#(this is where green remains for the time being)

[cheralith]

feat. mikage reo || contains: gn!reader, no pronouns used, implications of sex but nothing explicit, angst w/ some comfort, time-skip so aged-up characters (wc: 1.0k)

you break reo’s heart at seventeen not because you want to, but because you have to.

his parents find a singular condom wrapper in his bedroom trashcan and run after you like madmen. venom dripping as they tell you to lay your hands off their son if you know what’s best for you whilst slide you over a hefty stack of hush money for your silence. your fingers tremble when you take and count it, calculating that this would be enough to help you and your struggling aunt pay the piling bills once and for all.

they figure that won’t be enough. so they send you to the states, somewhere far where reo can’t find you. they say they’ll pay for your living and education expenses and that they’ll fund for your college—just stay away from their son and keep quiet. with no other option, you take the offer on behalf of your poor aunt.

on the other side, reo is losing it. his sanity is on the decline, a thin thread that barely holds him together unraveling more by the day that he can’t find you.

you’ve stopped coming to class. stopped picking up his calls and responding to his texts, his speech bubbles turning green one day to his horror. when he visits your old complex, he finds that his gifts he’s sent to you remain untouched and collecting dust in your mailbox. and when he asks the landlady what happened to the tenants in 4b, she lowly mutters they simply moved out, knowing one wrong move could land her in a sticky situation as well.

he does everything in his power to track you down, but everyone that he talks to is under his parents command before his, and they give him filtered answers that lead him nowhere.

on his hands on knees, reo begs his parents to let him know where you are, to at least let him know that you were safe. so they paint a false narrative of you to fully shatter the remnants of his heart that clings onto you—a selfish, greedy thing. snatched their money without hesitation when it was offered to you. and when they see the heartbreak that smears on their son’s face, the job is finished.

he thought you were different, a white rose amongst the common red. he thought you saw deeper into him than just his family name, that you saw him—but no. you saw him as a walking bank and nothing more. you were just like the rest of them. how could he be so naive?

his heart crumbles into dust and blackens itself at the mere thought of your face, a specialized hatred rooting and curating itself just for you.

twelve years later, he’s at a charity event for a company that one of his subsidiaries are working with. idle chatter and meaningless conversations go by, and all the incoming-ceo of mikage corp wants to do is go home. the event is beginning to finally wrap up and he’s finishing up some last-minute talks with a couple of associates from his subsidiary. reo bids them goodbye at last and starts to pace out the door until he freezes in his place at the sight that beholds in front of him.

you stand there, quietly right behind a man in a pressed suit with a tablet in your arms. twelve years has aged you gracefully to his disdain, making you more radiant than when he first met you, when you broke his heart. a little taller now, with your hair styled differently yet neatly and your best facial features matured into your face, reo’s breath hitches at the sight of you; he thinks the chandelier gracing your being with that halo-like glow isn’t helping his case.

his fingers twitch and his arm juts out slightly, as if to reach for you, to touch you and feel that you’re real and here in front of him. a trembling lip silently calls out for your name, but a weird noise jumps out of his throat that makes everyone in front of him look in his direction—you included.

the man that you stand behind—lavinho is his name, reo believes—breaks out into a large smile and approaches the heir, calling out his name. but his voice goes muffled, your wide-eyed face being the only thing crystal clear in hazy vision.

you were doing so well, avoiding him for this dreaded night, and you nearly just got away without notice until the very last second, fate drawing a wicked turn of events.

you cough out to lavinho that you’ve forgotten something in the bathroom and usher out before he can reach you first, using your boss as a distraction to get away. shoes clicking rapidly against the tiled floors, you focus all your energy in escaping reo’s radius and think you’ve just about made it to the parking lot where your car is… until you feel a hand grab your wrist.

the stiffness in your neck is telling you not to turn around. you want to believe your hand is just caught in something, that the warmth enveloping your skin is just caused by something unworldly, but the scent of cologne that airs around you suffocates you and twists your conscience back to reality.

a cold breath draws from your lips. you attempt to pull your hand away from whatever had hitched it, but it remains where it is, stubborn. your neck creaks as you slowly turn back, the one person you’ve been attempting to avoid all evening staring his iris eyes incredulously at you.

reo thought he’d be cursing your name ‘til the day he was six feet under, his heart shallowed and chilled since the day you severed yourself from his life. but his chest warms, something thawing inside of him as you share your gaze with him, the image of his first love looking back at him with the trepidation behind your stare going unnoticed.

he smiles, his eyes with dilated pupils softening.

“you came back to me.”

[yan-randomfandom]

[ BC & Human, no names stated, they/them prns! ]

a/n ; most unconventional post ever dawg but idk where else to post it,, i js wanted to write about beachcomber 💔 really very short

— 🌊

Loneliness was never a concept for Beachcomber during his time on earth.

Beauty surrounds him. The first time he saw the stars, the cosmos, and life beyond the battle was the moment he deemed the war meaningless.

It only fills him with deep sadness whenever he thinks of his home planet—destroyed by its own people. Nothing but pointless fighting, extinguishing millions of sparks. So much out there, so much beauty, so much to explore, and yet his fellow Cybertronians fail to see it. The Decepticons fail to see it. Well, maybe they did. Who wouldn't?

His optics gaze far into the distance. Just look at this view. The sun setting, the waves dancing, and the sky painted in a beautiful gradient of unique colors to Cybertron. The sand beneath him is as cheeky as ever, rough yet harmless against his frame.

Truly, he wishes his friends were here to experience it. If only.

A few chirps snap Beachcomber out of his trance. He hums and tilts his head to his feathery companion, who shifts uneasily on his shoulder. "Pardon? Can you say that again, my dear?"

"A human," murmurs the green bird, its tweets and twitches translated by the bot's processor. "Human here!"

Beachcomber is confused, and understandably so. Yet the more he watches his friend, restless, the more his doubt begins to cease. Humans have rarely ventured this far from their civilization, and he has made sure they would never bear the burden of knowing he exists. Put simply, a human wandering around this area sounds impossible.

"By the by," he says with a sigh, "are you pulling my leg? I thought we stopped with the antics—"

The bird shakes its head. "No! No, Beachcomber! Human here!"

A sense of urgency finally washes over the bot, so he stands to his full height, his shadow from the sunset looming and stretching through the sandy ground until—

Beachcomber stares at the human in silence. Form coated by his shadow, their own is not even half the size of his. Their widened eyes, he could tell, were filled with so much fear.

An entirely different species—yet an emotion he is no stranger to, a memory he does not want to keep reliving. Nonetheless, he continues to observe with false composure. The human remains still, frozen in disbelief.

He can feel the fidgeting claws of his small friend. Beachcomber can feel his servos fidgeting.

Truth be told, he has never interacted with a human. His experience is limited to watching them from a distance, unreachable beyond their sight. Now, with one standing before him, he does not know what to do. He does not know how to act.

Despite his time here, to think that silence would be his first impression of the savviest beings to walk this planet.

The human exhales. Just as Beachcomber is about to speak, they beat him to it.

"You're ugly," they blurt out, their lips pressing together in immediate horror at their own words.

Beachcomber pauses. That's a rather odd response to their fear. And, mind you, this is his first radio with a human.

So, he chuckles, fully accepting your words. "And you're beautiful."

Just like that, with the utter gentleness of his voice and his choice of words, he smiles at the human, watching as they begin to loosen up, if only slightly.

i actually did think he was ugly the first time i saw him 🥲 he still is tho but thats how i see all of my pookies

i wanted to write more but i burnt out quick oops,,, i did this instead of my projectS ahah, anyway beachcomber omg!!!!!!

[geekgirles]

The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 12: An Olive Branch

Word Count: 23568

Read on AO3

Previous/Next

Chapter Summary: "Something is brewing in the World of Twelve, something that could change the course of history forever. In the meantime, Amalia, Yugo, Adamaï, and the other inhabitants of Oma Island remain none the wiser, focusing instead on their daily lives and the issues the Council of Six still faces when it comes to being accepted into their new home. Will an unexpected request and all its possible consequences be able to change that? And will it be a change for the better, or the worse?"

In all his years, he had never beheld a more beautiful sight than that of his kingdom and its forests. There was truly nothing more wondrous than the vast green canvas that extended as far as reached the eye under a cloudless blue sky. No matter the weather, be it under the sun’s generous rays or as a rainpour beat down on them, the trees’ beauty could not be sullied. 

In summer, the trees would be bathed by golden light, turning their already vibrant green leaves into veritable emeralds. After a storm, the last few droplets would delicately tinkle down, twinkling like stars, and the morning dew allowed for the air entering their lungs with each breath to be delightfully crisp. Even in autumn, when the greenery usually lost its natural vibrancy and the trees lost their leafy mantles, the warm browns, reds, and yellows that would replace them felt just as comforting in that way only cosy afternoons spent huddled under a blanket in the comfort of your own home could achieve. 

The only thing more beautiful than their forests, and that in itself tended to spark a heated debate amongst Sadida’s followers, were the people. 

Oakheart Sheran Sharm was many things. He was a warrior, a diplomat, a man who appreciated good food even when it went against his diet, a father, as much as it pained him, a widower… But above everything else, he was the King of the Sadidas, the protector of the forests of the World of Twelve, and especially of the Tree of Life. Everything he did, he did it for his people’s sake. There was no greater honour than serving them, and no greater pride than knowing he was doing right by them. 

Perhaps the only thing that could eclipse the pride he felt for his accomplishments was that of his own son’s. Even if he would be lying if he said he understood what went on inside his heir’s head as of late. He drew in a deep breath, his frown fading into resignation. 

Knowing better than to dwell on matters that would only spiral down into unproductive arguments, the Sadida King set his eyes onto his kingdom once more. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the sight of his beloved subjects roaming the streets and going on about their day. 

Yes, Sadida had truly blessed them with his many gifts. It was only natural that they showed him their devotion and gratefulness in return. As always, the Leafy God had yet again granted them the means to do so. 

Prince Armand remained by his father’s side, watching their kingdom from the great plateau guarding the entrance to the throne room with similar stoicism. And yet, his dark brown eyes kept darting towards his father, unease creasing his eyebrows slightly so. 

In all his years standing by the king’s side in preparation for his own ascension to the throne, there were still times where the Crown Prince could not for the life of him decipher what his father was thinking. And, in spite of his feigned agreement back at the summit with the other nations, the king’s current plan was no exception. 

Hopefully, a certain someone’s tardiness would be enough to enlighten the stubborn king on why it was better to just give up on his latest idea. 

“He has yet to come, Father.” He prodded, his expression souring when all he received was a disengaged grunt from the king. His next words held a little more bite. “How do we know his mistresses haven’t decided to go back on their word to help us?”

This time, Oakheart shot a brief side glance at his son. “Now, Armand. What have I told you about rushing to pass judgement? A good king knows how to exercise some patience.”

“A good king also knows how to anticipate himself to any setbacks.” He bit back, impatient. “And relying solely on Master Joris could very well work against—.” His father silently raising a hand was enough to put a halt in his tirade. 

The Sadida Prince wanted to protest, but the words died in his throat when he registered a bright light from the corner of his eye. When he turned his head around, he had to bite his tongue at the sight of Master Joris calmly standing behind them, completely nonplussed even as he was surrounded by several guards pointing their spears down at his throat. Armand turned back to look at his father in quiet astonishment. Somehow, he had sensed the arrival of Bonta’s emissary even before the fact.

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach when he was once again reminded that he had yet a lot to learn before he could ascend to the throne. 

Likewise, King Oakheart didn’t even need to turn around to face his guards as he commanded, “Rest, my warriors. Master Joris is our guest.”

Master Joris simply dusted his cloak off as the Sadida guards muttered quiet apologies and drew back their weapons. Placing his log to his side, he knelt down in respect in front of the royal family, his head hung low. 

“Greetings, honourable Sadida. I sincerely apologise for my tardiness.”

At that, King Oakheart finally whirled around to greet their guest, a calm smile on his mane-covered lips. “Please, Master Joris, none of that. We understand how busy you are, we are merely thankful you could spare some of your precious time to us.”

“I gave my word, Your Majesty.” The short hero nodded solemnly, only then did he rise to his feet. His dark, sharp gaze flickered over to the prince. “Greetings, Prince Armand. It is good to see you as well.”

“Likewise, Master Joris.” His cordial tone was clipped, almost forced. Not because he didn’t respect a hero as esteemed as the Bontarian, but because he had just been forced to take back his words. 

Choosing to ignore his son’s temper for the time being, the Sadida King strolled towards the large, leaf-shaped gates guarding the throne room in an almost leisurely walk, his hands behind his back. With a nod of his head, he beckoned his companions to follow him. 

Once they were all inside and King Sheran Sharm had regained his rightful position in the mossy throne ruling over the room while Armand and Joris remained at his feet, separated by the small pond leading up to the symbol of his status, it was time to talk business. 

“I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to fulfill my request, Master Joris.” 

But the ambassador merely inclined his head further down. “There is no need to thank me, Your Majesty. I am merely doing my job.” He raised his head to stare the king in the eye. “As I said back at the assembly, I speak in the name of the Queens of Bonta when I say you can count on us for anything you might need, especially for something like this.”

Oakheart nodded curtly. “In that case, tell Queens Astra and Selene that they have my thanks.” He then fell silent, his large hands coming to rest on his lap as he considered their next course of action. After a minute or two of silent deliberation, he peeked an eye open. “Are you certain you will be able to carry out this task without issue?”

“Certainly, my King.” Joris said, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He was about to elaborate when Armand’s impatient tone broke through the conversation.

“And what about the consequences of carrying it out?” He questioned, his brow creased into a cynical glare. “It was already risky enough to invite them to Bonta, but this—.”

“Prince Armand!” King Oakheart roared, cutting the prince’s rant off and standing up from his throne as he looked down to his only son, equal parts irritation and disappointment flashing through his eyes. “We have already talked about this and we agreed it was the best course of action. I will not be accepting any sort of insubordination from you!”

“But father—!”

“Silence!”

The king’s shouted order reverberated around the room, effectively quieting the prince’s protests. After that, silence did indeed reign supreme and the air became charged with the unmistakable feeling of confrontation. As father and son entered a staring competition, the only thing that managed to break the tense quiet was their laboured breathing as they stared each other down. 

At least, Prince Armand stood down with a tsk! of his tongue, stubbornly averting his gaze as his hands came to curl into fists at his sides. 

Armand wanted to argue against his father’s insistence on his plan, he really did, but one glance at him, an expectant eyebrow directed straight at his son, told the prince that he was expected to let the matter go. Still, he couldn’t not voice his thoughts, not yet. He had to try to reason with his father one last time.

He glanced up at the king, hoping to convey the seriousness of his request, pleading with his father to listen to him and his contributions for once. He already knew he didn’t exactly approve of his marriage to Aurora and his plans for the future of the Sadida Kingdom, but if he could only listen to him on this…

“Please, Father. I beg you to reconsider. Are you certain of this?”

Although the earnestness in Armand’s voice compared to his previous impudence softened Oakheart’s heart, it did nothing to break his resolve. So, hardening his soul as much as his stance, his mind was made up. “Yes, my son. I am certain. Remember, this is not a decision taken on a whim, but one taken out of consideration for Sadida’s will. As his humble servants, this is the least we can do to protect his legacy.”

It was at that moment that Joris chose to speak up again. He shot a reassuring glance the prince’s way. “Rest assured, Your Highness. Even when I presented myself unannounced to investigate the matter of the Sadida woman’s sightings, they were nothing but courteous, if a little reserved. 

“Likewise, it must be said that their behaviour at Bonta was faultless—barring the incident with Count Harebourg.” He admitted quietly. “I am confident we have nothing to fear.”

Knowing his father wouldn’t listen to him no matter how much he fought him on the matter, instead of trying to refute the Bontarian’s point, the Sadida Prince eased out a heavy sigh in defeat.

“Thank you, Master Joris. Let us hope you are right.”

He supposed he would have no choice but to keep an eye open just in case, he thought to himself. 

Satisfied with his son's acquiescence, King Sheran Sharm shot one last resolute look at the Bontarian. “You know what to do, then.”

With one final nod, Joris finally rose to his full height from his knelt down position. “Yes, my King. I will not let you down.”

.......................................................................................................................

As God of Nature, Sadida was a creator. While Osamodas’ dragons brought life to what would then become the World of Twelve, it was thanks to his contributions that their precious, little planet was brimming with life. It was all part of a sacred cycle. Without plants, animals and humans alike couldn’t survive, and without them, life couldn’t flourish. Likewise, it was thanks to his gift to his people that the World of Twelve was overflowing with wakfu even without the presence of Eliatrope. 

The Leafy God had to suppress a shudder. He dreaded even thinking about what their world would look like without his plants and the wakfu they provided. 

His uneasy grimace faded into a sad frown at the memory of the Goddess of Love. Not for the first time, the Doll Master found himself wondering how much more beautiful and prosperous the World of Twelve would have been with the Great Goddess’ help, but alas, she made her choice all those years ago, leaving them no other alternative. 

Whatever alternative reality where they all got to coexist together would never be anything more than that, a ‘what if.’

And yet, her people had found their way to the World of Twelve on their own. Perhaps Twelvians and Eliatropes were bound to live together, after all. Maybe sending Amalia to them had truly been for the best. 

At the memory of his youngest, Sadida set his focus back on his frolicking daughters. All nine of them. Even the smile painted on his wooden mask accentuated itself a little at the sight of them. 

Maminala and Dathura, always the sweet, placid ones, were engrossed in avid conversation, with the turquoise-haired doll holding her much smaller big sister in the palm of her hand. Razeriana and Ibago, coquettish as they were, lay down on the grass, letting the sun’s warm rays bathe their stitched-up skin and colour their raggedy flesh. Knowing them, they expected their natural colours to be more vibrant than ever by the time they were done.  

Compared to their appearance-conscious sisters, the much more sportive Ballodana and Ladysally were dancing to the beat of the music played by Lophapharo, their hips swaying playfully from side to side. Perhaps, as a father, he should have been worried that his second eldest was using Peparava’s squishy form as a set of bongos, but the laughing doll didn’t seem to mind, so who was he to spoil their fun?

Yes, perhaps Sadida was the God of Nature and a creator by trade, but there was no denying his daughters were his true pride and joy. 

He tried to ignore the pang of melancholy that resonated throughout his chest at the thought of their absent family members. 

Shaking his head to rid himself of that train of thought, just as he was about to join his girls, something from behind him made Ladysally perk up in surprise and point behind him. 

“Oh, Father! Look! The Great Huntress has come to grace us with her presence!”

At the sound of the well-known epithet, Sadida immediately swiveled his head around and over his shoulder. Lo and behold, there she was. With her seemingly endless cascade of platinum blond hair, flawless features, and immeasurable grace combined with the deathly precision with which she carried her mystical bow was none other than Cra herself. 

A soft smile illuminated her face like her moonlight skin. 

“Do forgive the intrusion, my dear friend.” Her voice rang out like bells. “I sure hope I did not interrupt anything of importance.”

Before Sadida could so much as utter a word, Yopo, who up until that point had been listening to Lophapharo’s improvised notes, scrambled to dissuade the goddess’ worries. “Oh, not at all, Your Excellency! We were just enjoying some quiet family time.” The cactus-like doll shrank in on herself when she took notice of her father’s disapproving glare for speaking out of turn. 

Luckily for her, it seemed Cra found her lack of proper decorum amusing, for she simply hid a fond chuckle behind a delicate, gloved hand. “Oh, but my dear Yopo, spending time with your family is the most important thing of all!” She exclaimed with mock shame, bringing a hand to her ample bosom. “I see now I have committed a grave sin. Could you ever forgive me?”

While the more naive and irony-blind Divine Dolls scrambled to assure the Woodland Beauty that she could do no wrong in their eyes, both their more savvy sisters and their father rolled their eyes. Although in Sadida’s case, his mild exasperation was directed at his dear old friend. 

“My dear Cra, please, cease your teasing.” He sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, my daughters don’t always recognise when someone jests.”

The archer goddess giggled again. “My apologies.” She said airily, causing Sadida to narrow his eyes at her from behind his mask. 

She wasn’t sorry at all. 

Choosing to let it go, he simply smirked up at his old friend. “Fake contrition aside, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I simply came to see how things were unfolding.”

Sadida knew Cra enough to be able to see through her simple, noncommittal response and immediately understand the true meaning of her words. She was asking about Amalia.

With a quiet sigh, the Leafy God beckoned for her to follow him while he instructed his other daughters to go back to what they were doing. His Divine Dolls knew better than to argue, so with a few exchanged looks and a shrug of their shoulders, they let the matter go as they tried to focus back on their activities before they spotted the elven deity. 

Sadida led Cra through the lush forests of his domain, chivalrously holding a hand out to help her whenever the terrain became trickier to navigate. Had it come from any other man, mortal or god, Cra would have made the depth of her offence known and personally punish the chauvinistic pig for daring to look down on her. But coming from the Father of the Tree People, she knew he was just being considerate since no one knew his dimension (or the extent of her temper) quite like he did. 

She and Sadida had always been close, but apparently, the fact that he was a willing and perfectly content ‘Girl Dad’—as mortals liked to say nowadays—had turned him into an even more considerate soul when it came to women. 

The fact that he didn’t lust after them like most gods did certainly didn’t hurt either. 

At long last, after guiding Cra through a particularly treacherous path while she carefully lifted her long, lime-green dress, they arrived at the portal to the Living Realm, tucked away in between a circle of sturdy oaks. 

With a sweep of his mossy hand, the bright, swirling vortex at their feet gained form. The non-distinct shapes gave way to more defined images until a clear picture of Amalia, alongside Yugo and his dragon twin, appeared. They seemed to be headed somewhere outside of the palace yet within its vicinity. 

Sadida couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips at the sight of his daughter’s laughing face. “As you can see, she seems to be doing well. It has only been a few months, yet she is already remarkably close to King Yugo and his brother.”

“Yes, that is a most welcome development.” Cra concurred with a nod. “Especially after he seemed so adamant against having a bride.” She shot her friend a meaningful glance from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. 

Much to her resigned frustration, the god gave nothing away. Which was quite a feat, considering his wooden mask reflected his emotions rather than hide them from view. 

“It might not have been easy at first, but I believe we will be able to reap the fruits of our labour soon.”

The blonde deity smirked to herself when her keen blue eyes noticed the way he subtly tightened his hold on his crossed arms. She still vividly remembered the amount of effort it took him to downplay his offence when Yugo had the audacity to reject Amalia as his bride-to-be, only calming himself down when the Eliatrope insisted on housing her and being ‘friends.’

And when he started pulling away from her after what by all intents and purposes had been a successful escapade to the beach? The only way to calm the irate father down was to promise to have thousands of magic arrows rain down on Oma Island if the issue didn’t resolve itself soon. 

Fortunately, it did. And it was all Amalia’s doing. 

(Although Sadida and Xelor’s rapports had been rather frosty—pun non-intended— after Count Harebourg dared to try to pull that stunt with her). 

But Osamodas’ orders had been clear. They were to stay out of things and let Amalia navigate everything on her own lest it was absolutely necessary they intervened. 

Because she was only second to Sadida himself when it came to knowing his daughter’s disadventures, she had a very good idea about what the Leafy God was thinking. 

“You’re worried.” She said bluntly. 

“Any parent would be with their child so far away from home.”

“I’m not.” She pointed out matter-of-factly. “In fact, I think we can all agree you’re the only one of us who takes such a hands-on approach to parenting.”

Sadida chose to bite back his tongue and refrain from making a scathing remark about how his fellow gods’ approach to parenting basically amounted to letting their orphans roam the world without any kind of guidance. He knew better than to question a deity’s way of being. Their followers had been on the verge of starting enough wars in their name already. 

So, instead, he just grunted with a shrug. “I suppose I will always worry about my children, especially when I can’t be there with them. Although I must admit I am immensely proud of all she has accomplished in such a short amount of time.

“She has grown extremely close to Yugo, as we expected. She has slowly but surely earned the Eliatropes’ trust and respect. Her presence has left quite an impact on our followers, as predicted… All in all, everything is going according to plan.”

“And yet, you still cannot get the image of the Turquoise dragon, Efrim, attacking her or the world’s rulers doubting our reasoning behind her presence off of your mind.” She guessed gently, her perfectly shaped brow creasing in sympathy for her friend. 

Even his mask seemed to darken as he searched the words. “I will admit that that was… most troubling.” He settled on after a while. 

To be perfectly frank, Sadida surprised even himself with the evenness in his voice. For all the power and wisdom his divinity granted him, even he was left powerless at the sight of his daughter in danger—at the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything for her. Couldn’t protect her. 

At that moment, when the smallest Eliatrope dragon had her pinned against the dirty floor, spouting venom in her face with the clear intention of diminishing her worth, the Doll Master wanted nothing more than to summon a monstrous, carnivorous plant that would swallow him whole. But his hands were tied, much to his chagrin. 

It was no longer a matter of having agreed to refrain from intervening unless absolutely necessary—because at that moment, with Amalia’s life at risk, he couldn't think of a time where it was more necessary to act—, but because if he acted on her behalf, Sadida had the feeling Efrim’s suspicions would be confirmed and his enmity towards Amalia would only increase. 

With his sister as witness, they couldn’t afford the Eliatropes’ trust in Amalia being broken due to a bout of paternal protectiveness. 

His rage eventually tapered off when the dragon revealed he had some level of restraint and awareness of the consequences his actions could have for his people. But the harm had already been done. If Amalia had been wary and aware of his dislike for her before, now the mere mention of her detractor put her on edge. 

At first, he had wanted nothing more than to march up to his fellow gods and demand his daughter return home before it was too late, but then…

“I do not know if it is youthful foolishness and cockiness or a determination seldom seen, but Amalia’s will to surpass herself is stronger than the roots of millennium-old trees.” Cra didn’t miss the tinge of paternal pride in his voice, a small smile tugging at the corner of her plump lips. 

“She is your creation.” She reminded him warmly. “There are few beings more exceptional than Sadida’s Divine Dolls; you made it so it would be so.”

“And yet, my daughters manage to surprise me with the depth of their gifts every single day.”

A soft laugh escaped the goddess in the form of a huff. Never losing her placid expression even at her friend’s modesty, she let her pools of blue wander downwards, her blonde eyebrows raising slightly at what the portal showed them. King Yugo and his dragon twin seemed to be stretching their muscles—no doubt about to partake in some kind of vigorous physical activity—, while Amalia came to lounge on top of the stairs leading up to the entrance located right next to the training grounds they found themselves in, watching intently. 

The Great Huntress raised an eyebrow at that. She knew from Sadida that Yugo and Amalia had established this sort of routine early on where the Eliatrope would train just outside her balcony and she would watch. She also knew from her friend, who’d retold the events with a clear tinge of pride in his voice, that Amalia now spent her afternoons alongside the Eliatrope children and the Council members in charge of their education, honing her own skills. However, the fact that now she was apparently allowed near the Council’s personal training grounds belied the level of trust she had cultivated during her time on Oma Island. 

It was truly remarkable, indeed. 

Blinking rapidly, she was broken out of her thoughts by the sound of the nature god calling her name, “To tell you the truth, my dear Cra, each and every day my little Amalia floors me with her strength of will. The amount of challenges she is overcoming practically single-handedly despite her short age are nothing short of commendable!”

The elven beauty could hear the slight note of apprehension in his tone despite his best attempt at hiding it. 

“But…?”

“But, you are right.” He admitted with a grunt, his eyes narrowing behind his mask as he observed the portal. “Our followers and Efrim’s suspicions of her do trouble me immensely. I worry for her safety.”

“As any good father would, my friend.” She assured him, placing a comforting, gloved hand on his bare shoulder. 

Once again, Sadida wisely chose not to comment on Cra’s unexpected wisdom given her own treatment of her offspring. Instead, he took her words as the comforting balm they were meant to be. 

“To answer your previous question,” he said all of a sudden, in a rare instance where the huntress was caught off guard. “There has been a most peculiar development as of late.”

That piqued her interest, even though she already had quite a good guess as to what it might be. “Oh? Do tell.”

“The Sheran Sharms, my most trusted followers, have hatched a plan. Hopefully, it will at the very least be a step in the right direction to ensuring Amalia’s safety outside of Inglorium.” 

He let out a heavy sigh as the image shifted to his worshippers’ kingdom with a snap of his fingers. The entire domain was a flurry of activity. Sadida of all stations were hard at work, preparing for the upcoming event that might be the catalyst for a marked shift in their lives. The only one who seemed mostly unconcerned was that one Osamodas princess the Crown Prince had recently married, but what else was new? 

In all his time overseeing his people since she arrived, he couldn’t remember a single time where she appeared to be invested in anything the Sadida were doing unless it directly affected her or her homeland. 

His eyes narrowing in on her and what Amalia’s existence might have meant for her family, Sadida’s words held more than one meaning. “I sure hope King Oakheart and Prince Armand will be able to look after Amalia and help her.”

“Fear not, my friend.” Cra said suddenly, her voice dripping with confidence and the assurance of someone who knew something you didn’t. He honestly resented whenever she got not-so-unintentionally condescending with him. “Amalia will be safe—I will personally see that it is so.”

The holes in the god’s mask were as round as the moon. “Could it be? Is it possible that you are looking after my daughter as well, my dear?”

“There is much at stake.” She stated with an impassive shrug of her shoulders. It was followed shortly after by a sideway glance and a smirk directed at him. For once, the Woodland Beauty allowed herself to be candid and sincere, instead of calculatingly measuring every word that left her mouth in case it could be used against her. “She is your daughter, my dear Sadida. For that alone I am almost as adverse as you are to the mere idea of harm befalling her.” Her expression turning into a stoney mask yet again, she faced forwards. “She will be safe, you have my word.”

Sadida was touched by the goddess’ kindness and care for him. With how she carried herself most of the time—poised, aloof, and impervious to anything she considered to be beneath her (which was a lot of things)—, it was easy to forget that once you’d earned Cra’s respect and admiration, you had likewise earned a powerful and wise ally that would stop at nothing to help you. 

Still, that begged the question…

“What do you intend to do?”

Her mysterious grin was both assuring and disconcerting. “Let us just say that my dear followers cannot decline a task recommended to them by none other than their goddess. And I have entrusted this one to a most special Cra.”

......................................................................................................................

It was undeniable that Amalia watching Yugo as he trained below (and above) her balcony had become routine at that point. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it was a daily occurrence. 

Right before breakfast, Yugo would arrive at her door and knock on it gently, partly to inform her of his presence, partly to wake her up in case she had fallen asleep. At the sound of his arrival, Amalia would perk up in anticipation and eagerly welcome him inside. As the two friends crossed her room, side by side, headed to her balcony, they exchanged some pleasant small talk, mostly asking about the other’s well-being and if they had anything planned for the day. And then, Yugo would come to hover over the ballastrude and with one wink that Amalia swore got cheekier by the day and a mock salute, he would throw himself backwards into the void. 

And the show would begin. 

By the time Yugo was done training and Amalia was done swooning, their stomachs would grumble in protest and break them out of whatever little moment they might be sharing, reminding them that they had yet to eat. And so, with a bashful laugh, the king would escort the doll out of her room and towards the dining room, where they would finally get to fill their bellies with a hearty breakfast and their hearts would swell at the pleasant conversation between them.

That day, however, they were trying something a little different.

Amalia’s face when she opened the door that morning had been one of quiet surprise. Not like he could blame her. Adamaï had presented himself alongside him at her door without so much as a warning. As a matter of fact, the dragon hadn’t even warned his twin about his intended visit to the Divine Doll. 

Much to his annoyance and embarrassment, before he even had the chance to protest, Adamaï simply smirked. 

“Oh, don’t get your cape into a twist, Lil’ Bro. I just want to spar a little with you and see how Amalia’s doing. I have no intention of stealing her from you.”

Yugo absolutely did not squawk in embarrassment at that. Nor when the dragon teasingly accused him of monopolising Amalia’s time. 

And that was how they found themselves in front of a slightly bewildered Amalia, who could only tilt her head in curiosity as Ad explained his idea to be Yugo’s sparring partner and use the opportunity to see how far she had come in her studies with Glip. The confusion briefly returned when she gestured for them to come inside, only for Adamaï to politely decline, stating he had a different idea in mind. 

All Yugo could do was shrug helplessly when the doll shot him a questioning look, silently asking him to enlighten her on his twin’s train of thought. 

If only he knew…

Seeing their little interaction, the Emerald dragon rolled his eyes so far to the back of his head he could probably see his own brain. 

“Relax, you too.” He scoffed. “We’re just going to the training grounds.”

While Yugo understood what he meant immediately, his face easing into a more relaxed grin as he nodded his approval, the same couldn’t be said for the doll. 

“You mean the ones back at the village? Doesn’t Glip usually prepare them for class around this hour?”

“He means the ones located within the palace confines.” Yugo explained, taking pity on her confused state. “While the ones at the village are usually reserved for the children, the ones we’re going to are primarily used by our soldiers and the Council.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember something like that…” For a moment, the glimmer in her brown gaze turned dimmed as memories of the time Yugo kept his distance washed over her. 

Then, the gears started turning in her head and she furrowed her brow. “That still doesn’t explain why we’re going there in the first place.” 

Adamaï just shrugged. “I just figured it was high time we showed it to you.” He flashed her a challenging smirk, all his pointy teeth in full display. “That, and I for one am rather eager to see what Glip has been teaching you, Amalia. It’s not everyday that we get to see you in action.”

Yugo perked up at that, the ears on his hood standing tall and proud. He had to push down the rush of excitement he felt at the thought of seeing Amalia’s battle prowess. She already left him speechless whenever she used her powers, regardless of how mundane the utility. The mere thought of her in battle was enough to increase his blood flow and make his blood grow hot. It was a little annoying, to be perfectly honest. 

He already knew he was in love with her. Did every little thing have to remind him of how utterly smitten he was?

But, much to the twins’ mutual bewilderment, all Amalia did in response was stare back and forth between the two of them, her chocolate eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Do we have to use a portal to get there?” She asked flatly. 

Yugo exchanged a look with Adamaï. “Uh… No. As Ad said, it’s within palace confines. We should be there in about ten minutes by foot.”

And just like that, her whole demeanour changed. 

A wide grin stretching over her face and her hands clasped before her, the Divine Doll practically dashed towards her balcony, her words trailing off behind her. “In that case, what are you waiting for?! Let’s go!”

As soon as she reached the edge, she propelled herself forwards and onto the ground, indifferent to the neck-breaking height she was plunging herself into. But just as Yugo and Adamaï were on the verge of a heart attack—the Eliatrope had already shot forward with the intention of catching her, while his dragon twin stood, horrified, with one claw outstretched after her—, her glorious mane of green hair emerged from below, slowly revealing the rest of her lovely form. 

The Eliatrope King skidded to a stop when Amalia appeared riding a giant tendril, sending them a cheeky grin over her shoulder. He didn’t need to look to know that his brother was openly gawking as he came to stand by his side. They usually wore matching expressions, after all, and this was no exception. 

Once their astonishment had worn off, the two of them shrugged and joined Amalia on her unorthodox means of transportation (although, considering she was a Sadida Doll, it was probably quite common for her). Only when the plant had carefully placed them on the floor beneath her room, did they resume their march and their explanation of their destination.

Amalia paid rapt attention. Apparently, the only real difference between Glip’s arena and the training grounds, apart from who used each and their locations, was that the latter was better equipped to handle more experienced Wakfung warriors. Hence why the members of the Council of Six preferred to work out there—less need to hold back lest they risked destroying something from an unchecked attack. 

Upon finally reaching the place in question, it wasn’t hard to see why. 

