#AND THE FACT THAT TEA FOLLOWED ME IS ENOUGH MOTIVATION

[jubshead]

I'm thinking about starting to edit again….

[sixosix]

ONE LOOK (MEANT JUST FOR YOU) | WRIOTHESLEY

700 words of wriothesley visiting your home and pure fluff ensuing

Moving swiftly around the kitchen, the clinking of glass plates and glasses left you no room to detect Wriothesley's stealthy entrance. You only noticed him when you moved to wipe the table, only to see a broad figure standing by your doorway, a fond smile on his face.

The moment your gazes lock, Wriothesley takes it as his cue to gently shut the door behind him and make his way inside. He moves with some difficulty—limping, almost, and if you had been anyone else, you might not have noticed.

Your eyes track each movement. “Feeling unwell, Your Grace?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” he grunts out.

Despite that, his tone has this playful chipper to it that brings a smile to your face. You swipe over the table with a wet rag, leaving suds. “Anything that needs immediate medical attention? …Anything that you’ve kept from Sigewinne?”

“Don’t worry,” Wriothesley huffs a laugh, sinking against your couch. He groans out in relief as he melts. You wince upon hearing a crack here and there.

Wriothesley pays visits to your home whenever his schedule permits. While there are days when work keeps him occupied in his office, there are more than enough occasions where you can see that nothing has changed. This is still the same Wriothesley who shared affectionate moments with you in the comfort of your home and who flirted shamelessly and endlessly in his office at the Fortress of Meropide. He was never reticent about expressing his intentions and words. Good times.

You wring the cloth and let clean water run over your hands to wash the remaining suds off. You feel Wriothesley’s piercing gaze follow you around. “Want some tea?” You cast him a glance over your shoulder.

He flashes a wicked grin, able to look all regal even when he has his cheek pressed against your sofa’s headrest. “You know the way to my heart.” He shifts, extending one free arm outward as if preparing for a hug. “Though, I need you more than I need tea at the moment.”

A snort escapes you, diverting his attention from your stunned surprise at his shamelessness. “I’ll make you your favorite.”

Wriothesley says something about you’re his favorite but you tune him out in favor of not slipping and splashing hot water all over the floors you’ve just cleaned. He calls for your name again, dragging it out and wilting in defeat when you shoot him a stern and disapproving glare.

“Don’t distract me, idiot,” you say, watching the water steam and boil. As it does, you rummage through the cabinets for the cubes of sugar you’ve been buying more often because of that guy. “It’s not every day I was bored enough to take it upon myself to clean. I was taken by the burst of motivation.”

Wriothesley chuckles and thankfully lets himself enjoy the silence. The only sounds are the gentle padding of your feet around the kitchen and the clinking of tea cups against the table, all enveloped in a comforting atmosphere. Wriothesley's mere presence has the power to make anyone feel secure and at ease. It might be the broad shoulders or his feared name and title, or it might be the fact that he swore he would protect you as much as you protect him in sweet moments like this.

You place the two cups on the coffee table before him. Wriothesley then pulls you into his chest, causing you to yelp and tumble right into his waiting arms.

“Your tea is getting cold,” you say.

“Your lips look colder,” he says, his breath hot on the shell of your ear.

You narrow your eyes. “Wriothesley…”

He snorts, placing a kiss on your temple. “None of whatever you’re thinking, sweetheart. I just need you close.”

And keep you close he did. He has you trapped in his arms, but you feel far from trapped. You shuffle until your head is resting on his bicep, and you can meet his eyes. He’s silent.

“...Wriothesley.”

He fixes his heavy stare on your face, his own unreadable. “Hm?”

You press your hand against his jaw. “Is there something wrong?”

“God,” he murmurs, cupping your cheeks, “you’re so cute.”

Your heart flutters and threatens to flee from your chest. “I—I know. You should feel fortunate that you’re the only one who gets to hold me like this.” You try to sound haughty. It fails miserably at the warmth quickly spreading all over your face and your heartbeat, making you trip all over your words.

“I’m the only one, huh?” A gleam sparks in his eye, turning somewhat dangerous—fierce. “What I like to hear.”

for @naosaki with the chibi wrio pfp

[adoredaqua]

Between Arguments and Appetites

Note: THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS <3333!!! so here's a little something :). i just finished my mid terms (did terrible so... oh well) im gonna be working on a part 2 for "A Simple Misunderstanding" so this is also my way of making up for not having anything out lololol

Synopsis: You and husband!Simon got into an argument

CW: not edited whatsoever. reader is gender-neutral. reader has long enough hair to be tied up, which is briefly mentioned. suggestive here and there (not detailed). reader is referred to as love, sweets and spouse.

Word count: 1 400+

ᡣ𐭩₊˚.⋆⁺₊

You were going away for a few days due to work if you had a choice you wouldn't go but the person who was supposed to go got sick. So, instead of deep cleaning, re-organizing the house and finally relaxing after all that, you had to work. At least you were getting paid. But that doesn't make up for the fact that you could also spend time with your hubby as he just returned from deployment. Nevertheless, that will all have to wait and will be all worth it.

Well, it could have been.

Before leaving, you tasked Simon with at least cleaning the house and moving some of the heavy furniture you were going to move. This simple task would probably take him half a day, and he would lighten the house chores for you. That should have been enough to convince him. You are his spouse, so why wouldn't he do that for you?

