#(but there isn't shame in the face of her only himself for being monstrous and likewise so vacant of truth and self

[dnangelic]

what was there ever to do but laugh ? gaiety was a guard ; it tended to well-serve him . so long as he could still conjure up all sorts of falsities and absurdities and frivolous flights of fancy , then the dragging weights of an inescapable reality snapping at his heels and hounding him for lifetimes could still readily be fluttered away from , if only just for a moment . so could he too gradually , comfortably disappear --- the great phantom thief was , after all , at least partly a magician , and members of the occupation seemed to have earned the right to their titles only as soon as they could transmute dull cloth to doves and pull snow-white rabbits out of pitch , empty spaces .

spinning plates , smoke and mirrors , balls and chains and drowning birds in locked up boxes --- look , his tricks ! his nonsense that defied logic ! of course the grandiosity of his display would still struggle to entertain a rough-and-tumble cynic and skeptic , the sound of everything seemingly beginning to crash and erupt around him just as readily as sakura's voice snaps and roars .

he halts ; freezes abruptly at the declaration ---

--- snatched out of his spectacularly building show , out of his thoughts , and thrown abruptly into the cold with the light still licking at his feet . he watches haplessly as a weight smashes onto the stage of his thoughts like a loose-dropped pulley setting free a one-ton fist , or a teetering light that had finally fallen and splintered wood , now left weakly blinking .

dark . just dark . ( ... do you even know what you're saying ? )

owlish , shockingly awkward , even afraid --- it's a mercy that he's taken a place beside her turned away , sakura therefore failing to bear any witness to the strange mixture of emotions each fighting for a turn on just one face . what about his dereliction ? his ruin ? the state of her uniform and any answer regarding it had become the very least of his blazing concerns . she's shuttered everything and he remains in the leftover silence , thinking --- thinking --- trying to think --- coming up with nothing in his thoughts but a numb buzz and the dull , smothered-seeming pound of his heart .

( what ... just what the hell are you talking about --- ? )

how could someone have felt so far away even while they were just right behind him ? if he weren't a coward , he could have turned ; brought his touch to sakura and bridged them by her side , the shoulder --- but he knows , be it by his own discomforting temperature or her own hackling habits , that he shouldn't have ; that his excuses carried far more weight than simply being excuses , the rest of him trapped in a frenzied , dizzying spin .

if only he could have laughed again , and yet its servitude felt broken . shattered . any sound now would have only been a mockery , not only of itself but sakura and his words to her . so he merely listens --- staying still , basking in the irony of what must be , he thinks , a shared affliction , despite their stark differences . even if he were the first to say , then she still might have been the first to demonstrate ---

' that so ? '

his own voice is no smaller nor larger than it's always been in retort . it gently cradles sakura's own , the soft mewl of it wrapped by his usual lyrechord carry , absent of malice ; empty of mischief . did she truly even think him a person ? a proper human being , whose presence --- opinion , bore any sort of legitimate worth ? and not what thing he truly was ; live mask and inherited character , a shadow bound to its immortal role , now stripped to whatever it was that was left , this hungry empty ; this stark nothing but a drowsing cherub and discontent .

still , even the sensation of a bruise could birth from the press of something happy . words are clutched at ; he wields his silence and the slow , low speech of his voice carefully .

( --- so were you . ) ' then i guess ... to something like me , you've only ever been just "sakura," too . '

his eyes shut . he wouldn't entertain anymore ; there was nothing left to be said . and yet even so , somewhere in the midst of the heightened emotion wearing off into a collapsing exhaustion escapes one last phrase . as simple , demanding , and cherishing as :

' goodnight , sakura . sleep well . '

“Grrr, damn you, why’re you laughin’ at me!?”

As much as that expression is...surprisingly, actually, kinda nice on his features (he looks genuinely pleased that Haruka said what she did), his amusement serves to do nothin’ but piss her off. Him jumpin’ up and outta the way of her fist is mildly irritating—she expected that!—but she’s practically comfortable with it at the sound.

Because who the hell is he to doubt her and her abilities—!!!

“My name isn’t a damn alias, anyway, and I’m not some stupid detective!! You’re over there creatin’ random crap to believe like always—!!”

Lies and slander, puttin’ words in her mouth, he’s always doin’ some kinda shit to’er!! Doesn’t it ever get tiring, keeping up with so many false words and things said? Forget all the stories and myths for a second, this seems like the thing that would get most exhausting for’im.