Unlike the children’s arena, there was no fighting pit, most likely because experienced Eliatropes could take a fight everywhere, including the skies, she guessed. Instead, there were many targets located several metres away from the firing zone. A few guards, with their feet planted firmly on the ground, demonstrated its use by firing wakfu beams out of their hands and straight at the white-and-blue targets. The doll’s eyes trailed upwards when a plume of smoke would billow out each time beam and hay collided. 

Amalia marvelled at the obstacle course. She hadn’t seen one since they momentarily moved out of Baltazar’s class to begin with Glip’s Wakfung training. Even after seeing Yugo perform even more awe-inspiring acrobatics on a daily basis, the kind of mobility and agility the Eliatropes’ portal-making granted them was still incredible. Most Twelvians would have to find their own way of passing through the rings, especially the ones standing several metres tall, and some would have better luck than others, but not the Eliatropes. All they had to do was either jump from one portal to the next, following a turquoise-tiled path; or glide straight through the ring like it wasn’t even there. 

She had to pick up her slackened jaw from the floor when Yugo called out for her to follow them to a more remote area. 

“This is where the Council trains.” He gestured around him as soon as she was back by his side. 

“I have to admit, this is very cool.” She looked around, smiling at the grounds they were currently standing on. They were more spacious than the rest of the camp. “So what do we do now?”

“You can go sit back and watch how I kick my brother’s butt into oblivion.” Adamaï boasted then, sliding up next to a very annoyed-looking Yugo and clasping a claw over his shoulder. 

“Excuse me?!” The king sputtered, getting in his brother’s scaly, smirking face. “Did you already forget who’s the better fighter here?”

The dragon shrugged, all-too-innocently. “Why don’t you remind me? Unless you’re all talk.” He shot back, his lips parting away to reveal his very sharp canines as he, quite literally, butted heads with his brother. 

Watching them get in each other’s faces like that, Amalia worried for a moment that an actual fight was about to break out. However, one glance at Yugo and she immediately relaxed. The cocky smirk he wore, and that was mirrored by Adamaï’s very own, belied the playful nature of their competitive streak.

She felt comfortable enough to make a sarcastic comment of her own. 

“Do I need to grab you by the waist with my vines and separate you, or are you good?”

At her teasing threat, accentuated by her hip jutting out and the eyebrow she raised in amusement, the Emerald Twins momentarily gaped at her, blinking slowly. After a beat, though, the three of them broke down laughing. With a sigh and shake of his head, his hand coming to brush his dirty blond bangs out of his eyes, Yugo turned to point at some steps leading up to a door Amalia only now realised was there. 

“You can sit over there to watch us fight, Amalia. Trust me, while they might not be actual bleachers, those steps have the best, and safest, view of the ring.” 

Her brow furrowed as her eyes trailed over to where her friend was pointing at. “But I thought you guys wanted to see what I can do?” She crossed her arms pointedly. “Watching is hardly the same as fighting.”

Just as Yugo began to sputter out a nervous explanation, Adamaï came to his rescue, as always. He gently placed his tail on top of Amalia’s shoulder, her gaze darting between the limb and his face when he spoke. “That’s true. But we mostly want to see how far your powers have come.”

“Then, wouldn’t a battle between us be the best way to determine that?” She shot back, unimpressed. “Master Glip always says you never know what you’re capable of until you’re forced to react in the heat of the moment.”

“That’s true.” Yugo agreed, mimicking his brother and draping his arm around her other shoulder. He tried to ignore the way his skin tingled at the contact even through his suit. “But do you seriously think you have improved enough to be able to face off against Ad and I?”

He had her with his rhetorical question and he knew it. As proud as Amalia could be, she wasn’t stupid—she knew when she was biting more than she could chew, forcing her to begrudgingly relent in her pursuit. 

His cheeky grin widened in triumph at the sigh of her reluctant pout, her brow creased in deep irritation. “I hate it when you have a point.”

Laughing heartily, the king threw his hands up. “Can’t help it if I’m right.” He only laughed harder when she poked him on the chest with an accusatory finger. 

“You could keep your unquestionable logic to yourself!” She cried, trying very hard not to laugh as well. “Nobody likes a know-it-all!”

“Well, nobody likes a sore loser either, yet here you are.”

“How dare you?!” This time, she let out a sound that was a mix between a guffaw and an offended squawk. 

The Eliatrope broke down laughing, throwing his head back, when her face scrunched up petulantly, her hands balled into fists at her sides. However, it was Adamaï’s turn to hide a chortle behind his claws when an impish flicker passed through Amalia’s eyes and her expression eased into mischief. 

He stopped making a show of trying to contain his laughter when the Divine Doll launched herself at Yugo and began poking and pinching and tickling him as he futilely flailed his arms around in between stolen giggles and begged her to stop. After a while, their fun was cut short when the king finally managed to secure Amalia’s wrist in his grasp and bring her closer to him, so close their laboured breaths intermingled. 

“Attacking me when my guard is down, huh?” He panted, his smile peeking through his lips. “That’s low.”

“Not as low as being infuriatingly right!” 

He laughed, incredulous. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

The sound of someone clearing their throat broke them out of their trance. Eyes widening like saucers, the two of them slowly, very slowly, turned their heads at the same time in search of the origin of the sound. A heated wave washed over them when they finally took notice of, not just the very smug-looking Adamaï raising an eyebrow at them, but the small group of onlookers their antics had attracted as well. The small squadron of training guards peering over at them from their positions on the opposite end of the field sent forth yet another wave of heat straight to their faces. 

They pried their hands off each other and jumped several metres back and away from the other as fast as if they’d been burned. Though, judging from the crimson red on their cheeks, Adamaï noted, spontaneous combustion wasn’t completely off the table. 

As much as he hated breaking up their little moment—even if they refused to admit it, he had long resigned himself to the role of third wheel—, they came here for a reason, and it didn’t include those two flirting (this much). 

“As nice as this all is,” he gestured at his twin and the doll, his smirk growing when that alone made them squirm. “I’m afraid I have a lesson to teach to my brother. So if you two would be so kind…”

And just like that, the fire of embarrassment coursing through Yugo’s veins had been replaced by the electric feeling only a challenge could provide. “Oh, you’re on!” Much more softly and more gently, he turned to the Sadida Doll. “Amalia, when Ad and I are done with our training, why don’t you show us what you’ve been learning with Glip these past few weeks?”

Her cheeks still a little pink from earlier, the doll couldn’t help but smile at his request, shyly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure thing, Yugo.”

As Adamaï called out to his brother to finally get started and the Eliatrope twin, between half-hearted ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m coming!’s, marched up towards him, Amalia decided to follow their earlier advice and made her way over to the steps Yugo had pointed at. 

Upon reaching her destination, the doll carefully and elegantly settled into the stoney stairs, bringing her knees to her chest as she eagerly set her gaze onto the two opposing brothers. She felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine when she took in the matching determined, if a little bit cocky, expressions plastered over both Eliatrope and dragon’s faces. 

One minute they were staring each other down on land, the next they had shot upwards at lightning speed, kicking up a smoke cloud after them that had Amalia shielding her face with her arms. After blinking the dirt in her eyes away a few times, the doll craned her neck up and gasped. 

Even with all her practice watching Yugo, it took her an incredible amount of effort to be able to follow their movements, her eyes darting every which way as they tried to keep up with the pair of battlers zooming by. It was like trying to find a pesky moskito, one minute it would be in one corner of the room, and the next it would whoosh through the air and materialise on the opposite corner. 

Even the ever familiar blue trail Yugo left after him did little to help Amalia locate him, as it blended in with the azure of the sky. 

Biting the inside of her cheek in annoyance, her head resting against her palm, she couldn’t help but sarcastically wonder how they expected her to watch and learn if she couldn’t even see. 

“Hey!” She called after them, cupping her hands around her mouth to better project her voice. She allowed the small feeling of triumph when she got them to halt their movements in mid-air, their eyes big and round as they stared owlishly down at her in confusion. 

“As impressive as this all is,” she gestured between the two of them. “Not all of us have a Cra’s enhanced sight.” Then, her shoulders slumped forward, her voice and eyes pleading. “Could you guys slow down even a little bit, please?”

Wincing as realisation struck them, both Yugo and Adamaï rubbed the back of their necks sheepishly and wore chagrined expressions as they mumbled apologies and promises to try and control themselves for Amalia. And with a pleased ‘Thank you’ from her, they went back at it. 

Only at a pace that would allow the untrained eye to actually observe their movements. 

Yugo had summoned his wakfu sword and shield, his cloak rustling after him with the wind, while Adamaï had unfolded his wings, flapping once or twice every few minutes to keep himself afloat, his tail flickering in anticipation as he adopted a fighting stance.  

And then, they lunged at each other. 

Adamaï thrust a claw forward, straight for his twin’s abdomen, only for Yugo to block his attempts with his shield. Each time the dragon tried to connect a scratch, the Eliatrope King would follow with his shield, preventing any damage from being done to his body. What he hadn’t expected, however, was that that was exactly what Adamaï had been counting on. As the last fake attempt at clawing at him led Yugo to raise his only means of protection above eye-level, the Emerald dragon took the opening he needed to whip at his torso with his tail, sending the king back a few metres in the air. 

Forcing his propelling body to stop before he flew off too far away, despite the frustration he felt with himself for falling for such an old trick, Yugo still smirked. Maybe Ad was in the lead of their imaginary score for managing to connect the first hit, but he wouldn’t be able to keep the position for long after giving his brother some much needed space. 

With a swift movement, Yugo raised his weapons over his shoulders and willed the energy to shift and react to his orders. He went from wielding a sword and a shield to two matching spears in an instant. Just as the colour drained from Adamaï’s face as he realised what his twin intended to do, the Eliatrope didn’t waste a single second and hurled the lances forward and in his direction, the projectiles slicing through the air. 

Cursing under his breath, the dragon was quick to flap his wings as he tried to manoeuvre around the incoming projectiles. Given his large girth compared to the size of the spears, his attempts were a little awkward. Seeing as the two energy weapons were headed straight at him at the same time, Ad tried taking advantage of the small distance between the two of them Yugo had inadvertently created with his own head and, with a beat of his wings and a twirl, miraculously sidestepped them. 

He watched the retreating projectiles for a second before he sharply whirled his head around to flash his brother a successful smirk. 

“Ha!” He exclaimed, but the feeling was short-lived, for his brother was no longer anywhere to be seen. 

His horned head shooting up in alarm, Adamaï began frantically looking everywhere around him, fully expecting his Eliatrope twin to appear at any moment. Unfortunately, he always forgot to look down. 

“Over here.” Yugo’s infuriatingly smug voice sang from underneath him. Looking down at his smirking brother, Adamaï only had a few seconds to register what happened before Yugo kicked him in the stomach and sent him flying upwards with a cheeky wink and a hastily added, “This is for the cheap tail shot.”

And Amalia was watching it all with awe in her eyes. 

Now that the Emerald Twins had slowed down, she caught their every move. Adamaï shapeshifting into a white-and-blue golem-like creature as he tried to smack Yugo around. Yugo retaliating by zipping past his twin with his superior speed and shooting wakfu beams at him from all angles thanks to his portals. Adamaï changing tactics and getting his fire breath involved, forcing Yugo to retreat by diving in and out of a series of portals he summoned all around his brother, his motions like diving in and out of the sea.

It was easy to see the members of the Council were in a league of their own. Amalia had kind of always known that, thanks to watching the king’s training sessions and then studying under Glip, but actually getting to see just how badly Yugo and Adamaï outclassed their subjects blew all those other experiences out of the water. 

The doll had no way of determining who would win. They seemed to be so equally matched. 

Unbeknownst to her, however, Yugo had long decided there was no way he would lose against his dragon twin now that he had the chance to really show off in front of the doll. 

Next thing she knew, Yugo had Adamaï pinned down against the floor, one hand pushing his head against the ground while the other held his brother’s arms to prevent him from getting away. The rest of his sculpted, athletic physique focused on keeping the dragon down. 

“Now, who is the better fighter?” He asked wryly as he leered down at his twin. 

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Ad grunted, trying to make one last futile attempt at wringing himself free. He plopped back down on the floor with a thud! and a sulk when it was apparent he wouldn’t have that much luck. 

“Who, dear brother?”

Ad rolled his eyes with a grumble. “Fine! I yield! You’re the better fighter! Happy now?”

Oh, how he wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his pretty face. “Extremely.” And with that, he unceremoniously let his twin’s limbs drop and got up. 

Beaming widely, Amalia shot up to her feet and began clapping excitedly. Her heart skipped a beat when Yugo began to exaggeratedly bow to the audience (that is to say, her) and express his thanks. That weird feeling she got around him came back full force, and she felt a strange yet powerful wave of pride wash over her at his accomplishments and battle prowess. 

She didn’t know what it was, but there was something in the way Yugo fought—throwing himself head-first into battle, without hesitation; parring attacks and launching his own with so much precision it was almost graceful; exuding such confidence in his abilities it somehow managed to reach her and make her believe the battle was already won… Whatever it was, it never failed to make her swoon. 

A small, coy part of herself wondered if perhaps he ever felt the same way towards her when it came to her own abilities?

For better or worse, the swooning was soon replaced by uncontrollable laughter when Adamaï took advantage of Yugo’s boasting to tackle him to the ground. Just like that, they were back at roughhousing like children. 

“What was that about being the better fighter?” Adamaï teased now that he was the one on top—literally. 

“Hey, you cheated!” Yugo protested. He tried to sound intimidating, but the mirth and slight whine in his voice made that nearly impossible. 

The dragon pretended to consider his words for a moment, before dismissing them with a nonchalant shrug. 

“Nah, that’s just combat pragmatism.” His fangs glinted as he smirked down at the Eliatrope. “Isn’t that what fighting is all about? Finding your opponent’s weakness and exploiting it?”

“I fail to see what that has got to do with tackling me to the ground while I wasn’t looking.” Yugo deadpanned. 

“Not my fault you’re such a showboat.”

Their childish bickering was interrupted by the loud yelps that left their throats as the two of them found themselves being hoisted up by the waist and separated. One quick glance at their midsection revealed the strong grip around it belonged to none other than one of Amalia’s thick vines. 

Once she had placed them both back down and away from each other, she sent them a knowing look, her arms crossed and her hip jutted out. 

“Sorry to interrupt your bonding activities, but I seem to remember we came here for a reason?”

The Emerald Twins exchanged a glance. 

“Yeah, to train?” Yugo tried, his face scrunched up in confusion. “But that’s what we’re doing…?” He trailed off, unsure. 

Her patient look hardening into an exasperated scowl, Amalia groaned. Rolling her eyes so far back her head she could probably see the inside of her skull, she emphatically pointed at her face with one finger and coughed loudly to get her point across. 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes yet again when realisation finally dawned on them, their lips forming a perfect ‘o’. 

“Oh, yeah! We totally forgot about you!” Adamaï said bluntly, earning himself a zap to the back of his head with a small wakfu beam by his brother. “What was that for?!” He snapped. 

“Ad!” Yugo hissed, screaming at him with his eyes to look over at Amalia. He didn’t miss the way the dragon loudly gulped when he finally heeded his warning. 

Thank Eliatrope Amalia was Sadida’s Doll instead of Cra or Sram’s daughter, because if looks could kill, they'd both be dead enough times over to break their Dofus reincarnation cycle. 

After a beat where the siblings wished their mother would put them out of their misery already, the doll’s outrage seemed to finally relent. With a resigned roll of her eyes, she huffed, her stiff posture finally relaxing as she closed the distance between them. 

“Come on, you two. Let me show you what I can do.” She told them, the tiniest hint of affection tinging her words as she clasped their shoulders. 

“Now we’re talking!” Adamaï hollered, clasping his hands in delight. Retaking the doll’s position on the set of stairs just in case, he asked, “So, what’d you have in mind, Amalia? How do you plan to surprise us today?”

At that, the Divine Doll’s confidence shrank into timidness. She couldn’t help but rub her arm nervously under their attentive gaze, especially Yugo’s eager one. “I… I don’t know, actually. A lot of the things I’ve learned are actually offensive, so it’s kind of pointless showing them off without a sparring partner.”

“In that case, why don’t you just show us something you’ve been working on with Glip?” Yugo offered, his expression softening in sympathy. Despite her early bravado, it was clear Amalia still wasn’t as secure in her powers to show off quite as much as he and Ad liked to indulge in. “It doesn’t have to be offensive.”

“That’s right.” Adamaï agreed with a nod. “Just something you think you have improved on.”

Bringing a hand to her chin, Amalia considered their words. It took her a moment, but the glimmer returned to her eyes as soon as the proverbial bulbshroom lit up in her head. 

“Okay, I think I have just the thing.”

The two brothers kept their attentive gaze on the Divine Doll, exchanging curious glances, eager to see what she’d come up with. Said eagerness was mostly reflected by Yugo, his body subconsciously leaning forward as he waited at the edge of his seat, both metaphorically and literally. Adamaï, as usual, was more subdued, with his long tail wrapped around him as he leaned back with his arms crossed, but even he had an eyebrow raised in anticipation. 

Standing several metres away from them, likewise occupying the same space they had sparred in, Amalia planted her bare feet on the ground firmly, taking the earthy feeling in as she widened her stance just the tiniest bit. Taking a deep breath, she snapped her eyes shut and brought her hands to her chest, just below her chin, facing each other while three of her fingers touched their counterpart, and concentrated. 

It was a process she always found as easy as breathing, the real challenge being stretching her skills to their full potential. As such, the moment she found her centre, her energy convening at her core, the doll blinked her eyes open, her eyebrows creased in determination. Not wasting a single second, she separated her hands and brought them back together with a clasp, an orb of greenish energy materialising between her palms.

Her little audience’s eyes widened in shock when as soon as the light came, it disappeared, but she paid them no mind, her focus on the task at hand. Under Yugo and Adamaï’s awed expressions, Amalia bent her body forwards and lifted it back up, her arms high in the air, in quick succession. Immediately after, a large, thick vine erupted from underneath her, raising its summoner high above. 

The Emerald Twins leaned back in their makeshift seats, slightly disappointed. They both winced as discreetly as they could and shared a glance. They didn’t want to look down on Amalia’s efforts, but summoning plants was already second nature to her, so they didn’t understand why she’d want to show them that in particular. Surely, she’d learned many new tricks with Glip?

It wouldn’t be long until they’d finally understand why summoning her vines was so important to Amalia. 

They’d long learned Amalia, and they assumed by extension all Sadida, used their vines as means of transportation, or even as a makeshift harness. The doll had demonstrated as such many times. But never in a million years did they expect to witness just how agile they were on those things. Even if they couldn’t just jump from portal to portal like their people did, their technique was nothing to scoff at. 

There she was, blowing them away with her control over plants. What started out as her simply summoning a bramble soon evolved into a more complicated and elaborate acrobatic display—almost like a dance. 

They watched as the verdant serpent she was on twisted and curled on itself, the doll’s balance impeccable no matter how much the plant stretched and threatened to shake her off. To the untrained eye, it would all see effortless, but Yugo and Adamaï, the former especially, caught the subtle changes in her posture to better control her centre of gravity—she would bend her knees or shift her weight from one feet to the other with every twist and turn the vine took. But no matter what, Amalia stayed on top. 

Eventually, the bramble began its steep ascension, its stem arching the higher it went. While the pair of siblings expected that to be the end of Amalia’s demonstration—as no amount of shifting her posture could save her from gravity—the Sadida Doll surprised them yet again when, just as the vine reached its peak, finally throwing her off, she pointed one glowing hand at the ground as she summoned yet another bramble that allowed her to harmlessly roll off until she was back on ground level. 

Now that she had two ‘assistants’ at her disposal, the doll smirked. The real fun could finally begin. 

Yugo could only stare, speechless, as Amalia showed off her skills, taking his breath away in the process. Now that there were two different vines, the doll could stage a pretend battle. The original plant seemed to gain a mind of its own, for it kept moving on its own accord, trying to hit a moving target; Amalia. In turn, mounted on the newly-formed plant, she easily out-maneouvred her adversary, expertly dodging each hit directed at her. 

At one point, when both brambles were close enough, feeling lucky, she took a gamble that would have made an Ecaflip proud. She leapt from the vine she was currently standing on and, with an elegant twirl in mid-air, she landed right on top of the opposite plant. Incapable of helping herself, she quickly turned her head back to her gaping audience and winked coyly, the action sending a hurricane of butterflies fluttering in the king’s stomach.

“For someone who’d much rather keep her feet on the ground, she’s not half bad in the air.” Adamaï observed, his voice low as his draconic eyes followed her every movement. 

“Yeah…” Yugo breathed out, his brain turned into mush at the display. 

For her part, that little stunt seemed to have taken more out of Amalia than she cared to admit, so, panting slightly, she decided to call it a day. With a gesture of her hands, the vine she was on lowered her back to the training grounds, right before disappearing right alongside its counterpart. 

Her breath coming out in short puffs due to the physical exertion, the doll wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her neck. And promptly pulled a face. Urgh, she hated when she got all sweaty. It was just gross. 

She didn’t have much time to dwell on the inherent grossness of her bodily functions before she found herself being scooped up by two strong, caring arms she was pleased to admit she was growing quite familiar with. Her expression softened, colour blooming on her cheeks. 

“That—was—awesome!” Yugo laughed, twirling the doll around and eliciting a small shriek to leave her throat. Still grinning down at her like a maniac, he gently placed her feet back on the ground, although his arms never quite freed her waist. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

Amalia stared up at him, dazed, for a few more seconds, before his broad grin turned smaller and expectant and, with a start, she finally realised he was waiting for an answer. 

She lowered her brown gaze in a moment of self-consciousness, brushing her bangs away for the sole purpose of giving her fingers something to do that didn’t involve squeezing his biceps in appreciation. “To be honest, neither did I… At first.” She added, finally looking back at him with a little more confidence. 

“I take it Glip had a hand in helping you achieve your full potential?” Adamaï guessed, closing the distance between them with a mighty flap of his wings, before folding them back into his back. 

Amalia nodded. “Yeah. My vines have always been my go-to defence mechanism, but Glip told me a few weeks back that I should diversify my rooster lest I become too repetitive. Or, worse, predictable.”

“That sounds like Glip, yes. And it is actually good advice.” Yugo noted with a nod of approval. As an experienced warrior himself, there were few lessons that were more important than keeping your enemies on their toes with an unpredictable strategy. 

“Right. So while we’ve been working on expanding my repertoire, he also suggested I try to take the abilities I had already mastered to the next level. So, I’ve been working on moving alongside my vines and learning how to dodge with them.”

“Well, we’ll let our brother know you’re making great progress during the Council’s next meeting.” Adamaï promised, earning himself a giggle and a ‘Thank you’ from the doll. “Although, knowing Glip, he’ll probably tell us he already knows.” He winked down at her knowingly, causing the girl to giggle harder and admit he was probably right. 

While Adamaï and Amalia talked, with the dragon sharing some tips of his own, the mention of their next Council meeting soured Yugo’s good mood suddenly, his previous proud smile fading into a thin line. 

Lately, one of their most pressing matters to deal with during their meetings was finding ways of earning the Twelvians' acceptance. And to this day, it remained the one issue they made the least progress with. 

Ever since the banquet at Bonta, things had been moderately peaceful—except for that elusive spy whose loyalties remained a mystery. It was as if the nations had resolved to leave them alone now that Amalia was by their side and they seemingly had their gods’ blessing, yet they still refused to fully accept them. 

Yugo would be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping to hear more from Master Joris, or even the Sheran Sharms, the rulers of the Sadida Kingdom, but there had been no further attempt at communication from either. Their silence and lack of activity was beginning to become disheartening, if he was honest with himself. 

While they originally believed it to be better to let the Twelvians come to them lest they risked rattling them further, as of late, the king and his siblings had resolved that maybe direct action on their part would be the best course of action. If the Twelvians didn’t come to them, then they would come to the Twelvians. 

The only problem was that past experiences had taught them that may have an undesired effect. They couldn’t just present themselves in their respective kingdoms and demand their acceptance or even an audience with their leaders. They needed to find a way for their new neighbours to approach them, something that proved having the Eliatropes around would be beneficial to them. 

But what?

“Yugo? Are you okay?” A sweet, melodic voice broke him out of his thoughts.

With a start, he turned to Amalia, his heart squeezing in his chest when he found her staring up at him with a furrowed brow, concern for him apparent in her depthless browns. A quick glance his way proved even Adamaï was looking at him expectantly. 

“Yeah, everything is fine. Don’t worry.”

Judging from the way the confusion in her eyes gave way to annoyance, that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. 

“Yugo…” She said sternly. Then, something he couldn’t quite describe flickered behind her eyes, prompting her to close them as she took a deep breath. When she opened them up again, her expression was much more understanding, encouraging even. 

She took a step closer into his personal bubble and placed a deliciously warm hand against his chest. It’d be a miracle if she somehow missed the way his frenzied heart beat against her palm or how he gulped down nervously at her close proximity. All of a sudden, under her attentive gaze, for the first time since he could remember, his hood felt more oppressive than comforting. He had half the mind not to take it off. 

He pointedly chose to avoid looking Adamaï in the eye. Knowing him, he’d have an insufferable smirk on his face. 

“Yugo.” She repeated, this time gentler. “We promised we’d be more honest with each other from now on, remember?”

For a moment, Yugo contemplated doubling down on his insistence that everything was fine, not wanting Amalia to worry. However, her words and the memory of himself admitting he actually worried more when she wasn’t honest with him caused his throat to close up. 

How could he demand total honesty and transparency from Amalia if he wasn’t willing to do the same for her?

Even if she couldn’t help him with his problem, getting it out of his system certainly couldn’t hurt. 

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. When he looked back at her, a small smile drew itself on his lips. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. Sorry. Didn’t want to worry you.”

“It’s okay.” She assured him. “I know what it’s like.”

The two of them shared a smile before a not-so-subtle cough coming from his dragon twin reminded the Eliatrope to get on with his explanation. 

“Yeah, right. Well, you see.” He stammered, trying to find the words. “The thing is, the Council has been stuck for a while on how to foster more positive relationships with the Twelvians.”

“I thought the banquet at Bonta had been a success?”

“And it was! But, it’s also been our only success so far…” Yugo admitted sheepishly. He took the hand on his chest in his and led the doll back to sit on the stairs they had been using as bleachers, Adamaï following suit. “We kind of expected things to start looking up after that, but the other rulers haven’t exactly been reaching out to us ever since.”

“Oh.” Amalia said quietly, looking down at her lap in contemplation before her eyes flickered over to the Emerald Twins again. “And what do you have in mind to remedy that?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t really know what to do.” It was Adamaï who answered, his voice deep and monotonous. “Ideally, we could try gathering all leaders to Oma for a meeting similar to the one at Bonta, but even that poses a few logistical issues.”

The doll tilted her head in confusion. “Such as…?”

“Such as the fact that we have no way of contacting the other nations without risking our initiative being taken as an attack. Just as we don’t know what we can offer them, exactly, that will make them more receptive to our presence.” He revealed. He couldn’t help but sympathise with the way Amalia winced, he honestly felt like that too. 

“Okay, so it’s definitely been hard. And the Twelvians haven’t exactly been making this any easier…” She conceded with a wince. “B-but you guys have so much to offer!”

“Thanks, Amalia. But we’re still feeling a little stumped.” Yugo appreciated her efforts to remain positive and cheer them up, but, unfortunately, they didn’t really amount to much. 

The doll’s expression hardened, not in anger, but in conviction. “No, I mean it. It’s true I haven’t been able to see much of the world since I arrived, but from what little I did see, the Eliatropes are much more scientifically advanced than most races. 

“In fact, from what I gathered at Bonta, some races would be much more willing to welcome you if you shared what you know. Think about all of Chibi and Grougal’s inventions! If they agree to it, you could offer to implement them on the World of Twelve, hence improving the lives of countless people! Races like the Feca or the Sufokians, in particular, would be beyond interested in the technological advances you could offer them.”

“You got all this from the banquet at Bonta?” Yugo raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, impressed. 

She shrugged. “You’d be surprised by how much of my interactions with the Feca King and Prince Adale focused on them rambling on and on about their kingdoms’ latest innovations.”

“As promising as that idea sounds,” Adamaï cut in. He hated to be the voice of dissent, but he knew better than to let themselves get their hopes up for nothing. “There’s this one little problem.”

“Another?!” The doll was beginning to really hate that word. 

“Afraid so. You see, as I’m sure you remember from when you helped them create the Magnolias,” the dragon couldn’t help but smirk at the small blush that dusted her features because of his praise, “Chibi and Grougal are having trouble finding suitable replacements for the materials we used back home. Even if we promised to share our technology with the Twelvians, nothing guarantees we will be able to fulfill our end of the deal soon enough so they don’t grow suspicious.”

“Not to mention the sheer danger of revealing just how advanced we are compared to them.” Yugo pointed out, his brows brought together into a despondent frown. “Instead of seeing it as an opportunity to reach a mutually beneficial agreement, they could always come to consider us an even bigger threat.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” The doll let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping forward in defeat before her head came to rest on her palms. “And even if you did manage to summon them here, it’s very difficult to reach Oma Island.”

“Exactly. Especially without those recall potions Master Joris gave us.” Adamaï agreed. 

Unbeknownst to them, the three of them had come to adopt similar postures—sitting on top of the same row of steps, their bodies slumped forward as their heads rested on either one or both of their hands, a despondent look on their faces. 

“Which also happens to be very expensive. And seeing as we can’t exactly become part of their economic system without their approval for everything else, it’s not like we can afford to buy them either way.” Yugo reminded them, his voice resigned. 

“We could always try pleading our case during one of their council meetings?” Adamaï suggested, only to flinch under his brother’s unamused look. 

“After last time?” The king asked rhetorically. “No, thank you. I would like to avoid incurring their wrath to the point of being sent over a dozen warriors after my head yet again if possible.”

“It’s a pity there aren’t Zaap Portals all over the World of Twelve…” Amalia muttered wistfully. “That would make transportation so much easier and cheaper.”

Unbeknownst to the doll, while she let out a dejected sigh, Yugo and Adamaï perked up at her words, their eyes equally wide and their mouths hanging open as realisation struck them. How come they never thought of that before?

Before she even had time to register what was going on, Yugo grabbed her by the arms and turned her blinking face to his. He was beaming so widely that, besides making her heart skip a beat, he could have lit up the darkest night. 

“Amalia, you’re a genius!”

“Why, thank you. I know.” She smirked, tucking some hair behind her ear coyly. Her brow then scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

“You just gave us the perfect solution to our problem!”

“I-I did?!”

“Yeah!” Yugo laughed. He was starting to sound a little deranged, if she was being honest with herself. “You’re right! The World of Twelve would benefit from our Zaaps!”

“But I thought you said you couldn’t risk the Twelvians feeling threatened over how advanced you actually are?” 

“True, but this can be easily explained!” He insisted, his grin never faltering. 

“Oh, great…” The doll muttered, her smile strained. She turned to look at his dragon brother over his shoulder, hoping he would clear things up for her. “Ad…?”

Taking pity on the poor doll’s confused state and wincing internally at his twin’s overly intense excitement, Adamaï placed a hand on Yugo’s shoulder, quietly telling him to ease up. “Easy, Lil’ Bro. You’re scaring her.”

“Oh.” Yugo immediately deflated. He sent an apologetic look at Amalia. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” She said a little too quickly, splaying her hands in front of her. “It’s fine, really. I… Uh… I would just appreciate it if you could tell me why Zaap Portals are such a great idea. That’s all.”

“Right.” The Eliatrope nodded. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his own excitement down, before he began to explain. “The thing is, us introducing the Zaaps to the Twelvians doesn’t immediately out us as all that much more technologically advanced as them.”

“Oh?” The doll tilted her head, urging him to continue. 

“Because, that’s the thing—they’re portals! They already know that’s what we Eliatropes specialise in!”

“So, in their eyes, it wouldn’t be far-fetched that we applied our magic for more practical uses.” Adamaï pointed out. 

“Exactly.” Yugo agreed. “After all, isn’t that something incredibly common regardless of our race? You know, applying our natural abilities to make our daily lives easier?” His tone turned downright earnest as he took the doll’s hands in his and looked her straight in the eye. “Didn’t you say crafting magical dolls is a Sadida thing and not just something your family can do? This is the same! There’s no reason for them to suspect us for this.”

For a moment, Amalia just looked down at their clasped hands, the stitches in her head tightening. When they put it like that, it made perfect sense. It was clear the World of Twelve was lacking in safe and affordable means of transportation, the Zaaps would really be the perfect solution. He was also right to point out the natives of this world were constantly putting their natural abilities to more mundane uses. Prince Adale spent a good chunk of their conversation talking about how the Sufokians’ stasis manipulation allowed them to improve almost all aspects of their daily life—machinery, technology, architecture…

The fact that a race known specifically for being able to bend space to their will was capable of creating effective means of transportation should come as no surprise to anyone. 

“There’s also the fact that your Zaaps still have a few limitations…” She mumbled, mostly to herself, after a few minutes, remembering a previous conversation she had with Yugo. She looked up at the king with questioning, but hopeful, eyes. “Wouldn’t that also make things more believable?”

Her cheeks grew warm when he smiled down at her fondly, his brown gaze soft as he regarded her with so much affection it made her heart squeeze in her chest. 

“Absolutely.” He told her, his voice warm. “See, Amalia? We just found the perfect solution, and it was all thanks to you.” Her breath caught in her throat at his tenderness. “What would I ever do without you?”

His words sent a jolt down her spine. She wanted to tell him it was her who was thankful for having him in her life. He had no idea how much. She wanted to tell him how excited she felt to spend time with him, how safe she felt in his arms, how much she appreciated everything he did for her. She wanted to tell him just how happy he made her. 

Whatever this feeling was whenever she was around Yugo, it only grew stronger by the day, and he didn’t even know it. 

“I…” But before she had the chance to even try to find the words that were clamouring to be set free, a flash of light from the corner of her eye interrupted her. 

A gasp left her throat as she, Yugo, and Adamaï turned around to identify the interruption. The doll could only blink in confusion at the sight of the familiar purple cloak covering the entirety of the person’s form except for their eyes. 

An Eliatrope guard. 

“What is the meaning of this, soldier?” Yugo demanded, his voice turning authoritative as it only really did in times of crisis. Immediately, his head spun with possibilities. Were they under attack? Had the spy returned? Were they in danger? What about Amalia?

“Apologies for the interruption, my King.” The guard replied, bending down on one knee with his head bowed as a sign of respect. “But I come bearing urgent news.”

Adamaï frowned. “What is it?” 

The guard’s expression was resolute even behind his mask. 

“Bonta’s ambassador, Master Joris, has returned and requests an audience with the Council. He awaits in the throne room.”

The three of them exchanged shocked glances. Talk about timing…

.......................................................................................................................

Not wanting to keep their unexpected guest waiting, especially when they had actually been hoping to hear more from him since the last time they saw each other, with a hasty apology to Amalia, Yugo teleported the three of them into the throne room. 

Since the portal opened up right above the throne, Yugo let himself plop down on it. He waited with open arms for Amalia to come falling down as well, catching her with ease when she finally made it to the other side safely, before, with a smile that she returned, gently depositing her on the ground next to him. Adamaï, for his part, glided out of the portal and came to rest on the other side of him, tucking his wings away as soon as he made contact with the ground. 

By the time they arrived, Master Joris was standing in the middle of the spacious room, just like the first time they met, and the rest of the Council was already there, each of them waiting for their king in their respective positions. 

They all sent meaningful glances their brother’s way. Now that they were finally there, the meeting could begin. 