Apparently, he was also tired. You came back from your work trip to the house still a mess with the furniture stationed in the same place. You couldn't help the eye twitch and anger boiling as you walked around the house, taking a mental note of what hadn't been moved. It was a simple task. Clean house. Move furniture. That's it. You kept repeating that to yourself as you changed your clothes to start the chores that your so-called husband was supposed to do. As you aggressively rinse the dishes so you can put them in the dishwasher, you hear heavy footsteps from upstairs. As soon as you see him, you are going to wrap your hands around his neck and choke him out - and not the sexy way.

"Oh hey love, I'm sorry I didn't hear you. How was your trip?"

Instead of the usual, jumping on him and peppering him with kisses. Simon was met with utter silence. He moves to go make himself some tea but hesitates as he takes note of how you're shoving dishes in the washer.

"Are you okay, love?"

As you scrub the final dish and neatly put it in, you close the dishwasher. Turning to your husband and coldly say, "Everything is okay."

Simon was smart enough to know that everything was not okay. That's something he's learned being married to you. Instead of going on a tangent about your day, you actually responded to his question, which could only mean that it's definitely not okay.

"Umm, are you sure?" Simon was almost scared to ask, but it was necessary. He's been to war and has fought for many years, but that was nothing compared to you being in a "mood." And yes, he will compare you angry at him to war. Because nothing was scarier than his spouse.

"Just peachy." You say quickly, putting your hair in a ponytail. Maybe it was a good thing that you were mad at him. A motivation to get things done around here, unlike some people-

"Peachy, huh?" He looks at you pointedly, but you ignore his gaze, grabbing the broom by the corner of the kitchen. "Something tells me that it's not peachy..." He whispers to himself. Now, what could he have possibly done now?

He watches you for a moment as you angrily sweep any excess mess before grabbing the vacuum. He continues to follow you around, carefully observing you to figure out what you were so upset about. Was it the work conference you went to? I mean if it was that bad he would heard about it way before you got home. Maybe you were just tired and needed to relax, yeah that must be it. Simon makes his way in your living room, plopping himself on the couch. As he turns on the TV, he calls out to you once he hears the vacuum turn off. "Hey love! Why don't you come here? Relax a little, yeah?"

You heaved a sigh, putting the vacuum down and make your way to your husband. "What?" Crossing your arms to make a point but he doesn't seem to notice how mad you are at him. He smiles when he sees you and pats the spot right next to him, his arm lays across the back of the couch, and wow. If you weren't mad at him, you'd pounce on him but right now all you can focus on is the fact that, that couch was one of the many things that needed to get moved.

"I have to clean." You said pointedly. It wasn't fair to take your anger out on him without even letting him know that your anger was directed at him. You couldn't help it, how could he not do what you told him to? Although, he did also come back home, he has the right to relax and not do anything. That didn't matter though, the stress and patience have run thin. He was not getting away with it this time. "Yeah but you could do that later. Come on, it's been a while..." His eyes twinkle, instead of being met with matching eyes you simply glared at him. Oh well, he tried. "Okay, what's wrong? And don't say "Nothing" cause it's clearly something." There was a sense of desperation in his tone. Simon's life was you. Before you, it was nothing but emptiness and you filled that void. Your happiness was all that mattered to him because if you weren't happy that meant he wasn't happy.

"You didn't do what you were told." You say, as calmly as you can, not letting your displeasure take over.

"What?" Simon looks at you even more confused. "...I was supposed to do something...?" He accidently thinks out loud causing you to let out a deep sigh. You looked so disappointed and that broke his heart. "I'm sorry, sweets, I really am."

"It's fine, Simon. I just do everything around here." You roll your eyes, not necessarily directed at him but the situation itself.

"Watch yourself. I do things around here." A tone in his voice, warning you to not take it further. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't do it. I'll do it now, okay? So, just tell me." Simon truly didn't want to fight with you. He'll do anything else but that. Instead of responding to him, you just walk away from him, waving a hand to dismiss him. You let your feet take you to the next room that needed your attention, cleaning will take your mind off of things and that's exactly what you did.

You finish up the last few rooms, and make your way around the house, checking if anything else needed to get done. Your stomach grumbles letting you know that it's time to finish up for the day. It's dark out now, you barely see anything except for the streetlamps that doesn't seem to be illuminating anything. You start taking out pans and pots, not sure what you want to cook as you are tired for anything too complicated but wanting something fulfilling.

As the water boils, you chopped up some vegetables. You were so wrapped up in your cooking, you didn't hear the front door open and shut. Having your back turned from the doorway, Simon has emerged with a handful of flowers, looking fresh and vibrant. He stands there a moment, contemplating on what his next move should be. As he goes back and forth between his options. You finally see him, fiddling with fingers and the flowers in his hands.

"What are those for?" Now that was an unfamiliar sight. A big man is all nervous and holding flowers that were barely the size of his hands but there he was.

"Uh, for you. I really am sorry, love." He looks at you, hopeful.

"Oh? And flowers are going to magically move the furniture?"

"No, they unfortunately won't. But, I promise I will do them tomorrow."

At this point, Simon was practically begging. He couldn't stand it when you were mad at him. Do you know how long it's been since he's felt you on him? Too long. He needed you to forgive him.

You continue on with the boiling pan in front of you. It was a stupid argument, something you actually got over a few hours ago. You also couldn't stand arguing with Simon, and you know he didn't mean to upset you.

Letting out a sigh, you turn to face him, "You're lucky I need your strong muscles to move them." You throw a smile over your shoulder but have to turn back to the stove. Feeling a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, Simon puts his head on your shoulder now preventing you from using your left arm.

"So...did you also make me dinner or...?"

[thekatebridgerton]

HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY DID TO MICHAEL STIRLING?!

I haven't seen part 2 yet but I definitely saw the spoilers on my dashboard. And for all that its worth, I'm really sad about it right now.