“‘sides, you bein’ the Phantom Thief or whatever doesn’t matter to me anyway!” She snaps, leaning back, ass to heels, for a second before she rises back up to stand. “When you’re here, you’re just Dark, and trust me—that’s more than memorable enough.”

To her, anyway, but that’s kinda her own point: One or two people rememberin’ someone seems like plenty. But, to counter her point, and as she was just thinkin’, she really doesn’t know him, either.

“...but is it that you did or didn’t take my uniform, after all? Start makin’ some sense already.”

Not that it really matters—she can always ask again when she’s more conscious of the fact that she’s wondering about it at all, but for right now, it’s just somethin’ comin’ outta her mouth; somethin’ for her to say as her brain goes on overload to think about just how little she knows about one Dark Mousy.

To be fair, not knowing a lot about him doesn’t bother her; no more than it bothers her that she doesn’t know a shit-ton about the pasts of some of her fellow classmates, which is also pretty much none. Even at times where she finds she’s learning to read between the lines a bit, or at times when he is being genuine but it seems like an accident, she tries not to rise to’em as much as she can—if he wanted her to, he’d find a way to let her know. And even if he didn’t meet that expectation, then fine; he’s his own person, after all, not whatever she or anyone else could conjure up in their heads.

In any case, her point is simple: Her own lack of knowledge about him isn’t something she’ll make a big fuss of. She just... Again, she thinks it’s a little sad that nobody seems to really know him.

Asking him something far more outright than she’s currently done like Would you want people to know the real you? (because ‘Wouldn’t there be too much room for error if you had too many stories?’ and ‘If things get outta hand, then who can really know you?’ are, in fact, way different to her) is counterintuitive to everything, though—if only because, if someone ever asked her that, she wouldn’t hesitate to knock teeth outta their mouth.

At least he’s never as violent (well, as far as she knows, anyway). At least his bobbin’ and weavin’ amounts to somethin’ besides irritating the daylights outta her.

(...maybe one day, though, you can trust me enough? —that’s the type’a thing people gotta earn, though, so she won’t ask that, either.)

“...my fists are perfectly cool, though, I’ll have you know.”

As a matter of fact, they have been for a little bit now; she even stood by, calm as anything, as he lowered himself back into the futon, turned onto his side and put his back to’er and everything. The roll of her eyes is second-nature, when it comes as a reaction to some shit he’s doin’, but the fondness is a bit of a more recent development (not that he’s gotta know that, though.)

(...then again, when it comes to all that’s gone down tonight, he probably already knows. Well, no big loss.)

“But fine; also, you can just say you’re tired, yanno.” She adds on, another shake of her head following just once again fond. “No need to send me to bed.”

Him enacting some kinda bedtime is the least of her concerns, though, so she has no trouble relenting. If nothing else, too, she intends to leave everything there—she turns on her heel to flip the light switch off, turns her own back to his just to do it, but then—

—but then he says that, and it stops her cold.

The fact that it isn’t an unheard of sentiment for her isn’t what makes her do it, it’s the fact that he’s being simple with it. There’s been a million and one caveats to hearing those same words outta other people’s mouths (and she remembers them, remembers every single one, but she has to physically bite her tongue to keep the thoughts at bay), but when he says it, it’s just... Plain.

‘It’s a nice name. Sakura.’

(...am I hoping for anything else?)

...idiot. Don’t do this to yourself.

She flips off the light before she turns on her heel again to walk back to the futon in the dark. Ironically, she’s always been a little scared of it—nobody ever cared to make sure the monsters in her closet didn’t exist—always seeing it as this maw of nothingness that’d sooner swallow her up than anything else, but...tonight, it isn’t so bad.

(If only because the one in her chest is the one threatening to eat her alive.)

She crawls right under the comforter with him, though, and just turns her back to his again, too. Tries, for some time, to not say a damn word. Part of her can’t—if she opens her mouth, there’s equal opportunity for her to cry and for her to get angry—but another part of her can’t not say anything.

“You think so?” If her voice sounds small, that’s not her business. Not much of his, either.

“...you’re the first person to add nothin’ else to that.”

[boxfullaturtles]

Donnie, number 19

hehehehehhehe angst for donnie

time to Good Genes Rise Donatello again lol

this one got long because it contains my favorite tropes, non-consensual body modification and painful transformations uwu

---------

“I did warn you turtley-boos to keep out of my business,” Big Mama coos at them and Raph dearly wants to punch her in her face.