“Master Joris, it has been a while.” Yugo started out politely, yet his voice still carried authority. “I trust everything is well?”

“Greetings, King Yugo. Esteemed members of the Eliatrope Council.” The little man nodded his head in acknowledgment, his eyes flickering to the king’s side. “Lady Amalia.”

She returned his greeting. “Master Joris.” 

Beyond that, Amalia resolved to remain silent yet pay attention in case her input was needed. After all, even if the Bontarian had requested her presence as well, she was still just a guest, not a full-fledged member of the Council of Six. The last thing she wanted was to overstep her boundaries, no matter how much trust Yugo and his siblings placed on her. 

However, she couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering curiously. Even if the throne room wasn’t exactly new to her, she really hadn’t had much reason to enter since her arrival, as well as Master Joris’. Even as her eyes lit up in appraisal at the turquoise hue of the chamber, and she sent a knowing look the Ebony Twins’ way in response to the beauty of its architecture, what never failed to enrapture her was the throne. 

It wasn’t a mere seat. Not even a symbol of Yugo’s position and power. But a veritable work of art—a sculpture with practical purposes. Raised majestically behind Yugo were the pair of skillfully sculpted dragon wings that, not unlike their king, oversaw the space. 

Not for the first time, the doll didn’t miss the mysterious crevices that adorned the piece. Six in total, they were oval-shaped, each of them strategically located all over the throne wings. However, this time Amalia couldn’t help but squint at them, the stitches in her head tightening as she racked her brain, trying to understand why they were suddenly so familiar. 

And then, it hit her. 

They were the exact same shape and size as the Dofus Mina and Phaeris had wielded during the Sacred Dance Day ceremony!

“So that’s why I saw them carrying that chest out of the room that day,” she thought to herself, finally understanding. “They actually keep the Dofus hidden here.” 

Then again, why did they have Dofus at all? As far as she was concerned, the Eliatropes and their dragon siblings had nothing to do with Osamodas and his Primordial Dragons. So why did they possess them in the first place? And six in total? Judging from what little she did know about the topic, it was extremely weird to find more than one Dofus, let alone be entrusted by more than one dragon to become its guardian. And most Dofus, while powerful in their own right, didn’t hold a candle to the Primordial ones. Then why and how…?

She was startled out of her thoughts by the realisation that the conversation was still going on around her, and she had barely paid any attention despite her earlier resolve. Shaking her head and stowing those questions for later, the doll returned her full attention to the conversation at hand.

While Amalia had been pondering, unbeknownst to the other occupants of the room, the Bontarian went on, “My apologies for intruding upon your territory announced yet again, Your Majesty. Worry not, everything is well.”

“Then what is the meaning behind your visit, Little One?” Efrim questioned, his lips contorted into a snarl. 

As much as his people needed the natives’ approval, he couldn’t afford to lower his guard, especially not around someone who effortlessly managed to incapacitate their guards not that long ago. For all they knew, his mistresses could turn against them in the blink of an eye. 

“Efrim!” Nora hissed through gritted teeth, her pink eyes narrowing into a glare at her twin. Her features softened and became apologetic as she turned her focus back to their visitor. “I apologise on behalf of our brother, Master Joris. He is a firm proponent of being cautious.”

But the little man simply shook his head. “No apologies needed, Lady Nora. I understand Master Efrim’s concerns. That is why I came here, to assuage them.”

“And we thank you for your visit.” Qilby spoke up, adjusting his glasses. “Although, I think my siblings will be in agreement with me that we need a more practical method to know of your arrival before the fact. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The way he smirked down at him shot shivers down the Bontarian’s spine, but he made sure to hide his discomfort around the enigmatic Eliatrope. Joris made it a point to keep a close eye on Qilby during the banquet at Bonta, yet he was forced to admit he failed to really understand what made him tick. He couldn’t explain it. The bespectacled Eliatrope seemed perfectly cordial and cultured at first glance, but there was something about him that was quite… unsettling.

He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was. 

“I will suggest we form a better line of communication to the Queens of Bonta, Master Qilby.” He said curtly, his face not betraying a single emotion. “I regret to inform you, however, that I wasn’t sent here solely on their behalf.”

Joris’ careful scrutiny of the eldest Eliatrope was interrupted by Yugo’s warm yet commanding voice, his posture upon his throne exuding refinement and, dare he say, cautious excitement?

Huh, perhaps his visit wouldn’t be as unwanted as they had feared. 

“Then, pray tell,” the king began, polite as always. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

His dragon twin was much more blunt. “And if you’re not here just because Queens Astra and Selene sent you, who did you come here for?”

Joris raised an imperceptible eyebrow underneath his hood. Master Adamaï was as perceptive as always, it seemed. It was a good thing he wasn’t trying to hide anything. He honestly feared it would take the formidable Council of Six no time to see right through him even in spite of his many years in this line of work. 

“I see nothing gets past you, Master Adamaï.”

“You’re the one who implied there’s a third party involved, Master Joris.” He pointed out, impassive. “I am simply giving you a chance to come clean.”

The Emerald dragon could sense his twin’s warning glance stare a hole in the side of his head, cautioning to weigh his words for this was the chance they had been waiting for to really mark a difference in the World of Twelve. Accusing the Bontarian and earning his mistrust would only do more harm than good. 

Adamaï had to resist the urge to scoff. Out of the two of them, he wasn’t the impulsive, emotion-driven twin. Thank you very much. He was perfectly capable of treating the situation with the tact it required. 

Luckily for the dragon, this time Joris had no intention of playing coy and withholding information from them. 

“No need for that, Master Adamaï. I assure you, I fully intended to make my intentions clear from the very beginning.”

“Well, then, let us hear what you have to say.” Mina took a step forwards, directing attention to herself. She raised a hand in the Bontarian’s direction. “Master Joris, you have our full, undivided attention. As our King said, to what do we owe your visit?”

Although he did take a minute to send a grateful nod her way, his response was measured, yet straightforward. “I come on behalf of King Oakheart Sheran Sharm and Crown Prince Armand Sheran Sharm, from the Sadida Kingdom.”

That immediately got Amalia’s attention, who took a subconscious step closer towards the emissary, eager to hear what her father’s people wanted from the Eliatropes. And she wasn’t the only one who perked up at the mention of those names. Every single member of the Council of Six stood on alert at the news, exchanging uneasy glances and telepathic conversations as they wondered what this could be about. 

Yugo’s interest in particular was second only to Amalia’s, his body leaning forward until he was quite literally on the edge of the throne. He might be a near immortal demigod, but at this rate the anticipation would kill him!

“Well? And what do the Sheran Sharm want from us?” He urged. 

Every pair of eyes present in the room widened as they followed Master Joris’ own unsubtle line of sight—straight to a startled Amalia. 

Feeling all eyes on her, the Divine Doll raised a trembling hand and pointed at her chest. “M-me? They want me?”

Phaeris immediately got on the defensive, smoke coming out of his nostrils. “Phaeris hopes they remember Lady Amalia was specifically entrusted to our people by the twelve gods themselves. They have no right demanding we hand her over now like some sort of possession!” He snapped, a loud growl emanating from his throat.

Yugo was about to agree just as fiercely, his eyes beginning to turn into a vibrant shade of blue, when Master Joris scrambled to explain, shaking his head profusely with his gloved palms up in surrender. 

“Please, none of that, Your Excellencies! Quite the opposite, in fact!” When he sensed the hostile atmosphere returning to neutrality, the Council offering him one chance to explain himself, he went on. “King Sheran Sharm sees nothing wrong with Lady Amalia staying with you, Your Majesty, as I am sure you will remember from when you met him firsthand in Bonta.” 

It was true. Although they didn’t get to interact much, Yugo especially remembered how Sadida’s followers were amongst the most welcoming Twelvians back at the banquet, especially their king. A man as kind and wise as he was large. The Eliatrope distinctly remembered thinking King Oakheart was probably centuries younger than him, yet he had the feeling he could still learn a thing or two himself. 

Prince Armand, his son and heir, on the other hand, was considerably rough around the edges, although he too seemed to just be looking out for his kingdom, and he didn’t hesitate to defer to his father’s authority. 

Hearing from them after so long, especially given their unique connection to Amalia, tied a knot at the pit of his stomach. From anticipation or dread, he wasn’t sure. 

“That is true.” He said at last, noticing he accidentally allowed for his silence to stretch on too long. “Then, what does such an esteemed king require from us?” His eyes briefly flickered over to Amalia, but it was enough for the ambassador to understand the hidden meaning of his words. 

He allowed a small smile to grace his features to show he bore them no ill will. “The Sheran Sharms cordially invite you to their kingdom for a celebration in Lady Amalia’s honour. As I am sure you will understand, her existence is of great importance to them, and they wish for their people to meet their god’s youngest child.” He turned to the doll as he said this, his smile becoming more genuine under her astonished, yet moved, brown eyes. “Naturally, even though Her Grace will be the guest of honour, they also expect you, King Yugo, to go, alongside an entourage of your choosing.”

For a moment, words failed the king. Could it be? Could they really get so lucky so as to receive such a perfect opportunity to forge a potential alliance with a nation as highly regarded as the Sadida just as they’d found the perfect way to integrate themselves into their society?

Truth be told, Yugo didn’t actually know which position the Sadida Kingdom held within the World of Twelve. However, judging from what Amalia told them about her father’s people, their ample resources by virtue of being connected to nature itself, and everything they’d already witnessed the Sadida Doll was capable of, it stood to reason that they were truly powerful allies to have. 

Forgoing all protocol for a moment, he shot Amalia a delighted smile that she returned with an adorable, fanged grin of her own. One that soon softened as the love and appreciation he felt for her threatened to overwhelm his poor heart. This really was all thanks to her. 

Adamaï discreetly clearing his throat saved him from accidentally getting lost in her bark-like eyes and his lovesick daydreams. 

Straightening himself up, the Eliatrope King cleared his own throat behind a closed fist, willing the blush heating up his cheeks to stand down. “Yes, um, thank you, Master Joris. Please, do express our gratitude to King Sheran Sharm.”

“Should I also tell him you accept his invitation?”

It was Chibi who cut in, his voice and stance almost uncharacteristically professional as he tackled the issue at hand. “With all due respect, if it’s not much trouble, I think I speak for the Council of Six when I say it might be better if you return in a week’s time, Master Joris. As I am sure you will understand, we have much to deliberate before we can give you a definite answer.”

“Of course, I understand.” He nodded. Then, he turned back to Yugo. “I shall let the Sheran Sharms know of your decision, King Yugo. As Master Chibi suggested, I will return in seven days to hear your final decision on the matter.”

“Thank you for understanding, Master Joris.” 

“No, thank you, Your Majesty.” 

And with that, he fished a recall potion out of his cloak pocket, gulped the whole bottle in one go, and, in a flash of light, the little man was gone. 

.....................................................................................................................

Needless to say, the moment Master Joris left them alone, the members of the Council found themselves with much to deliberate on. 

After a hasty explanation and goodbye to Amalia, who returned to her chambers to rest as soon as the initial bewilderment wore out, Yugo and his siblings wasted no time making their way over to the Council Room. No sooner was everyone at their prospective seats, the impromptu meeting began. 

“This is wonderful news!” Mina cheered, her hands clasped before her face as her dark eyes darted across her siblings, seeking their shared excitement. “After so long, we have finally been granted another chance to forge a strong alliance with a Twelvian nation. Oh, we absolutely must accept their invitation.”

Yugo couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t every day their level-headed, diplomatic, and composed sister showed her emotions so openly. He always knew she and Phaeris were the most vocal in their support of a peaceful coexistence between their people and the natives of this world, but for her to react like that… It was only yet another testament of how much this invitation could mean for them.

“Not so fast, Mina dear.” Qilby interjected, raising a finger. “Just because the Sheran Sharms have made the first move, that doesn’t mean they’ve shown us all their cards yet.”

“‘Shown us all their cards’?” Nora parroted with a brow arched, incredulous. She huffed. “You sound like an Ecaflip.”

Qilby just shrugged. “It is a rather fitting metaphor.”

Their incoming bickering session was cut short by Glip slamming his staff hard against the floor to gain their attention.

“I concur with Qilby. This could very well be a trap.”

Glip couldn’t help but flinch in shame under the betrayed look their king shot him, but he had to stand by what he said. While he hoped their race could live peacefully in this world and he had long accepted Amalia into their lives, that didn’t mean he had to trust her people. For all they knew, this was all part of a carefully calculated plot. 

“What?!” Chibi sputtered, with Grougaloragran nodding by his side, showing his support of his twin. “Are you even hearing yourselves? Brothers, Sisters, we have just received an invitation from a native nation. We are one step closer to being able to call this world our new home at last! This alone calls for a celebration, yet you choose to focus your efforts into mistrusting our potential hosts instead?”

“Not to mention, the fact that said hosts happen to be Amalia’s people does not allow for us to freely decline either way.” Grougaloragran pointed out. 

“I was under the impression that this was an invitation, not a threat?” Efrim wondered aloud. Despite his sarcastic tone, for once, he was being genuine. 

Opportunity or not, they could always decline to go! Eliatrope knew the Twelvians had been declining most, if not all, of their attempts at forging political and diplomatic ties countless times since they arrived… Surely, they couldn’t expect them to just take everything they threw at them and roll over like some well-trained Bow Wow. 

“It is an invitation, but it would also be extremely disrespectful of us to refuse them.” Baltazar reasoned. Seeing his youngest brother’s disbelieving sapphire orbs staring back at him, he let out a patient sigh. “Lady Amalia is their patron god’s daughter. Her mere existence is of great importance to them. Refusing them the chance to meet such an important cultural figure would essentially be like spitting on their beliefs.”

“Think of it this way,” Shinonomé chimed in, her golden eyes picking up on Efrim’s lack of conviction. “If one of us were being housed by the Sadida, our people would also like to see us, therefore, how would we take it if they were to refuse our pleas?”

“As a deep insult to our race; a direct attack against us and our goddess.” Efrim heaved a heavy sigh, understanding their point despite himself. 

The dragoness smirked. “Precisely.”

“We cannot forget Amalia’s connection to the Sadida is also deeply beneficial to us.” Adamaï pointed out, finally addressing the non-Eliatrope dragon in the room. “Her connection to us should help us establish political ties with the Sadida, which at the same time could very well be the first step into being accepted by the rest of the nations.”

“But what if it is not?” Phaeris ventured, surprising everyone in the room, even his twin sister. It was safe to say they had all been expecting the Ochre Twins to be of the same mind on this issue, as they were wont to do. 

In a way, even if it was in his nature, it was extremely jarring to see him remain rooted to realism and reasonable doubt when Mina was so enthused by the idea. Her stricken face was proof enough that not even she had seen it coming. 

However, as much as Yugo hated to admit it, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach at the mere implication, Phaeris’ reaction wasn’t completely out of the blue. Unlike how he’d usually conduct himself, when Master Joris first brought the topic up, he didn’t wait until the Bontarian was finished saying his piece. He got straight to the point and demanded to know if King Oakheart and Prince Armand planned to take Amalia back and away from them. 

A point he didn’t hesitate to reiterate. 

“What if the Sheran Sharms are luring us into a fake sense of security and all they want is to whisk our ticket to acceptance away?” He questioned aloud. “What if this is all a trap to snatch Lady Amalia from us while they have the home field advantage? Phaeris can’t help but fear they might use the chance to distort everything by making it look like we attacked their kingdom and they were simply defending themselves, giving the other rulers yet another reason to distrust us—!”

His anguished spiels were cut short by his sister’s comforting hand on his claw. Her dark eyes big and tender as she pleaded for her brother to calm down and come back to her. There was no need to anguish over the ‘what ifs’ that had yet to pass. It was imperative they focused on the present. 

The cyan dragon sat back down, his breathing laboured. “Phaeris apologises. He let his worries get the best of him.”

“No need.” Efrim dismissed it with a wave of his claw, leaning back in his chair with his tail thumping rhythmically against the floor. “All you did was speak the truth. To quote Qilby and his Ecafliphile ways, it is too high a gamble to just trust these people blindly.”

“That could not be any more different from what I said.” Qilby grumbled, his nose scrunched up in distaste. Given his astounding memory, he did not appreciate it when people twisted his words and presented them as fact. It was an insult to his divine gift. His scowl deepened. “And I am not an Ecafliphile!”

But his complaints went ignored. 

“It is not too high a gamble because there is no gamble at all.” Mina countered resolutely, her eyes narrowed on her little brother in annoyance. 

“How can you be so sure?” Nora asked. She was still a little miffed at her twin for his flippant attitude towards the entire meeting, but she didn’t say anything because she was hoping to smooth things out with him soon enough. However, that didn’t stop her from secretly enlisting their siblings' help to make him see reason. 

At that, the cyan-clad Eliatrope smirked. “Because if we were truly in danger, Chibi would have had a vision of it.”

In an instant, all eyes were on the prophet, who couldn’t help but flinch under such intense scrutiny. “Truth be told, it depends…” He sputtered, fidgeting with his cloak. Sometimes he really hated his divine gift and the difficult positions it put him in. “It’s not an exact science nor do I get a significant tingle whenever danger is lurking around the corner, but…” He shrugged, humming. “Yes, I suppose if something important truly were to happen at the Sadida Kingdom, I would have had a vision about it, which I didn’t.”

As their siblings began to murmur amongst themselves, discussing the potential dangers and benefits behind paying the Sadida Kingdom a visit, Yugo exchanged a meaningful glance with Adamaï. No words were needed, not even telepathic. That very same day they had stumbled upon a possible solution to their problems and they weren’t going to let it get away. Nor were they going to keep it from the rest of the Council. 

Yugo’s voice, composed yet authoritarian, cut through the rest of the Council’s conversation like a knife, demanding respect and that they focused their attention back to him from where he was, overseeing it all.

“If I may be so bold, I believe this is the perfect chance to reveal we have finally reached a possible solution to our problem with the Twelvians.”

“Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?” Glip snarked, earning himself a stern nudge from Baltazar.

But Yugo just chuckled in good humour. “Of course. You’re right, I should have been more precise.” What he said next was no laughing matter. “Ad and I think we have finally found the perfect way to prove our worth to the natives and earn ourselves a place in their world.”

“What do you have in mind?” Shinonomé gasped, sharing a concerned yet discreet look with her twin. 

Yugo looked as assured as ever as he leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table as he clasped his hands. “We’ll play to our strengths.”

“That’s not really an answer…” Glip pointed out again, frowning.

“All in due time.” Adamaï pacified him. “What matters now is deciding whether to accept the Sheran Sharms’ invitation or not.” He raised a claw up in the air, which was immediately followed by Yugo raising his own arm. “Those in agreement to accept, raise your hands.”

Besides the Emerald Twins, Mina, Chibi, and Grougaloragran also raised their hands, followed by Baltazar and, after a dubious look at her twin, Nora. Even though it seemed the choice had already been made, the white-and-blue dragon urged those in disagreement to vote. As expected, Efrim, Glip, Phaeris, and Qilby and Shinonomé raised their hands against going to the Sadida Kingdom. However, with seven of them for and the remaining five against it, it was clear what their next course of action would be. 

“It’s settled then! In a week’s time, we will inform Master Joris that the Sadida should expect us.” Announced Yugo, clasping his hands with an air of finality. 

Slouched in defeat in his seat, with his wings covering his body like a cloak, a brooding Phaeris let out a deep sigh. 

“Phaeris just hopes we will not come to regret this.” He muttered in a voice so low, one would need to have an Ouginak’s sense of hearing to pick up on what he said. Or, at least, know him very well. 

His sister squeezing his claw in reassurance brought the dragon back to reality. He turned to look at Mina questioningly, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. In turn, her eyes were full of empathy and comfort.

“I am sure there is nothing to worry about.” She told him softly, patting his claw affectionately. Her expression dimmed just the tiniest bit as she considered the most unfortunate possibilities. But she shook those thoughts away right after, the determined flicker he knew so well back in her alabaster eyes. “Phaeris, I understand your concerns. Better than anyone.”

“Phaeris has never doubted Mina’s ability to understand him—.” But she just interrupted him with a raised palm. 

“I know. That’s not the point. The point is, Sadida himself entrusted Lady Amalia to us; that was his divine will. I highly doubt the Sadida will be impious enough to go against their god’s decision and essentially kidnap his daughter.

“Likewise, Lady Amalia has been living by our side for months, and it is clear to see she has grown quite fond of us—some more than others…” She sang knowingly, pointing subtly towards their king. Even if they didn’t share a psychic bond, Phaeris would have understood the double meaning behind her words. “It is extremely unlikely she would simply go along with an attempt at separating her from us. You can rest assured, Brother. Everything will be fine.”

The cyan dragon exhaled slowly through his nose, but he sent his sister a small smile nonetheless. “May Eliatrope hear you, Sister.”

Their heads snapped back to the sound of their king’s voice reverberating around the room. At some point, he stood up from his seat and was currently sweeping over his siblings with his eyes, his hands on his hips during his appraisal. 

“Very well, in that case, all that remains is choosing who will accompany Amalia to the Sadida Kingdom.” He brought a hand to his chest to point at himself. “As King of the Eliatropes and the one Amalia’s closest to, naturally, I will be going.”

“Naturally…” Nora rolled her eyes good-naturedly, an amused smirk on her face. She let out a yelp and almost fell off her chair when her big brother entered one hand through one of his portals with the sole purpose of flicking her on the forehead from the other end. 

“Jerk…” She grumbled, glaring daggers at Yugo. 

But her brother just went on as if nothing had happened. “Anybody else wishes to join us?”

Adamaï let out an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. “Well, if you’re going, then I suppose I’m coming with you.” He smirked, an excited glint in his eyes. “Somebody has to watch over you to make sure you don’t mess up, right?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Yugo deadpanned, but he was smiling. 

Despite his previous objections, Qilby raised a finger. Deep down, Yugo didn’t even know why he was surprised. The eldest Eliatrope always found flaws in everything, yet he was also very quick to invite himself to any and all kinds of events that would allow him to explore and entertain his mind for a while. 

“If it’s not much trouble,” he started purposefully, his hazel eyes narrowing behind his glasses at the way the king was looking at him. “I would very much like to go. This is the perfect chance to explore Sadida culture up close. As accommodating as Lady Amalia is, nothing can compare to really immersing yourself in a culture to truly understand it. That is also why getting to meet the Sheran Sharms in Bonta wasn’t enough, either.”

“Very well, Qilby. Thanks for your help.” Yugo said, trying very hard to suppress an exasperated sigh. At the same time, Adamaï addressed the eldest dragoness. “What about you, Shinonomé? Would you like to come as well?”

But the ruby-scaled woman just shook her head politely. “As much as I would love to learn more about Sadida’s worshippers, I’m afraid I must decline. Given Qilby’s inquisitive nature, somebody must remain behind and look after the clinic in case medical attention is needed while you’re away.”

“Of course. Thank you, Shinonomé. Hopefully, you will be able to accompany us soon.”

“Yes, soon.”

The king directed his focus to the Ebony Twins. They were raising their hands, clearly volunteering themselves, but, much to his chagrin, Yugo had no choice but to shoot them down. “Chibi, Grougal? I’m sorry, but we’re going to need you to stay behind.”

“What?! Why?” Chibi sputtered, shocked. 

“Grougaloragran and Chibi should get to decide whether they go to the Sadida Kingdom or not.” The black dragon added, more than a little petulantly, as he crossed his arms and huffed out a puff of smoke from his nostrils. 

“I know, and I am sorry for removing your autonomy on the matter. But we need you here.”

“Why?” Chibi raised an eyebrow, sceptical. 

“Because we need you to help us test and develop Amalia’s idea for earning the Twelvians’ acceptance.” Adamaï answered. “If all goes well, we could pitch our plan to King Oakheart and get his help in organising a meeting with the other royals. But we need you to tell us if it would be feasible first.”

The Ebony Twins took a moment to consider his words. After a beat, they exchanged purposeful nods and gave their consent to staying behind and working on verifying the applicability of Lady Amalia’s idea. 

Yugo let out a relieved sigh at their begrudging consent. He really owed them one for their sacrifice. 

“Very well, who’s next?”

Not surprisingly, Baltazar, Glip, and Mina chose to remain behind, wisely pointing out that with possibly half of the Council away, the other half should stay to oversee state affairs. Nobody could find fault in their reasoning, so they simply thanked them for their dedication and for covering for their parting siblings. 

However, what nobody was counting on was Phaeris volunteering himself after so adamantly refusing to go in the first place. 

“Phaeris, are you sure?” Adamaï asked, unsure himself. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he awaited for an answer. “We understand if you would rather not come…”

“Phaeris would feel more uneasy if he didn’t accompany his siblings, Adamaï.” He answered gravely, his bright eyes piercing his brother’s with their conviction. “After all, two dragons are better than one, and you will need all the help you can get.”

“Thank you, Phaeris.” The king nodded gratefully, smiling kindly at the cyan dragon in an attempt at imbuing him with the confidence he felt. “But you don’t have to worry. As Mina said, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Won’t hurt to be prepared…” Efrim muttered through his teeth. He shot a glare at his twin sister when she nudged his side in disapproval. 

Nora herself jolted in her seat when her older brother addressed her. 

“What about you, Nora? Would you be interested in joining us?”

A huge grin split her face in two. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t be planning on joining you from the very beginning.” She huffed a chuckle through her nose. “Eliatrope knows somebody has got to keep an eye on you boys. I could never risk Amalia suffering from testosterone poisoning.”

While his brother shot her scathing looks, unamused by her comment, Shinonomé, never to turn down an opportunity to tease her little sister, couldn't help but poke fun at her. 

“Do tell, Nora. Your willingness to go to the Sadida Kingdom wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that this is the perfect chance to see how Sadida women look. Now would it?”

Nora had the decency to grimace, blushing. All around her, the members of the Council snickered. It wasn’t every day the youngest Eliatrope got this flustered. “It’s not my fault the king’s entourage was formed exclusively by men…” She grumbled, pouting. 

Before Yugo had the chance to make a joke of his own, his laughter was cut short by the most unexpected sight. Even more so than Phaeris volunteering himself. Because, leaning back against his seat beside his wide-eyed twin with an almost bored expression on his face, Efrim was raising his claw. 

The tense silence that soon fell over the Council Room made it clear that the rest of its occupants had taken notice too. 

“Is there anything you would like to share, Efrim?” He had to make sure. 

The way his sapphire eyes blinked seemed almost offended. “Uh, yes. I believe this is the part where I sign up to go to the Sadida Kingdom?” He offered sarcastically. He then made a show of shaking his arm. “I was under the impression that it was done by raising your hand?”

While the Eliatrope King’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened like saucers, actions that his own dragon twin wasted no time mimicking, an astonished Chibi managed to perfectly encapsulate what Yugo and Adamaï couldn’t express due to their gawking. 

“You want to go to the Sadida Kingdom?!” He all but screeched in disbelief. “You are aware there are Twelvians there, right?” Even with his teasing tone, it was plain to see the prophet was only half-joking. And the utter surprise in his voice didn’t help matters either. 

His concerns were met with a scowl. “Thanks for the heads-up.” The periwinkle dragon grumbled, annoyed. 

Baltazar, well aware of his younger brother’s animosity towards Amalia, furrowed his brow and exchanged a nervous glance with Glip. One thing was Efrim being rude and dismissive of the Sadida Doll on Oma Island, and even that bordered on inexcusable, but to risk his disdain for her show in the Sadida Kingdom, where she was revered as their god’s daughter and a symbol of prosperity by his worshippers…

Things could go downhill in the blink of an eye. They could not risk letting the opportunity they had been granted go to waste by being reckless. 

“Efrim, are you sure?” The beige dragon started as diplomatically as possible, his raspy voice gentle and unaccusing. “We all know of the ups and downs of your relationship with Lady Amalia.” His blue eyes narrowed in intrigue when Nora flinched at his brother’s side, her brows pinched together in worry, but the young dragon in question didn’t seem too bothered so he let it slide. For now. “But we mustn’t forget we will be the ones in an unfamiliar land. A territory where she is worshipped like a goddess. Baltazar is sure Efrim does not wish to jeopardise this opportunity…”

“Please, Baltazar, spare me the sermon.” The young dragon cut him off, his voice harsh. 

He hated feeling like this. Like he was some unstable brute who knew nothing of tact and finesse and needed to be watched over in case he messed up. He hated having his siblings’ unsure eyes on him, silently wondering if they weren’t about to make some grave mistake. And he especially hated feeling Nora pulling further and further away from him, the distance between them growing bigger by the day. The trepidation he felt at the mere idea of his own twin sister turning her back on him licked away at his heart like frozen fire, making his insides churn in apprehension. 

And to think this was all because of that doll…

But he couldn’t give his siblings further reasons to deny his request. He had to remind them that he could be trusted. Because if you couldn’t trust your own family, who else could you trust?

“I assure you, I have no intention of doing anything to jeopardise our people’s chances of being accepted into this world.” The blue of his eyes was downright icy when they settled on Yugo. “I trust you are not doubting my loyalty and devotion to our nation?”

The king’s brown eyes hooded over in concern, the question hurting him more than he cared to admit. Of course he trusted his little brother! He was… He was his little brother. They had all been through too much together not to; but the truth of the matter was that Efrim had changed after the war. He was all that much confrontational and quick to expect the worst of anyone who wasn’t an Eliatrope. His treatment of Amalia was a prime example of that.

Likewise, said treatment had the unfortunate side effect of sending Amalia on edge whenever the youngest dragon was near her. Sadida might not possess their wakfu vision, but you would have to be blind not to see the way the Divine Doll tensed up in Efrim’s presence. If she showed signs of discomfort towards him in the presence of her father’s people… There were a lot of things on the line and a lot of things that could go wrong. 

And yet…

“Very well, Efrim.” He said at last, drawing every pair of wide eyes towards him. Even Efrim seemed to be taken aback by his decision. “You are right. You would never do anything to harm our people. You may come if you so wish.” Just then, his tone turned serious and stern, his otherwise warm brown eyes, cold and unforgiving as he took on a stance befitting of his position as monarch. “However, I do ask that you are in your best behaviour around Amalia and her people. Can I trust you will not make a mockery of the trust I have decided to place on you?”

For a moment, Efrim wanted to protest the unfair treatment he was under. He was sure Yugo would never ask his precious flower to behave in his presence. It took every ounce of self-restraint he possessed not to scoff spitefully; instead, he let out a heavy sigh, understanding despite himself that their people did indeed need this alliance, and he couldn’t risk endangering it. 

His own cobalt eyes pierced Yugo’s brown ones. “You can count on me, my King.”

With a final nod from their leader, the meeting was adjourned. In a week’s time, they would inform Master Joris, and subsequently the Sheran Sharms and their subjects, of their decision. 

As the Council members filed out of the room, with Efrim slithering out of the door, those who would accompany Amalia to the Sadida Kingdom discreetly agreed to keep an eye on their brother, just in case. 

.......................................................................................................................

Soon after the meeting let out, Yugo made a beeline for Amalia’s room, eager to tell her the good news. The way her eyes sparkled in delight and a dazzling grin stretched over her lips sent his poor heart into a frenzy, his mind scrambling to imprint the sight onto his brain. And even that couldn’t compete with the feeling of the doll’s petite yet stunning form moulding perfectly against his when she threw herself at him in elation. There was something deeply cathartic in holding Amalia in his arms. 

Despite his accelerated heartbeat, her warmth meshing into his, the sweet scent of her intoxicating his senses, and her silky, emerald strands tickling his nose all allowed him to enter a most blissful state. A state where everything was right in the world and he could relax. Amalia’s proximity was like a balm, soothing his wounds.

His heart ached when he was forced to let go and tend to his duties for the day. 

As promised, within the week Master Joris presented himself back inside the throne room. In spite of his stoic demeanour, there were enough small, almost imperceptible changes—like the way his face would twitch, almost as if fighting back a smile—that betrayed his true feelings. He was just as relieved that the Council had accepted the invitation as they were of receiving it. 

A pleased smile drew itself onto Yugo and Adamaï’s faces at his reaction. Turns out, Bonta’s beloved hero wasn’t made out of stone, after all. 

Right as the Bontarian assured them he would share the news with the Sheran Sharms, before taking his leave he made it a point to let them know that, despite his station, King Oakheart wasn’t an avid follower of frivolities or a strict adherence to protocol. Therefore, while they were free to do as they pleased, they were in no obligation to go out of their way and sport their most extravagant garments for the occasion. The king just hoped for a pleasant evening where everyone would be comfortable in each other’s presence. 

Besides, most Sadida had never seen an Eliatrope in their life. They wouldn’t be able to tell their formal clothing from their informal garments anyway. 

And so, after much deliberating and pouting from a disappointed Nora, it was agreed that they would not commission new clothing for the occasion. While their little sister hadn’t taken the news well, she eventually let the matter go when Mina pointed out the true guest of honour would be Amalia. If anyone deserved to shine amongst the Sadida, that was his eleventh Divine Doll. 

When the king informed her of their decision, however, much to his surprise, the doll had politely declined their offer to call forth Mr. Needlesworth to start working on a new outfit for her. When asked about it, all she said was:

“Not that I doubt Mr. Needlesworth’s expert hands, but I have something else in mind.”

It wouldn’t be until the actual day of their trip to the Sadida Kingdom that Yugo would understand what she meant by that. 

It was exactly a week after they informed Master Joris of their decision. In the following days, once the Sadida royal family had received the news of their upcoming visit, following Qilby’s pointed suggestion, the Bontarian handed them the method through which Twelvians communicated with each other—a Tofu bird capable of flying great distances and transmitting a spoken message. 

Even Chibi and Grougal had been impressed by its simple ingenuity. Even so, they maintained the Magnolias were a much better alternative, as Tofu messaging only allowed for one-on-one conversations and it still took the poor bird too long to relay the message. 

Nevertheless, it was thanks to that piece of Twelvian innovation that they settled on a date for their visit and they let the small man know which members of the Council of Six would accompany Amalia that day. With the arrival of a set of recall potions shortly after, they were all ready to go. 

When the day finally came, the members of the Council were gathered in front of the large balcony overseeing their people. Right before leaving, much like last time, they would give a speech in commemoration of the great milestone they were about to reach before bidding their subjects goodbye. All they needed was for the guest of honour to make her grand entrance. 

“Don’t worry, Yugo. We promise to use this time wisely to properly test out the portals.” Chibi assured his brother, his dragon twin nodding by his side. It was funny, in a way, he and Grougal were about to spend Eliatrope knows how long locked away in their workshop, and yet he looked much more regal than his brother and king did at the moment in his usual cloak and battlesuit combo. 

There was a reason why he always went with gold-plated upper armour. It never went out of style. 

Yugo placed a hand on the shoulders of both of them, his smile belying just how much trust he had for his genius siblings. 

“Thank you, guys. I know you will not let me down.”

The moment was interrupted by Qilby’s amused voice, his words announcing the arrival they had all been waiting for. 

“My, if this isn’t a trip down memory lane!”

Followed by Amalia’s soft giggling. “Thank you, Qilby. I thought it was only fitting.”

His brow furrowed in confusion at the conversation, Yugo peeked over Chibi and Grougal’s forms as they were unintentionally obstructing his view of Amalia. The moment he saw her, he understood completely—and his mouth went a little dry. 

Talking to Qilby stood Amalia, decked out in a very familiar outfit. A very familiar outfit he hadn’t seen in months, since she first arrived at Oma Island, to be precise. 

“Amalia.” She perked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes left Qilby as she turned to the origin of the voice, a small smile immediately plastering itself on her face at the sight of an approaching Yugo. “I’m guessing this is what you meant when you said you had something else in mind?”