I've seen a lot of posts invalidating the feelings of book fans by saying things along the lines of 'if you don't like Michaela Stirling you're ...you guessed it a #BadPerson' and I'm trying to process which person's feelings matter and don't matter in a world where those same people preach acceptance and support. I want my feelings to matter, I want to be allowed to be sad about the fact that this character I was looking forward to seeing is no longer going to be on screen. But the truth is a lot of people keep saying that my sadness and sorrow is invalid shaming people who feel like I do with all the self righteousness of a pastor in church. because apparently not liking the genderbeding of Michael Stirling makes me a #RaginghaterOfMinorities.

And lets be clear, everyone can say what they want, but book Michael Stirling is not going to be on screen, his story was too emeshed with the gender roles of the era, for a genderbent take to not strip and reorder the character's motivations and major plot lines in order to make him a woman. Michaela Stirling is for all intents and purposes a new and improved character. More power to her.

Still that doesn't take away the fact that I am sad and disappointed that Michael Stirling won't be on screen and that it will take me time to process this in a healthy way.

So in case nobody has said this to the crowd who is heartbroken over the genderbeding of Michael Stirling, those who feels upset and disappointed over the loss of a beloved character and don't feel brave enough to express it. Let me be the first to tell you that your feelings are valid, disliking the change in direction that was taken for a fictional character doesn't make you racist or homophobic or anti feminist or any other of those ' you are a raging hater of minorities ' epithets. ( Some of you may even be the kindest people I've met on the site) In my opinion, those feelings just make you human, and you should be allowed to feel it and process the loss in a healthy way without being told youre selfish and a bad person.

Does being heartbroken over this give anyone the right to go and harass actors like Masali Baduza for doing a job they were hired and paid to do? No. Does it give anyone the right to go send nasty harassment anons to people who actually liked the change? Also no. In fact it doesn't give the right to people who have a different opinion to harass you either. Boundaries are a two way street. Don't harass others and don't consent to receiving harassment is a rule we should all follow

But it does give you the right to feel your emotions, process them, accept the change and move on with a healthy mindset.

Its going to take me a while to get there myself, but that's what I'm doing.

And that's the tea

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Trying

Warnings: allusions to fertility issues, unwanted touching, and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: I got carried away with Blind Offer but here is another Corrupt a Wish! Ft. our boys Steve and Ransom!

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Ransom would be a simp for me despite the fact that I’m Steve’s girl 😏 by @stargazingfangirl18

“He’s in his office, writing again,” you keep on hand on the door as you speak to the man on your stoop. “Something about a book deal…”

You grin and Ransom’s cheek dimples. Nothing more. Sometimes it feels like he only tolerates you because you're attached to Steve. You try to give them their space, to stay out of the way. You’d hate to spoil this for your husband.

“Right, so..” Ransom tucks his hands into his russet jacket and looks over his shoulder, “you sending me back out in that?”

“Not at all,” you step back, “come on in.”

He looks back to you with that expression you can’t read. His eyes speak more than his features but they are cryptic. There’s a light behind them you can’t quite place. He steps inside, rivulets on his jacket and a few sparkling droplets caught in his dark hair.

“Can I get you a tea? Coffee?” You offer, balling your hands to keep from wringing them.

He unbuttons his jacket and hangs it from a hook. He smooths his hands over his hair, the rain seeping into the strands. He faces you and tilts his head.

“Got anything stronger?” He asks.

You try not to show your surprise at the request. It’s three in the afternoon. On a Tuesday. Your liquor cabinet is rarely opened even on the weekends. It’s more decorative than practical.

“You like gin, right?” You venture.

His lash flick and he narrows his eyes at you, a ripple in his forehead. He plants a hand on the wall and bends as he thumbs off his wet shoes. He keeps his gaze pointed at you, “you remember?”

“Lucky guess,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he looks around the entryway, “I’d say so.”

You try not to betray your doubt. It’s hard to tell with him what is meant as a compliment or shade. He speaks in riddles. You almost want to suggest he takes up writing himself. It is in his blood.

“I’ll go see what we got,” you say and spin on your heel.

You’re quick to flee the stolid pressure of his persistent gaze. It’s as if he’s weighing you, judging your worth each time he sets sight on you. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought you weren’t good enough for Steve. And how could you be? How do you live up to the Captain America?

You go to the cabinet in the dining room and unclasp the door. You peruse the bottle and find a tall bottle of gin. You slip it out over the tops of the other bottle and gently close the cupboard. You bring it to the kitchen and search for a suitable glass among the crystal.

“You got club soda?” Ransom frightens you as you pull down a tumbler.

You turn your head, looking at him from your peripheral. You sidle over to the fridge, “might…”

He crosses the tile as you search and you feel the door shift. As you close it, his hand follows, staying flat to the metal as he peruses the calendar stuck to it with a magnet. The squares are crowded with clusters of your and Steve’s writing. You highly doubt he has any concern for your doctor appointments.

“Busy,” he comments.

“Yep,” you agree as you open the can of soda, “sorry, I don’t have any citrus.”

“It’s fine,” he comes closer as you pour the soda over the gin and the clear mix bubbles to the rim. “Thanks, doll.”

He reaches and slides the glass towards him. For a moment, looming so you can smell the bergamot in his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his ivory knit. He backs away as he brings the glass to his lips.

“I should go find the old man,” he declares.

“Right,” you move the half-empty can and cap the gin, trying to contain yourself.

You listen to him retreat. His steps are lazy and carry no urgency. You glance over to make sure the kitchen is empty and you lean on the counter.

Doll… only Steve calls you that.