But Donnie is down and Leo’s trying to tend to him and Raph’s not stupid enough to think that he and Mikey alone can take on Big Mama. Especially when Raph is preoccupied by the fact that Donnie’s been shot.

Big Mama's still got the gun in her hand--not a human gun, something yokai that glows a sickly yellow and looks like it has teeth. Donnie's sitting on the floor, breathing hard and curling away from Leo. And Leo is trying to pry Donnie's fingers away from the bloody spot and Raph is so, so angry. And scared. They've never been shot before.

"Shame, firearms aren't really my frivvly-forte," Big Mama hums, "I was aiming for the little one. Ah well, the result will still be the same~" She smiles at them and waves the gun in a farewell, "It will keep you busy for a bitty-while. Ta-ta~"

Raph's not about to just let her walk away and he makes to launch after her with a snarl. A painful cry from Donnie and a worried order from Leo stop him in his tracks, making him stagger and turn. He's never heard Donnie make a sound like that before and it makes his heart lurch in his chest.

Donnie's left arm--the one that's been shot--is shaking and spasming, the tremor running through his entire body. Worse still are the veins of toxic yellow seeping from the bullet wound. Donnie is panting, gasping for air, trying to hold his own arm still as it jitters at his side.

Then, horrifically, his arm bulges.

A scream of pain tears out of Donnie and he doubles over on the ground, grinding his forehead into gritty cement. His injured arm is jutted out in front of him, fingers dancing across the floor. The swell in his upper arm, right beneath the bullet hole, wriggles and spreads, pressing outward. Donnie screams again as his arm bulges, gets bigger, straining the elbow pad until it threatens to tear. And Raph realizes that Donnie's arm isn't just swelling, it's packing on muscle.

There's an awful CRACK and Donnie's scream hits higher, scratching the air. His arm is growing. It's growing bigger and longer and it's wrong, it's so very wrong.

The change reaches Donnie's wrist and he lets out a screaming sob, his other hand coming to paw at his vambrace tech. He leaves smears of his own blood over the screen. His skin is bunching against the metal, trying to stretch and grow, hampered by Donnie's tech. Leo dives forward and pries it off and the growth shoots down Donnie's arm. His hand slams into the floor and veins bulge from the back, bones cracking and popping as they grow bigger. His nail thicken and sharpen into claws.

A monstrous, mutated arm is swollen from Donnie's shoulder, his violet markings stretched like streaks of paint. His arm is as big as Raph's. Maybe even bigger.

"I...is it...stopping?" Mikey's voice is trembling, his hands pressed against his mouth. His watery eyes are staring helplessly at his brother.

"...Dee?" Leo ventures carefully, "Donnie? Hey, come on, buddy, speak to me."

The only thing he gets in answer is a wheezing, whispered, "...help."

Something creaks and Donnie groans. It takes Raph a moment to realize that what he's hearing is the strain of metal.

"His battle shell," He murmurs to himself and then, louder, "His battle shell! Take it off!" He doesn't wait for Leo, just leaps forward and grabs the shoulder clamps of Donnie's precious battle shell. He knows there's a release button on there somewhere but he can't be bothered to look for it. He just mutters a quick apology and snaps the clamps off, tossing them aside and wrenching the shell from Donnie's back.

"Oh god..." Leo sounds like he's being strangled.

Donnie's soft shell is rippling and churning. He lets out another agonizing groan as the little ridges along his spine stretch up and out into sharp spikes. The spikes rise off his arched back and then fold back down again, flexing like tiny wings, stretching new muscles that are forcing themselves into place. The edges of his shell spread, curving into bony spikes, and a sharp, snapping clicking starts as Donnie's spine lengthens.

He's sobbing now, gasping for air as his body warps. There's an awful CRUNCH and Donnie jolts, his cries turning into a breathless gargle when his plastron bows outward, new scutes wedging themselves into existence.

It's spreading faster now.

The belt at Donnie's waist snaps as his lithe frame widens, bulking up with muscle and mass. The elbow pad and glove on his left arm have split at the seams and the ones on his right are going to follow soon enough. His neck thickens, veins pulsing along its length and Donnie throws his head back, choking, eyes rolling in pain.

"Do something...!" Mikey whimpers and then grabs Raph's arm, shaking him, "Do something! Do something! Help him! Raph!"