She nodded with a laugh, opening her arms wide to gesture down at herself and her outfit. It had been so long, the Eliatrope had almost forgotten about the dress made out of autumn-like leaves that exposed delicious patches of her skin—her upper and lower back, her long, toned legs, her profile… Or the way her wild mane was delicately pulled up by that horned headband of hers, her ponytail standing tall and proud like a tree’s leaves in spring while delicate strands of emerald hair perfectly framed her face and draped down around her nape. As per usual with Amalia, who apparently couldn’t go a day without accessorising, she completed the look with matching green wristbands and anklets. 

“I know King Oakheart insisted we didn’t need to dress up for the occasion, but these are my father’s people. I want to present myself as the Divine Doll that I am, and that means appearing as my father created me.” The doll explained, her brown eyes steely with resolve even as her voice held an unmistakable warmth. 

For a moment, Yugo could only stare at her, taken aback, before his expression softened. He saw himself and his siblings reflected in her, in her devotion to her people just as they were devoted to theirs, even if her interactions with Sadida’s worshippers had been fairly limited.

A small gasp escaped her and her eyes flicked up and down when Yugo delicately took her hands in his, without so much as a warning, and leaned down so they were face to face.

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate everything you are doing for them.” He smiled. 

She smiled right back. “That’s all I ask.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Nora’s teasing voice broke the spell, sending fire to their cheeks and causing them to turn back to her. “As much as I hate to interrupt this touching moment, everyone is waiting.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder to make her point. Suddenly, the impatient murmurs coming from below the palace became much louder.

The king’s face was scrunched up in annoyance at his sister’s dedication to embarrassing him for a second. Taking one deep breath as he willed himself to let it go—though not without swearing to get back at her later—, he nodded at his siblings, signalling it was time to get this show on the road. 

“Let’s go.”

They all nodded back at him and started filing out of the corridor leading to the balcony and onto the veranda. 

Amalia stayed behind for a moment, her own face scrunched up in confusion as she racked her brain to understand why Nora would call her and Yugo ‘lovebirds’. But those thoughts were banished from her mind when the Eliatrope in question bowed slightly and gestured for her to do the honours and lead the way. 

“Are you ready?”

“Huh?” The doll blinked. Her eyes followed the direction his hands were pointing at until they reached the large balustrade keeping people from falling off the balcony in front of her and the backs of the already congregating members of the Council. The brightness coming from the outside world was a nice contrast to the faint light inside the palace walls. “Oh! Yes! Yes, of course.”

Without another word, the departing members of the Council of Six and the Sadida Doll emerged from within the shadows and stepped into the midday sun, coming into view of their loyal Eliatrope people, who watched with starry eyes. Even so, they would not have needed to say a word, for their subjects didn’t waste any time filling the silence with cheers at the sight of them. 

As expected of his position as king, Yugo stepped forward and in front of his siblings and the doll, drawing all eyes to him, and addressed his subjects first, “My people! Today we have been granted with an opportunity we would be foolish to decline. As I am sure you all already know, recently, we received yet another visit from Master Joris, Bonta’s ambassador. 

“However, much to our surprise, this time he wasn’t acting exclusively on behalf of his nation. He came with a message from King Oakheart Sheran Sharm,” his eyes flickered meaningfully over to Amalia, “ruler of the Sadida Kingdom.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a chorus of gasps could be heard from down below. Just like their leader before them, in an instant, countless hopeful gazes flicked over to the Divine Doll. She seemed to shine like a beacon of hope; she was the key to their acceptance into this world.

Meanwhile, Yugo continued. “The royal family wished to invite Amalia to their territory as their guest of honour, so their people could meet their god’s child. And, naturally, as her hosts, we were invited as well.”

Then, it was Adamaï who took a step forward, coming to stand right beside his twin. “Of course, after some deliberation, we agreed; the advantages of such an arrangement far surpassing its risks. And here we are today, presenting ourselves before you right as we are about to set out on yet another diplomatic mission for the sake of our future.”

“Much like we did before we left for Bonta, we sincerely ask of you that you pray for our safe return.” Efrim spoke up next. While his cautionary words raised some eyebrows, most of the people in attendance were far too engrossed in their own euphoria to notice. They simply cheered louder. 

Next to him, Nora frowned, determined to make up for her twin’s poor wording. “And do wish us good luck, so today’s visit will be a success and the first of many more meetings between allies!”

Amidst their people’s congratulatory echoes and thunderous applause, all of which brought a warm smile to Amalia’s face, touched by the love and trust the Eliatropes felt for their leaders, she registered movement from the corner of her eyes. She looked up in surprise to find Yugo, his head slightly bent down so it would be easier to meet her gaze. 

“Would you like to say some words?”

She started at his suggestion. “Wait, what? You want me to give a speech?” If possible, her bewilderment only grew when he simply nodded. “But these are your people! Won’t they prefer to hear what you have to say?”

The king just shrugged, his cloak bobbing up and down with his movements. “We’re going to be visiting your people. If anything, whatever you have to say will probably be more important than our little speech.”

The doll considered it. Normally, the last thing she would want would be to overstep her boundaries and undermine the Council’s authority in their own territory. But Yugo was right. As a Sadida Doll, her input was crucial when it came to her divine father’s followers. And the Eliatropes were beyond eager to finally establish peaceful relations with the Twelvians, so they would be keen on listening to what she had to say. Especially if it promised that, by  the end of the day, the inhabitants of Oma Island would be able to call the Sadida their allies. 

At last, she made up her mind, sending a resolute nod Yugo’s way before advancing across the platform until she was under the proverbial spotlight. 

Truth be told, it was more than a little daunting to be addressing the Eliatropes like this, especially when she could feel their bright, brown eyes, hungry for answers, piercing through her skin. Just like she couldn’t ignore the Council staring intently at her back, intrigued by what she might say—although, knowing Efrim, he was probably glaring at her. Even so, despite her slight apprehension and the slight tremor of her hands, she took a deep breath and willed her frantic heartbeat to slow down, and her voice to remain unwavering as she uttered each and every word with an ease and conviction that shocked even her. 

“My dear Eliatrope people,” she began, her voice loud and clear like a waterfall. “There are no words to express just how grateful I am for your generosity and hospitality these past few months. Even with my divine nature, I doubt if I will ever be able to repay you for everything you have done for me.

“However, I was sent here for a reason—to bridge the gap between you and the natives of this world. And what better way to do that than ensuring you and the Sadida, the Tree People of the World of Twelve, are united by more than my presence?”

As she spoke, her expression turned solemn. For a moment, she wondered if she should truly speak about this, admit her own limitations, but her principles came first. She owed it to the Eliatropes to be completely honest after everything they had done for her. Better to advise caution than to let them get their hopes up only for them to be completely dashed down the line. 

“To tell you the truth, I have not had the chance to interact with my father’s worshippers, at least not since I first met the royal family at Bonta.” At her revelation, worried murmurs erupted all around the attending Eliatropes, with furrowed brows being exchanged and hands being brought to their faces as a sign of their concern. Panicking slightly at their apprehension but refusing to let it show, Amalia scrambled to assuage their worries. “Having said that, the moment I first laid my eyes on them I immediately felt a kinship. A connection so powerful it washed away all my doubts in an instant. 

“The Sadida truly are the Leafy God’s people. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that we share the same values and that their devotion to Sadida is pure and unquestionable. As it is their loyalty to his will and that of me and my sisters. As such, I can confidently say that they want this alliance as much as I do. And I cross my Ogrine heart and hope to die were my vow dishonest, that I will do everything in my power to ensure it happens.”

While the Eliatropes were still hanging onto her every word, enraptured by the sincerity and solemnity in her voice, the spell was broken by something even more powerful—shock. A powerful silence fell over the entire area as the Divine Doll bowed her body ninety degrees, her deep respect and appreciation for the people gathered, regardless of social station, shining through her actions. 

“Selfish as it may be,” she made sure to raise her voice so it could be heard even from her awkward position, “I sincerely hope you can place your trust on me and on the fact that I will not disappoint you.”

The moment of silence stretched into a lull, and Yugo was beginning to grow fidgety. Even though he believed, with every fiber of his being, that Amalia meant each and every word—a great wave of affection overtaking his entire being at the sight of her dedication to her role and duties—, he was beginning to dread his subjects’ reactions. 

What if Amalia’s admission of not truly knowing the Sadida caused them to doubt her capabilities? What if now they were left with even less hope than when they first arrived?

The last thing his people could afford to lose was hope. 

His eyes flickered over to Adamaï, seeking his comfort and wisdom, but the brisk shake of his horned head made it clear the dragon was at a loss, as well. Even as his eyes quickly scanned his siblings, trying to gouge their reactions, all he could discern was that they seemed to be evenly divided between shock at the doll’s actions and unease at their subjects’ reaction.

His eyes went back to Amalia, who remained bowed. If one looked closely, they could see the way her hands had curled into fists against her thighs as slight tremors went down her body, a clear sign of her anxiousness. Great Goddess above, if he was feeling this nervous, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what the poor doll had to be going through. 

It began small and low, like a ripple before a downpour, but soon enough, the distant sound of clapping hands grew louder and louder, until it became downright thunderous and near deafening. Soon it was accompanied by Boowolf whistling and cheers, all in the Divine Doll’s name.

“Long live Lady Amalia!”

“May Eliatrope’s portals guide you!”

“Long live the Eliatropes and Sadida!”

At first, Amalia was speechless, taken aback by the overwhelming support, but, just then, her face broke into a watery smile, tears of joy and emotion welling in her eyes as she waved back at the Eliatropes and thanked them profusely for the faith they had on her.

Yugo let her be for a while, his siblings and him coming to join her as they thanked their people for the trust they’d chosen to place on them and promised to return soon with good news. 

But all things must come to an end. 

Bringing a round bottle to her face, he asked, “Are you ready?”

Her eyes matching the fire in his own, she nodded with a smirk and snatched the bottle from his hand. With one last look around her little entourage to signal it was time to go, they all threw their heads back and gulped down the contents of the recall potion in one go, disappearing in a flash of light. 

[eldar-of-zemlya]

To Boldly Sew: The Creation of Star Trek's Iconic Wardrobe

Gene Roddenberry’s arguments with NASA, costumes crafted from shower curtains, male characters in miniskirts, and why the gold command uniforms were actually green—this is the story of Star Trek’s groundbreaking wardrobe and the visionary work of the man behind it, Bill Theiss.

If you’d like to read the formatted article with easily accessible references, you can also find it on AO3.

During the production of the original Star Trek, the creative team faced numerous challenges, the most persistent being, unsurprisingly, the show’s limited budget. These restrictions had a significant impact on many aspects of the series, including one of its most crucial visual elements: the wardrobe.

Each week, the costume department was tasked with creating original outfits for the show’s characters. Alien civilizations had to look distinct and believable without distracting from the storyline—all while staying within a tight budget. To achieve this, the team employed clever tricks, such as repurposing and dyeing old uniforms, turning garments inside out, and even fashioning costumes from unconventional materials like vinyl shower curtains.

"Sometimes a show will call for 30 or 40 costumes," explained Star Trek’s costume designer William "Bill" Theiss. "And since we film back to back, that means I have to design, get approval from the producers and director, and construct the costumes in six to eight days." [Source]

Commander Spock and Lieutenant Tormohlen don "protective suits" fashioned from shower curtains as they investigate the mysterious death of a mannequin crew member. (Season 1, Episode 4, "The Naked Time.")

Theiss was a key figure in shaping the visual identity of Star Trek’s universe. Over the course of the show’s three seasons, he designed costumes for a wide range of characters, from blue-skinned Andorians to the infamous Orion slave girls, and even the Nazi-inspired inhabitants of the planet Ekos. (Interestingly, the episode Patterns of Force, featuring Ekos, was banned from German television until 1995 due to its controversial themes.) [Source]

Theiss first met Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry while Roddenberry was developing the show’s pilot. At the time, Theiss had gained attention for his innovative work on the science fiction play The Veldt, based on Ray Bradbury’s short story of the same name. This caught the eye of Star Trek writer Dorothy Catherine Fontana, who introduced Theiss to Roddenberry. By then, Roddenberry had already interviewed over a dozen costume designers but had yet to find someone who could bring his vision to life. Theiss’s creative approach, which often involved crafting unique costumes from unconventional materials, immediately resonated with Roddenberry. Their collaboration would continue for decades, even though, amusingly, Theiss never learned how to sew. [Source]

After the original Star Trek series was canceled, Theiss and Roddenberry remained close collaborators, working together on various projects until Roddenberry’s passing in 1991.

Left: William Theiss adjusts Susan Oliver's costume on the set of the 1965 pilot episode, "The Cage."

Right: William Theiss and Leonard Nimoy on the set of Season 2, Episode 26, "Assignment: Earth" (1968).

When designing Star Trek’s now-iconic multi-colored uniforms, Roddenberry drew inspiration from the color-coded uniforms used on American naval vessels, where quick role recognition was essential in low-visibility environments. As a former military pilot during World War II and later a police officer, Roddenberry had firsthand experience with structured, hierarchical organizations. These influences shaped not only Star Trek’s command structure but also its visual design. [Source]

Each division was assigned a distinct color: engineers, communications officers, and security personnel wore red; medical staff and scientists were dressed in blue; and command officers wore—believe it or not—green. (But more on that later.) All uniforms were paired with dark ash-colored trousers and high boots.

Star Trek is not typically associated with realism, which makes it surprising to learn that NASA was involved in the show’s production, offering advice to ensure it was "scientifically believable." Among their suggestions was the idea that 23rd-century astronauts might wear form-fitting jumpsuits. However, Gene Roddenberry dismissed the concept, humorously referring to the design as “long underwear.”

NBC, on the other hand, had entirely different priorities. The network insisted that female Starfleet officers wear more revealing attire, a demand that clashed with Roddenberry’s vision of a future where women were treated as equals to men. In the first pilot episode, The Cage (1965), Roddenberry boldly dressed female characters in pants—an unconventional choice for 1960s television. However, after much debate with the network, a compromise was reached: miniskirts. Highly fashionable at the time, they were paired with shorts and dark tights, blending contemporary trends with Star Trek’s futuristic aesthetic. [Source]

Captain Pike and a group of serious women in pants protect the heroine from an ass-headed very wise alien. The first pilot of Star Trek, "The Cage" (1965).

Years later, when NBC faced accusations of sexism and objectifying women, Nichelle Nichols, who played Uhura, defended the wardrobe choice in a BBC interview. She explained that the miniskirts weren’t unusual or inappropriate for the era:

“I was wearing them on the street. What's wrong with wearing them in the air? I wore 'em on airplanes. It was the era of the miniskirt. Everybody wore miniskirts.” [Source]

Grace Lee Whitney, who portrayed Janice Rand, echoed Nichols’s sentiment, adding that she “didn't think the women should be in pants” and that she wanted to “look like Flash Gordon” on screen. [Source]

Meanwhile, costume designer Bill Theiss had his own, more subtle approach to creating “revealing” costumes.

“He felt that revealing non-sexual flesh (the outside of the leg, off one shoulder, the back) promised that the viewer would see more — but they never did,” explained screenwriter D.C. Fontana, citing the gown worn by Lt. Palamas in Who Mourns for Adonais? as a prime example. [Source]

Lieutenant Palamas's "ancient Greek" dress from the episode "Who Mourns for Adonais?" alongside William Theiss's original sketch for the design.

When designing the original Star Trek uniforms, Theiss was tasked with creating something that reflected military influences while also looking futuristic and remaining inexpensive to produce. His approach was practical:

“As for where I get my ideas from… well, I don’t get them from my dreams or anything. Mainly, I get them from fabric that I see that’s available; I look for interesting patterns in the material itself,” Theiss once explained. [Source]

For the first two seasons, the Star Trek uniforms were made from velour, a newly invented fabric that was cheap, easy to maintain, and had an appealing sheen under studio lights. However, velour had its drawbacks: it tore easily (as evidenced by Captain Kirk’s frequent shirt-ripping battle scenes...) and shrank significantly after dry cleaning. Since the costumes had to be cleaned after every episode, viewers may notice that the uniforms became progressively tighter throughout the first two seasons. By the third season, velour was replaced with double-knit nylon, a more durable fabric used in professional baseball uniforms.

Left: Kirk's velour shirt from Season 1, Episode 10, "The Corbomite Maneuver." Right: The same shirt in Season 2, Episode 22, "By Any Other Name." Shatner is diligently sucking in his stomach.

This brings us to another interesting aspect of the original velour uniforms—their appearance on screen.

“It was one of those film stock things,” Theiss explained. “It photographed one way—burnt orange or gold. But in reality, it was another; the command shirts were definitely green.” [Source]

So, what color was Captain Kirk's uniform really? In truth, Kirk's uniform—like the rest of the command crew's—was olive green. However, under the bright studio lighting and the quirks of 1960s film stock, it appeared gold on screen. The greener hue becomes more noticeable in scenes filmed on location with natural light. The difference is also evident in photos of the original uniforms on display, such as those taken at an exhibit in Detroit, USA. In one image, taken under dimmer lighting without flash, the fabric looks closer to its true green color; in another, taken with flash, it appears more golden.

Left: Kirk's velour shirt photographed without flash—olive green. Right: Kirk's velour shirt photographed with flash—yellow gold.

This might come as a surprise to Star Trek fans, but it makes sense when you consider that Kirk's alternate uniforms—the wrap-around tunic and dress uniform—were distinctly green. This wasn’t an intentional design difference; those variations were simply made from a different fabric that didn’t react to light the way velour did.

“The problem is that a lot of my work is seen on screen for only two to three seconds, and even then, it might be in bad light or at a bad angle,” Theiss noted. “But then, you can't really justify taking two hours to light and block a scene just to showcase a costume.” The play's the thing, according to Theiss. "That's what it's really all about. It's not about the costumes." [Source]

The color discrepancy of the uniforms became an interesting challenge when animators began working on Star Trek: The Animated Series in 1973. They had to decide whether to depict the uniforms in their originally intended green or the gold shade that had become iconic to audiences.

At the time of Star Trek's release, many viewers were watching on black-and-white televisions, making it impossible for them to discern the true colors of the uniforms. At the Kirk/Spock convention, @kiscon, I spoke to a longtime Trek fan who told me she had no idea what color the uniforms were when she first watched the show as a teen. For those fortunate enough to see the series in color, however, the command uniforms became strongly associated with yellow. As a result, changing the uniforms to their intended green in Star Trek: The Animated Series would likely have confused audiences who had grown accustomed to the gold appearance on screen.

Ultimately, the gold uniform was canonized in The Animated Series and used in all fan materials until the release of the Star Trek feature films. Meanwhile, the trousers—whose color had also been slightly distorted on film—remained their original dark ash shade.

Because of these discrepancies, fans often debate which version of the uniform to follow when cosplaying or creating visual content. Many cosplayers choose to replicate the original olive-colored velour, trusting that proper lighting will naturally recreate the golden appearance seen on screen. Others opt for the now-iconic gold shade, reflecting the way the uniform has been depicted in official materials for decades.

Star Trek: The Animated Series (1973).

Ironically, NASA was right in its assumption that jumpsuits would become the norm for astronauts, and Roddenberry was forced to use them in the first feature-length Star Trek film, 1979's Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The multi-colored shirts were rejected by the studio as too garish, and the miniskirts worn by Uhura and most of the female crew members were already considered a relic of the sexist 1960s by 1979.

William Theiss, who designed the costumes for the original series, was too busy with other projects to work on the film, so Gene Roddenberry brought in a new costume designer, Robert Fletcher, who created the Starfleet uniforms now remembered as the worst in the franchise's history. In an effort to avoid comparisons to military uniforms, the studio opted for muted tones ranging from pale blue to dirty beige and nude shades. The result? The Enterprise crew looked more like spa staff than starship officers, and some background extras in nude-tone bodysuits appeared practically naked on screen. Not only did these uniforms make it impossible to distinguish the characters' ranks and departments, but they were also surprisingly impractical. The suits were sewn onto the actors' shoes, meaning they needed an assistant every time they went to the bathroom.

Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979).

Luckily for us all, in the next film, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), it wasn’t just Khan who was filled with rage—the cast themselves rebelled and outright refused to wear the dreadful jumpsuits again.

Despite the failure of his design, Robert Fletcher remained as costume designer for the next three films, promising changes. In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, the uniforms returned to a more military style, with the lead actors wearing maroon jackets with overlapping lapels that they could dramatically unbutton if their character was meant to look tired or stressed. If you look closely, you’ll notice that these maroon uniforms were actually redyed and slightly modified versions of the jumpsuits from The Motion Picture. The reason for the maroon color? It was the best shade that worked with the existing fabric from the first film. [Source]

William Theiss, reflecting on Fletcher’s designs, commented:

“Bob Fletcher is a very fine designer, and I mean that very sincerely. We don’t design the same way, and there’s no reason we should—or could. It’s apples and oranges. But my personal feeling is, if you go to a structured, woven fabric and do the kind of tailoring and structuring he’s done, it puts those costumes back, historically, 500 years, with shoulder seams and shoulder pads of that type.” [Source]

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982). Everyone turned red with anger.

In Star Trek: The Next Generation, Roddenberry reunited with Bill Theiss, and together they decided to bring back the iconic miniskirts as part of the uniform, but with a twist—they wanted to make them inclusive. In The Next Generation, male crew members were occasionally seen wearing the same miniskirts or “scants” (a hybrid of skirts and pants), reflecting Roddenberry and Theiss’s vision of a future where gender norms no longer dictated clothing choices.

However, the social climate of the 1980s and 1990s wasn’t as receptive to this progressive idea.

“Having both actresses and actors in skirts was meant to diffuse any sexist accusations that might have been associated with designs from the old show,” Theiss explained. “It’s also fashionably probable that, 400 years from now, men would wear skants. Even so, there was usually a problem on the set,” he admits, “because some wisecracks were always made.” Theiss emphasized that he wanted his actors to feel at ease in the designs. “I won’t force an actor or actress to wear something they’re not at least 80 percent comfortable with.” [Source]

While Theiss’s designs were undeniably groundbreaking, he was known to be a challenging person to work with. Constantly preoccupied with time and budget constraints, Theiss had little patience for anyone—whether they were directors, producers, or even Gene Roddenberry himself. He was even less tolerant of people who approached him simply to praise or critique his work, or even just to say hello. His philosophy was simple: “Better to be rude than to delay filming.”

Actors, extras, and costume assistants often recalled how Theiss would dart around the set, frantically hemming, tucking, and adjusting costumes between takes. Many of the alien outfits seen on the show weren’t actually "costumes" in the traditional sense. Instead, they were often assembled from patches, ribbons, scarves, curtains, and wire, with actors being "stitched into" them directly on set. [Source]

For example, Janice Rand's iconic beehive hairstyle was crafted from several wigs braided together over a cone. Grace Lee Whitney, who played Rand, recalls running back and forth between the dressing room and Roddenberry’s office with Theiss, constantly piling on more hair. Each time, Roddenberry would stare at her intensely, then declare, “Higher!” Whitney and Theiss would rush back to add more wigs until the hairstyle reached its iconic height. [Source]

One Smithsonian Institute employee, who worked with Theiss in 1992 while preparing for a Star Trek costume exhibit, recalls combing through the Paramount warehouse filled with racks and boxes of costumes. She was amazed to discover that most of the "costumes" were actually scraps of fabric neatly hung on a single hanger. Yet, when these scraps were sewn, tied, and pinned together, they became the iconic designs we now associate with Star Trek.

Andrea Weaver, one of Theiss’s fellow costume designers on the original series, remembers:

“Bill Theiss was a creative designer. His designs for Star Trek were original, rather than distilled from other sources or redefinitions of previous works. This is what I appreciated about Bill Theiss. I thought he was a truly unique and rare costume creator.” [Source]

William Ware Theiss’s contributions to Star Trek are legendary. His uniforms for both Star Trek: The Original Series and Star Trek: The Next Generation remain iconic, instantly recognizable even by those who aren’t fans of the franchise. His innovative, DIY approach to creating futuristic costumes brought a distinctive charm to the original series and left an enduring legacy.

Here are some of his most memorable designs:

Left: Season 2, Episode 11: "Friday's Child" Right: Season 3, Episode 13: "Elaan of Troyius"

Left: Season 1, Episode 15: "Shore Leave" Right: Season 3, Episode 20: "The Way to Eden"

Left: Season 2, Episode 1: "Amok Time" Right: Season 1, Episode 23: "A Taste of Armageddon"

Left: Season 2, Episode 9: "Metamorphosis" Right: Season 1, Episode 6: "Mudd's Women"

Left: Season 3, Episode 5: "Is There in Truth No Beauty?" Right: Season 1, Episode 15: "Shore Leave"

Left: Season 1, Episode 23: "A Taste of Armageddon"Right: Season 2, Episode 16: "The Gamesters of Triskelion"

Left: Season 3, Episode 11: "Wink of an Eye" Right: Season 3, Episode 8: "For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky"

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Returning home

A dragon!hybrid!Targaryen AU imagine.

Note: I've used a prompt from @writing-prompt-s which will be highlighted.

Masterlist

🐉 hybrid Masterlist

Warning: I've used the term Lxdx to designate the reader, which you can translate as either Lord or Lady, at your discretion. Reader as at least two elder brothers (because rich families of medieval times).

Coming back to Dragonstone was alway like removing a weight from your shoulder. You could finally breathe freely. The sea air was cold, even with your cape, it felt like your bones were shaking to create a fire with their friction. It didn’t bother you much, however. For months you’d longed to see Jacaerys again. Letters exchanged between the two of you were not fulfilling enough as time went by. 

You loved your family, you truly did, and it had been because of them that you could be graced the honour of being prince Jacaerys everyday compagnion, it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him when you came back home. You never truly could express yourself as you liked in letters, the ravens being too weak to fly with too much paper on a long distance. 

The boat hit another wave, causing you tograsp at the railing to keep your footing. You didn’t have Jace grace when it came to his father’s craft, the sea remained a mystery to you, just like the sky. Yet, you detested horses even more. The choice of taking a boat and arriving at the port of Dragonstone, or to take the bridge was very easy to you, especially after days of riding. 

You leaned carefully oer the railing of the forecastle deck, to watch the island that was growing seemingly bigger with every wave that broke against the fore peak. The wind against your back had helped to shorten your travel by the sea, and you were glad. The captain of the ship had guaranteed that if the wind continued, you’d reach Dragonstone before nightset. A giddy feeling had taken over your belly since that news. Surprising Jace was hard to do, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. 

In the horizon, a shadow detached itself from the grey stone of the mountain’s side. A flap of its dark wings had it soaring high in the sky, and a blood-curdling screech resonated against the cloudy sky and darkening sea. You smiled. 

“Lxdx (Y/N), we should dock at Dragonstone in less than three hours.” Shouted one of the septa your family had sent back with you, from the quarter deck. You turned to face her, waving to keep her attention on you. 

“We’ll be greeted before that!” You shouted back to her, a smile cutting through your face. 

“What?” 

You pointed toward the sky where the form of a dragon was clearly distinguishable from the grey clouds of the setting hour. The septa’s eyes grew comically wide, and hurried whispers came from the ship’s crew. A wave of worry, amazement and fear, you didn’t care. Having a dragonfly near was always a spectacle you were always glad to see. The beas screeched again, the sound of its leathery wings flapping sent a shiver down your spine, and glee gave your face a beam as you turned to look at the dragon flying closer yet toward the ship. 

In a rare piercing of the dying sunlight showed the light green scale of the dragon, its triangular face and backfacing horns confirmed what you already knew: Jacaerys was coming to greet you. How he figured out you were the one on the ship was beyond you. He grazed the water with one of his legs, making the water ripple before flying over the boat, letting dripplets fall all over the decks. 

A laughter escaped your throat, eyes following the beast as it circled the ship once. You escalated the railing of the forecastle deck to greet your dragonkin lover with enthousiast, as he looped joyfully in the sky. 

“Jace!” You called to him, waving at him. The dragon’s head snapped in your direction. Before you could react, the dragon swooped down, and you were hanging upside down in one of its claws as it quickly rose up again.

"Nice to see you too, darling," you managed to shout over the wind.

The dragon dropped his head for a second, showing his teeths in what you assumed was the mimic of a smile before looking ahead once more, flying the two of you toward the castle. He had no leather seat attached to him, you realised after a second. Head leaning against the scaly dragon’s skin to protect yourself from the wind, your hands holding onto the claws that were closed thigly against your middle. 

Dragons did not have the right anatomy to hold such a grip on humans, but Jace, or Vermax, you weren’t really sure of who was in control right now, was using both his back legs, or were they paws, and his tail to keep you steadily in his grip. You were holding on to the thiness part of it to help him transport you. He was careful, flying near the sea so as not to hurt you if you dropped, and for that you were glad. 

The ground was approaching fast and you couldn’t help but let out a shout in the dragon’s direction. 

“What’s your plan now?” Knowing Vermax, he didn’t have one. The screech he produced in response meant nothing understandable to you andyou couldn’t possibly climb the beast without potentially killing yourself in the process. You braced for a harsh landing. 

It went better than you’d thought it would. It still hurt, and you had scrapes and bruises on your arms and legs, but Jace (because the dragon had been mostly Jace during the landing) had taken the brunt of it. He’d managed to land on his front paws (you ought to ask what they were truly called), and rolled over for you to land on Jaces human form. The cracking of broken and healing bones had not been very invinting, but the warmth of his kisses made you forget commenting about it. 

“I missed you. I thought you were arriving tomorrow.” Jace said between kisses, his hands roaming all over your face, arms and hips as if he could hardly control his movements. 

“The wind was stronger than we thought.” You explained, breath short, cheeks warmth with the embarrassment of his actions done in plain daylight, where everyone could see. 

Jace nodded, hugging you closer for a moment before raising to his feet, and helping you on yours. “We have to tell mother of your return!” He beamed at you like a child, tugging you with him, only slowing down to take the cape a groundskeeper offered him to cover up before continuing the trek up to the castle. 

You could only smile at his excitement, babbling away, face in front, you could only grasp the bribes of his sentences. Jace only stopped talking once you reached the doors of the Dragonstone castle. Rhaenyra was waiting for the both of you, dressed in a sober black and red dress, hands clasped before her heavily pregnant belly, but a bright smile on her face. You bowed in front of her, trying to contain the panting of your breath from the quick walk up. 

“Your Majesty.” You greeted her. 

“(Lxdx Y!N), I hope your journey was uneventful. We are happy to have you back with us.” The queen eyed Jace for a fraction of second before her gaze came back on you. You nodded your head once more. 

“I had no difficulties, Ma’am. I am delighted to be here again.” 

Jace squeezed your hand with his, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke with his mother. Once the exchange of pleasantries was done, Jace excused the both of you from his mother and pulled you through the castle, making a bee-line for your chambers. 

You’d always reside in the quarters next to Jace’s, for obvious reasons, and now was no exception. The room still in the same decor as you left them, if more tidy than when you left. Only your bed was undone, pillows askew and furs pushed down the foot of the bed, the sheet underneath pooling to the ground. 

“Have you slept here?” You asked him, looking around, leaving him to close the door. 

“Missed your scent.” Was his explanation, he wrapped his arms around you again, nuzzling his nose to the crook of your neck and breathing deeply. “Six months is a far too long time for you to be away..” He mumbled against your skin, his tone bordering on grumpiness. You chuckled at that. 

“I couldn’t simply abandon the wedding festivities of my second brother, and my eldest brother had his first child, thus delaying my leave further.” Jace grumbled at your answer, rubbing his chin to your shoulder. 

“What’s a baby going to remember of those celebrations, anyway?” He asked, kissing a burning trail down your neck. You scoffed, turning to face him in his arms, he let you do it, raising an eyebrow at your sudden movement. 

“The celebrations are for the parents.” 

Jace closed his eyes, a smile raising the corner of his lips and he nodded at your words. “Ah, this makes more sense. Nevertheless, I’ve missed you, you were away for too long.” Jace looked at the still closed door before leaning to capture your lips with his. 

“You’re taking liberties, my prince.” You teased him, taking a step back to produce distance between the two of you. “It’s not proper.”

“I do not care.” He breathed against your lips, chasing after you, closing the space you’d just created as soon as you had moved away. 

His hands moved to hold on to your arm, the other cupping the back of your neck, he kissed you again. And again. He kissed your lips until it didn’t satisfy him anymore and then the prince migrated to the rest of your face, delecting himself with the giggles that escaped you as he did. 

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

Current anon: 👑😵‍💫🥰🧑‍🍼😣

[bloodbrown]

Could you make some headcanons about what Carlo and P x reader would be like in a modern AU? Pleasee 😭💖

P x reader and Carlo x reader Headcanons (Modern AU)

• So I absolutely love the idea of P and Carlo as brothers in an AU like this (also because I can't explain how Carlo and P could exist in the same time frame otherwise?) but what I love more is the idea that P was adopted and just happens to style his hair so that he looks like Carlo, so people assume they're actually related. Carlo is older but not by much, maybe 2 years.

• I think Carlo is probably the one that gets more attention in the dating scene. He's confident, funny and outspoken (and also a little dumb, but it's charming.) Having a wingman on-call in the form of Romeo also helps. I think they briefly dated in the past, ended up breaking it off amicably and remained good friends into adulthood.

• Obviously Pino is also quite good-looking, but he's strange, quiet, and fidgety, which tends to put people off at first glance. He doesn't have the charm or social skills of Carlo. Also most of his friends are women, so... green flag.

• If you're attracted to Pino, first of all, when you express interest in him he would assume you're actually interested in his idiot brother. He'd think you're just trying to get Carlo's number or something. Pino doesn't get much real romantic attention from others (outside of people complimenting his looks) and isn't used to someone being wholeheartedly interested in him.

• Part of this is because P is so guarded and hesitant in his personality, but also because he tends to lie, so most people aren't aware of his real feelings. I'd think this is probably because he was used to hiding how he felt and what he thought in his home life.

• If Carlo is more your speed, I think what you see is what you get with him. He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve. When he hates someone, when he loves someone... you will know immediately. (which is also why you end up in the loop about his daddy issues quite soon in the relationship. Geppetto neglected the both of them, and especially ignored Carlo, to the point where Carlo thinks his old man only adopted another son to try to fix his parental fuck-ups)

• Anyway, Carlo would probably take to dating you right away, especially since he has had prior experience. His perfect first date idea would be taking you to a festival or festival(s) and walking around for hours trying food, other new things and trying to find dogs to pet.

• 2nd date idea would be something insane, like urban exploration in the most dangerous building he can find. I think 3rd date he'd want to take you shooting at a gun range. For some reason I just feel like he'd be a gun guy who likes it for the sport of it

But if you're not interested in that, he'd be down for the most sexual-tension-laden game of laser tag in the universe. You'll probably make out in the car afterwards.

• Carlo is the sort of person who starts out quite blunt and initiates relationships on almost entirely sexual interest, but becomes a tad softer and more affectionate the longer the relationship goes on and he gets a bit more comfortable. Also, the sex is absolutely amazing.

• Long-term Carlo probably isn't really down for you meeting any of his family, except maybe his brother, but only in specific environments. I think he wants to leave behind anything that reminds him of his upbringing (even Pino, even though Geppetto's behavior isn't his fault) and you have to accept that in a relationship. No Christmas with the in-laws.

• Pino for a 1st date would want to take you to dinner at a nice restaurant, then to a movie theater to see a film. And he wants to *actually* watch a movie, not sit through 1/3rd of the movie and then start touching on each other. He literally just wants to see something with you and enjoy it together.