💕

Ransom stays for dinner. It’s not unusual. You don’t even have to ask as two hours pass without a peep from the office. That’s how your husband spends his days lately; burrowed away, writing, grumbling over his laptop, and occasionally calling for help. You smile each time he tells you typewriters were so much simpler.

As you bring out the serving dishes to the table, Ransom chats about some editor’s meeting, Steve looks over as you place the roasted potatoes down, he lets his hand wander to your lower back and smiles up at you. He’s in a better mood than usual.

You touch his shoulder, too shy to kiss him in front of Ransom. You just hate how he’s always watching. The last time to gave your husband a peck on the cheek, it resulted in a snort and a mean joke about PDA.

You go back to the kitchen and grab the pan of drumsticks. You stop as you pass the fridge, staring at your writing, the highlighter over the letters. A few more days… The specialist will be able to figure it out. They have to.

You shrug away that thought and continue into the dining room. You place the last piece of the meal and claim your seat. You sit and wait to take a serving of potatoes until Ransom and Steve get some, then scoop up some grilled asparagus, and a single drumstick.

“Sorry, could I trouble you for another drink?” Ransom asks before you can lift your fork.

“Oh, of course, I forgot,” you push your chair out and grasp the arms as you stand, “Steve?”

“Just water for me.”

You nod and hurry back to the kitchen. Your stomach is roaring with hunger. You pour the rest of the soda in a new glass with the gin. Then you fill a glass with water from the filter on the fridge. You return and give each man their drink.

“Thought you were cutting back,” Steve remarks as Ransom swigs his drink greedily.

Ransom pops his lips and lets out and ‘aah’, “well, I’m only on number two. Usually I’d be at the bottom of the bottle.”

“Fair,” Steve shrugs. He doesn’t drink, even if he did, it doesn’t have any effect for him. You stopped drinking months ago so you could… Well, it hasn’t helped, has it.

“So, first draft when?” Ransom chortles as Steve answers with a growl. “I’m teasing. You’ve made good progress. I mean, the whole world just can’t wait to hear the story of good ole Cap from the man himself… and my grandfather is especially looking forward to it.”

“Mm,” Steve chews, jaw tight with irritation. No, how quickly his good mood flies away. “Deadlines… I am very aware.”

“He’s been working hard,” you offer, “he’s in his office everyday. I think you’re the first guest we’ve had in a few weeks.”

Steve nods but doesn’t comment. Ransom takes another drink. “Must be hard for you,” he remarks, “lonely.”

“I told her to invite Wanda over,” Steve snips, “if she’s lonely, she’s free to solve that problem.”

“Yikes, sorry I said anything,” Ransom cringes, “lighten up, old man.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Steve huffs, “it’s not funny.”

“Well… you’re what…a hundred or something now? Pretty damn ancient if you ask me–”

“Hugh,” Steve snarls.

Ransom’s grin disappears in an instant. He puts his glass down heavily and leans forward. The men glare at each other. Then suddenly, they’re laughing at each other. You don’t get it. You can’t figure out if they actually like each other or not. It does your head in.

“Mathematically speaking, you’re old, but I’m sure the wife will say you’re spry and youthful in spirit, huh?” Ransom winks in your direction.

Steve sucks back his last laugh and rolls his eyes, “don’t be gross.”

“What? It’s a compliment.”

"It's none of your business," Steve warns.

Ransom laughs again. Steve doesn't and you keep your head down. You can't wait for him to finish this book, hopefully that will be the end of this relationship; professionally and otherwise.

💕

Ransom leans heavily on Steve. The supersoldier shoulders the man with ease as he drsgs him up the stairs. The upstart heir to a bookhouse empire babbles drunkenly.

"So, I get out of this meeting and see my fucker uncle–"

"Language," Steve girds, swiftly ignored as the story continues with similar profanity.

You follow behind, clasping your hands together anxiously. This isn't how you thought the night would end and you know the change in plans will upend Steve. You swallow a dread-filled sigh as your husband angles the houseguest into the spare room.

He as good as tosses Ransom onto the bed. You can tell he's annoyed.

"What were you doing feeding him drink all night?" Steve accuses as he faces you, hands going to his hips. That posture, great, now you're in trouble.

"It was only two," you sputter, "really– you can check the bottle."

Ransom giggles and lets put a belch, "I dropped a few xanny after that idiot uncle of mine got in my face."

"Really?" Steve twists to sneer at the sprawled man. Ransom is so pathetic it's almost impossible to hate him.

"What? Taking the edge off. You should try a few, old man."

"Go to sleep," Steve points at him and turns, marching towards you.

"I'll get some water…" you offer softly.

You precede him out, ready to scurry away from his roiling wrath. He catches your arm as he pulls shut the door. He tugs you back to him, lowering his voice.

"Are you…" he stares at you, his meaning in the angle of his jaw.

"First day," you know he checked the calendar.

"Good," he lets you go and exhales deeply, "I need it."

You nod. He used to be romantic about. Now it's just another chore. Almost mechanical.

"I'll just grab that water and–"

"I'll be waiting," he grits as his throat constricts.

You touch his chest and kiss his lips, "then I'll hurry."

His chest rises and he swallows loudly. He turns away first and you flit away. You know better than to keep him waiting.

You go downstairs and find a fresh glass from the cupboard. You watch the clear water flow into the crystal and balance it carefully to keep it from sloshing over the edges. You come back upstairs and gently tap on the spare room door.

With no answer, you let yourself in, assuming that Ransom's succumbed to his Xanax cocktail.

He's on the bed, just as you left him, eyes closed as he breath subtly under his sweater. You near the night table and set down the water. As you do, you feel a pinch on your ass.