But Raph doesn't know what to do. He can only stand there in cold terror as his brother's body is twisted. Raph looks at Leo but Leo is on his knees, clutching Donnie's wrist tech to his chest, sinking deep into shock as he watches what's happening. None of them know what to do. None of them know how to stop this.

Donnie's breathing has become deeper, heavier, huffing bellowing growls from the expanding cavity of his broad chest. His next scream comes out in a shaky roar. His tail clicks with new vertebrae as it lengthens, thickening and growing small spikes until its longer than Raph's tail. Donnie digs his feet into the cement, whining and snarling as bones and muscles bulge and grow. His knees break into a new shape with a sickening, wet SNAP that makes Raph feel sick, fresh joints jamming into place, toes growing bigger, claws scraping the floor.

There's a pause, a second where everything holds its breath, like the changes are settling into place. Donnie's normal face looks tiny on his hulking new body. Then comes a splintering crunch and Donnie howls in agony.

It's horrifying to watch his skull grow, pressing outward, stretching his bandana almost to its limits. The bridge of his goggles snap and tumble to the ground. Skin stretches, rippling over changing structures, and Donnie gags, coughing, and vomits onto the ground. His jaw crackles as it grows, his tongue lengthening and spilling out of his mouth while he pants for air. His gums begin to bleed and Donnie cries and wails as his teeth fall out, pushed out by the lethal set of jagged, predatory fangs he's sprouting.

Mikey is sobbing now, pressed against Raph's side because none of them can help, none of them can stop this. All they can do is watch.

Donnie collapses to the floor, wheezing, claws scrabbling and his tail lashing. His eyes roll wildly until he locks gazes with Raph. There's a second that lasts for hours where Raph looks into Donnie's eyes and sees his little brother begging for help, begging for Raph to stop the pain. Raph's heart is in pieces.

He's still making staring at Donnie when the light of intelligence flickers in his brother's eyes...and goes out.

And just like that, Donatello Hamato is gone.

The creature that's warped his body roars and thrashes on the ground, snapping its teeth and snarling. Spittle flies from its gnashing jaws and its tail is beating so hard against the floor that it vibrates like a bass drum.

"Don..." Leo's voice is a trembling whisper. He's in shock, just sitting on the floor, staring at what he twin has become.

Raph feels like he's floating off into a void; adrift, lost, and hopeless. The pieces of his shattered heart have dropped into his icy stomach and his body is far away, numb. It belongs to someone else, someone who can actually be a hero, someone who can save his brothers, someone who is a big brother.

Someone who isn't Raph, who can only stare at the creature that used to be Donnie as it rises shakily to its feet, towering over him.

And Raphael has never felt so small and useless.

--------

lil messy sketch of monster don so i could visualize him at least he got to keep his bandana :)

[askpokemoncrossover]

Shin's Acceptance

As Shin sat alone in the middle of the red fog, he recalled a story that he heard when he was still a Riolu. In ancient Japanese times, legends had it that two gods, Izanagi and his wife Izanami had created many of the islands and deities of Japan. When Izanami died, Izanagi tried to retrieve her from the underworld, but what he met instead was an utter failure. He mistakenly looks at her while she's in a rotting, monstrous state in the underworld, which shames her. She attempts to kill him, and swears to kill a thousand of his men a day. Izanagi retorts that he will make sure that a thousand and five hundred will be born each day before fleeing the underworld. After he escaped from his visit to Yomi, he had to perform a cleansing ritual in the river called Woto and it was then that three children were born: Amaterasu, Susano-o and Tsukuyomi.

But after the cleansing was complete, Izanagi didn’t learn about what had happened to the corruption he received from Yomotsu-hirasaka before it was too late: It became a being that took Izanagi’s form. This blood-stained version of the god represented what Izanagi felt before he cleansed himself: impulsiveness, poor judgement, obsession and frivolity and now… those feelings came back with a will of their own. When the two disagreed on the very reason of their existence, they clashed. The battle between the two gods shook the entire world before it ended with a stalemate, with both of their weapons stuck in each other’s chests.