• 2nd date would be a museum date. Pino is deeply fascinated with natural history, and if you'll accompany him to a museum he hasn't been to before, it would mean the world to him. Since he's new to dating, if you want to do anything like hold his hand as you walk through, you'll have to initiate. He's a bit twitchy and awkward.

• A 3rd or 4th date with Pino is something sweet and personal. I think he'd compose a song specifically for you and play it for you on piano. He's so sweet and considerate that you just want to kiss him. And make no mistake, if you want to kiss him you need to take the initiative to let him know that it's okay. Then he'll be more comfortable to kiss you.

• Long-term, Pino will only become more comfortable and loving with you. Sometimes he will still struggle with moving first with acts of affection, but he gets better about it, giving you pecks on the cheek or a firm hug whenever he sees you. It may take quite a few months until he's comfortable enough for sexual activity (and he's also a virgin.) Pino's serial lying over small things might also be a problem until his barriers are broken down (He probably needs therapy.)

• I also think that he'd be the first to bring up engagement or marriage between the two of you. He has a very idealized view of marriage and wants to spend the rest of his life with the one he loves. It's something to consider but discuss it honestly and openly. He will accept your feelings if you don't want to talk about marriage as soon as he's bringing it up.

[kelseyreads22]

Amelia Rose Blossom

from “What Lies Between Us” on Wattpad and AO3!

Thank you to my girl @newdreamlove95 for the tag!!! I loved learning about Bee 🥹

I am choosing to tag @somegirlyoumetx @narratedforyou-blog xx

READ MORE ABOUT MEETING MY MC BELOW!

Amelia is my MC from my story “What Lies Between Us”. She is 16 years old and a complete and utter Muggle attending Hogwarts under their name Muggle Integration Program, having been chosen for her family’s status back in America. She is the only Muggle sorted into Slytherin which puts her at unique disadvantages.

Her relationship with Sebastian is “fake”. Right? Totally fake. Because the fake relationship which just so happens to be beneficial to the both of them also includes making out, excessive touching, and forcing the “real” feelings to go away. But, yes, it’s a “fake relationship”!

Her full name is Amelia Rose Blossom but her nicknames include Lia, Petal, Flower Petal, Flower, and any other pet name that Sebastian deems acceptable.

Her personality traits consist of:

•Resilient: Despite being thrown into an unfamiliar world where she is treated as an outsider, Amelia refuses to let it break her. She keeps pushing forward, even when things get difficult.

•Witty/Sarcastic: She has a sharp tongue and a dry sense of humor, often using sarcasm as a defense mechanism when dealing with difficult situations or people.

•Proud: Amelia refuses to let anyone see her as weak, and she struggles to accept help or show vulnerability. She is determined to prove herself despite being a Muggle in a magical school.

•Loyal (to a fault): Once she considers someone a true friend, she will stand by them no matter what. This loyalty becomes particularly evident in her relationship with Sebastian and her bestie Poppy.

•Defiant: Even though she is powerless in a world of magic, she refuses to be walked over. She stands her ground, even when it gets her into trouble.

•Guarded: She hates the idea of being seen as weak and struggles to express her true emotions, even to those she trusts. When overwhelmed, she sometimes pushes people away rather than let them see her struggles.

•Cunning: While she’s not traditionally “Slytherin” in the magical sense, she understands how to use words, social dynamics, and intelligence to her advantage when necessary.

•A Secret Hopeless Romantic: Despite acting indifferent or skeptical about love, deep down, she craves real, genuine affection but is afraid of being let down.

•Protective: Amelia may not have magic, but she won’t hesitate to stand up for the people she cares about. If someone messes with her friends (or Sebastian), they’ll regret it—whether that means a sharp remark, a well-aimed punch (I’m looking at you, Adelaide!)

•Short-Tempered: She has a fuse about as long as a matchstick. While she’s good at keeping her cool in certain situations, when someone really irritates her (or if she’s feeling frustrated about her own limitations), she can snap quickly.

•Tea Hater Extraordinaire: Amelia absolutely despises tea, which is practically a crime in the UK. No matter how many times people try to convince her otherwise, it remains the bane of her existence.