You squeak and recoil. Before you can retract completely, Ransom catches your wrist and yanks you towards the bed. You hold firm, teetering but not succumbing.

"What are you doing?" You touch his thick fingers.

"You're too good for himmmm," he drawls out, "you know that?"

"Ransom--"

"No, it's true. You're so sweet, dolllllll."

"Don't call me that."

He snarls and you're suddenly flung forward with his strength. He pulls you so you collapse onto the bed, against him. You whimper, but not loud enough to be overheard.

"And pretty and..." He caresses your cheek as you turn your face away, squirming as he wraps you up in his other arm, "and perfect. The way you make my dick hurt..."

He rolls his hips and you shove against his shoulder, "get off."

"Shhh, baby, I know you want it too. He doesn't treat you nice. He can't give a baby, but I will--"

You struggle as he grabs your chin and rolls, pinning you to the mattress as he leans over you. Helpless, you writhe, kicking your legs as he smothers you in a sloppy kiss. He tastes like gin.

You bite his lip and he snaps back. You take the opportunity to shove him away and you scramble up off the bed. He reaches for you again but you stay beyond his reach.

"Sleep it off," you hiss and twirl away from him, off kilter as you try not to show how unsettled you are.

You flick the light switch and shut the door, leaning on it as you touch your lips. Hopefully, Steve doesn't taste the gin on you. Not like he really kisses you during anymore.

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: [Mad Love] Epilogue

Chapter 25 His POV

♡———♡

Since I decided to live by Alfons' side - about one season had passed.

Liam: In the end, we couldn't find any weaknesses in Al, right?

During afternoon tea with scones baked by Victor, Liam, who was uncharacteristically off from his stage rehearsals, tilted his head slightly.

Roger: Oh, yeah, I remember talking about that. We even went as far as disguising ourselves and following him to find out his weaknesses.

Elbert: We asked people all over Crown for his weaknesses, but...

All eyes turned on me, and my face flushed with embarrassment.

Kate: I apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused...

Liam: No, not at all. But I was wondering what happened in the end.

Kate: Well... I've gradually come to realize that his weaknesses don't matter, so I still don't know what they are.

As I answered Liam, I reminisced about my days with Alfons.

I had been determined to find his weaknesses and use them to control him, but as I got to know him better, I found herself drawn to him.

Liam: Even El doesn't know? Like, he can't swim or he's afraid of bugs?

Elbert: Al can swim, and I don't think he's afraid of bugs...

Elbert: He seems to have learned a lot since he came to my mansion, and he quickly became proficient in reading, writing, arithmetic, and cooking.

Elbert: He even surpassed me in dancing.

(I see... He's really good at everything, isn't he?)

I always found myself listening intently to the stories that Elbert would tell me about Alfons, because they were always the truth, without any lies.

Roger: Is it okay not to know his weaknesses, lil lady?

Kate: Huh?

Roger: That guy's late-night drinking and slumming habits haven't changed. Don't you feel uneasy not knowing at least one weakness?

Kate: ...Well, if I were to say I wasn't uneasy... I'd be lying.

Even now, Alfons still spends his nights drinking and visiting the slums.

(But that's the way Alfons lives his life, and I don't want to deny it.)

(I don't want to deny the meaning or value of what Alfons is doing.)

Kate: I don't want to find his weaknesses and use them to threaten him.

Kate: I just want him to love me enough that he doesn't look at anyone else.

Liam: Wow, Al is really lucky.

Elbert: ...hehe

Roger: Well, then, maybe you should know another "weakness" of his.

Kate: Another weakness...? What is it?

Roger: Well, of course it's his body.

(His body...)

Kate: - - What are you saying, you pervert!

-

Alfons: You seem rather quiet for someone who's finally been able to see a play after being denied for so long.

Kate: Huh!?

Today is a theater date with Alfons.

I was able to enjoy the play itself, but once my consciousness was drawn back to Alfons from the stage,

The "weakness" story came to mind and I was at a loss for words.

(Roger, because you said that...)

Kate: I really enjoyed it! And I'm glad you invited me.

Alfons: I know you enjoyed it. You were so absorbed in the play that I didn't have time to play any pranks on you during the performance.

Kate: W-were you going to play a prank on me...?

Alfons: You think I would invite you on a wholesome date without any ulterior motives?

The seductive gaze that Alfons was giving me suddenly softened.

Alfons: ...But you were so starry-eyed that even I felt guilty.

I feel like he's been showing me more of this soft, gentle expression lately, not provocative.

(Just that makes me happy and excited... I'm so simple.)

This lover is a terrible scoundrel, but...

At times like this, I realize that I love him, including that part of him.

(What does Alfons like about me...?)

"I want him to like me so much that he doesn't even think about looking at anyone else."

The words I said to Roger were my true feelings.

Once I start to think about it, I got curious and fidgety.

Kate: Um... Alfons.

Alfons: Yes, yes, what is it?

Kate: What do you like about me...?

Alfons: .....

(Oh, he's surprised...)

Alfons immediately looked away as if to hide the fact that he had revealed his true self.

Alfons: Well, let's see, your cat-like qualities, I suppose.

Kate: Cat-like...? Me?

Alfons: Yes. You know, you meow and cling to me,

Alfons: And then the next moment you're sulking...in bed.

Kate: ! ?

Alfons: And you know, you scratch my back mercilessly...

Kate: S-Stop it... I understand.

Alfons: Ah, speak of the devil.

Kate: I said I understand...

Alfons: There's a cat over there.

(Huh...?)

I turned around and saw a small cat looking at us from the top of a fence.