After the battle, they knew that they’re equally matched in power and skill. In their final moments before leaving this world to the mortals, the two gods vowed to each other that they’ll reincarnate one day and if their reincarnations meet, despite what day and age they’re in, whether they’re friends or foes… they’re destined to clash until one is left standing. After remembering the old Japanese fable, an idea hit Shin: If he’s the current reincarnation of Magatsu-Izanagi, whether he likes it or not… surely someone else out there is Izanagi’s reincarnation. Shin knows that the longer Magatsu-Izanagi waits, the more restless and impulsive he becomes… making it harder for Shin to suppress and control his Persona powers.

He already tried committing suicide... but Magatsu-Izanagi simply revived him, telling Shin that he had a role to play and only when he’s fulfilled it can he truly die. “There’s no other way out of this, is there…? Fine…” Shin said as he whipped his tears, stood up and called out to the god: “MAGATSU!!” Almost immediately, the fog lifted a bit and at least a yard away, the blood-stained god looked at him with glowing yellow eyes and a murderous intent. “I thought I told you: We’re done talking.” “...And I'm done running.” Shin said and this caught the persona’s attention. “Oh...? You’ve got my attention… what is it you want?” Shin gulped, realizing that this is the point of no return he opened his mouth: “I…”

In Reality:

Soul was badly injured and the persona closed in before it suddenly halted and the possessed shin grunted in pain before clutching his chest. “W-what’s?” Soul asked as he looked at his possessed student who looked at the greninja one last time with golden eyes before grinning. “It seems he finally understands what must be done… you got off easy today, assassin. Although, This may be our last bout... provided that you don’t get in my way again ....” That’s when the persona dissolved into red fog, leaving behind it’s metal mask and blood-red naginata. The surrounding fog then swirled around Shin's body like a whirlpool that lasted for a minute. When the fog completely faded, the moonlight shone on Shin's new form: his hair changed from medium length to shoulder-length, spiky white hair sticking up in all directions and partially covering the right side of his face. He now has a blood-red jacket that reveals his bare, muscular chest with the chest spike. He also has red pants tied with a black sash similar in appearance to a karate uniform, and knee-high boots.

Shin’s left eye had changed: it was black and red. Despite his new appearance, he strangely showed no sign of hostility, instead he lifted his arms and opened and closed his hands as if trying to understand what he’s become. The greninja became weary of his student’s recent transformation before Shin’s eye fell upon the mask and naginata. Slowly, the new lucario walked forward with a calm yet intimidating aura. He knelt on one knee before his left hand grabbed the mask and picked up the spear with his right. Shin observed the mask carefully before he chuckled. “To think it took me this long to finally realize it…” Shin muttered under his breath before he tucked the mask away in his jacket pocket and stood up with the spear still in hand.

“Is… that you, Shin?” Soul asked and looked to see his teacher still in a fighting position, still not sure whether to attack or not. Shin smiled slowly before he opened his mouth to say: “Sensei… thanks for teaching me how to fight, but…” Shin suddenly turned around so that his back was facing soul. “I don’t want you to get involved anymore… you’ve done so much for me and I didn’t have a chance to repay you for your kindness… this is the least I can do, I’m sorry. May we never cross paths again, Soul.” Shin then walked away, heading into the nearby forest. The moment Shin was out of Soul’s eyesight the greninja sheathed his daggers before sighing and smiling. “So… if this is your choice, I must respect it. May you die with glory.” Soul said before he turned around and went back to the city to resume his work as an assassin without looking back. Soul felt a tear rolling down his cheek and wiped it away. "Shin... I hoped there was a way for you to live a normal life again... but i see now that it isn't going to happen." Soul muttered as he continued down his own path, like shin is walking his right now.

As Shin continued to walk through the forest, he took out the metal mask and put it on to cover his face and identity from the rest of the world. “So… are you sure about this? Fusing with me is one thing, it gives you full access and control over my powers. But seeking out my counterpart Izanagi is the same as setting one foot in the grave.” The god’s voice echoed through Shin's head and the Lucario simply grinned before he replied: “I’m sure… besides: I’ve already decided how I'm going to die.”

Soul and Shin aren't available for asks... what'll happen now?

Starting Ark 2: Aka to Shiro.

[bitchfitch]

babylon artfight resource

as you can tell i play it Very fast and loose with this boy, just get the color pallet right and your good.

an excerpt from one of the things ive written with him:

Why isn't he looking? The man there in the very back of this dingy little tavern with his nose in that massive old book. Nobody ever ignores him when he plays, so how is this man Not Looking?