•Dramatic: Amelia swears she’s not dramatic, but everyone around her would strongly disagree. Whether it’s dramatically flopping onto a couch after a long day, rolling her eyes so hard they might get stuck, or making an exaggerated scene over something as simple as being offered tea, she has a flair for the theatrical. Her reactions are always just a little over the top, making her unintentionally entertaining to those around her.

~~~~~

HER STYLE <3

Amelia’s eyes are a soft, light green, sharp and impossible to ignore—Sebastian’s favorite shade of green, not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

Amelia’s hair is light brown, mostly straight but with a natural, subtle wave that gives it just the right amount of texture. It’s impossibly soft, something Sebastian can never seem to keep his hands off. Whether he’s absentmindedly running his fingers through it, tucking it behind her ear, or gently tugging at a strand just to get a reaction, touching her hair has become second nature to him!

Amelia usually wears a light touch of makeup, just enough to enhance her features without drawing too much attention. A bit of mascara, a hint of blush, and a natural lip color—effortless but polished. However, when it comes to parties, she’s not afraid to go bolder—a sharper eyeliner, darker eyeshadow, or a richer lip shade, embracing the fun of dressing up. She doesn’t do it for anyone else, just for herself, but Sebastian definitely notices.

Amelia’s style is a mix of cozy and effortlessly chic. She loves soft sweaters, well-fitted jeans, and anything pink, always looking put together without trying too hard. But when she puts on a dress, she knows how to turn heads. She isn’t afraid to wear something that hugs her figure, accentuating her curves in just the right way. And as for Hogwarts robes? She’ll never stop calling them bathrobes.

Amelia’s comfy wear is peak cozy chaos. She practically lives in oversized sleep shirts, and the weirder the design, the better—a monkey holding a banana? Absolutely. A cat wearing sunglasses? Even better. Paired with her beloved teddy bear slippers, she’s a walking contradiction of elegance by day and absolute comfort gremlin by night. Sebastian never knows whether to tease her or find it endearing—so he does both.

Amelia was raised in a world of galas, fundraisers, and high-profile events, where looking polished wasn’t a choice—it was an expectation. Coming from a city like New York, where fashion is as much a statement as it is a lifestyle, she knows how to dress the part. When the occasion calls for it, she can pull off stunning, couture-like gowns with ease, dripping in elegance and confidence. She carries herself with the kind of poise that was drilled into her from a young age, every detail intentional—from the way she accessorizes to the way she walks. But while dressing up was once just a duty, she’s learned to enjoy it on her own terms. She loves heels—not just because they give her petite 5’1 frame some height, but because they make her feel powerful.

Amelia may be petite, but her curves are impossible to ignore—a full chest, defined waist, and hips that could bring a man to his knees. And Sebastian? He’s a devoted admirer. He takes every opportunity to mark her up, kisses trailing down the curves he loves to claim, leaving behind proof that she’s his and his alone. She’s always been put together, and that extends to her lingerie—matching sets, effortlessly elegant, even when no one’s looking. But when she wants to step it up? Lace is her go-to, delicate yet undeniably sultry, usually in soft, lighter shades that contrast beautifully against her skin. Sebastian is her sexual awakening, the one guiding her through unfamiliar territory, but while she’s still learning, she’s not afraid to take control—especially when she realizes just how easily she can undo him.

Somehow, Amelia always forgets her own robe. Whether she leaves it in the common room, “accidentally” misplaces it, or just decides she can’t be bothered to carry it, it mysteriously never seems to be around when she needs it. Sebastian has caught onto this pattern, which is why he’s stopped questioning it entirely. Without hesitation, he’ll just drape his own Slytherin robe over her shoulders, letting it swallow her petite frame. It’s far too big, the hem nearly dragging on the floor, the sleeves covering her hands, but she doesn’t care. Because it smells like him. Warm, familiar, and so undeniably Sebastian that she finds herself pulling it tighter, practically burrowing into the fabric. There’s something about it—about being wrapped in something that’s his—that makes her feel comforted, protected, and maybe just a little bit claimed. But nothing compares to the sight of Amelia wearing his Quidditch jersey. SALLOW is stamped across the back in bold lettering, and she knows exactly what she’s doing when she ties her hair up into a ponytail—just so everyone can see whose last name she’s wearing. It’s a silent statement, one that drives Sebastian absolutely insane. He’ll act cocky about it, smirking and making some teasing remark, but the truth is? There’s nothing in the world he loves more than seeing her in his name.

READ WLBU TODAY NY CLICKING THE LINK BELOW!

MC / OC Fun... What would they be as a dress, accessory, and lingerie?

Hey there! I wanted to set up a fun way to get to know some of our MCs and OCs! I'm going to tag some creators. Feel free to reblog with your own answers even if you aren't tagged or just make your own post!

Introduction #1: My OC's full name is Kate Camellia Mayflower. In my fanfic, it's 1899. She is 24 years old, madly in love with Sebastian Sallow, and is employed as the Hogwarts assistant librarian. (Art by @giselsann)

Kate as a dress: Kate loves gowns that are soft, romantic, and feminine. This dress seems like it accentuates curves, which would be flattering for my midsize gal. She also adores floral/botanical designs, so the leaves on this dress are perfect. Yellow is her favorite color, too!

Kate as an accessory: I couldn't pick. She has a LOT of accessories. Both of these items in particular are meaningful in my fanfic. One is a moonstone ring that was involved in an ancient reincarnation ritual. The other is a locket that Sebastian commissioned just for her. Inside, she keeps a miniature portrait of Sebastian as well as one of the two of them together. Whenever Sebastian is involved in dangerous field work, she opens it constantly to look at him for reassurance and peace.

Kate as lingerie: The items in the first pic are not period-appropriate, but they SCREAM Kate to me. The yellow color and the sunflowers would interest her right away, but the fact that it's all see-through would make her giggle when imagining Sebastian's reaction. The second item, the corset, is pretty while featuring her two favorite colors. Honestly, it made me think of her cottage, since green and gold are the two most featured colors there.

I also wanted to do this for my other OC!

Introduction #2: My other OC, the Hogwarts Legacy MC, is Ruby McKinnon. She is only a side character in my fanfic, but I enjoy yapping about her. 😁 In 1899, she's married to Poppy Sweeting-McKinnon and travels for work alongside her, researching the connection between ancient magic and beasts (a la San Bakar). (Art by @giselsann)

Ruby as a dress: Ruby usually prefers trousers or pantaloons. They're just easier and more functional, especially because Ruby works with magical creatures. However, she doesn't mind wearing a dress for a formal occasion. Her dresses are a little more plain than others, but they are still beautiful and classic. As a former Slytherin, green is her favorite color; it also suits her unique hair color well.

Ruby as an accessory: Ruby received these hair clips as an anniversary gift from Poppy all the way back when they were students at Hogwarts, and she's still wearing them in 1899. Obviously, they both love animals, but Poppy sees birds as symbolic of freedom and independence, which are traits she greatly admires in Ruby.

Ruby as lingerie: I'm not gonna lie - the attitude of this model was really what made me select this picture. This is sooooooo Ruby.

No pressure at all with these tags - making this post took me a while, but it was fun! If you aren't tagged but want to participate, feel free to just go for it!!! 💛

@newdreamlove95, @kaidynsarell, @writingsoftarnishedsilver, @witchyafterdark, @queen-of-stoneharts, @ladyofsappho; @honeyxmooncalves; @heylorrain; @hazyange1s

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[s0dium]

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑!!!

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d find out that your crush, Geto Suguru, was just like you: a murderer. Not only that but you share the same passion; killing criminals and pedophiles! (Happy Kinktober) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT, gore, mutilation, murder, mentions of pedophiles (y/n kills them), serial killing, unprotected sex, breeding, choking, teasing, knife play, whipped Suguru 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k 𝐀/𝐧: This is based HEAVILY on the novel Butcher and Blackbird by Brynne Weaver. The original idea is credited to Brynne Weaver ONLY. This work is fan fiction and is not intended for commercial purposes or to infringe on the intellectual property rights of the original author.

Being a serial killer who kills other killers, pedophiles, and rapists is a great hobby.

Until you find yourself locked in a cage.

For three days.

No AC.

With a body you carved up.

You glare at the fly-riddled corpse whose legs are kneeling opposite of you in the locked cage you were both trapped in. The air is thick with the putrid stench of decay, a relentless assault on your senses. The body's skin is pallid, marred by the writhing mass of white maggots that feast mercilessly. Where eyes once held gaze, now only hollow sockets remain, tediously scooped out and vacant. The ears too have been sheared off, leaving clean edges that blend into the mottled, blood-stained flesh. Its chest has been cracked open; ribs pried apart in a macabre mimicry of an unhinged broken cocoon, revealing the dark, empty cavity where a heart once beat.

Then, of course, the piste de resistance of your work, the removed eyes, ears, and heart rest in the corpse's upturned palms—placed with ceremonial care amidst the chaos of mutilation.

So now, if anyone were to walk down the steps of Gary Green House's basement, they would not only find his mutilated body, but the person who did it, trapped in a cage together.

"Fuck." You curse at yourself for the millionth time since you've been trapped here for the last three days. The cold realization that you've fallen into Gary’s final trap gnaws at your mind as relentlessly as the maggots at the corpse across from you. The cage, a cruel relic of Gary’s twisted pleasures, had seemed the perfect place for your ritual—turning the hunter into the hunted in his own den of horrors. But in your fervor to see him pay, you overlooked one crucial detail: the cage's sinister design, which sealed shut the moment its door swung closed.

The remote control, now a mocking symbol of freedom, lies just beyond the bars, on a small, grimy table. You remember the sickening click of the lock, the finality of it echoing in the cramped space as you turned back from the grisly task of dismembering Gary—his last, silent victory.

Even the idiot police could deduce that this was all your doing, seeing as all your bloody tools were still with you in your backpack. With fingerprints. It was just a matter of time before they opened the basement door.

You could practically hear Gary’s voice from beyond the grave: "Hah! Serves you right, you stupid bitch! That's what you get for killing me!" The taunt echoes in your head like a song over and over again and you're seriously contemplating banging your head against the iron bars.

"FUCK FINE!" You yell into the darkness. "I renounce my wicked ways!"

"That's a shame. I bet I would like your wicked ways."

You jump at the sound of a man's deep, smooth voice, the cadence of slight raspiness warming every note. Your curses cut the humid air from the startlement of the man's presence. How the hell did he even get in here? You didn't hear the basement door open. You scurry out of reach of the man who saunters into the thin thread of light from the narrow window, the glass opaque with fly shit.

"You seem to be in a predicament." He says stepping into view. The thin light from the window partially illuminates him, allowing you to make out his face. Oh rather, what is on his face.

Holy shit.

A ghost mask stares back at you, its hollow eyes and elongated mouth frozen in a chilling scream. The stark white of the mask contrasts sharply with the surrounding shadows, and you watch with wide eyes as he tilts his head.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

In any other situation, you might be fan-girling. You know exactly who you're staring at: the infamous Crucifer, a killer, like you, but notorious for his crucifixion of criminals in rather, flamboyant displays. The few eyewitness accounts of the Crucifer all mention the ghost mask, leaving no doubt in your mind about his identity.

While your hunting grounds have been Osaka, his have typically been Tokyo, but despite the geographical difference, his reputation precedes him. In all honesty, you shouldn’t be surprised he’s here. Your victim, Gary Greenwich, is notorious even among the authorities. Despite his crimes, the lack of solid evidence has always allowed him to slip through the cracks of the justice system, leaving him free to continue his heinous activities. He was high on your kill list, and it’s no surprise he was high on Crucifers as well.

He takes a few steps closer toward the cage to stare down at the corpse, bending to take a closer look.

"Well what happened here?" He chuckles.

You are on day three of no food. No water. The gnawing hunger in your stomach feels like a relentless beast, clawing at your insides with increasing ferocity. You wonder if your body has started to eat its own organs at this point.

You can't deal with this shit.

"Self defense." You say.

The man chuckles. "I doubt that, you're not his type." Despite his mask you can feel his eyes shift from the corpse to linger on you.

"And how would you know that?"

"Well disregarding the state in which you "self defense" left him, you're not a 6 year old boy. And," he steps closer so now he is inches away from the bars and his whole body is illuminated. "I make it my business to know."

You don't answer. Instead you watch as he crouches down to meet your gaze. You try to hide behind your tangled hair and folded limbs, giving him only your eyes.

And of course, just your luck, he is stunning

Black hair flows behind his mask and down his shoulder. He's wearing a black compression shirt that hugs every muscle of his biceps and forearms, accentuating his athletic build. His broad shoulders enhance his imposing presence, giving him the aura of a seasoned athlete. Black cargo pants complete his ensemble, practical and intimidating, with a hunting knife sticking out of his pocket, probably what he would've used on Gary if you hadn't got to him first.

Something about him looks familiar, something you can't put your finger on.

"I guess you made it your business to know too." He pauses before moving even closer so his mask is practically pressed against the iron bars. "Hey, you look pretty familiar."

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. Instinctively, you brush a tangled lock of hair from your face, wincing as it catches on your dry lips. The man's shoulders tense as if he has been electrocuted.

"Y/n?" His voice cuts through the thick silence like a knife.

Oh, what the hell.

You jerk your head up from your hunched posture, eyes wide in shock, meeting the unsettling, hollow eyes of the ghost mask. Your heart races, pounding loudly in your chest.

"Wha-"

"Oh my god, it is you!" He exclaims, his loud deep voice echoing through the basement.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you stammer, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach.

"It's me," he interrupts, and with a swift motion, he takes off his mask. The sight of his familiar face makes your breath catch in your throat. "Suguru Geto."

Suguru Geto. The name alone sent ripples through your thoughts, dragging along memories and emotions you had long buried. Suguru wasn’t just any ordinary guy; he was a micro-celebrity in Tokyo, renowned for his breathtaking tattoo artistry. His ink adorned the bodies of celebrities, flaunted in TikToks and Instagram posts that garnered thousands of likes. His reputation was impeccable, his designs sought after by the elite.

You had crossed paths with Suguru a few times at various parties, your social circles occasionally overlapping due to mutual friends. Each encounter left an indelible mark on you. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just his talent that made him irresistible; it was everything about him. Those hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, the perfect curve of his lips that could shift from a smirk to a genuine smile in an instant, and those dimples that appeared whenever he graced you with that smile—each feature was a weapon, effortlessly disarming.

You, like many other girls, harbored a secret crush on Suguru Geto. It was impossible not to. That face alone could kill, and his charisma was the final blow.

And now, here he was, standing right in front of you, unmasked and undeniably real. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and a little overwhelmed.

Suguru clears his throat, a small smirk playing on his lips from how obviously you are gawking at him.

"Shot in the dark here but are you the Mute Collector?"

You part your lips to say something but you can't seem to form the right words.

"I-"

Suguru's grin widens and a sharp laugh escapes his perfect mouth. "Oh my god. I knew it. I fucking knew they had it wrong about you with that bull shit profile they built. What was it, they said you were a 30 year old white man?" Suguru throws his head back and smiles at the ceiling. "And the Mute Collector? You? That's just awesome. I'm such a huge fan."

"Yeah..." You clear your throat and push your hair completely out of your face. He grins at you, as though awe struck, and if you weren't wearing 100 layers of grime on your skin you are sure he'd be able to see the blush flaming in your cheeks for a second.

"And you?" You nod toward the mask. "You are?" You don't know why you are feigning ignorance but something about humbling him seems tastier than actual food right now.

"Oh come on." Suguru's tone flattens and he brings the mask up next to his face.

"The Crucifer?"

You shake your head.

"The cross maker?"

You shake your head again. Lying through your teeth is fun.

"The Tokyo Butcher?" When you shake your head he sighs and stands up. "Well," he glances to Gary whose maggots have made their way to the empty eye sockets. "What do you say? We ditch this lousy scene and get something to eat. Maybe when you get food in your stomach you will remember some of my little nicknames."

Your eyes widen and your stomach growls loudly, reminding you of how long it's been since you last ate. You glance up at your Suguru, a mix of hope and suspicion in your gaze.

"Are you serious?" you ask, your voice hoarse from dehydration.

"Yeah, after we get you a shower, some clothes and burn the house down."

You gulp and stand to your feet. "Could we get burgers?"

Suguru grins before grabbing the remote and pointing it at the cage.

"Fine by me."

~

The Mute Collector.

Geto Suguru is sitting across from the fucking Mute Collector.

And god you are beautiful.

Not that he just realized it now. Like many others, he has always known how attractive you are; he just pushed it to the back of his mind. But now, knowing who you really are and what you do in your free time, your body has practically been encompassed in bright warm light and your head adorned with a halo. He watches as you down your 6th cup of water with a sigh and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

The two of you sit in a cozy booth at a restaurant, the warm, smoky aroma filling the air. Suguru leans back with a beer in hand, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution. The waitress approaches, placing a large plate with a double cheeseburger and fries in front of you. Your eyes light up, and without wasting a second, you pick up the cheeseburger with your fingers and take a big bite, savoring the flavors.

Suguru chuckles, raising his beer in a mock toast. "You look like you've just found the Holy Grail."

He doesn't miss the way you stifle back a laugh, trying to speak through a mouthful of burger. "If the Holy Grail were covered in cheese and ketchup, then yeah, maybe."

He takes a sip of his beer, grinning. "I’ve never seen someone so excited about food. Maybe you should give up your little hobby and do food reviews."

"Well, that's what being trapped in a cage with the rotting corpse of a pedophile does to you I guess." You grumble, setting down the burger and taking another drink of water.

Suguru's eyes stay on you, and he takes the opportunity to really assess you. Your hair is damp, and the wetness seeps into the white Mickey Mouse shirt you're wearing, causing it to cling slightly to your skin and reveal the elegant lines of your collarbone. He bought that shirt and the shorts for you at a thrift store, and despite the fact that such clothes should look bad on anyone, you are rocking them effortlessly.

He can't help but notice that you didn't buy a bra, a fact that makes him smile to himself.

No bra.

"So tell me." Suguru sets his beer back on the table and leans in.

"The whole ears, eyes and heart thing." He waves his left hand in the air. "The police say it's satanic ritual stuff but I don't buy it."

You pause, a hint of a smile playing at your lips as you meet his gaze. "It's simple, really. Hear no evil, see no evil, fear no evil."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "You have a way of making the macabre sound poetic."

You're about to reach for a fry, but he snatches it before your fingers could reach it.

"Why not the tongue?" He says. "You know, speak no evil."

You roll your eyes and snatch the fry out of his fingers. "Tongues are hard to cut, too slippery and make a mess."

He nods thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. "You know, most people would be horrified to hear you talk like that."

"Good thing you’re not most people," you reply with a smirk.

"Touché."

He watches as your lips wrap around the thick fry and your teeth rip off half of it into your mouth.

No bra.

"What about you Suguru?" You lock eyes with him. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?"

"You heard me. You swoop in all superman-like, save me from the dipshit’s pedo dungeon and take me out for a double cheeseburger. Why are you here?"

Suguru shrugs and averts his gaze from your unyielding stare. Shit, your piercing eyes are almost making him sweat.

"Same thing you already did. I was going to skin him alive and and display the fucking monkey Jesus style infront of his house. At least, something like that."

"Yeah but why him? I thought your hunting grounds were in Tokyo?"

Your eyes widen slightly as the words hang in the air, the weight of your mistake sinking in immediately. You feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, a telltale sign of your embarrassment. Your lips part as if to take back the words, but it's too late; they've already been spoken.

A sly smile spreads across Sugurus face as he watches your face fall.

"Oh you totally know who I am Y/n."

"Fucking hell."

"You do! You know that I like to hunt near my home, how long have you been a part of my fan club?"

You roll your eyes and fall back into your seat. You blink rapidly, trying to maintain your composure, but the subtle tension in your jaw and the furrowing of your brow betray your embarrassment.

"So which one was your favorite? The monkey I strung up next to the police station? Or the one I flayed inside the Tokyo Union Church?"

"Oh my god I can already tell you are going to be insufferable." You grumble, the heat of embarrassment slowly dissipating as you take a deep breath. Suguru leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he swirls the beer in his hand, watching you with an almost predatory curiosity. As seconds pass, Suguru assesses your face, following how your eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route, and Suguru’s playful expression falters for a split second. He realizes with a sudden jolt that you're trying to leave. He can't have that. He needs to see you again.

"Hey speaking of suffering," Suguru clears his throat. "Have you heard about the women killings in Kyoto?"

Your eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I've heard. Pretty gruesome stuff. Why do you ask?"

A playful smile tugs at his lips. "How about a friendly competition? The killer's already taken six lives so far."

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to decipher his intentions. "What do you mean by a competition?"

Suguru leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's exactly what it sounds like. Who can hunt him down first?"

For a moment, you're taken aback, your eyes widening as you process his proposal. A mix of surprise and intrigue flickers across your face. "Are you serious?"

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. "As sin."

"And what do we get if we win?"

Suguru's eyes gleam with amusement and something else—admiration. "Bragging rights, of course. And maybe... another dinner like this one."

You throw your head back and let out a laugh. "Oh yeah? Who says I'll need you to get me another dinner?"

"Can't let you go hungry again. What do you say?”

~

You sit at your desk, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow on your face as you scroll through articles about the woman killer from Kyoto. The room is quiet, save for the occasional click of your mouse and the hum of the laptop. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see Shoko’s name. With a smile, you answer the call.

"Hey Shoko, how’s your night shift?" you greet her with a teasing tone.

Shoko’s laugh crackles through the speaker. "Busy as always. Just patched up a guy who thought he could outsmart a bulletproof vest with sheer willpower. Spoiler: he couldn’t."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Sounds like my type of guy."

By day, Shoko is your best friend and a dedicated med student, excelling in her studies with a, albeit, half hearted, passion for helping others. But when the sun sets, she transforms into the notorious Dr. Reverse, the underground doctor every criminal and lowlife turns to in their time of need. Using her medical expertise, she serves those who cannot seek help through legal means, operating in the shadows and patching up criminals who live by a different set of rules. In addition to her medical skills, she also deals in poisons, further cementing her reputation in the underworld.

You first met Shoko in a moment of desperation. After cornering a serial rapist, you were attacked with a machete, almost severing your arm. With nowhere else to turn, you sought out Dr. Reverse. Shoko skillfully sewed you up and, in the process, deduced that you were the infamous Mute Collector. To your surprise, she didn't seem to care about your identity, and you, in turn, didn't question her underground business or her dealings with poison. This mutual understanding and acceptance laid the foundation for a strong bond, and you've been best friends ever since. 

Shoko laughed, a sound that always manages to lift your spirits. "Right? Anyway, what's up? I saw your SOS text."

You hesitate, glancing at the photo of Geto Suguru on your screen on a separate tab. His annoyingly white teeth glare back at you, and you try to resist staring at his six pack in an instagram photo someone took of him at a pool party.  His dark eyes seemed to stare right through you, as if mocking your indecision. "It's about Geto."

There was a brief pause before Shoko's voice came back, tinged with curiosity. "Geto? What about him?"

You take a deep breath, your fingers drumming nervously on the desk. "He's the Crucifier."

Shoko's reaction was immediate and loud. "Geto is what?" she practically yelled through the phone, causing you to wince.

"The Crucifier. I know." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all. "Can you believe it?"

Shoko let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, he always seemed like a guy with secrets, but I never pegged him for a serial killer, I mean, someone like you."

"Yeah, well, here we are," You mutter, rubbing your temples. You focus your attention back on your computer screen. Suguru is squeaky clean, not even a bad review on his website. There was only his questionable taste in best friends: Gojo Satoru—the biggest playboy and the infamous heir to the Gojo Company, Japan's largest and most influential corporation. Gojo's notoriety was legendary, his exploits plastered across tabloids and whispered in gossip circles. You’ve met, and been hit on by the man a few times, and not once did you fall for any of his slimy cheap antics. No, Geto Suguru is who your eyes fell on. 

 "And now he’s proposed some sort of competition."

"A competition?" Shoko's voice was practically dripping with amusement. "Like a hunting competition?”

You let out a snort of air through your nose. “Basically.”

Are you gonna do it?"

"I don't know," You admit, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand. "I said I would, but I don't know. I barely know the guy. Well, I thought I did."

"Well, you should," Shoko said, her tone shifting to one of gentle teasing. "Besides, isn't this your chance to get closer to your crush?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Shoko, seriously? Come on, that was ages ago."

"Hey, I'm just saying," she replies, laughter bubbling up again. "This could be your big break."

"You're impossible," you grumble, though you can't help but smile. "How's the side business, by the way?"

"Thriving," she says and you can practically see her small smile through the phone.. "You'd be amazed at how many people need a little untraceable something for their enemies."

"I don't doubt it," you say, shaking your head. "Just stay safe, okay?"

"You too, Mute Collector," Shoko says, her voice softening slightly. "And remember, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Always," you reply, your smile growing wider. "Thanks, Shoko. Talk to you soon."

"Later," she says, and the line goes dead.

You lean back in your chair again, your thoughts drifting back to Geto Suguru and the strange, dangerous world you both inhabit. As much as you hate to admit it, Shoko is right. This is your chance, not just to catch some sick killer, but to uncover the secrets that lie hidden beneath Suguru’s enigmatic exterior.

With a sigh, you close your laptop and stand up, determination settling in your chest. The competition awaits, and you have a feeling it's going to be a game changer.

~

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the white hair man’s mocking tone and continues to stare at his phone. It's been 10 minutes. How long does it take for someone to respond to a text. Suguru lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone. Across the room, Gojo was bustling about in the kitchen, the sound of utensils clinking and food sizzling filling the air.

"Is this about Y/n? The Mute Collector or whatever?" Gojo asked, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Suguru didn't respond, his gaze unwavering from the screen. He could feel Gojo's eyes on him, the scrutiny almost tangible.

"I don't think I've seen you put this much effort into a woman since, like... ever," Gojo continued, his tone teasing. He turned back to his cooking, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Suguru's jaw tightened, but he kept his silence. Gojo, undeterred, pressed on. "Besides the fact that she's the Mute Collector, what do you even see in Y/n? Well, I guess she does have other assets," he chuckled.

"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth, you prick," Suguru snapped, his voice low and menacing.

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping his lips. "Alright, alright, no need to get all territorial."

Suguru continued to stare at his phone, his fingers hovering over the keys. "How long does it take for someone to respond to a fucking text" he mutters under his breath.

Gojo leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Maybe she's busy. Or maybe she's just messing with you. You know, playing hard to get."

Suguru finally looks up, his eyes narrowing. "She doesn't play games. And she's not hard to get—she's hard to keep."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by Suguru's reaction. “Touchy, touchy,” he mutters, returning to his culinary task.

Just then, Suguru's phone pings. His heart skips a beat as he sees your name flash on the screen. He quickly opens the message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads your response.

Y/n: Fine, I'll do it. But what are the details?

Suguru: Oh, I'm thrilled

Y/n: Shut up.

Suguru: The rules are simple: whoever deduces the monkey’s identity first and guts the bastard wins.

Y/n: And how do I know you don’t already have a head start?

Suguru: I guess you'll just have to trust me. 

Y/n: Trust you? That’s rich coming from someone who literally stabs people in the back.

Suguru lets out a snort of air from your comment catching Gojo’s attention. “Ah, there it is. The smile of a man who's finally gotten what he wants.”

Suguru doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he focuses on your message, feeling a grin grow on his lips.

Suguru: You wound me, truly. But where’s the fun without a little challenge? Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you

Y/n: Easy, huh? I suppose you think you’re quite the genius, then?

Suguru: Only compared to the average monkey. You, on the other hand, might actually make this interesting.

Y/n: Is that a compliment or are you just trying to butter me up?

Suguru: Can’t it be both? 

Y/n: Oh, don't worry. You’re not the only one who enjoys a good chase. But don’t cry when I beat you at your own game.

Suguru: Cry? Please. I’ll be too busy admiring you in action. It’s a win-win for me.

Y/n: Flattery will get you nowhere, Suguru.

Suguru: Really?

Suguru: Not even a little bit princess 🥺?

Y/n: *One attachment*

You send an image of your hand flipping him off. Your middle finger nail is painted black and he assumes so are all your other fingers. His heart thuds against his chest. God, how he would love to have those nails dragging down his back. His dick twitches just thinking about it. 

Gojo snickers as if he can read Suguru’s thoughts and Suguru considers throwing his phone at the smug white hair man when Gojo’s phone rings. Any humor falls off Gojo’s features like snow from a shaken tree branch. He glances at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing, and picks up the phone with a serious tone.

“This is Gojo.” He says. His voice is gruff as he responds to the caller with clipped “yes” and “no” answers, his timbre low. “I'll be there in 30 minutes.” 

When he sets down the phone, Suguru meets his blue eyes, Gojo’s brief smile is grim.

“Trouble?” Suguru asks.

“Trouble.” Gojo repeats.

On the exterior Gojo is Japan's most infamous playboy and philanthropist. But by night he is the devil's tool, the country's most lethal assassin for anyone from politicians to presidents.  What Suguru and you do for a hobby, Gojo Satoru does for his job.

Gojo dumps his hot food in a container, grabs his hunting knife coat and bag and heads for the door. Before he exits, he turns around to lock eyes with Suguru.

“Be safe. A woman killer is a deadly combo.” He says.

Suguru chuckles, and for a second he doesn't know if Gojo’s talking about you or the guy in Kyoto. “You to ass hat.”  

~

You can't believe you are doing this. 

You can't believe that you took up Suguru’s competition, spent 120 dollars on a train and hotel room at Kyoto and an extra 20 on room service. Moreover you can't believe that you are here, hiding in a forest of bamboo shoots at the dead of night, watching some man who may or may not be the Kyoto women killer.

It’s a warm summer night, and every time the wind blows, the bamboo shoots rustle against each other, creating a haunting melody that sets your nerves on edge. The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuates the silence. You’re crouched low, your body tense, watching a man named Noaya Zenin who you followed out here. He seems to be wandering aimlessly, but you know better than to underestimate him. The Zenin clan's reach is long and shadowy, and their involvement in the Kyoto women killings is a tangled web you’ve been unraveling. All key witnesses were either paid off by the Zenin clan or had lawyers representing them from the Zenin clan. The pattern was too precise to be a coincidence.

Your heart thuds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The thrill of the chase, the hunt, makes your senses sharper, every movement and sound more pronounced. You can feel the need creeping up on you, slowly reaching your brain until your skin itches with anticipation. 

Each minute feels like an eternity as you scrutinize Noaya’s every move. He stops occasionally, looking around as if sensing he’s being watched, and you hold your breath, pressing yourself closer to the ground. The moonlight filters through the dense bamboo, casting eerie shadows that dance with the wind. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of evidence and suspicion. If Noaya Zenin is indeed the killer, catching him here could be the breakthrough you need.

“Hiya.”

A scream almost rips through you when you feel someone's breath against your ear, but you quickly cover your mouth and whip around. Of course, you’re met face to face with the man you least wanted to see right now. Familiar hazel eyes gaze back at you, glinting with mischief and amusement. Suguru is crouched right next to you, his nose mere inches from yours, a sly smirk on his face. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“Suguru, what the fuck?” you hiss, keeping your voice low. Your first instinct is to grab your knife out of your pocket and press it against his throat but he holds both his hands up as if surrendering, stopping you.

“Woah woah princess, let's cool our engines.” He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Your pulse is still racing, but you force yourself to calm down. “You could have given me a heart attack. How did you even find me?” You seethe.

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically, his smirk widening. “Besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I? So,” his eyes flicker to Noaya, who still seems to be staring at his phone. “Who are we looking at?”

“We?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Are you kidding me? There is no we. This is a competition, remember? Go do your own research.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, come on. You know you love my company.”

Before you can retort, Noaya picks up his phone. You both strain to listen, and you catch his words clearly.

“Yeah, I’m at the bamboo forest. See you soon, babe.” He then hangs up the phone with a click and puts it back in his backpack. But just when you're about to turn back to Suguru and rip into the man, Noaya pulls something else out too. A hunting knife. A large one at that with serrated ends and a pointed tip that glints in the moon light. Just like the one used on the victims. And as if things couldn't get any more apparent, you watch as a wicked grin spreads across his face when he draws the blade diagonally through the air.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, eyes wide. “That’s definitely him. That’s like some comically evil villain shit right there.”

“Dibs,” Suguru whispers back, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he puts on his ghost mask. “I call fucking dibs.” He stands up, the crunch of leaves making Noaya whip around and stare right at the area you both hid in.

For a solid 5 seconds your two flabbergasted to even form words, you can only watch as Suguru steps out from the bamboo shoots and onto the trail, slowly walking toward Noaya like a lion cornering a gazelle. 

Or course, Noaya turns, screams like a little girl, and makes a hard right straight into the forest of bamboos.

“Oh hell no,” you mutter, leaping up and chasing after him. You sprint through the forest, the warm summer air thick and humid around you. Each footfall is muffled by the dense undergrowth, but the occasional snap of a twig or crunch of leaves marks your frenzied pace. Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly shadows that dance along the forest floor, creating an ever-shifting maze of light and dark.

Your breath comes in quick, controlled bursts, each inhale filling your lungs with the earthy scent of the forest. Adrenaline surges through your veins, sharpening your senses. The rhythmic pounding of your heart in your chest matches the rapid beat of your footsteps. Ahead, you can just make out the faint silhouette of Noaya, his panicked movements betraying his desperation.

Branches claw at your clothes and face, but you push through, eyes locked on your target. The thrill of the chase ignites every nerve, propelling you forward with a singular focus. Suguru’s presence is a constant just behind you, his footsteps a steady reminder of the competition driving you both. You can hear his breaths, steady and calculated, mirroring your own.

The path twists and turns, the bamboo growing thicker, creating a claustrophobic tunnel. You duck and weave, dodging low-hanging branches and vaulting over fallen logs. The forest floor is uneven, riddled with roots and hidden pitfalls, but your reflexes are sharp, your movements instinctual.

The thrill, the excitement, the danger—it all converges in this moment. You are a predator in your element, and your prey is within reach. The bamboo forest seems to blur around you, time stretching and contracting with each heartbeat. This is what you live for, the ultimate test of skill and nerve, the ultimate game of life and death.

Just as you’re about to close the distance, your fingertips brushing the fabric of Noaya’s shirt, he whirls around with surprising speed. The moonlight catches the gleam of his hunting knife as it arcs through the air. Instinct takes over, and you try to dodge, but the blade slices across your palm, leaving a hot, stinging line of red in its wake.

For a split second, time seems to slow. You see the wild desperation in Noaya’s eyes, the way his chest heaves with exertion and fear. But there’s no pain, only a white-hot fury that floods your veins, fueling your next move.

Your grip tightens around the hilt of your own knife, slick with blood but steady. The cut on your palm feels like a mere scratch compared to the surge of adrenaline that courses through you. With a fierce snarl, you lunge forward, using the momentum to drive Noaya back a step.

He stumbles, his confidence faltering as he realizes the severity of his mistake. You don’t give him a chance to recover. You move with a predatory grace, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. The forest around you fades into a blur of green and shadow, all your focus locked on the man in front of you.

Noaya swings wildly, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. You sidestep his attacks with practiced ease, your fury giving you a sharp, clear edge. The scent of blood mingles with the earthy aroma of the forest, and your pulse pounds in your ears like a war drum.

You close the distance again, this time with a calculated precision. Your free hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife clatters to the ground. Noaya yelps in pain, his eyes widening in terror. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

Your injured hand, still bleeding, clamps down on his shoulder with a vice-like grip. You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “Nice try,” you hiss, the fury in your voice making him shudder. “But it’s over.”

With a swift, brutal motion, you plunge your knife into his chest. The blade sinks into flesh with a sickening thud, and Noaya's eyes widen in shock and agony. Blood spurts from the wound, hot and sticky, spraying across your face in a macabre mist. The initial strike is met with a gasp, a desperate, choking sound that fuels the savage fire within you.

A wicked grin spreads across your face, the thrill of dominance electrifying your senses. You pull the knife out, feeling the resistance of tissue and bone, and then plunge it in again, and again. Each thrust is accompanied by a wet, squelching sound, a symphony of carnage that drowns out the world around you. Blood flows freely, pooling at your feet and soaking into the earth.

Noaya’s body jerks and spasms with each stab, his strength fading with every violent assault. His once panicked eyes grow dull, the life draining from them as you continue your relentless attack. The coppery tang of blood fills the air, mingling with the scent of the forest, creating a heady mixture that makes your pulse race even faster.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the violence, the way your muscles strain and flex with each plunge of the knife. Blood splatters across your face and clothes, warm and viscous, painting you in the evidence of your victory. Your grin widens, a feral expression of triumph and fury.

Amidst your frenzied stabbings, Suguru places a hand on your shoulder. "I think—" he begins, but when you turn around to face him he immediately shuts up.

Your eyes are wide, pupils contracted like a deranged predator. Your hair flows wildly in the wind as you grab Suguru's throat with your bloody hand, smearing the crimson on his skin and pressing him against a tree. 

"This woman-killer fucker is mine." You seethe.

His dick strains against his cargo pants waistband. You look divine.

“ Of course, All yours baby.” He coos.

~

Geto Suguru would be lying if he said that watching you tear apart that woman-killer wasn't the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

To Suguru, you looked divine. The moonlight accentuated the sharp angles of your face, casting shadows that danced across your blood-splattered skin. Your eyes, wild with the remnants of fury, glowed with an unearthly intensity. The contrast of crimson against your complexion made you seem otherworldly, a dark goddess of vengeance. Suguru couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the raw, primal beauty you exuded in that moment.

The walk back to your hotel was silent, but not because you were soaked in blood or because he felt awkward. More like it was because the only think he could think to say is “You are so fucking hot.”

Now here he is, twiddling his thumbs as he stands outside of your hotel door, trying to think of the right thing to say to you because god he needs to see your face one last time before he goes to bed.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open. You stand there, your hair wet and smelling faintly of vanilla. You’ve clearly just come out of the shower. A tank top clings to your damp skin, and sports shorts hug your thighs. His eyes widen slightly, and he gulps, struggling to keep his composure. 

No bra.

The sight makes his mouth go dry.

"Just checking to see if everything is good," he says, nodding toward your bandaged hand.

You feel yourself fidget in your place and you try to flash a small smile but your emotions betray you. What if you freaked him out? What he saw back there, what you did back there, that was you, the raw you. Behind all the layers of kind smiles and pleasantries, in many ways, you were no different than an animal, consumed by your predatory instincts. You wouldn't blame him if he never contacted you again after this. Shit, did you just fuck up everything?

 His presence fills the doorway, and you’re acutely aware of the tension between you two.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks for asking.”

His eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. “How’s the hand?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You hold it up and wiggle your fingers slightly. “It’ll heal. No big deal.”

Silence fills the void between you two and you clear your throat, searching for something to say to break the awkward silence, but he beats you to it.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Or are you planning to keep all the fun out here in the hallway?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, come in. But I warn you, it’s a mess.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he quips, stepping inside. His eyes scan the room, taking in the organized chaos. Bandages and clothes are scattered around the floor and he doesn't miss the splatter of blood on the white sheets of the hotel bed. After a moment, Suguru turns around and takes a step closer to you, like he’s examining you. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting a smirk play on your lips. "So, now that I’ve won the bet, what do I get?"

He chuckles, the sound low and smooth, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I was wondering when you’d bring that up." 

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. "Well? I’m waiting. What’s my prize?"

Suguru stops just inches from you. "I don’t know," he quips, "What do you want?"

You let out a short laugh, though it’s clear you’re testing him now. "That’s a big question."

Suguru's eyes darken slightly, his playful demeanor shifting into something more serious, more intense. He leans in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. "Try me."

The tension between you two is palpable, electric. You’re the first to break the silence, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I want," you pause, averting your gaze from Suguru’s hawkish one. “I want to know if I scared you.” The question slips out before you can stop it, your bravado faltering as doubt creeps in.

Suguru blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Scare me?" He repeats, as if the idea itself is laughable. He steps even closer, forcing you to take a step back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. "Scare me?” He repeats again. “You didn’t scare me," he continues, his voice low and sincere. "You… captivated me. I have never, and I mean never, seen something so magnificent as what you did. And that's saying a lot because I've done a shit ton of magnificent things.”

You sit down on the bed, more out of necessity than choice, as he looms over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a mix of emotions—relief, curiosity, and something much more dangerous.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in place.

He smiles, a slow, almost wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. "Well, I thought I might kiss you now, you know, after telling you how magnificent you are.” He tilts his head. “Is that a bad idea?"

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of his words sinks in. You forget to breathe.

You finally find your voice, though it’s a bit shakier than you’d like. "That depends…"

"On?" He asks, his face inching closer to yours, his gaze locked onto your lips.

"On how good you are at it," you murmur.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Suguru closes the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s as intense as it is tender. It’s a slow, deliberate connection, his hands moving to cradle your face as if you’re something precious, something worth savoring.

The kiss deepens, and all the tension that had been building between you two finally snaps, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. You respond in kind, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, and the world seems to have shrunk down to just the two of you in this moment. Suguru’s forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, a real, genuine smile that you can feel in your bones.

"So," he says, his voice husky and low. "How was that?"

You laugh softly, still trying to catch your breath. "Not bad," you admit, your fingers running through his black hair. "Not bad at all."

"Good," he replies, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss. "Because I plan on doing it again."

Suguru’s lips are on yours again before you can even catch your breath, this time more insistent, more demanding. He’s not asking for permission anymore; he’s claiming what he wants, and it makes your head spin. The kiss deepens as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can taste him—warm, intoxicating—and you find yourself leaning into his lips, craving more.

His hand, warm and firm, slides down your side, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest between your thighs. The touch is electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through you, and you gasp against his mouth, your heart pounding in your chest.

But it’s too much, too fast. Your mind races, and you instinctively pull back, breaking the kiss. “Wait,” you murmur, your voice breathless, “I dont know if we should….” You avert your gaze and turn your head toward the wall but Suguru grabs your chin, forcing you to look right into his hazel eyes. Then, he dips his head to whisper in your ear.

“Aw come one Y/n” He grazes your earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been on my best behavior, a good boy,” Suguru pauses to deliver a soft kiss to your temple. “I've been waiting, waiting ever since I met you in that cage to do this. Don't I deserve a reward for my patience?” 

You thickly gulp as he rubs the sides of your neck with his lips.

“I’ve been-” He kisses your jaw. “Such a-” he kisses his way up to your mouth. “Good boy.”

You cave. 

As his words sink in, you feel your resolve crumbling, the weight of his desire pressing down on you in the most intoxicating way. Before you can even process what’s happening, Suguru's strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the bed with effortless ease. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he's afraid of breaking you, and you can't help but let out a soft gasp as he lifts you off the bed and up so your head rests on the plush hotel pillow. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, and you feel your breath hitch as the world narrows down to just the two of you. The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling with the quiet rustle of sheets as he leans over you.

“I know you have been thinking about this too.” He coos. Suguru’s hands move with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your tank top, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to lift it. The cool air hits your skin as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, exposing you to his hungry gaze. But before you can feel self-conscious, his lips are on your newly exposed skin, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “Just so gorgeous.”

His hands are on your shorts next, tugging them down your hips with the same careful slowness, as if he’s unwrapping the most precious gift. As the fabric slips down your legs, he trails kisses along the newly exposed skin, his lips brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves, until the shorts are discarded on the floor.

Now you’re lying before him in just your underwear, and the way he looks at you makes your heart pound. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your entire body flush with heat. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Just so damn gorgeous.”

Suguru straightens up slightly, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing his bare chest. The sight of him makes your breath catch—his body is lean and athletic, muscles defined and sculpted from years of discipline and training. Tattoos cover his skin in an elaborate tapestry. He’s handsome, impossibly so, and the sight of him like this, just inches away, makes your pulse quicken.

He doesn’t stop there. His fingers move to the waistband of his sweatpants, and he slides them down, revealing more of his skin, his strong legs, until he’s kneeling before you in just his boxers. The fabric clings to him in a way that leaves little to the imagination, and you can’t help but stare, mesmerized by the sheer physicality of him.

Suguru catches your gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Something catches your eye princess?”

You nod, “Yes. You. All of you.” Your eyes tracing every line and curve of his body. He’s more than just handsome—he’s breathtaking, a perfect combination of strength and beauty that leaves you feeling weak in the best way possible.

He leans down again, his body hovering over yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Good, wouldn't want you to be disappointed.”

With that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands trailing down your sides, touching, feeling, exploring. 

You are too lost in the kiss not to notice his hands slipping under your underwear and making their way to your dripping cunt, and when they do, you jump at the feeling of his index finger tracing your slit.

"Gotta get you ready baby.?" Suguru hums and you shake you head vigorously.

"No please Sugu~, I can take it."

You don't have to tell him twice.

In one fluid motion Suguru tears off your underwear, lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs.

"Been waiting to do this for so long," he murmurs as he pulls down his boxers and whips out his dick. You thickly gulp at the sight, you could've guessed he was big not this big, could he even fit in you? A white bead of precum dribbled from his pretty pink tip and down his length and he uses the liquid to stroke himself in a few fluid motions.

You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Suguru please~" You whine and nearly miss the way his ears go bright red at your words

"I know baby, I know. Don't worry, lift your hips for me love?”

You oblige and immediately when you do so you're struck with the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, you're cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Suguru let out a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“F-fuck I can feel you doing it to me,” he said hoarsely.

His fingers gently press into the skin of your hip, guiding and steadying you as he pulls back and thrusts into you. The sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocks the wind out of your lungs. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Suguru thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up.

Simultaneously, his other hand sought yours, finding it with a purposeful tenderness. His fingers intertwined with yours, locking them together in a grip that was both a clasp and a caress.

You dont even realize that your eyes are closed until Suguru whispers into your ear.

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes, look at me.”

You do as he says and when you do you feel your heart thud in your chest. Suguru’s eyes were fixated completely on you, how you were reacting, as his hips were continuously slamming into your body as if it were clockwork. The sight alone had your walls clamping down on him, earning a groan from the base of his chest. 

Suddenly, the hand that had been intertwined with yours released its grip and began to rummage through Suguru’s discarded pants. Your breath hitched, eyes glazed over as you watched him retrieve a knife from his pocket, unsheathing it effortlessly with a flick of his finger. The sharp glint of the blade caught your attention from beneath Suguru’s body, even as he continued thrusting into you, not missing a beat.

Your body reacted instinctively, clenching at the sight, drawing a low, dark chuckle from Suguru.

“Hah, I knew it,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he brought the cold steel to the base of your throat. “You’re just a slut for knives, aren’t you?”

A moan escaped your lips, the sound betraying any chance of denial. Suguru took it as an admission, pressing the blade firmly against the skin of your throat as he angled his hips to hit even deeper inside you. The cool metal at your throat was electrifying, but it was his other hand, strong and unyielding, that sent a euphoric thrill coursing through you. His fingers flexed, tightening around your neck, the pressure intensifying.

It wasn’t just the air being cut off—it was the dizzying, intoxicating pleasure that came with it. The way his grip constricted, pushing you to the edge of control, ignited something raw inside. Every squeeze of his hand made your body burn hotter, a perfect balance between pain and pleasure, leaving you gasping for more.

What a primal dirty sight you where, being choked with a blade against your throat while fucked brutaly. Even the devil would clutch his rosaries.  

"Were we doing it like this in your head baby?" Suguru grunts, his Adam apple bobs as he groans from the pleasure of how fucking heavenly your pussy feels. “Because we were doing it like this in mine.” Good? Try euphoric, how could he ever think his fist could substitute the wet squeeze of your cunt?