Kate: Wow... It's cute...

The cat jumped down from the fence and rubbed up against Alfons' feet.

Kate: You get along with cats?

Alfons: I feed them on a whim, so the strays around here know my face.

(If he likes my cat-like qualities, maybe I can learn something from cats...?)

Alfons crouched down and the cat rubbed its forehead against his leather gloves.

Alfons: Hehe... I don't have anything for you today, unfortunately.

(Alfons... looks happy...?)

(M-Maybe it's okay to be honest and act spoiled like that sometimes...)

(...Can I do it?)

As I was thinking about this and observing, I suddenly noticed something strange about the cat's hind legs.

(Huh?)

Kate: Alfons, isn't that cat hurt...?

-

Roger: It was probably scratched in a fight with another stray. I disinfected it, so it'll be fine.

Roger disinfected the cat, even though it was swatting at him with its tail, looking grumpy.

Kate: Thank you, Roger.

Roger: Don't worry, I'll get my due.

Alfons: Please collect from the cat, not Kate. It was the cat who was treated.

Roger: Still, I can't believe you're taking a cat home. Is this Kate's influence, too?

Alfons: I don't know what you're talking about.

Roger: You hate cats, don't you?

Kate: Huh!?

(He hates... cats!?)

(But... he said he liked cats the day after we met.)

(And today he just said he liked my cat-like qualities...)

Shocked, I stared at Alfons, but

Alfons: Someone like you wouldn't understand the complex emotions of love and hate.

His face was plastered with a fake smile, and he wouldn't tell me which was the truth.

-

After returning the cat to its dwelling and taking a shower, I changed into my nightdress––,

Before collapsing onto the bed, I opened my mouth.

Kate: About the cat... which is it, really?

Alfons: ...Do you want to ask that while kissing your lover?

Kate: Hmm... but... well, you said I resemble a cat...

Kate: My feelings for you aren't a mix of love and hate... it's pure adoration, and I want you...

Alfons: You're a fool... to take such nonsense seriously.

Alfons: I like cats. But they also remind me of unpleasant memories, so my feelings are complicated.

Alfons: But you're... different, right?

Alfons: You're... like a cute little cat, my plaything.

Kate: Hmm--

While receiving a deep kiss, I ruminated on his words.

"Unpleasant memories" – he will surely never tell me about them.

But I could guess it was probably related to the "rumor of a human turning into a cat," which was the reason Roger met Alfons.

It must be a deep scar in Alfons' heart.

(Maybe it's Alfons' weakness, but)

(I still don't want him to show me his scars...)

More than that – I want to engrave him with fun, pleasant, and happy memories.

So that the old scars are buried and fade enough to be nostalgic.

Kate: Alfons... please give me your hand.

Alfons: ...Hehe, what are you scheming...?

Alfons held out his hand, still covered in a leather glove.

I nibbled at the tip of the nails and slowly removed the glove.

"Removing the glove" is... now a signal for the start of a sweet night,

Usually, I'm the one whose breath is taken away by his gesture of removing it, but––.

Alfons: ––Ah... you're very good at that.

As I slipped off the glove, Alfons' bare hand was revealed.

I dropped the leather glove onto the bed and rubbed my cheek against his palm.

Kate: Hmm...

Alfons: Oh... I thought you were seducing me, but are you just being affectionate?

Kate: ...I'm imitating a cat.

Kate: You said you liked them... so I was observing.

Alfons: Aha, you're quite the diligent student.

Alfons: ––Nn.

The moment I licked his palm, Alfons' fingertips twitched in response.

(...!)

Alfons: ...Surprise attacks are cowardly.

(Was it because it was a surprise attack? Or...)

Kate: ...Hmm.

As if to confirm, I put his fingertip in my mouth this time.

Alfons: ...Nn... ha...

As I ran my tongue over it, a sigh escaped Alfons' lips.

Kate: ...Are your hands weak...?

Alfons: No... I don't think they were, but...

Alfons: ...When I think you're doing it on your own... it tickles.

(...!)

Alfons' reaction made me happy, and the core of my head melted sweetly.

Pretending to forget my embarrassment––,

I licked his finger from the base to the tip of the nail, just like Alfons does, teasingly entwining my tongue.

Kate: Hmm... ha.. is it just... ticklish?

Alfons: ––No.

Alfons: It feels very good.

(...I'm glad.)

Kate: I found a weak spot that makes you feel good, Alfons.

With my head melted in joy, I put his fingertip in my mouth again.

––That was the trigger for the reversal of the situation.

Kate: Nnn..ah!

Alfons: ....When I'm twisting and turning between your tongue like this, it feels like when I'm stirring inside you and it gets me even more excited.

Kate: Nnn, uhh....mmm--!

Alfons: Oh, so you like to be rubbed on top of me as well as inside, do you?

As he freely stirred in my mouth, Alfons narrowed his eyes in ecstasy.

Alfons: Hey, Kate... Shall I teach you more about the weaknesses that makes me feel good?

Kate: Hmm, uh...?

Alfons: I like the feel of your soft hair when you come to me sweetly in the morning.

Alfons: If I were to be selfish, that timing is the best.

Alfons: And the pain from when you scratch my skin because you can't stand the pleasure anymore. I like feeling that so much.

Alfons: And when you're about to come, you like to kiss me with your tongue.

Alfons: I also like it when you say you can't take it anymore, but then you push your hip against me and beg me for more.

Kate: Hmm... huh, what... hmm...

Alfons: ...When I bully you like this by saying embarrassing things,

Alfons: You'll sulk and turn your face away, pouting your lips, right? I'm also weak to that profile.