Babylon sings a little louder, bows his violin while forcing a bit more of his natural charm in along side every note. This rest of this little inn was looking, smiling dazedly as they danced and sang along to songs they didnt know they knew, songs they would forget as soon as he stopped playing. It wasn't often he let himself do this, playing in front of people who weren't guarded against him, but he needed the coin, and this town needed someone to come steal away their troubles for just one night.

But why isn't That one paying him any attention? Even when Babylon wasn't trying to charm people, his music still stole wills easier than he took wallets. It was something innate about him that did it. Nobody without some form of protection could resist him.

And yet, even now as his own feet begin to hurt and his voice grew strained, that man hadn't looked at him once. He's not deaf, Babylon saw him turn in response to the waiter talking to him. He doesn't seem to be protected in anyway, usually when his magic brushed against countercharms it felt like dragging his nails down a chalk board, but he felt nothing of the sorts from the man. He just seemed completely and wholly unaffected.

That was… Interesting.

He let the final note taper off as he came to a stand still. The tavern goers clapped, the applause tapering off as they blinked their momentary confusion out of their heads. Some might realize they had been charmed, most don't, and no one caused a fuss about it tonight, that he could be greatful for.

If Babylon was a wise man, he would take his earnings and leave, return to his home in the attic of a different tavern. The glorious one that sat in the center of their bustling capital, that wasnt at all like this one here in the very back of a town litteraly called Dead End.

But he wasnt a wise man, he was a curious one with a stranger to try and figure out.

Babylon decided he didn't quite feel like being tactful, and slid into the booth seat across from the stranger. Before he was even fully settled the man spoke without looking up from his book.

"Your playing was beautiful," He had a strangeness to his voice, his tone was flat and it didn't sound quite right coming from his mouth, too deep, too… Something that Babylon couldn't name,

"Thank you," Babylon smiled, nobody ever remembered what he sounded like after he had finished playing. Which was a shame, he'd spent so long cultivatimg his skills that it always felt like such a waste when he could play as horribly as he wanted to and still have everyone who heard bending to his will. But he was still proud of everything he'd worked to learn, "To be honest I kinda thought you weren't enjoying the performance," He cocked his head, "I'm curious whats in that book that kept your attention,"

The man was quiet for a moment, he was so still, his eyes didn't move in his skull and his skin had a sickly yellow tint to it. Definitely not anything he was trying to be, Babylon concluded. He shouldn't fimd comfort in the fact that he wasnt the only one trying to hide a monstrous face behind that of a half elf's, though he felt he was definitely doing a better job at it.

Finally the man spoke, "I liked it a lot," he said simply, "I didn't want to stare, so I kept my head down,"

something pinged in the back of Babylon's mind. Oh, the man was Lying, he wanted to stare. Of all the boons he got out of his wretched deal, this one was always the most useful, "Is that so? I don't mind being stared at if I'm being honest, I actually like it quite a bit. I don't think I could be a performer otherwise,"

"People do not like it when I look directly at them. The bar keep said it was creepy," The man said truthfully, still apparently giving his full attention to the book in front if him,

"I want you to look at me," Babylon started, if his music couldn't charm this stranger maybe something a little more direct could? and if it couldn't… well the very thought of that made his heart race. "You're… Interesting and I think I want to figure you out," he purred, flirting always worked for him, hopefully it would work here,

The man finally looked up and imeaditly Babylon understood why people didn't like him looking at them. His eyes were just wrong, too still and slightly glazed, not wet enough, and the iris was a strange greenish silver. But, it didn't feel like the stranger was looking at him, more like he had already been looking. How hadn't Babylon noticed that before? How long has this stranger been focused on him, and how was he faking not being focused on him so perfectly?

"Oh, you really should keep your chin up more," Babylon started, "Its a shame to hide such a handsome face," he said, it was true, the stranger was handsome if you didn't count his stranger features, a strong jaw and sharp cheek bones with a nose that had a cute crookedness to it, thick lips that weren't quite red enough to look alive, and long stringy black hair that had a pretty wave to it,

Something loud crashed outside, like a tree falling over behind the tavern. The sound sent everyone besides the stranger jumping half out of their skins as he closed his book and hurriedly stuffed it in his jacket, "I think I need to go,"

Babylon wasn't fully back to himself yet, loud noises always sent him on guard, when he reached a hand out to snag the stranger by the sleeve, "Sorry, sir," he apologized, "Was I coming on too strong? Come on. sit back down and give me another shot" he tried to smirk but that feeling of being watched only grew, like he truly, Finally, had the entirety of the stranger's attention, whatever that might mean.