You can't even open your mouth to respond. The friction of his dick against your walls and the adrenaline from the knife is just too good and as his pace intensified, a dizzying warmth spread through you, filling every corner of your being with a euphoric haze. The sensation of being completely enveloped, utterly connected, sent electric flesh arrows of pleasure through your body, making your eyes flutter and roll back slightly in sheer bliss. Every motion Suguru makes, every time his fat tip collides with your cervix, leaves behind a trail of sparkling heat that seems to light you from within.

"Come on eyes on me when I fuck you baby~" Suguru releases his hold from your neck and snakes his fingers between your body , finding your clit and pressing down on the pearl back and forth with the pad of index finger. "Tell me how good you feel, tell me how badly you want to cum.

He doesn’t slow the ministrations on your clit for a second as he snaps his hips into you with primal vigor, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

"So good Sugu!" You sob. You cant even open your eyes from the colors you're seeing behind your lids. Every time your pussy squeezes around him not only do bolts of pleasure shoot up your body but a ring of milky white cum forms around the base of his cock.

Suguru’s eyes are locked on how good you're taking him - the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He lets out a sharp moan at how wet you are on the inside.

"S-shit baby wanna feel you cum on me, been waiting so long." Suguru is not a whining man but here he is practically stumbling over his words. Fuck, he wants to keep himself inside you forever. He wants your kisses, your skin, your touch, your blood, your lips, to be his to claim until you die together. No one has seen, truly seen him, before you. You are what he thinks about when he wakes up, when he is eating, when he is plunging his knife into some worthless monkey. You are his goddess. 

The world beyond this intimate cocoon of warmth and breath seemed distant, irrelevant. His gaze was locked with yours, deep and unwavering, a silent communication that tethered you through the mind numbing ecstasy.

Then, he reels his hips back and slams into you in a new angle that has your body jerking.

“Found it didn't I?” He breathes through a smile and pummels into you with vigor. And your about to disagree with him, insist that the feeling is too new and foreign to feel good when all of a sudden your body begins to shake and your head starts to feel fuzzy

And suddenly—you feel it. What you’ve been craving for and what you have seen in porn.

Its like all your body's energy centers are activating at once and your left utterly helpless to the feeling of tingling ecstasy wrapping your brain and stomach.

You dont know how to tell him that something is happening, not when the pleasure is too immense your barely breathing full breaths. But he understands once again the words you tried desperately to communicate.

“Do it baby. Cum. I’ll fill you up, and if it spills I'll fuck it back into you"

So you do.

Release washed over you in an all-encompassing wave, radiating out from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It swept through you like a storm, leaving a trail of starbursts in its wake. Your body arched instinctively, clinging to Suguru as the wave crested, then gently, slowly, began to ebb.

“Ah, princess, please,” he moaned. “Be a good girl and take it all, yeah?” 

Your fingers trailed up his shoulder, only to drag them back down his spine, nails biting into his skin as he buried himself deep inside you, releasing with a powerful shudder. His movements grew erratic, hips pressing yours firmly into the mattress as his hot breath skimmed across your neck, ragged and heavy.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, lost in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the feel of his touch to guide you.

The warmth of his cum spreads through your body with a shiver, and you can feel the liquid expanding against your walls while he kept you plugged and full of him. As you both floated back down from the heights of bliss, your breaths came easier, softer, the lingering aftershocks of pleasure pulsing gently through you.

"You're mine ok?" Suguru coos, and all you can do is dumbly nod.

"I'll die for you, I'll kill a thousand monkeys for you, i'll hold them down so you can cut our their eyes. Just stay by my side."

[goldenboywrites]

“Gifted,” Iggy repeated, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. How perplexing that the prince, who had everything at his fingertips, had people longing to bestow gifts upon him. How many gifts had he received from people who had next to nothing? Who spent what little money they had to favor the prince who had so much already? He put the statue back where he had found it and moved slowly, inching across the room, scanning the prince’s belongings. “Your collection is impressive.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it dawned on him that he had never received a gift. Not from his parents, not from Victor. 

He turned to look back at Julius, studying him for a quiet moment. The prince was already looking at him, trying to decipher his thoughts. That would be trouble when they were in each other’s minds. Iggy would have to be extremely careful about that. “So the gifts people lay at your feet do not hold the same sentiment as your books?” He asked, continuing his walkthrough until he stood in front of one out of many bookcases. It was hard to be in this room and see nothing but the greed of royalty. To see someone who already had so much accept more from others.

It served as a good reminder of what he was doing here. 

This would remain challenging for Ignatius if he continued to hold back resentment against the prince. If he continued to find things to keep him at arm's length. He was supposed to be infatuated with the man, supposed to be happy to be here. This would only work if he built a bridge of trust between them. He would get nowhere going down this route, and he knew it, but it was so hard to swallow this all down. To act like Iggy was excited to be a part of the royal family. He had been raised to hate them all. It was hard enough to keep a level head when the bond cemented between them. He didn’t need to make it harder on himself. 

“I have a book,” Ignatius offered the information easily, though his gut was churning. “A grimoire, actually.” He made his way over to the prince, taking the seat next to him. “Wizards receive it when their powers mature. It’s a part of our being. When we learn new spells, the book catalogs them. No grimoire is the same.” He snapped his fingers, and the book appeared, hovering in the air. It had an emerald-green glow around it. Golden ivy was etched into the spine. Some symbols on the book’s cover matched the mating symbol, another annoying sign of how the mark influenced his magic. “You can look at it,” He said, jaw clenching because no one had looked at his grimoire before, but he was trying. “If you want.” The book moved over to Julius, waiting in midair.

A part of him was relieved that the prince wouldn’t immediately force Iggy to live within the confines of his personal quarters. It would be harder to sneak away if they were in the same rooms all the time, but he also knew that the King and his wizard would strongly advise that they do. What Julius said now might not be the same after he had discussed it further with his advisors, so Iggy wasn’t going to get his hopes up. “I’m fine with whatever you or your advisors decide.” It would do them both a world of good if they stopped pretending Ignatius had a choice.

To watch someone invade your space was one thing. But the manner in which this man did it was something else entirely. He made himself take up space which was not something Julius was accustomed to. At least not in his own presence. The only person that had been bigger than him was his father. And, well, he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. Maybe this is what he's talking about. He scoffed loudly and coughed to cover for it, terribly too. But he really thought about it. Was this really a lot of stuff? The prince's eyes slowly began to assess all that was contained within just this room and it only when he'd laid eyes on Iggy still assessing the surroundings.

Julius looked at what he'd picked up finally and sighed to himself. Something told him that there was going to be a great deal about his life that was about to be scrutinized. And perhaps rightful so. But was it truly his fault for being born who and what he was? Was any of this any of their faults when they got right down to it? You have this one life and surely you try and do what is best but who's to say what that was? It was clear that Iggy felt whatever Julius had or had been given because of his birth didn't seemed earned. Or rather it seemed that he deemed him not worthy of all of this. And to an extent he'd agree. But he wasn't sure he was ready to argue the rights and duties of the all powerful and the stars.

"A lot of what you see in here is gifted to me." Which did not truly matter in the grand scheme of things but he felt the need to clarify it anyway. "Sometimes they bring pieces of art or food. Depending on the strengths of their families or countries." Julius brought his hand out and touched the head of the figurine, smiling small at the memory of the young woman that had shyly hidden it behind her back before her father forced her forward into presenting it to him. There were many fond memories of nearly every piece in this room but there were a few he'd picked for himself. A soft sigh left his lips and he moved away from Iggy, towards the closest seat to them.

"If you're looking for what truly matters you'd be better to look in the books." He said, raising his hand to gesture towards the tall towers behind the desk across from them. Julius smiled a bit wider then and brought that same hand back to cup his face, posturing himself to lean on the arm of his seat. "If I'm guilty of anything it's spending a great deal in literature." His gaze drifted back towards Iggy, trying to read any sort of emotion or notion on his face. "My father thinks it's ill suited for me and so it makes me want them all the more." The smile grew a bit then. "I'll need another tower before the start of summer I think."

It was then that he finally decided on what he was going to tell Iggy about in regards to his questions when they'd first gotten in. "I won't tell you where to stay." He knew that was already the wrong move. At least that's what his father would say. But he didn't feel he owned this man. Bond or not, this wasn't something that was going to be easy for either of them and the less this one hated him to start, he was hoping that might help offset some of this. "I'd like you to stay close though." He added, even though he knew his wants were not on Iggy's radar. Nor would they be if he had his way. Julius shifted in his seat and moved to get a better look at him. "I ..." He pressed his lips tight together, teeth digging into his flesh harder than he'd intended. "If you're okay with that." They both knew this was truly just a formality but Julius had meant it. Iggy having his own space was important to him. He knew they were both going to need it if this was how things would be until their bond was sealed and then .... who knew. He does.

[screampied]

squirting for the first time with jjk men?? 😫

❛ SLIPPERY WHEN WET! ❜

sukuna, toji, getō, gojo, namami, choso. jjk men and their reaction to making you squirt for the first time

total wc. 3.6k

warnings. fem!reader, degradation, squirting, overstim, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, p*ssydrunk men, dumbification, pussyspanking, toy usage, edging. MDNI

FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI

“hm? ain’t no guy ever make ya squirt before?” he grunts. and you’re just absentmindedly being stuffed, both of your wrists gripped back with toji holding onto them, his strokes were mean and demanding. your head continued to thump and bounce against the soft silk pillow that rested underneath your head. all you could make out was a sweet pathetic ‘nuh-uh’ and toji raises his thin eyebrows in amusement. “no baby…? not even once?”

“no- don’t think i can, i tried myself but…”

he snickers. “silly girl. trust me, you can squirt,” you bit your lip, eyes nearly rolling back from his jagged thrusts, its so good you nearly feel drool start to run down the corners of your mouth, how embarrassing it was—yet you remained stupid from his dick, feeling the warmth of your pussy clench tight against him. “want me to test it out?”

“yeah,” you whine, your voice was a mere soft mewl, an almost mumble practically, and toji gifts your ass with a spank, eliciting a moan from your mouth. he grows cocky the minute a huh? leaves his mouth. so you correct yourself with a “y-yes.”

“….‘yeah’ what girl,” he groans, skimming his dark green eyes down to see how your body jerks underneath him. his weight lightly hovers against you, and he’s still got a firm grip with your wrists, having you pitifully tongue-tied. “taught you how to speak to me. so let’s try that again.”

arrogant bastard, what your thoughts originally said—making you purposely repeat yourself, but his cock always always made up for it.

“please,” you choke out, moaning from the way he deepens his thrusts just a tad bit, your mouth starts to water from the way your pussy twitches in content. “make me squirt toji. please. i wanna be messy for you.”

“aw that’s my girl,” he purrs, releasing his grip from your wrists, yet it remains still against your bare back, his thrusts snap against you to where a cute gasp leaves your lips. “but oh, you’ve been messy though, but there’s nothing wrong with that, princess,” he teases, such mockery escaping from his tone. “relax for me, yeah? you’ll feel it when it comes.”

“okay,” you moaned, your left cheek pressed up against the white sheets of the mattress. it was cute, your face being up against the bed as you’re being absolutely stuffed and pounded. you felt yourself tightening from the inside—a coil desperately awaiting to be snapped, a feeling you never knew you could feel, and you probably looked so dumb. “okay okay o-okay.”

you cutely kept sputtering, repeating and bracing yourself. toji brings a rough hand towards the back of your neck as he’s ramming his fat length from behind you, such thrusts has your body spasming and crying out for more, it feels like a orgasm being snatched away from you.

“give it to me, girl.” he grunts, giving your ass another mean spank. the immense build up. your legs judder continuously to where your mind goes blank like an empty canvas, empty..

“a-ah t-toji—!” you squeaked, and he’s so ruthless whenever it came to you, each time you try to sit up to turn around he shoved your head lightly back down, it’s so cute. “fuck, fuck. f-fuck, ‘s about to-” and a gasp interrupts your words the minute you squirt all down his shaft to his base, your sweet juices sheath and sheath all the way down and it’s so warm and hot.

the minute you end up squirting, your legs felt so weak, it just quavered and shook. “oh my g-god,” you sobbed, and he slows his sloppy thrusts against your cunt down—leaning up close to you, direct and personal. “there we go mama, my messy fuckin’ squirter,” he whispers, he’s pressed against your ass and wraps a few fingers around your neck. planting a kiss underneath your chin he murmurs. “you made such a mess. how’s it feel?”

“good. but feels w-wet toji.”

“eheh, well yeah girl, that’s kinda the point.” he snickers, playfully sinking his teeth into your neck, giving it a teasing nibble.

SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN

“hm? make you squirt huh? so greedy.. my fingering isn’t enough for you?” sukuna teases and you’re laid flat on your back with your legs lazily lifted up, more like he’s holding them up for you.

you moaned, feeling him slide a single digit in and out. he sneaks a wet kiss against your thigh before leaning in to press his lips against your pussy, tasting how sweet you were. “...kuna ‘m not greedy, just wanna see what it feels like, please..”

“you are greedy,” he grunts, giving your cunt a swift spank to make your legs twitch, “but sure thing.” he mutters, warm minty breath going against your clit. your head goes back and your mouth slightly opens and parts from the way he’s fingering you and eating you out. his lips latch and lock against your folds to make your eyes roll back. he was so filthy with his tongue let alone his fingers.

you sucked your teeth—feeling his two fingers push deep in and out, going past against that spot each time, instead of your eyes rolling you were practically crossed eyed.

“f-fuck, fuck, ‘s good ‘kuna...”

“i know. you keep saying that, dumb girl. quit talkin’ and start squirting.” and you lose count of how many mean slaps he gives your pussy. he’s so mean, yet found every few seconds to praise you and let you know how good you’re doing.

“h-hurry up and make me then.”

“little girl, watch it.” he grunts, gifting you a glare, his eyes pierce against yours before he sits up, spitting right on your pussy with a rough spat, he runs a single middle finger down your slit to snatch the tiny brat left in you. you meet eye contact and your slick was very much glistening his chin, being soaked with your sweetness.

your legs were so close, just the epitome of the word jittery with how it just shook, never once staying still. the stimulation he created with his tongue let alone his fingers, it had your mind boggled. “think ‘m getting close, f-fuck.”

“uh huh. fuckin’ bet you are.” he whistles in response—grabbing ahold of his dick and you let off a cute gasp at the way he swipes his throbbing leaky pre-swollen tip against your wetness. “look at that, princess.

so eager to jus’ swallow me up.” and he slowly makes his way inside your cunt, immediately your walls hug him as a response and you’re just at the very limit. “come on, let go for me. you dont gotta be shy around me, neither does this wet pussy.”

the minute you squirt…it’s embarrassing, sukuna only smacks about five deep thrusts against your cunt and you’re already making a mess all over his base. “s-so good.” you’d cry out, and he’s staring at you.

a grunt departs his lips before he leans in to kiss you, pulling out only to ghost his fingers against your clit.

“you’re such a nasty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, you moan—tasting your own slick that ran down his chin, the sharp edges of his teeth playfully nibbling down on your lip. his body heat against yours made you feel tingly and even more in such heat. “tell me you’re my nasty girl, baby.”

“i-i’m a nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you moaned.

he gives you a dead stare—and you whine once he slips two fingers inside your throbbing pussy.

“i’m your nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you rephrased, and a cocky grin forms on his lips.

“what a good obident girl. think i like you.”

NANAMI ☆ KENTO

“you sure sweetheart?” he asks in a soft mumble, he has a wand in hand. the ringing of the toy rings against your ears as your legs were sprawled apart for him. “you want me to make you…squirt?”

“yes p-please, kento.” you nod, the cuteness bestowed upon your lips was beyond words to describe. the way your lip quivered, it was barely up a few notches yet you throbbed and throbbed. despite it only being a good ten minutes. you’re just a whimpering mess.

eager to touch yourself, you reach down to play with your pussy before he grabs it, kissing the back of your hand.

he chuckles. “oh baby…baby, gotta keep those hands to yourself if you want me to make you messy. okay? no touching.”

“s-sorry kento.”

“aw, don’t be sorry. squirt, princess.” he teases, a hum underneath his tone he was so gentle with you, with his touch yet your legs felt like they were pretty much about to give out.

the stimulation made your teeth nearly chatter, toes clench and your back nearly arching. he finds you to be so pretty like this. flat on your chest, drool running down your mouth against the pillow with your mind empty.

you hold in a moan, teeth lightly piercing down on your lip to help silence yourself from the immense pleasure, the overstim from just releasing had your chin just hovering over your arm.

“o-one more level kento.”

“more? it’s gonna be on four, dunno if my cute whiney princess can handle that.”

“p-please, need it. i wanna-”

you moan at the swift sound of nanami swiping a thumb across the vibrating toy feeling the impulses throb against your sweet cunt, indeed it now being a level higher from three and it’s so good you can just taste the urge to let yourself go.

the sudden feeling of his sneaking fingers to brush and slither against your puffy folds was just enough to send you to burst—your mouth slightly went agape, and you’re just stupid. “n-nanami.”

“so dumbstruck you said nanami instead of kento, such a sweet thing,” and you end up squirting the minute he rubs the toy in a circular motion—maneuvering it against you along with fingers to ghost and run alongside your achy pussy. “easy, ‘s okay. lie down on your chest. jus’ let go for me baby, yeah.”

“such a gorgeous girl,” he whispers in awe, leaning down to kiss your clit which turns to countless smooches, mwah after mwah and your legs were practically mush by now. “let me clean you all up with my tongue, ‘m your husband, least i could do. so relax for me, my love.”

SUGURU ☆ GETO

“oh? i’ve made you squirt before, no?” he cackles, leaning back against the headrest of the couch.

“no,” you whined, still getting over your post-orgasm, his cock stood firm inside of you, such inches of his kept you warm with your hands pressed against his chest. geto stares at you with intrigued darkened eyes. having you sat on his lap, legs still barely recovered a few minutes ago. “don’t think you ever did...”

geto grips your waist, sliding a tongue across his lips before muttering in a sly coy tone. “mhm hmm,” and he’s so sassy, even having the audacity to roll his eyes at you. black specks of hair trickle down and paint the lower half of his body. geto’s happy trail was always appetizing to look at.

“this your little way of asking me to make you soak yourself on me, angel? how cute.” he grins.

“…sugu—” and you gasp at the way he grunts the minute the pads of his thumbs lightly press and pierce into your skin. he starts making you bounce against him and your mouth opens, such lewd whines exit your lips before you throw your arms around his neck.

“wanna squirt, do it yourself. fuck me baby. show me how bad you want it,” and he groans how he’s so stuffed. so full of cum still, hefty base pounding and thwacking back against your pussy. “you’re a big girl. do it y-yourself, mhm…shit.”

he was so teasingly sly, making you rut yourself against him, in the end you always had to do pretty much everything yourself whenever it came to geto.

“…okay,” you choked out, and he playfully leans back — tiny beads of sweat running down the side of his forehead as well as the very middle part of his chiseled v-line.”

it felt so good, you’re dumbly grating your teeth together, still so sensitive, the only cacophony that left your lips was cute whimpers of, “s-sugu,” “…want you s’bad,” and even, “you’re so mean.”

he chuckles at how dumb you grew out to be simply from being stuffed full of thick inches of his dick. “gotta be mean to deal with a pussy this wet.”

his girth had you running for your money, toes clinching as you started to rollick and jerk your hips against him, reaching a hand down to play with yourself before you whine. “f-feel it, suguru.”

“yeah? what are you waitin’ for then?” he purrs.

he chuckled at the sudden moments where you’d grow quiet — he knows how good he’s getting underneath your skin with his vexatious teasing.

his cock expanded in and out the more you moved your hips against him, your soft breaths getting caught in your throat before it comes, you squirt at the same time geto came and he’s caught off guard by the sticky messy feeling, he’s the one who slips off a whine. “s-shit..”

it came out a lot…

let alone with him soaking your cunt full of his own, you really felt stuffed and full to the very depths of it, it felt like a sharp coil within you snapped. geto starts panting, and he takes a moment to blink before grunting, staring away with a flustered face. “don’t look at me. finish fucking me, hmph.”

SATORU ☆ GOJO

“pretty please, ‘toru,” you’d whine out, and he was just straight up cocky and mean, teasing you with having you on all fours, impatient and desperately desperate. “i wanna…wanna squirt.”

“i know you do,” he laughs, playfulness ran all over his tone before he gives your ass a squeeze. that earned a needy moan out of you and you but down on your lip while staring at the fat sheets of the mattress underneath you. “are you asking me to make you squirt or are ya tellin’ me, pretty girl?”

he was so infuriating. even while being plugged in with so much of his thick inches, even just barely with the way he kept swiping his fat tip against your slit, awaiting you.

“….‘m asking, s-satoru.”

he whirrs a playful tone before flipping you over on your back to face him, and then he smiles. “okay. if that’s what you want,” and his voice was so low—a tad bit raspy with pompous smugness all over his sentences. “since i know how impatient ‘n horny you are all the damn time, i’ll make ya squirt in about one minute.”

a minute?

was that even possible—you always heard about how it would take at least longer than that but then you remembered who you were dealing with. gojo satoru and his long pretty fingers that never failed to stretch your pussy out. he was forever proud of that fact, he’d make you soaking wet from not only his dick, his mouth, but especially his fingers.

“it’s gonna get messy, ‘m warning you,” he teases, pulling you up a bit to place a towel down underneath your back. he leans in to pepper kisses underneath your chin before seconds later, he moves his length aside with a grip — before slowly stuffing a single long finger inside, which after a few milliseconds, turns into another. “now, i’m gonna need you to be a good wet girl and jus’ relax for me.”

his words were soothing. you could hardly comprehend anything so his sentences went straight towards your clit, throbbing and throbbing you wanted more. he finds it cute how you grip onto his wrist, babbling about how you don’t want him to stop. “o-okay, satoru. okay.”

you shudder at the feeling of him grazing a thumb down your slit and he moves his head down between your legs to blow softly against your pussy and you moan, feeling him create a good amount of pressure to where you bare down against his fingers easily as if it came natural.

“sweet girl,” he groans, giving your pussy a kittenish suck. your eyes went back in pleasure and you whined at the feeling of his two fingers just smacking in and out of you now. the noises, they were so loud you could hardly even believe it was coming out of you. “hear how wet this sloppy pussy is? yeah girl, that’s you.”

his words that went through your ear and out the other and it got you so wet. his degradation had you pulsing, you felt the inside of your tummy tighten, muscles clenching with you lying down on your back, bracing yourself. gojo was patient with you, occasionally bringing soft kisses towards your clit. you whined before he started to grow more feral, sucking and latching his tongue against your folds while still having two fingers stuffed inside your pussy.

your brain doesn’t even process you’re squirting before gojo lets off a, “oopsie,” the minute you squirt out on his fingers, the front tips of his fingers massage and toy and prod against that spot you always grew to know—and you moan at the way he easily stole a orgasm from you like that, within a single span of a minute.

“aw. you look like you just saw your life flash before your eyes, baby,” then he sits up to face you. both arms pressed around you before muttering in a teasing tone, “want a taste? open your mouth.”

and he gives you the most sloppiest kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat before grunting, you moan in his mouth. your legs wrapped around his slim waist before he squeezes a hand down on your pussy only to spank it roughly, breaking away for a bit before whispering, “good girl. now gimme one more. wanna see if i can do it within thirty seconds.”

CHOSO ☆ KAMO

“b-baby…you wanna do that?” choso mumbles, staring in awe as the both of you watched some random eight minute compilation of women squirting. he was staring intently, and then he only grew more flustered at picturing you like that. legs all spread, eyes rolled back and maybe your tongue stupidly lolled out. “um.. squirt?”

“yes…” you nodded, sitting on his lap. he throbbed behind you, still a bit tingly from his recent orgasm of fucking you.

you pressed against his back and his chin cutely rests against your shoulder. choso’s always been a bit inexperienced whenever it came to well, women. he’s had sex sure….but he doesn’t think he’s ever made a girl do this, this thing called squirting. not until you brought it up.

the more he watched it, the more he moaned to himself at imagining you being all messy like that.

“okay baby, i can do it,” he murmurs in a soft voice.

he brings a hand between your legs and pries it open just a bit, “lie back,” he moans, seeing your legs sprawl open slowly for him made him lick his lips, he was so hungry for you. you had the phone in your hand so he could watch, imitate the exact ways to make a woman squirt with ease and it was so cute how attentive he was. “s-stimulate the um…g-spot a little like this,” he mumbles to himself, and you moan once he slowly inserts two slender long fingers inside your pussy, you were so wet he lets off a cute, “o-oh….”

his eyes multitasked, turning its focus towards you and the screen that played the lewd video at the same time. “like that c-choso, please.”

“i’m doing a good job?” he says, and it’s almost into a form of a whine. all because he’s so desperate to hear your praise and approval, he feels his stomach flip in a good way at feeling you nod against his chest, affirming him to not stop. “okay, okay,” he mutters. “add a little um…p-pressure, consistent pressure until you feel a spongey like texture deep towards the clit.”

you moaned, his words matched his fingers, you tried to squeeze your thighs together but remembered you couldn’t because they were open.

your head rested back against his chest and with a right hand squeezing down onto his thigh, you felt your leg start to bounce. “m-more.”

“don’t wanna rush this baby,” he kisses the back of your forehead. a small pout going across your lips before he continues, pausing to hear the voice on the video that’s instructing speak.

he leans against your ear, strands of his hair poking against you before he murmurs. “bare against my fingers princess. squeeze down a little ‘n relax. can you do that?”

you choke out a moan once you obey his words, doing exactly what he says before you feel a sudden rush reaching out, you never felt this feeling before such a high you craved and chased you felt dizzy, a good kind of a dizzy.

“c-choso, ‘s coming, ‘s coming,” you moaned, your legs not able to hold themselves still. he has a perfect bowling ball grip with his fingers, stroking gently against you to where your mouth salivates with your own saliva.

“…fuck,” you sobbed, the warmth of him massaging his long fingers inside of you made you taste every number of tastebuds that resided on your tongue.

the moment you gush out and squirt, coating his fingers clean of your sheeny pretty slick, you flop back against his chest and you can ever hear a tiny gasp leave his lips. “w-wow,” he whispers in shock — with how much you squirted, he was so fascinated, growing more and more curious and it was adorable. “can you…can we do that again? please?”

[rosemaryhoney27]

sleepy boy

Danny is tired but happy he told his parents about him being Phantom and they took it surprisingly well. Sure they were sad but accepted what happened. It was all to good to be true so Danny remained on his guard around his parents.

But as time passed nothing happend and his parents became even more supportive of him. After finding out about Danny and how he became a halfa it was easy for the to figure out Vlad after an epic beat down of one Vladimer Masters The Fenton parents forced vlad to use his influence to get rid of the GIW

After all of that Danny finally felt himself relax all the tension left his body and he fell asleep. just a little nap.

At this time, the still unknown king of the infinite realms gained a new power. This is also when Danny begins his sleepwalking adventures.

The first time it happend the Fenton family had no idea what to do Danny had just created a portal in the middle of town and sleep walked right into it and reappeared out of a another portal on top of the school.

The next time it happened, Danny had fallen asleep in Mr. Lancers' class when he suddenly stood up, created a portal, and walked through it while also transforming into his Phantom form. Needless to say, Danny's identity as Phantom was no longer a secret in Amity Park after that.

Danny, of course, has no idea this is even happening. No one has the heart to tell him when he has finally started to relax. The people of Amity Park quickly got used to Danny randomly popping up in places via a portal, so much so that there was a segment called Sleeping Phantom Watch on the news. This was the new normal until one day Danny Portals away, and no one has any idea where he is.

The bat fam had just sat down for dinner when a lazerus green portal appeared in the dining room. Everyone freezes, watching the portal, when a white-haired teen walks out.

Everyone is immediately on their feet, ready for battle,e yelling at the white-haired boy as the portal closes behind him

"what are you doing here" Bruse growls using his Batman voice the boy doesn't respond just stands in place

Damian rushes towards the boy and presses his sword to the intruder's neck. "he asked you a question." still no response

Soon, the boy was surrounded, and they got ready to attack when the white-haired teen let out a loud snore. "Wait, is he..." Tim gets closer to look at the boy and waves a hand in front of the boy's face, who snorts. "He's sleep"

"What, no way " Dick leans forward to see for himself just as the white-haired boy starts walking again and walks straight through Dicks body as if he wasn't even there Panic erupts as Dick pats his body down, shivering "S..so cold"

The boy keeps walking, and they can't grasp him. Then another portal shows up in front of the boy, who walks through it, and it closes instantly after him.

After that, the Bat fam kept seeing the sleep-waking portaling teen all over Gotham.

During one of his sessions, he interrupted the joker who had kidnapped Jason and Damian, but this time, he wasn't alone. Behind him was a tiny green puppy who was pulling on his pant leg, trying to drag the boy back through the portal when it closed, leaving the boy and dog.

The dog seems to cover his snout in frustration, and honestly, Jason and Damian could understand. But of course, Joker had to ruin the mood.

"Well, well, what have we here?" He grins, getting into the boys's faces. "An uninvited guest, how I hate party crashers. How about I introduce you to my friend Pain. Tell me what hurts more. I never get a straight answer." Joker cackles and swings a crowbar at the boy's head

Jason and Damian yell, hoping to wake the boy up as the weapon comes down. A loud growl makes the joker pause before he could land a hit and he looks down to see the puppy growling fiercly at him standing in front of the boy. "Out of the way, mutt!!" Joker yells, kicking at the dog

A move he would quickly regret as the dog grew and grew and grew until it was the size of a large Bear with teeth bigger and longer than jokers arms which was proven as the dog proceeded to tear said arm and crowbar off jokers body

The clown screams in horror as the once tiny harmless looking puppy procedes to tear his limbs off. Soon the Joker was nothing but a head with a body. The dog was about to finish off the joker and bite his head off when the boy starts walking towards another portal.

The dog shrinks and chases after the boy before the portal closes.

Jason and Damian looked down at the crying limbless joker, and Jason burst out laughing, "That was the best thing I had ever seen in my life."

From then on, every time the mysterious sleepwalking boy appeared in Gotham, Jason was there with Damian, offering the dog treats and pets and helping the poor pup take care of his sleeping boy.

As for the rest of Gotham, they, like the Amity parkers, had become accustomed to the boy and his dog magically appearing in random places. No one bothered them, and after what happened to the Joker, none of the other Gotham rouges would even dare touch him if he showed up near them with the dog.

And if the dog wasn't there, well, the giant werewolf and the yeti were enough of a deterrent.

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH1

12609 words, 71519 characters, 719 sentences, 224 paragraphs, 50.4 pages Next chapter

You can't recall exactly when or how you first came into contact with the billionaire and his sons, but if you could, you would go back in time and prevent that meeting from ever taking place. In a heartbeat.

Sitting obediently on a glass table tucked in the center of a crowded Wayne Enterprises boardroom, you find yourself ensnared as Bruce Wayne diligently delivers a familiar presentation, each sentence having been painstakingly practiced during the car ride over. Having overheard his repeated rehearsal with Alfred, you find yourself unconsciously mouthing along to every word. The tight black and green collar around your neck only worsening your discomfort, its stiffness constricting your movements and snagging on your freshly groomed fur.

The man continues on with his presentation, his polished demeanour and authoritative tone captivating the attention of the surrounding investors and executives. However, you find it difficult to focus on his words, the ridiculous knitted Nightwing sweater pressing against your back causing an uncomfortable itch. You shift slightly, wincing as your freshly combed coat brushes against the stiff fabric.

The weight of Bruce's unwavering gaze lands on you like a furnace, and you can almost picture that infuriatingly fond smile plastering his face. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with disgust. Your tail swishing side to side in distaste.

He continues to drone on and on; and you find yourself struggling to stay still, the uncomfortable position, itchy sweater, and the heavy weight of Bruce's stare making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything he's saying. The only thing you want to do is scratch the infuriating itch, but the tight collar around your neck and Bruce's looming presence ensure that you remain obediently still. You know better than to cross them. How willing they are to punish you, so you stay still.

Your thoughts drift to a time when you were still unburdened by this enforced domestication. A pang of longing and bitterness settles in your chest as memories of your previous life come flooding back. You remember the simple freedom of being able to move about unmonitored, the comfort of lounging in the sun, unbothered by the Wayne families suffocating grasps.

Your paws effortlessly propel you across the icy rooftops, leaping and bounding with a careless grace. The cool night air brushes through your untamed, unhindered fur, the wind whistling past your ears. A bag is clenched between your sharp teeth, the fabric muffling your breathing slightly as you scale each building with purpose.

The city's neon glow stretches out beneath your paws, the distant lights casting a soft, surreal hue on the urban canvas. Free to go wherever you please. You could spend minutes, hours or even days just wandering under Gotham’s starry sky, with no one to tell you what to do or where to be.

You pause your journey and arrive at the edge of a dark alley, peering down at the scene below. A woman holds two teens hostage, a pistol pressed against their shivering frames. Your tail involuntarily fluffs up, matching the tension in your body as your slitted eyes dart to each potential escape route. A hiss escapes past your teeth, and you set the package down at your side before delicately pawing at a loose brick in the wall. You slide it from its position just enough to create a domino effect, the brick falling directly onto the woman's gun-holding hand.

A small, satisfied mewl leaves your throat as the woman wails in pain, her broken wrist cradled protectively in her grip. The two teens immediately seize the opportunity to make their escape, scrambling out of the alleyway. The gun slips from the woman's grasp, and she drops to her knees clutching her wounded hand. Your ears fold back and a low hiss escapes your lips at the sight, but you remain perched on the roof-top, unmoving. You slowly lower back down to take your package, then turn away. Your paws hitting the nearest rooftop with a small thump.

Your paws carry you further and further away from the robbery, the events replaying in your mind like a vivid, disjointed dream. You launch yourself from roof-to-roof in a series of quick dashes and leaps, your body seemingly on autopilot as you weave through the city's darkened backstreets. The silence of the rooftops envelops you like a comforting blanket, the city below finally at rest. A cool night breeze caresses your untamed fur, rustling its unkempt strands. Balancing the package carefully in your mouth, you bound toward your home’s familiarly cluttered balcony.

Your eyes scan over the cluttered balcony, taking in the random assortment of books, clothes, and trinkets strewn across the small space. Your padded paws land quietly on the rough wood, a subtle thump breaking the silence. Your muscles relax ever so slightly as the familiar surroundings wash over you. Without a second thought, you make your way to the edge of the balcony, lowering the package with your paws before curling up beside it, your ears folding back in an almost contented manner.

Your eyes had just shuttered closed as you basked in the soothing midnight breeze, when the sudden crash of metal yanks you from your reverie. Your ears perking up and pivoting towards the source of the disturbance. A low, frustrated huff escapes your snout. You stretch out your limbs, your tail flicking in annoyance as you lower yourself from the edge of the balcony and peer over the side.

Peering down from your perch on the balcony, your eyes widen in surprise. It’s...a boy? Wearing a skin-tight red and black bodysuit with a vibrant yellow cape. A flicker of familiarity sparks in your brain; you’ve seen this one before. Red Robin.

You observe him silently from your vantage point, tilting your head to the side as your eyes rove over his frame. He lets out an exaggerated groan, grappling awkwardly with an unfamiliar piece of gadgetry. A low, scoffing hum leaves your throat and your tail lightly thwaps against the wood, twitching in amusement. You had only seen him in pictures before, but damn, they didn’t lie. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

You lower yourself with a single, fluid motion onto the metal stairwell, feeling the rough surface scraping against your little paws. A small hiss of displeasure escapes your throat, but you brush it off and continue. You approach him curiously, taking a moment to inspect him. Your nose twitches as you sniff at his cape before finding a comfortable spot to sit and look up at him expectantly.

He doesn’t immediately notice your approach, his mind seemingly occupied by the malfunctioning gadget in his hands. You watch as he fiddles with the device for a few moments before his attention finally snaps to you. He visibly jumps, startled by your sudden proximity. He lets out a startled breath, eyes widening. You had gone to him.

You let out a snort of derision. Him, a vigilante? A detective? Unlikely. The thought of him trying to solve a case or outwit a criminal is absolutely absurd. You let your gaze wander over his costume once more, imagining how differently he would react if you were in your human form right now.

He slowly lowers the gadget, his eyes fixed upon you as you recline before him, behaving like an awaiting house cat. He observes you with quiet, analytical interest, his gaze roaming over your small form, taking in your twitching tail and reasonably-groomed fur. He seems to ponder the sight of you, weighing in on your not-quite stray, yet not-quite pampered appearance.

You gingerly shift closer, standing on your hind legs before pawing at his pants. A small indignant huff of disappointment escapes your lips as the material refuses to tear, the tightly-woven fabric holding firmly against your claws, unable to even tear the slightest thread, but you mask it with a small, almost cute "mew". Nevertheless, you are determined to make the most out of this situation. Planning on coaxing all the pets you possibly can out of this man.

He shoots you a curious look, tilting his head to the side. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. He then slowly reaches out a gloved hand, hovering it over your head hesitantly, waiting for your response.

The end of your tail gives a happy flick, betraying your eagerness for his touch. You press your cheek against his knuckles, enjoying the sensation of his fingers against your fur. Instinctively, your ears fold back, granting him better access to run his fingers further through your soft fur. Sucker.

A soft, delighted purring sound fills the air as your eyes flutter closed, your purrs becoming a constant, steady low rumble in your chest as he continues to gently stroke your head and down your neck. Oh, this is heavenly. Your tail swishes contentedly, and you lean into his touch, almost shamelessly seeking out more.

His gloved hand is much bigger than your entire head, the soft fabric of his suit brushing against your fur. Yet, his touch was gentle and deliberate, slowly tracing the outline of your ears and down your spine, causing a blissful shiver to run through your small body. Your eyelids droop further, nearly closing completely, your purring becoming louder as you relax into his touch. You don’t notice the pleased knowing grin that crosses his face.

The weight and warmth of his gloved hand was almost soothing, his fingers weaving between your fur with a sort of rhythmic motion. You let your body go limp, your head rolling back to further expose the underside of your chin, silently begging for more of those slow, careful caresses. Your eyes are almost completely closed now, a small rumble in your chest the only sound you remember how to make. God, you haven’t been pet in weeks.

His hand moves from your spine to the base of your tail, and a low sigh of pure contentment leaves your mouth. He seems to sense your delight and focuses his attention there, running his fingers through the base of your tail, causing you to involuntarily arch your body towards him, purring in approval.

He seems to know exactly what to do, his touch deliberate yet tender. A little too well. It's as if he's somehow mapped out each and every spot that you secretly adore and is now exploiting it to great effect. The constant caresses, pets, and scrabbles have worked you into a sort of euphoric, almost trancelike state, your mind becoming blissfully devoid of conscious thought. All you can focus on is the warm, firm touch of his gloved hand.

The moment is shattered, however, as deep voice from his comms shatters the sweet, blissful moment. Your little pointed ears perk up, instinctively responding to the sudden intrusion of sound. “Tim? Why does it say you’ve stood still?”

You pull yourself from your blissful state with a reluctant huff, the sound of the deep voice in his comm jarring you back to reality. Your ears flick back, annoyed at the interruption. Tim– Red Robin seems to tense up, his hand frozen in mid-pet. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, looking down at you. "Sorry, I got…distracted."

Your tail lazily swishes against the stairwell, silently expressing your irritation at having been interrupted. You can practically hear his sheepish, nervous chuckle, can practically sense the tension in his frame. "Distracted?" The voice in the comm questions, but you huff, tuning out the conversation.

You let out a small, frustrated huff before turning your focus back onto Tim's still form. Ignoring the man's comm conversation, you push your little, fluffy face against his leg, letting out a needy demanding mewl to regain his attention. You're not done yet, damn it.

His eyes flick back over to you, a mix of apology and amusement evident in his gaze. He resumes his prior motions, sliding his hand down your spine with a soft, comforting caress, tracing the same path he'd followed before. All the while, his other hand is fiddling with the comms device, probably replying to the man on the other end. Good. As long as his hands are still touching you, you don't particularly care what he's doing. “You found them?”

You sigh and let yourself relax once again, the soothing motions of his fingers against your fur quickly working you back into blissful indifference. You let your eyelids flutter closed, sinking back into the soothing rhythm of his touch. The only sounds you can focus on are his breathing, the soothing rasp of his glove against your fur, and the low hum of the comm conversation. This is nice.

He continues this motion for what feels like an eternity, the blissful sensation of being pet taking over your senses and dulling your brain into a euphoric, mindless state. You find yourself leaning heavily against his leg, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the low rumble of his voice against the comms acting as an oddly soothing background noise. Damn, you could get used to this....

Gradually, you become aware of him shifting, his hand leaving your spine. A low whine escapes your throat, your eyes opening to look up at him with a mixture of annoyance and pleading. Come back. You meow, demanding.

You let out a low grumble of complaint as he stands and picks up the device once more. Irritated at the interruption of your moment, you bat at his leg with your small paw, then quickly scamper away, leaping back onto the balcony from before. Now alone, you let out a sigh and circle the small space multiple times. The wood scraping against your claws sharply.

With a quick shift, you transform back into your human form, the small package clutched delicately in your hands. Turning, you slide open the door to the balcony and step through, the cool night air rustling against your clothes.

Tossing the small package onto the countertop, you drag yourself over to the couch. Your limbs ache with exhaustion as you collapse into the cushions with a thud. You bring the well worn blanket with you, wrapping your tired body in its familiar comfort. Your muscles are screaming out for rest. Which you happily oblige.

You're wrenched out of a fitful sleep, eyes fluttering open as the familiar, infuriating sound of construction greets you. Fuck. A loud, frustrated groan escapes your chapped lips. You pull a nearby couch pillow over your head, desperately trying to muffle the noise. With bleary eyes, you squint at the digital clock reading 5:42. You want to die.

The relentless hammering, banging, and drilling outside the thin walls of the apartment pierce your eardrums. You swear you can feel each blow of the hammer, every screech of the drill, deep in your bones. Make it stop. You press the pillow more firmly against your ears, trying in vain to block out the incessant din. You silently promise yourself that if you ever meet the city planner responsible for approving this construction, you'll kick him square in the nuts... Or right in the vagina– whatever. Now is not the time to debate over this.

With a groan of irritation and an abundance of hissing, you force your tired body into a sitting position as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You take a moment to rub your temples for some relief from the dull ache forming behind your eyes.

You open your red rimmed eyes and swing your legs over the side of the couch. The exhaustion from last night feels ten times worse now after being woken up prematurely by the construction racket. You mentally curse whoever’s in charge here, and their entire bloodline. Silently wishing for the noise to stop. Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub later...

You brace one hand against the side of the couch as you use it as support to rise to your feet. A series of satisfying cracks and pops resonate down your spine. By the sound of it you’re a chiropractors wet dream.

You let out a low sigh of relief as you straighten, your back now less taut than it was a few moments ago. Small mercies, right?

With your hands clamped tightly over your tender, sensitive ears, you stumble into the kitchen. You begin searching through each cabinet with a desperation that borders on violent. Your mission? Find the strongest headache pills you have.

After hastily flinging open each cupboard and shelf, you finally find what you’re looking for. A small, white bottle filled half way with little white tabs. With a quick twist, you pop the lid open and pour two pills out into your palm, before downing them dry.

You lean against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut as you press the heels of your hands firmly into your temples. Come on. Work already..

You wait in silence, only the buzzing of the refrigerator and occasional hammering outside filling the air. You press your palms against your temples, as if physically willing the pills to work faster. The tension between your shoulders tight as piano wire.

You let out a frustrated groan, turning the tap on, lowering your head under the rushing water. You gulp down a few mouthfuls, letting the water run over, through, and past your lips. The noise of the tap muffling the sounds of the construction. The coolness of the water temporarily soothes the ache behind your eyes.

You let the water slide past your lips, closing them to savor the cool sensation. Your mind grows blank as you lose track of time, lost in tranquility despite the racket outside. Then, with a shaky hand, you turn off the tap, stepping back as you reach for a tea towel to dry your face and neck. The cloth rough against your tender skin, but the motion is calming, and your shoulders loosen the slightest bit.

You lean back against the counter, the cold marble seeping through your shirt, almost numbing any sensation on your skin. You take another moment to towel dry your hair, the rough material scraping against your scalp, and sending a pleasant shiver down your back. The small action temporarily distracting you from the pounding in your head.

You drop the towel, letting it fall onto the counter behind you. A long exhale escapes your mouth, your shoulders dropping as you relax. For a moment, the water seems to have worked. Unfortunately, the relief is short lived as the headache slowly creeps back in. A low growl escapes your lips. Ugh.

You scan over the bottle, reading the small print. Only twenty minutes before the damn things start to kick in. Shit. You shove the container back inside the cupboard, a frustrated huff leaving your lips. You drag your body over to your room, every step a tedious task.

You stumble into the room and collapse onto your bed, face first. You let out a low groan as your body lands on the soft, fluffy mattress. It welcomes you with open arms. You let yourself go limp, letting the comfort and softness of your bed lull you into a quiet state of half numbness. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of rest, or the pills finally starting to work, but you’re suddenly feeling incredibly woozy.

With a sluggish effort, you shift your head up, wincing at the sharp, persistent thrum in your skull. Despite the throbbing, you slowly extend your arm to reach for the pair of shorts laying on the edge of the bed.

With a weary sigh, you shuck off yesterday’s cargo pants and pull the new shorts up your legs. The simple motion feels like climbing a mountain. Deciding that the headache pounding through your mind was too much to change your shirt, you collapse back onto your bed. The sheets cool against your overheated skin.

You lay there for a moment, letting the comfort of your bed take hold. Despite the headache still pounding through your head, exhaustion slowly starts to take hold of you. Your eye lids flutter as sleep slowly creeps in. But just as you’re about to doze off, your stomach lets out an obnoxious gurgle, the sound piercing the silence. Great.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you shift up from the bed, grimacing as you do so. Your untamed hair sticking up in random directions. You rub your temple, as your stomach lets out another loud grumble. You let out an annoyed whine as the realisation sinks in. You’re out of groceries.

With a disgruntled huff, you haul yourself up for the second time. Reaching for your jacket as you quickly make your way towards the front door. This time choosing to forego the balcony and just walk like a normal person. You swing open the front door and step out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly overhead.

You step into the hallway, your shoes slapping softly against the tiled floor. The sound of the construction is no longer muffled, the endless banging and grinding now clear as day. You wince as the onslaught suddenly becomes unbearable. You quickly make your way to the staircase instead of the elevator. You can’t handle being jammed into that tiny space with the sounds of hell right now.

You take the steps of the staircase two at a time, just wanting to get out of this damn building as soon as possible. Each step echoes with a rhythmic thudding against the cold concrete as you make your way to the ground floor. The headache pills have finally started to work, but the pounding construction outside is slowly undoing their efforts.

You stride past the workers, shooting each of them a murderous glare. It’s not their fault they’re just doing their job. But goddamn it, the headache is worsening and it’s all you can do to not snap at them. Instead, you settle for shooting them a glare that could rival Batman himself.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the angry words building within you. Just keep walking. It’s fine. They’re not at fault here. It’s stupid to be angry at them. You repeat the mantra in your head like a broken record as your legs carry you further down the street. Further away from that blasted construction noise.

You keep walking, your shoes thumping against the concrete as you go. The further away you get from the construction, the more the headache starts to abate. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath of relief as you glance around at your surroundings. Barely anyone was out at this hour, the streets still mostly asleep.

After walking another ten minutes or so, you pause in the middle of the street and let out a string of quiet curses under your breath. The stores won’t be open for at least another four hours, and your stomach is starting to demand sustenance again.

Frustration builds inside of you, your teeth clenched tight together as you shuffle in place. You can’t go back to your apartment because of that goddamn noise, and all the stores that aren’t run by mobsters are closed.

You sigh, resting your tired body against the graffiti-filled wall behind you. There was another option you could try. But whether or not you were desperate enough to do it was something else.

You chew on your bottom lip in contemplation. You hadn't eaten much more than a small yogurt cup yesterday, and your stomach was protesting it's emptiness in a loud, gurgling complaint. You release a long sigh, doing a quick glance around to ensure no one was nearby before shifting into a cat.

The transformation is swift and graceful as you shift into the form of a sleek cat. Your body shrinks, limbs elongating and changing shape as soft multicoloured fur sprouts from your body. You stand on four paws, tail swaying languidly. You give yourself a quick shake, licking your little paws for good measure before looking around again.

You take a moment to get used to the new body you’ve assumed. Everything felt a tad bit more sensitive in this form. Your ears swivel around at minuscule sounds as you sniff the air with your sensitive nose, picking up on the various scents floating through the street.

You decide to try your hand at pity first, before resorting to thievery if your first plan fails. You slink down the street, your paws silent against the pavement beneath you as you search for some poor unsuspecting soul to assist you.

You stalk down the street, ears pricked and head tilted as you listen for the sounds of anyone making their way through the quiet street. You make yourself as adorable as possible: wide, begging eyes and sticking out your chest. A pitiful meow leaving your little cat mouth every so often, just for good measure.

You make your way through the city, heading towards the more upscale side of Gotham. You sway your tail idly behind you, the appendage brushing against the concrete and gathering the dirt that sticks to your fur. You make sure to rub up against some objects, gathering enough dirt and debris to make yourself appear slightly disheveled, but not enough to set off your instincts to want to groom yourself immediately.