Alfons: Ah, right now, my fingers are in the way, so you can't hide your face, can you?

Kate: Hmm... huh...

His fingertips pull out of my lips, eliciting a slurping sound.

Alfons: Do you understand what I'm saying?

Kate: Ahh....nnn, ahh....?

The pleasure of him playing with my mouth, and the flood of words filled with love and desire pouring into me at the same time made my head spin.

Alfons: I think I have a weakness for you.

Alfons licked my wet fingertips and laughed.

Kate: That's... unfair.

Alfons: Ah ha! What is?

Kate: Saying things like that... it makes me so happy I could forgive you for anything.

Alfons: Isn't that a good thing? Please forgive me for everything.

With a gentle push to the shoulder, I fell back onto the bed.

I couldn't put any strength into my legs, so I parted them and hung them loosely,

and Alfons licked my wet spot from the bottom to top.

Kate: Ahh...!

Alfons: Do you get this turned on just from me sucking on this spot?

Kate: I... I mean...

Alfons: I'm going to lick you a lot. I know all the weak points that can make you come.

-

Kate: …… Hehe

Roger: You're in a good mood, lil lady. Did something good happen?

Kate: I found out Alfons' weakness.

Roger: Dirty jokes at the breakfast table? You're full of energy.

Kate: N-No, that's not it...!

Kate: …… He said that I was his weakness.

I'm so happy, my chest still feels warm when I think about it.

(Maybe more than I think...)

(Maybe he's fallen for me so much that he won't even look at anyone else...)

(Is that being a little too careless?)

Alfons: Kate, did you already tell that man over there about my weakness?

Kate: Eek!?

Suddenly, a breathy voice whispered in my ear, and I jumped up and turned around.

Alfons was leaning back in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed as if to blame me.

Alfons: I thought it was our secret... You're a cruel person.

Kate: Eh!? I-I'm sorry...!

Alfons: No, I won't forgive you.

Alfons rested his cheek on the back of the chair and smiled mischievously.

Alfons: I'm jealous. Please cheer me up.

(Oh no... I was tricked again.)

Even after all the embarrassing things he did to me last night,

And even though I haven't learned my lesson, he's still playing me like this today.

Kate: I understand. …… I'm sorry for talking about it without your permission. I love you, Alfons.

Alfons: That's not good enough. More passionately.

Kate: Don't get carried away...

But in the end, I'm the one who forgives him for everything––,

Maybe I'm the one who's weak to Alfons.

FIN

-

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[Return to Ikevil Masterlist]

[imrowanartist]

@pricegazweek Day 7 (forgot to post this, oops) - ‘That morning I heard water being poured into a teapot. The sound was an ordinary, daily, cluffy sound. But all at once, I knew you loved me. An unheard-of thing, love audible in water falling.’

Tags: sick fic, fluff

_

“I see now why you never invited me here,” a voice says dryly as John blinks awake, head heavy and body sore.

It takes him a moment to register his surroundings and who the voice belongs to; like coming up from the depths and breaching the surface after a deep dive. Then it comes back to him.

They’re in Hereford, at John’s old as shit flat. ‘They’ being him and Gaz, apparently.

They came here because Kyle insisted on it, after John came down with a cold on the way back from their latest stint abroad. He’d planned on just sitting it out at base, but of course upon arrival he’d been informed that because of maintenance the barracks were partially unavailable. Including his room. So Kyle had offered to drive him home instead, which he had reluctantly agreed to. A testament to how shit he actually felt.

What he had not expected, was for Kyle to stay.

John wants to quip something back at Kyle, defend himself and his flat, but what comes out is an unintelligible grumble due to his parched throat. Kyle, standing in the door opening, tuts at him. He looks much too chipper for what time it is, and John is pretty sure that the shirt he’s wearing is not his own. It sends a shiver of excitement through him. And, if he dares to admit it, a wave of possessiveness too, being able to call Kyle his now.

“You still broken?” Kyle asks and John huffs at him before forcing himself to sit up with a grunt, his duvet pooling around his waist. He feels a brief flush of embarrassment at wearing nothing more than yesterday’s boxers, but then he remembers they’ve seen each other in even less clothing by now.

“Fit as a fiddle,” he grumbles, annoyed at how hoarse he sounds.

Kyle simply chuckles at him. “Let me make you some tea. If I can manage to find any clean cups in this house.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. John sits in bed for another minute, just blinking through the fog that seems to have permanently settled over his mind, then forces himself to move, limb for limb. He should at least put on some clean underwear and a shirt.

Briefly he wonders if Kyle slept on the couch, but the indent on the pillow next to him tells him enough. Good. He wants Kyle to feel at home. Like he belongs here.

When he shuffles into the kitchen Kyle raises a dark eyebrow at him.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he orders and John obediently sits down at the kitchen table that has seen better days. He has to resist the urge to lay his heavy head down on the surface, but seeing Kyle putter around his kitchen is giving him all the motivation he needs not to. The fact that Kyle is also wearing his clothes only adds to the heat pooling in his gut.

Mesmerized, he follows Kyle’s movements as he prepares the tea. The way he blows some dust off two mugs before rinsing them. The way he scoffs softly to himself when he only finds bagged tea (that has miraculously not expired yet). It’s all so mundane and domestic. Such a sharp contrast to their job and what it forces them to be sometimes.

And it’s all for him.

John didn’t ask Kyle to stay. Didn’t ask him to make tea and look after him. But as Kyle pours the hot water into the mugs, the love in it is almost audible to John. As Kyle carries the mugs over to the table and takes a seat across from him, he can’t help how his skin flushes as he’s unable to pull his eyes away from how lovely Kyle looks in the early morning light.