"No- Uh, Good bye," the stranger said, pulling away without a hint of elaboration as he set a fast pace to the back door of the tavern. Not running, or walking, more lumbering and shuffling. Like maybe he wasn't quite used to have legs under his considerable size, tall and broad shouldered with a deep barrel chest and thick arms and legs.

Babylon watched him go, tapping his nails on the old wood of the table as he did. He'd have to meet that guy again someday. He'd never found someone completely immune to him before. People were always at least tempted to follow along with what he asked, but the stranger, the one with the dead eyes and the desire to look at him, he seemed so unaffected. Or at least he wasn't charmed in the slightest by him.

Babylon tried to suppress the fluttering feeling in his chest. This was it. his first chance at maybe being able to befriend someone who wasn't being coerced into liking him.

---

The next time he decided he would venture into that little no name tavern, Babylon chose to wear a different face. That wasn't unusual, it was safer for him if no one could ever recognize him. What was unusual was the amount of effort he had had to put into making this one. He wanted to make sure that stranger wouldn't look away from the moment he entered. Normally that wouldn't be hard for him, he had a nack for guessing what others found beautiful, but the stranger was a complete mystery. No inkling of what he may like came drifting to the surface.

Still, Babylon tried and tried until he found something right. Small and dainty like how he'd gone last time hadn't been enough to catch his eye, so maybe tall, with a good amount of muscle. Babylon thought about the men who worked the docks down by the lake, they could be a good example for this. He'd borrow the sandy blond waves of one of them too while he was at it, and the wide puppy dog brown eyes of that little cleric that had started following him and his sisters. A beard came next, a few shades darker than his hair and just long enough to round out his jaw.

He looked in his pocket mirror, this face was handsome, the black stretch fabric he favored for his clothing clung to the broad chest and strong thighs in a way even an eunuch would appreciate. He was good at making handsome faces for others to enjoy, but this one didn't sit right. It wasn't what he needed it to be. Maybe…

He let his curves soften and his chest grow, let the beard dissipate until he looked like the former faces sister, still strong and broad, but feminine and beautiful instead of handsome.

He sighed, this was worse. It wasnt farther from what the stranger would want, but he didn't know What about it was wrong. It wasn't the femininity, that he felt certain of.

He fwumped back onto his mattress with a heavy sigh as he let his disguise drop. He hadn't been able to get that stranger out of his head in the entire three weeks since he saw him. This was the first free afternoon he had had in that entire time, and here he was wasting it by not being able to guess at what that stranger would like.

It was frustrating.

It was infuriating.

but most of all it was invigorating. He Didn't have a little window into this stranger's head like he did with everyone else. He was just as lost as any other man trying to catch the eye of a stranger at the bar.

The trap door that lead up into this shared room was shoved open with a loud clang as Tamm, one of his two sisters, pulled herself up without even bothering with the ladder. She huffed a greeting before pulling that cleric up after her. He yelped and stammered when she set him on the floor beside herself.

"Thought you were going out tonight Babs," Tamm said, she gave him a look that definitely meant she wanted some alone time with the cleric,

"I'll be out in a moment, just having a crisis," He huffed, he sat up and tried to ignore the hurt that always came when the cleric flinched everytime he saw him without a disguise. Babylon didn't think he was That ugly, certainly grotesque, but in a pretty way if he did say so himself,

"Go have a crisis somewhere else please," Tamm said, "I promised to teach nerd lord how to sword fight,"

"And you need to be alone in our room for that? I'm pretty good with a sword, maybe I could help teach him?" Babylon scrunched up his nose at her, he Knew what she really wanted to show him, he'd seen the way they'd been making eyes at each other, but he Really Really wished he didn't,

"Babs-" she started, but he waved a dismissive hand as he got up and grabbed his violin,

"Yeah Yeah, I'm going Tammsy. Make sure shorty wraps up, I'm not ready to be an uncle," He goaded before dropping through the trap door and into the hall below. The door slammed shut above him and he heard the latch lock shut, "Don't Eat Him!" Babylon shouted, and snickered when he heard her groan through the ancient wood.

He straightened out his clothes before taking on the face he'd tried out before, the more masculine one just because he didn't want to have to remember to respond to a different set of pronouns. It still wasn't perfect, but it would do.