You reach a neighbourhood of opulent high rises and well manicured lawns, plush houses and gated communities starting to become more frequent, a stark contrast to the graffiti-filled blocks you had passed before. Your fur is dusted with enough dirt to look untidy without feeling uncomfortable, and you let out a small meow as you glance down the street, scouting for a likely target.

You spot a man of considerable height, around 6 foot tall, with an intimidatingly built physique. His shirt clings just slightly too tightly against his chest, leaving little to the imagination. A scar mars the side of his face, making him look even more menacing. But you’ve seen far scarier looking men loitering at the end of your street. Saying that, doesn’t mean you’re any less scared of his imposing figure. So you quickly duck under the nearest parked car, attempting to conceal yourself beneath it.

You watch in trepidation as the man begins strutting towards the vehicle you’ve hidden yourself beneath. He kneels down in an unhurried, smooth motion, and peers right under the car. His gaze instantly locks onto you, your eyes widening in response to his intense stare. For the briefest of moments, you could have sworn there was a look of softness in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see you.

“A cat?” The man lets out a small huff, shaking his head in what seemed like disbelief. His gaze drifts to your disheveled appearance, taking in the dirt that clings to your fur. He lets out a low hum, continuing to watch you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His muscles slowly relax. A smirk appearing on his face as he studies you closer.

Your tail sways behind you, your ears perking up at his relaxed gaze. A sly little grin of satisfaction threatens to rise to your face, but you hold it back, instead letting out a pitiful meow as you slowly shuffle closer to him. He doesn’t move away, watching your every movement with unwavering eyes.

You lower your head, slowly moving towards his boots. You let your body press against the soles of his shoes, a soft purring sound escaping your little feline mouth. The dirt from your fur slowly coats the previously clean material of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind the mess.

You continue to press your body against the hard leather of his boots, leaving behind a dusting of dirt. He crouches down, gently reaching out a big hand, careful not to scare you off. You can see the muscles in his arms flex with the action, the veins prominent on his knuckles. He gently runs a finger over your head, scratching just behind your ears.

The feel of his big hand against your head is gentle, his touch unexpectedly tender as he lightly scratches at the skin behind your ear. You let out a rumbling purr, unable to fight the comforting sensation that slowly starts to take over. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s surprisingly sweet towards you.

He’s a hard-looking man, his appearance disheveled and weathered, a white streak through his jet black hair. His wide physique is almost intimidating, but you can see his heart already start to soften after a few moments. It seems even he isn’t immune to the charm of a pitiful stray cat begging for food and affection.

"What are you doing all the way out here, kid?" The man's deep, slightly grating voice calls out as he continues to gently scratch behind your ear. He's staring down at your small form with an odd expression of concern on his face, his eyes drifting over your disheveled fur.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his voice. Something suddenly seems terribly familiar about it. You tilt your head, glancing up to get a clearer look at the man’s face as you try and place where exactly you’ve heard his voice before.

You look closer at the man, studying his features with a furrowed brow. There’s no mistaking it now, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere before. You’re sure of it. But there’s no way you’d ever know anyone this big and intimidating before… right?

The man stands, gently scooping you up into his arms. He gives you a light pat on the head before he starts to move. “Come along then, I don’t need that little shit on my ass for leaving their little obsession stranded so far from home,” he mumbles, as if he’s talking to himself and not you.

You’re left blinking in surprise as you’re lifted from the ground, cradled in the man’s arms. You look up at him as he starts walking down the street with you, a bewildered look on your face. Obsession? Stranded? What the hell is this dude on?

The man continues walking, his stride even and unhurried. He glances down at you and scoffs, as if he’s amused by the sight of you. He mutters something under his breath as he walks, something that sounds like “God dammit, B.” He brings his hand up to give you a gentle scratch under your chin, the gesture almost affectionate.

Your stomach chooses the perfect moment to let out a loud grumble, the sound amplified by being so close to the man’s hand. You can feel his hand twitch against your belly slightly, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Hungry, huh?” The man drawls out. He stops his stride for a moment, pulling out his phone as he keeps you cradled in one arm. You can’t see anything from this angle, but you can hear the sound of him making a phone call.

It’s only a few rings before someone picks up on the other end. You can faintly hear a voice chatting softly on the other line, even though you can’t make out what they’re saying. The man lets out a small huff of annoyance before holding the phone up to his ear, shifting you in his arms to keep you comfortably balanced against his chest.

“Hey,” he says into the speaker, his voice gruff but surprisingly soft. “Yeah, I’m out on the east side. I found something.” There’s a pause as the person on the other line responds, and you can faintly hear them say something, although it’s muffled and indistinct. The man snorts, his eyes drifting down to you for a moment before he continues.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m bringing ‘em back. Relax,” The man responds to the person on the other side of the line, rolling his eyes. You watch the side of his face as he talks, your ears pricked, ears catching snippets of the conversation. Relax? What do they mean by that? Are they talking about me?

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” the man says, shifting you around again as he begins to resume walking. “I’ll be back in an hour.” The person on the other end says a few more words before there’s a beep signifying the call’s been cut. He shoves his phone back into his pocket before bringing his hand back to keep you cradled against his chest.

You huff softly, feeling a strange mix of irritation and intrigue swirling inside of you. In an attempt to distract yourself, you reach your small paw up, lightly tapping it against the man’s cheek.

It’s a small action, intended to be nothing more than a curious little jab. But against the rough, scarred skin of the man’s cheek, your tiny little paw seems almost affectionate. He glances down at you at the contact, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

He studies you for a moment, a look of almost curiosity on his face. It’s a far cry from the gruff, hardened exterior he had been portraying up until now. He stops his stride for a moment, lifting you closer to his face to look at you more closely.

He seems almost… fascinated by you. His eyes rove over your soft fur and little face, taking in every detail. He lets out a low hum, slowly reaching out a hand and gently stroking your back. “The kid’s is gonna kill me for letting you get all dirty.”

The hand stroking gently down your back is surprisingly soft, despite the callouses and ridges of his fingertips. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, probably trying to deduce what to do. “You’re a mess,” he mutters, his gaze drifting over your disheveled coat.

You can feel the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s words, the comment practically begging for a sarcastic reaction. But you hold it back, reminding yourself of the delicious meal you’re hoping to get out of him. Better hold back on the sass, for now.

Instead, you let your tail flick idly, trying to appear as innocent and pitiful as possible. Come on, man. Have a heart. Feed me.

The dude glances down as your tail continues to flick against his arm, almost as if you’re trying to lure him into doing something for you. A light snort escapes his mouth, his fingers trailing down to give you a little scratch on the head. “You’re a sly little bastard, ain’t ya?”

His statement is more of an off-handed comment rather than an actual critique. He continues to scratch behind your ear, seemingly unable to resist giving you a little affection. His gaze drifts over your disheveled form, taking in the dirt-matted fur and slight exhaustion in your eyes.

He lets out a soft grunt, his touch gentle as he runs his hands through your fur. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, his eyes never leaving your disheveled appearance. “How long you been out here all alone, huh?” he mutters, his voice gruff but strangely sympathetic.

The man lets out a low huff, glancing down at you with an almost sympathetic look on his face. “It’s earlier than we planned,” the man mutters, a hint of regret coating his words. His hand still softly stroking through your fur. “But the renovations are nearly ready,” his eyes taking in your exhausted form. It’s hard to say if he’s talking to you or to himself, a note of assurance in his voice. “So soon, kid.”

You look up at him with a bewildered expression on your face, your little mind still trying to make sense of his words. What is he talking about? Renovations? Who’s he talking to? Who are the people he keeps mentioning? What is even happening right now? But you quickly cover it up and let out a tired-sounding meow, hoping he won’t notice the hint of confusion in your little feline face. He glances down at you, his hand slowly rubbing a soothing circle on your back.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he murmurs, his voice still gruff but the tone softer this time. “You’ll be safe soon enough.” He gives you a gentle pat on the head before resuming his stride. You can feel his arms cradling you against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat almost lulling you into a sense of security.

Even as your mind races with unanswered questions, the beat of the man’s heartbeat seems to soothe you, acting as a strange form of comfort. His warm arms keep you tucked against him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest steady and unhurried. It’s an almost reassuring presence.

The man carries you down the street, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps and steady rhythm of his heart slowly lulling you into a trance-like state. The exhaustion from the past few days is finally catching up to you, a small yawn escaping your little mouth before you can try to fight it.

You can feel your eyelids growing heavy, exhaustion taking over your small body. The steady rhythm of the man’s heart combined with the gentle rocking of his arms as he walks send a wave of fatigue through you. You try to fight back the overwhelming tiredness, but another small, squeaky yawn escapes your little mouth.

With a soft contented sigh, you stretch out your little paws, making yourself comfortable in his arms. The man lets out a low chuckle as he watches your little legs extend, giving you a gentle pat on the back.

It’s strangely comforting, being held in the man’s strong arms. The sound of his laughter rumbles through his chest, and you can almost hear a hint of affection in the gesture. You feel the weight of your fatigue start to increase, your eyes slowly blinking shut against your will.

You blearily blink your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself lying on a soft cushion. The fabric feels luxurious against your fur, the plush material enveloping you in a comfortable embrace. You dazedly look around, trying to recall how you ended up on this soft surface.

Your little ears fold back as you look around, slowly taking in your surroundings. A brief moment of confusion washes over you as you realize that you had fallen asleep in the man’s arms. But seeing him still here, you let out a relieved sigh, your entire fluffy body moving up and down in the process. Thank everything that he didn’t leave me on the side of the road.

He glances over at you, noticing that you’re now awake. “You finally back with the living?” he says gruffly, his voice tinged with amusement. You can see a hint of a smile on the man’s face, betraying his hard exterior.

You lift your chin up in a defiant huff, letting your tail flick against the soft cushion as an additional statement of irritation. The man lets out a snort, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at your small act of feigned irritation.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he mutters, his voice taking on a slightly amused tone. He reaches a hand out to give you a small pat on the head, his rough fingers gently stroking your fur.

Your chest lets out a soft rumble, purring at the feeling of his hand stroking through your fur. Your gaze drifts around the room, your nose twitching as you pick up on a delicious scent. Food, your stomach rumbles. Please, be food.

The aroma is tantalizing, making your little stomach grumble loudly in response. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if the man actually has food nearby. The man lets out another amused huff as he notices your nose twitching and your stomach rumbling. “Impatient little thing, eh?” he mutters, lifting his hand from your head to look at you with a slightly entertained expression. Your little paws twitch slightly, as if you’re preparing to go searching for where the wonderful scent is coming from.

He chuckles at your eagerness, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Calm down, bud,” he says gruffly. “Food’s coming in a minute. Ain’t gonna starve ya.’” He gives you another gentle pat on the head, his hand large enough to practically cover your entire body.

You let out a dissatisfied huff, your gaze still darting around to try and find the source of the delicious scent. You want to rush out and find the food immediately, but the man's large hand keeps you pressed firmly on the soft cushion. You squirm a little impatiently, your tail flicking idly against the fabric. Your cat instincts taking over.

He lets out an amused laugh at your squirming, your restlessness making it hard for him to keep you in place. “Hold still,” he says gruffly. “You're making it hard to keep you in one place.” He reaches his hands out again and gently holds you down, preventing you from moving around any further.

You’re not a fan of this guy keeping you down, your instincts flaring up in defiance. Despite the delicious promise of food in the air, you’re tempted to lash out and scratch him just for holding you in one spot. Release me, your inner self growls.

You pause in your struggle, your little ears perking up and your whiskers twitching as the clink of dishes and the soft sound of footsteps approaching comes from nearby. Your nose twitches with anticipation, the delicious smells in the air becoming more concentrated. Food.

You crane your head to get a better look at the approaching figure, your little body shifting slightly on the cushion. The man holding you down also looks up, watching as someone walks into the room carrying a tray of food. Your little mouth starts to salivate, the enticing scents wafting over to you and making your stomach rumble loudly.

The guy releases his grip once you stop squirming, letting you move freely again. You can feel your instincts taking over your little body, your tail curling around your side as you focus your attention on the tray of food being presented in front of you. “Here you are, Master Jason.”

Your eyes are almost glued to the tray, filled with the most tantalizing smells that you've come across. The man– Jason watches you quietly, amused by your little display. The person holding the tray sets the food down in front of you, the various dishes arranged in an almost tempting manner.

You want to purr in delight as you look at the food laid before you. Thank god there’s none of that dreadful cat food in sight. You've had your fair share of people trying to feed you that horrible kibble in the past, and you're definitely not a fan. This food smells a million times better than anything that ever came out of a can. Meat.

You shoot him a glance of appreciation before hopping onto the table, greedily pouncing on the food in front of you. You dive right in, devouring the food with gusto, your little tongue lapping at the meat hungrily.

You pay no mind to him as you feast on the delicious meal laid out in front of you. The smells, the texture, the taste; it’s all absolutely heavenly. You eat like you've never eaten before, your little body almost shaking with contentment. This might just be the best meal you’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Meanwhile, Jason watches your little display with a slight smirk on his face. He doesn’t say anything, just watching as you devour the food on the plate in front of you with relish. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly taking a picture of you digging into the food to send to the family in case they ask how you're doing. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at your behavior, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You're so lost in the food, you don't even notice the older man taking a picture of you. All your focus is singular, eating as much as you can before it’s taken away. The man watches you with a mix of amusement and something else that you can’t quite place. Too absorbed in your meal to notice his reaction.

Once you’ve practically licked the plate clean, you finally feel a sense of fullness, your little belly pleasantly satisfying. You give yourself a little shake, a little bit of food still stuck to your whiskers. Jason chuckles slightly, watching your little satisfied display. He breaks the silence as you finish cleaning yourself off.

“Had enough?” he asks in a gruff voice. His words are gruff and blunt, but you can sense the touch of amusement within them. You let out a little huff, feeling satisfied but also a little bit embarrassed at how fast you had eaten. Too much food, you think, your little stomach feeling a bit bloated.

The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur, your mind fuzzy and filled with the sensation of being inside Jason’s leather jacket as he mounts his bike. He doesn't have a bag or carrier to keep you secure, so you cling onto his shirt for dear life, your little claws digging tightly into the fabric. The wind whips through your fur as the bike roars to life, the force of the breeze making you instinctively cling even harder.

You had assumed that Jason was simply taking you back to the spot where he had found you under the car. After all, there was no chance in hell that you were going to poke your head out of the top of his jacket to check yourself. However, as he stops the bike and unzips the jacket, revealing your familiar surroundings, your tail begins to fluff up in surprise. Your eyes widen as you realize you’re at home, as in, right outside your apartment. The fur on your back bristles, ears folding back. You’re quick to jump off of the vehicle, backing away. What the fuck?

You scramble off Jason's lap and onto the sidewalk, your little paws almost slipping in your haste. The moment you land on the pavement, you take a few stumbling steps back, your tail puffed up and your fur standing on end. How could he possibly know where you live? You hadn’t given away any indication that you lived here, or anywhere for that matter. You had been so careful to stay out of sight, blending into the shadows. There was no way he could have known. And yet… here you are, outside your home. You take a tentative step back, your little feet moving instinctively. Your instincts are screaming at you to run, to get away from this guy who seemingly knew too much about you.

Your eyes dart from the man to the building behind you, your mind racing. Everything inside you is telling you to run, to flee and go hide. You were supposed to be so careful, so cautious about keeping your identity a secret. And now this man standing in front of you, this guy you barely knew, had just pulled up right outside your home. How the hell did he know where you lived? Run, your instincts yell. Run, run, run.

You take another jerky step back, your little paws almost slipping on the rough pavement. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You almost trip over your own feet, your mind flooded with a mix of fear and confusion. How does he know? How the fuck does he know!? You’ve been so careful, covering your tracks, making sure no one followed you home. But here he is, standing in front of you, looking all too calm and collected. You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he knows where you live or how calm he seems about it.

You don't waste another second, your little feet moving as fast as they can. Your instincts are screaming at you to run and get away as fast as possible. So that's what you do. You take off like a shot, darting away from the bike, from the man, from everything. Your focus is on nothing except getting away, getting somewhere safe, somewhere away from this guy who apparently knew more than he should. You dart upstairs faster than you thought physically possible, breath coming out laboured as you panic, not bothering to check if anyone’s nearby as you shift back to human, unlocking your door and slamming it closed behind you.

Jason let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he watches you scamper off. "Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, watching as your small form quickly disappears from sight. "I didn’t think that through." He scowls, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to panic quite that much.

Your knees suddenly give way, and you collapse to the floor with a thump. Your hand instinctively moves to press against your chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. Your mind is racing, your body shaking from the adrenaline and panic of the situation. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing, your chest heaving as you gasp in sharp breaths.

You feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making it feel like it’s about to explode. You can barely breathe, your gasps for air coming in quick, sharp pants. Your head is swimming, the world around you seeming to spin and tilt with each jerky movement. You can’t think straight, your mind filled with a swirling mix of panic and confusion. It feels like everything is closing in on you, the walls of your apartment suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

You try to focus on taking deep, calming breaths, but your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths come out ragged and uneven, each one feeling like a struggle. Your chest is heaving, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you’re starting to wonder if it’ll burst. You drop your head down, resting your forehead against your knees, trying to steady yourself. Your mind is racing, thoughts and questions and doubts swirling in a confusing mess.

You desperately try to calm down, to ease the frantic beating of your heart. But nothing seems to work, the panic and confusion making it nearly impossible to think straight. Your head spins as you struggle to take deep breaths, each one catching in your throat like a lump. You can feel your body trembling, your muscles tense and coiled like a spring about to snap. The thought of the man outside your door, the man that knew where you lived, makes your stomach twist in knots.

It feels like your privacy has been invaded, your safe sanctuary no longer feeling so safe. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a small, trapped animal. Your mind races, trying to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of solution to this messed up situation. But you’re too lost in your own head, too focused on calming your panicked breathing to come up with anything coherent.

You feel like you’re drowning, your body overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and the physical response. You need to get yourself under control, to get your thoughts sorted out and figure out what the hell to do. But it feels like your mind and your body are in a constant tug-of-war with each other, neither one willing to give in. It’s like being stuck in a nightmare that you can’t wake up from.

You’re suddenly aware of the silence in your apartment. It’s an eerie stillness that seems to echo the chaos in your mind. The only sound is the soft rush of your own breathing, the beat of your heart a steady drum in your ears. It’s too quiet, and yet it’s almost deafening at the same time. You stay slumped on the floor, your head still against your knees, too overwhelmed to even think about getting up. You can’t breathe.

Your lungs feel like they’re on fire, each breath a struggle against the tight feeling in your chest. Your body is shaking, the adrenaline and panic having physical effects that you’re powerless to stop. You try to focus on calming yourself down, to get your breathing under control, but it’s like trying to hold onto water. Your lungs seizing up with each gasping breath. You try to focus on your breathing, trying to steady the erratic rhythm. But it’s like your body won’t obey, each inhale sharp and uneven, each exhale ragged. You can feel your pulse throbbing in your temples, echoing the desperate rhythm of your heart. You need to get yourself together, to calm down. You need to calm down.

You try to mentally force yourself to calm, to slow down your breathing, but it’s like every part of your body is working against you. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, swirling around in your head like a storm. Your heart is still racing, the panic and fear making it almost impossible to concentrate. You try to focus on something, anything to try and control the chaotic mess that is your mind. But your thoughts keep slipping away, dancing just out of reach every time you try to grasp them. You can't think, you can't breathe, you can't move.

You’re trapped in your own mind, your own body. You feel so small, so helpless, so utterly alone. The silence in your apartment is deafening, adding to the feeling of isolation. You try to will yourself to move, but you’re stuck, paralyzed by your own fear and panic. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, the erratic beats echoing in your ears as you try to force your lungs to take slow, steady breaths. You need to calm down. You need to.

You force your shoulders to relax, your eyes fluttering open. Okay, okay… You can do this. You try to remember the steps you learned for managing panic attacks. Breathe in for four, hold for… You can’t think. Your brain is fuzzy, filled with a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories. You try to remember the proper way to do it but your mind refuses to cooperate. Four or seven? Or was it nine? Exhale for eight. Fuck, I can’t think.

Your mind is a blur, your thoughts chaotic and tangled. You can’t remember the step-by-step process. Something about breathing in for a certain number of seconds, holding it, and exhaling for another number of seconds. But the details are a hazy mess, your panic making it impossible to remember clearly. You try your best, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it for what you think is the right amount of time. But your heart is still racing, your hands still trembling. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? Why the fuck isn’t it working?

Jason stands against his bike, his gaze fixed on the window of your apartment. He's on the phone with Bruce, his voice low and filled with frustration. "I know, I know…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admits, grimacing at his own carelessness.

He listens as Bruce responds, his eyes never leaving the window. He can feel the weight of his mistake sitting heavily on his shoulders. He should have known that you'd react the way you did, and he should have stuck to the plan. But he didn’t. He just acted, without thinking. Just like always, his conscience needles him.

Jason sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as Bruce continues to speak. He knows Bruce is right, he always is. He’s good at saying the things that are hard to hear but desperately needed to be said. It’s part of what makes him great, but it also makes him irritating sometimes. Like right now.

"I know," Jason replies, his voice slightly sharp. "I get it. But what am I supposed to do now?"

There’s a pause as Bruce replies, his voice muffled over the phone. Jason’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as he listens. Yeah, yeah. Be patient. Easy for you to say.

"I know,” he repeats, his voice strained. "But the kid bolted before I could even get a word in. Now they’re probably scared shitless in there."

There's another pause. Jason can hear the steady timbre of Bruce’s voice on the other end, his words blending in a stream of low, soothing murmurs. He rolls his eyes, bristling at the older man's calm, steady tone. It always makes him feel like a kid being lectured, even though a part of him knows it’s not entirely untrue.

He lets out another sigh, his body sagging against his bike. "I’m trying," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I messed up, alright? I’ll give ‘em time to cool off." He glances back at your apartment, a pang of something he can’t quite identify tugging at his chest.

He nods along to whatever Bruce is saying, his eyes flickering back to your apartment window. He wonders if you're watching him from behind those blinds, if you’re scared, angry, confused. Probably all three, his mind supplies.

He winces at the thought, his hand tightening around his phone. He hates the thought that he might have screwed this up before it even really started. Bruce is probably right, he should give you space. But the thought of just leaving you alone and confused chafes at him, makes him want to just go in there and fix things already. He knows Bruce can feel his tension, can sense the turmoil roiling beneath his stoic exterior. Damn Batman and his stupid emotional intuition.

"Yeah, I get it," he mutters into the phone, his voice tight. "I’ll back off, give them space. But I don’t like it." There's another pause as Bruce responds, his voice low and steady.

It soothes something in him, a part of him that still yearns for guidance and approval, even though he knows he’ll never admit it. It’s a part of him that he usually denies, pushes down, but moments like these have a way of bringing it to the surface.

He's silent for a moment, letting Bruce speak. The older man's voice is steady, a low, grounding murmur that somehow manages to both soothe and irritate him at the same time. He's always been good at that, somehow finding the exact words needed to either calm him down or piss him off even more.

Jason clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together in frustration. He’s torn. Part of him wants to just march up there, kick down the door and force you to talk to him. But he also knows that would just make things worse. He’s not good at the whole patience thing, but he knows that just charging in like a bull in a china shop is only going to make things more difficult. Damn it. He swings his leg over his bike, settling onto the seat. He takes one final look up at your window, his gaze lingering there for a moment. He can almost feel the weight of your fear and confusion from here, like a tangible thing. It makes his stomach twist into knots, his hands clenching on the grips.

But he knows he needs to let you be, to give you the space you clearly need. So, with a heavy sigh, he revs the engine and pulls away.

You wake up with a start, your body jerking out of a fitful sleep. Your body is covered in a cold sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin in an unpleasant way. You sit there in the darkness, your breathing heavy and your heart thumping hard in your chest.

Your room is still, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft sounds of the city outside your window.

Three long weeks have passed since you last saw Jason. The days have slipped by in a blur of routine and monotony. You go to work, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. It's like you're living your life on autopilot, your thoughts often drifting to the man who showed up at your door that night.

Since that night, you haven’t shifted. Something deep inside you, some instinctual feeling, tells you that it’s not safe to do so. So you stay human, your animal form buried deep within you, a constant low hum of unease. The feeling of something bad happening if you shift is a constant nagging in the back of your mind, a feeling you can’t shake despite your attempts to dismiss it as paranoia.

The longer you stay human, the stronger your instincts become. You catch yourself acting cat-like in subtle ways: tilting your head to the side when you're listening, twitching at sharp noises, even finding yourself kneading at your shirt when you’re frustrated. It’s a constant internal struggle, your instincts demanding to be let out while your rational mind tells you to keep them contained. You know it’s not healthy, not sustainable, but you can’t shake the feeling that shifting is just too risky right now.

You’re acutely aware of how unhealthy this is. You can feel the tension building within you, the constant battle between your human side and your animal side wearing you down mentally and emotionally. Your thoughts are constantly consumed with the need to shift, the need to be in your animal form, the need to let your instincts take over. But something inside you is holding you back, some primal fear that won’t let you let go. It’s a constant struggle you can’t escape, a constant mental strain that's slowly but surely eating away at your sanity.

You groggily stumble out of bed, the cool night air hitting your skin like a refreshing splash of water. It’s late, the digital clock on your bedside table reading 2:47 AM. You shiver slightly, your muscles tight and cramped from your restless sleep. Despite the chill in the air, you can’t help the feeling of relief as you step out onto your balcony. The city is quiet at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced with a soothing, almost eerie calm.

In a moment of clarity, you realize you’re being ridiculous. You’re tired, you’re frustrated, and damn it you’re tired of living in constant fear. You’ve been tormenting yourself for weeks over this, letting your instincts fester and your body ache from the strain. And for what? What's going to happen in the middle of the night on a Wednesday? Nothing, that’s what. And you’re not going to keep making yourself ill over some bastard stalker.

With a rush of determination, you finally give in. You let your instincts take over, your body shifting and contorting into your animal form. The relief is immediate, the tension in your body melting away as you shed your human skin. The cool night air is even more refreshing in this form, your senses heightened as you take in the night around you. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again, the weight of your human anxieties falling away like a heavy coat. You felt free.

The world looks different through your animal eyes, the details sharper and more defined. Your ears twitch, picking up sounds you'd never notice in your human form. Your muscles twitch as your animal instincts kick in, a low purring sound rumbling through your chest. It's been so long since you've let yourself be like this, since you've just been. It's exhilarating, freeing, like coming up for air after being stranded underwater for too long.

You pad over to the edge of the balcony, your paws making almost no sound on the wood. You look out at the city, the glittering lights and silent streets a stark contrast to the chaotic hum during the day. It’s quieter, calmer, a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in ages. You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs and making your fur stand on end. You feel more alive here, more yourself, than you have in weeks.

Your muscles ripple under your fur as you stretch, arching your back and tilting your head back. A low, rumbling purr vibrates in your chest, the contentment filling you almost overwhelming. You close your eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the city wash over you. You’ll deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you’re going to stay like this and enjoy the freedom.

You sit there for a while, enjoying the cool night air and the sensation of being so deeply in tune with your instincts. The city sounds become a soothing background noise, a comforting hum in the air. You roll onto your back, stretching out your body and letting your limbs go limp. Your tail swishes lazily back and forth.

You roll onto your stomach, your muscles coiling as you prepare to spring. With a powerful leap, you propel yourself onto the nearby roof. Your paws touch down silently, the soft pads muting any sound. Your heart is racing now, the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you break into a run. Running as an animal is different than running as a human. It’s more instinctual, more right. You can feel the ground underneath your paws, the muscles in your legs bunching and releasing with every step. You tear across the rooftops, feeling more alive than you have in weeks. The night air whistles in your ears, the city passing by in a blur.

Your stride is effortless, muscles straining as you push yourself faster, the wind ruffling your fur and making your tail fan out behind you. You leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, your body a blur of motion. You’re not even thinking about where you’re going, your only focus is on the sensation of speed, the feeling of freedom. Gotham flashes past you in a dizzying array of lights and shadows, your world narrowing down to your heartbeat and the rhythm of your paws hitting the roof.

Time seems to blur together as you run, the hours flying by like seconds. The city blurs past you in a wash of colors and sounds, the lights of Gotham like stars in a night sky. You don’t focus on how long you’ve been running, or how far you’ve gone, or even where you’re going. For once, none of that matters. All that matters is the wind in your fur and the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins. Your body is sore and your heart is racing, but you feel alive.

You're so focused on the run that you don't notice the black boots in your path until you're upon them. You slam on the brakes, your body slipping and sliding as you come to an undignified halt in front of a pair of long, outstretched legs. You hiss in surprise and frustration, your heart racing from the sudden stop. You glare up at the figure towering above you, tail lashing.

Nightwing chuckles, a soft, amused sound that you can hear clearly even over the pounding of your heart. He lowers his eskrima sticks, holding them loosely by his side as he kneels down to your level. The hero's eyes are sparkling with mirth, his smile slightly crooked.

"Well, hello there." he says, his voice smooth and rich.

He tilts his head to the side, studying you with a curious gaze. You're still panting from your run, your body tense and braced for a fight. Nightwing's smile widens at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"You're pretty fast," he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice. He extends his hand towards you, the black, latex covering his fingers gleaming in the low light. He stops just millimeters from your face, allowing you to sniff and inspect him for a moment. His scent is clean and crisp, a hint of something sweet mixed in.

After a few seconds, he starts gently petting you, his gloved hand scratching behind your ears in a soothing motion. “You’re even prettier in person, kitten.”

A wave of unexpected pleasure washes over you as he starts petting you. His touch is firm yet gentle, just the right amount of pressure to soothe the tension in your body. His hand moves from behind your ears to scratching behind your chin, the soft hiss of latex against your fur the only sound in the quiet night. The petting feels ten times better after not shifting after such a long time. You lean heavily into his palm.

“You’re a runner, huh?” Nightwing murmurs, his voice a soft rumble. “Bruce isn’t gonna like that.”

His words are casual, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to them. He continues to pet you, his hand moving in a slow, soothing rhythm.

“Running around Gotham like this,” he continues, his tone dropping lower. “It’s dangerous. You should stick to the rooftops, little one. Makes it harder for the baddies to get to you.”

As your attention is occupied with looking up at Nightwing, you don’t recognise the second pair of boots that approach. You’re jolted out of your thoughts as another pair of warm hands suddenly scoop you up, grabbing your stomach and lifting you off the ground. The sensation is so sudden and unexpected that you don’t even have time to react. A startled yowl escapes you as you’re lifted off the roof and held against a broad chest.

Your body stiffens in surprise, a low hiss escaping your clenched teeth. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to lash out, to fight, but the hands have you in an unbreakable grip.

Nightwing straightens up, sliding his eskrima sticks into their holsters with a practiced flick of his wrists. He casts you a glance, his eyes softened with concern as he looks at your tense form in Robin’s arms.

"Careful, Little D," he says, a slight edge to his voice. "The kitty hasn’t been out in a long time."

Damian just scoffs in response, his grip on you tightening. His body is tense, his hands clenching in your fur, but there’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his indifference. His voice is as haughty as ever, a touch of impatience in his tone. "I know that, Grayson. I'm not a child."

Nightwing hums at Robin’s attitude, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against a nearby AC unit with a slight sigh.

"Sure you're not,” he responds back to Robin with a playful tone of annoyance.

Damian just huffs, tightening his grip on you, causing you to let out a surprised, muffled meow in response. His eyes dart down to you, a slight flicker of fascination in his cold, calculated gaze. He loosens his hold subconsciously. Petting your head in a silent apology.

The younger boy doesn’t respond to Dick’s remark, motioning for him to hurry up already.

With a grin, Dick holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. He reaches into his utility belt and procures a small, emerald green and black collar. A symbol you can’t recognise embroidered onto the back where the latch is.

This isn't any average collar that you can find at a pet store. This is high-tech, bordering extravagant. There's a small, golden bell hanging from the front, jingling softly with every little movement made, and there’s a silver, gold-edged tag already attached with some information you can't see yet. But what catches your eye, and fills you with a sense of dread, is the blinking red light on the centre, where it latches onto your neck. With these hook-like latches all around the inside that look all too much like they’ll pierce into you.

Before you can even think to react, Nightwing's already moving. He's faster than you can even register, the collar snatching around your neck in the blink of an eye. It tightens automatically, locking into place with a soft click. You can feel the hooks pierce into your fur and you let out a strangled whine.

As the collar locks into place, the bell on the front gleams in the low light, a soft jingle sounding as you jerk your head back in surprise.

Nightwing steps back, taking in the sight of you in the collar with a critical eye. He reaches forward and gives the bell a couple of light taps, the sound chiming softly in the night air.

"Looks good," he comments, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "Tim did good."

Damian hums in agreeance with a slight nod, his grip on you still firm and unrelenting. He casts a scrutinising glance over your form, his eyes lingering on the collar for a moment before moving back to you. He brings his thumb to the latch, pushing into the embroidered symbol. “What was the cast?”

As Damian brings his thumb to the latch, pressing into the embroidered symbol, you hear a soft click, followed by a low chime. You feel the collar loosen around your neck, but it still stays in place. For a moment, you consider trying to tear it off, but a warning tug from the collar's hooks and a glare from Damian stop you short.

Dick grins. “It’s our kittens name, D.”

Damian scowls, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his eyes studying your form intently. It's almost unnerving, the intensity of his gaze.

He presses his thumb against the seal harder, his voice a murmur as he utters your name. When you feel the collar tighten around your neck, you try to jerk your head back out of the way, but the collar holds fast, the hooks attaching themselves deeper into your fur. You try to resist, but the more you struggle, the more your mind grows fuzzy. An intense drowsiness rushes over you, your eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Your vision starts to swim, the world around you growing dark at the edges. As the collar locks into place, the hooks latching more snugly into you, you suddenly feel trapped. Your legs buckle underneath you, sending you sprawling into Damian's arms. The latch on the collar is gone, replaced by a solid, unbreakable ring. There is no way to take it off.

The collar appears deceptively normal, made of a thick dark green leather-like material with a simple golden buckle to secure it. The only thing that gives away its high-tech design is the absence of a latch to clip it open. Most people would overlook it, mistaking it for a regular, ordinary collar.

As you black out and lay heavily in Damian's arms, Dick coos softly, bringing a hand out to rub along your fur. His touch is gentle, his tone affectionate.

"Aren't they so cute asleep?" he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks at your unconscious form.

Damian nods silently in response, his embrace around you tightening just slightly, tugging you closer against his chest. He brings his face down, gently nuzzling his chin into your soft, multicoloured fur, hiding the hint of a smile on his lips.

Dick steps forward, a smile on his face as he watches his younger brother hold you close. He reaches out to ruffle Damian's hair affectionately, before speaking up.

"Let's go home."

Guess who spent three days working on this

Anyway, it’s finally out! Send a comment or msg if you would like to be @ in chapter two and for any anon answers that I do for the fic

I had milk and warm cookies while making this, like a child.

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[luveline]

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k 

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt. 

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat. 

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too. 

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well. 

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause. 

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun. 

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years. 

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled. 

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!” 

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love). 

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.” 

“It’s raining.” 

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?” 

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.” 

“How’d you figure?” 

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface. 

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall. 

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.” 

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?” 

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry. 

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.” 

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.” 

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash. 

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?” 

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.” 

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole. 

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it. 

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.” 

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?” 

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries. 

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it? 

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself. 

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says. 

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek. 

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume. 

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom. 

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full. 

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.” 

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.” 

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you. 

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies. 

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn. 

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!” 

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.” 

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.” 

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease. 

“Take the towels, loser.” 

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin. 

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life. 

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you. 

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain. 

Eddie just stares at you. 

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry. 

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic. 

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh. 

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.” 

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?” 

“What?” 

“Eddie, are you okay?” 

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“I don’t have any underwear.” 

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry. 

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose. 

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says. 

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.” 

“I’m twenty one.” 

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.” 

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks. 

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes. 

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?” 

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.” 

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.” 

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Get lost,” Eddie says. 

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.” 

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved. 

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed. 

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.” 

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?” 

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser. 

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.” 

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on. 

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet. 

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.” 

“It felt important at the time.” 

“Yeah?” 

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him. 

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.” 

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.” 

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment. 

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.” 

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head. 

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks. 

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable. 

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.” 

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead. 

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You’re rubbing my arm.” 

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach. 

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest. 

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end. 

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs. 

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back. 

Right. Eddie should remember. 

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days. 

“Too much?” 

“The right amount,” he says firmly. 

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this. 

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before. 

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back. 

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.” 

“For me or you?” 

“For me, duh.” 

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.” 

“You think so?” 

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.” 

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.” 

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it. 

“We’re very close together,” you whisper. 

“Super close,” he whispers back. 

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do. 

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?” 

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.” 

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?” 

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?” 

What does Eddie think about it? 

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer. 

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?” 

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly. 

He can’t not give it to you. 

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead. 

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue. 

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur. 

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse. 

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly. 

“You wanted to?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.” 

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy. 

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs. 

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly. 

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency. 

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask. 

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring. 

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door. 

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him. 

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says. 

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?” 

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.” 

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?” 

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.” 

Eddie grins back. 

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring. 

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather. 

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.” 

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding. 

He sighs. “No, it does not.” 

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.” 

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.” 

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less. 

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.” 

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw. 

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped. 

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say. 

“Then open it.” 

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?” 

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it. 

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease. 

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze. 

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier. 

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working. 

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” 

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully. 

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.” 

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended. 

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.” 

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.” 

“Now who’s not funny?” 

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

[chaoticwriting]

WORLD CLASS HERO

Phantom is a world class hero that is often associated with the Justice League. Though he never officially joins them, Phantom is known enough that people will always treat him kindly.

His first major appearance is when a big tsunami about to hit Japan. All the other heroes can do is evacuate the civilian as they try their best to stop the tsunami. When all hope is lost, a figure with white hair and black and white jumpsuit appears out of thin air and releases an ice beam out of his hand. It takes less than a second for the tsunami that the whole Justice League struggles to stop to freeze and stop right then and there.

He doesn't stop there nor does someone get a picture of him as all his pictures are blurry at best. The only evidence that he is there is the eyewitness and the frozen tsunami that seems to melt slowly over time. After that, he is often seen in multiple parts of the world, mainly where there are no heroes based there. From the middle east, to south east Asian, all around the world he can be spotted stopping crimes and helping people.

It is not a whole year later that the Justice League finally got in contact with Phantom when a major attack by Darkseid almost killed all the heroes. Millions of his army swarm the earth from multiple portals around the world killing and slaughtering people left and right. It is also that night that the people figure out that so far they have only seen a fraction of Phantom's power.

A screech boom towards the whole world. To people of earth, it sounds like a cry of pain and despair, of sadness and suffering, sounds of their loved one asking for help but to Darkseid and his army it sounds like war cry, like deep anger and fury, like the cry of a warrior promising revenge. The results of the cry leave the people of Earth sobbing while simultaneously knocking down all of Darkseid's army.

Just as everyone thought it was over, hundreds of thousands of eldritch beings summoned from a giant green portal appear out of thin air. From the front a girl and a man leads the army.

The girl raises her hand and shouts "By the order of King Phantom, eliminates all the enemies." Multiple screeches and roars sound at the same time and those beings rush towards the Earth, slaughtering the unconscious parademons without hesitation. The Earth general population lets out a sigh of relief that it is not them that is the target and some sharp ones catch on the fact they receive order from someone named Phantom. Is it the same Phantom they know? That is later to be figured out.

At the same time the Justice League are watching as Phantom brawling against Darkseid and the man and the girl that came out of the portal fight against Darkseid's elites.

As time passes, lesser and lesser parademons are left on earth with all of them being dragged back into the green portal. When all the parademons are taken away, Phantom and the man and girl forms suddenly change into something more eldritch in nature.

The girl now looks more windy with her form still humanoid but a lot less solid than before. Her ears are pointy with like an elf and whenever someone looks at her, they feel free and unrestrained.

The man in comparison looks a lot more domineering. His fiery white hair and red eyes along with his buff figure gives off an oppressive feeling to people around him.

Compared to the other 2, Phantom form seems almost nonexistent. In fact the only reason people know he is there is because of the cold breeze that accompanied his surroundings. But to people that truly observe him, they feel like it is hard to focus on him. Like space itself warps light to make it hard to see him. His icy crown and golden ring makes it hard for people to stare too long at him. For if you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss will stare back at you. That quote comes to mind when someone wishes to describe Phantom.

After they transform, the remaining battle ends as if Darkseid and his elites are merely children throwing a tantrum. When Darkseid and his army are dragged back into the green portal and with that, the whole world falls silent.

For the world, it is only a year later that Phantom returns as a hero and continues helping people. But for those in the knows, they know that in the year Phantom is gone, the other realms are thrown into chaos as one after another, tyrants and evil gods are either captured, imprisoned or straight up killed.

The Justice League first gains the news when Raven informed them that his father and his army had been slayed with his realm under new authority. Later Dr. Fate informed them that Klarion has been partially sealed. Batman also received news that League of Assassin has been disbanded after the whole league just disappears.

The JL tries to contact Phantom but no one can get in contact with him. Even after Phantom comes back, no one receives any explanation except not to worry.