snarky song he was singing before, his purring another way to taunt his poor victim.

Having fun with your part, morsel? I can keep going for as much as I like-

All of a sudden the alarm on Mr. Biggs’ watch goes off, reminding him of the incoming performance.

Humpf. Nevermind, I guess. Almost forgot about that, he huffs, quite annoyed to interrupt his vicious snacking.

Welp. Every story must come to an end, sooner or later, after all. What really matters is enjoying the ride, right~?

And that’s when he begins to tilt his head back.

In the inside of his maw everything shifts incredibly fast. Not that it has was all peaceful up until this moment, but if you were laying horizontally on his tongue just a few seconds ago, now you’re sliding straight towards a new dark chasm- his throat.

“N-no, wait!! D-don’t swallow!!” you shout, wiggling and doing the best way you can to hold onto something- anything-, that prevents you from falling into the bottomless pit in the back.

But with all the fleshy interiors coated in saliva, your hands hopelessness slip, slip and slip. So you what you actually manage to accomplish, is to just stare as you pass through the hellish gate and go down the hatch.

*GLK~*

The tenor gently presses his big hand to his neck as he feels you travel down, deeper and deeper inside of him until you disappear behind his collarbone.

“Mmmmm, I needed that~ some entertainment before the great show, you know?” he speaks, as if you could actually listen to him.

The descend towards his stomach is tight. So so tight. It’s giving you claustrophobia. The heat is unbearable, and you’re not even in the main chamber yet. His heart is hammering somewhere very close to you, undeterred to your despair. And when you’re finally released in the stomach, it feels like your troubles are over for the moment.

If Mr. Biggs is true to his word, you’re going to be safe. For a while, at least.

…

Hopefully.

“Aaaah~ That hit the spot~” Mr. Biggs sighs, feeling your small but filling presence inside his belly. He smirks at your puny wriggling, rubbing your spot with more glee than annoyance.

“Mmmmm, don’t be shy and struggle more if you’d like~” he says, poking his middle again in hope to get more active reactions from you.

“In the meantime, the rest of the audience is waiting for me for the real play! Make yourself at home, you’re definitely not coming out for the next few hours~” he says, chuckling to himself.

Before going back to his dressing room though, he gathers the tiny chair and the discarded thread from the stage - more like a table to him - ‘borrowed’ from the non-giant singers and musicians. Thankfully nobody has walked in during the events that have just transpired, or that’d have been pretty weird - if not embarrassing - to explain.

Oh well, you think, getting more comfortable as you crawl up to the nearest stomach wall to lay against it. Your eyes growing heavier from exhaustion and the excruciating warmth.

At least I’ve got front row seats to a free performance.