No one has ever shown him love like this. So easy. Without asking for anything in return. It makes John’s throat close up as he forces out a thank you and takes the cup from Kyle.

“You sound even worse than usual,” Kyle comments, unaware of how John’s heart is racing in his chest.

Why are you here? I’m just a broken man.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Kyle snorts and John blinks at him. He hadn’t realised he’d said the words aloud. “I’m here because I choose to be. Because I want to be. And you know, I do kind of like you.”

Normally, John would rise to the banter, but not today. Today his brain is mush and his limbs feel like lead and his wit has completely abandoned him.

“You should be home with your family,” he says, because he knows Kyle is close with his parents and they must miss him terribly. John would, if someone like Gaz would disappear from his life for months on end. His heart aches at the thought alone.

Kyle hums thoughtfully. “They can last a few more days without me. Are you always this morose when you’re sick?”

“Hmmm,” John grumbles and it’s neither a confirmation nor a denial.

Kyle pats John’s hand. “Something tells me that’s a yes. Now drink your tea.”

He watches like a hawk to make sure John finishes it all, while casually sipping at his own. Part of John wants to object against the attention, wants to scream that he’s independent, that he doesn’t need to be treated like a sick child. But part of him is relieved that he can finally let go. That someone is willing to look after him for a change.

When he has finished his tea, Kyle gets up and goes back into John’s bedroom. He comes back out with his arms full of pillows and a blanket.

“I think a sofa day is in order,” he says, arranging the pillows in a way that John can only describe as a nest. He huffs at the idea of it, but Kyle seems adamant to make him comfortable.

Is this real? Is he really allowed to have this? He feels like he’s in a daze, a fever dream. But the way Kyle looks at him so expectantly must be reality, his brown eyes soft and inviting.

Slowly John drags himself to his feet.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, barely able to resist the want that seems to take over his whole being.

“Mhm, I understand.”

“Oh, really?”

Kyle gives a cheeky grin. “Who wouldn’t. But better not, unless you want to take care of me next.”

“It would be a fair trade.”

“Stop thinking like that,” Kyle softly admonishes him, “this isn’t an equivalent exchange. Just accept that I want to do this without you giving me something in return.”

“Alright,” John whispers, letting Kyle guide him to the sofa.

It’s an old thing, made of leather that’s almost disintegrating at the seams. Without the extra layer of blankets Kyle has put there it’s not even comfortable anymore. Who needs a decent couch when you barely spend time using it anyway? But clearly Kyle is set on changing that.

He settles John on the sofa, making sure he has more tea and tissues within reach, then sits down on the floor, resting his back against the side. The back of his head is warm against John’s thigh and with the soft sound of some National Geographic documentary playing on the telly, John can feel his eyes become heavy.

He wonders if Kyle will still be there if he closes them. He still can’t entirely believe this is not a dream, having him here in his flat. Someone with his amount of red in his ledger should not be allowed to have something like this, right? He doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m not leaving,” Kyle whispers, “just go to sleep, I’ll be here.”

“Mhm,” John mumbles, finally believing him. He gives in to the pull of sleep and closes his eyes, hoping that some more rest will have him waking up feeling better.

He has a kiss to cash in on after all.

[daytaker]

Tea Time

In which MC and Satan accidentally travel to a pocket dimension simulacrum of the underground labyrinth in the demon lord's castle.

Ship: None (MC & Satan, not MC/Satan) Word Count: 2.6k CW: Choking Set in the Nightbringer timeline.

You can find it on AO3 by clicking here.

(Author's note: Just as a heads-up, this is a very "early on in the game" version of Satan. He is mean. He is violent. He is mean and violent towards MC. I keep the tone light but I figured I should be a bit explicit about what you'll find below the cut.)

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Perfect.

So...yep. That’s me. I’m the one on the left, running for my life through a torch-lit labyrinthine corridor, being chased by a three-headed devil dog. Now, it might be a cliche, but we’ve already done the record scratch bit, so I might as well go all out:

You’re probably wondering how I found myself in this situation.  

Well! Let me direct your attention to the other individual onscreen. On the right, has black horns, a fur mantle, and murderous intent written all over his face. This charming person is Satan. Yes, that Satan. But also, no, not really that Satan. For this story to make any sense, you’ll have to take my word for it that Satan is, in fact, a skinny blonde kid who looks like he's in his early twenties. 

Suspend your disbelief for me, please.

So what happened was this...

I spilled some tea on a book lying haphazardly on the floor of Satan’s room. It was an accident, of course, but try telling him that. I was bringing him tea in bed because he was griping in the group chat about his headache and I’m a very considerate attendant and friend, when suddenly the whole room shook.

Now, I never did figure out why that happened. Maybe Cerberus was acting up. Maybe someone ate Beel’s custard again. Maybe there was an earthquake! I don’t know if Hell has those, but it might be a possibility. The point is, the room shook, and I shook, and the teacup shook, and the tea inside the teacup shook, and it all poured out onto a book on the floor. I hardly noticed it, since the only drops that didn’t land on the book had scalded my hands, meaning I was a bit distracted, but Satan sure did. I don’t know if that headache of his had been exaggerated or if he was so angry that he didn’t care about the pain, but before I even found a place to put down the teacup and tend to my burns, he was out of bed and in my face.

It was scary. I’ll admit it. Satan scared me. Back in my own time, I’d always had the hardest time feeling like I was “getting to” him out of all the brothers. Even Lucifer had clear enough motives and something resembling a moral code that I felt like I could follow. But Satan was different. Always different. He put me on edge with his cynicism and short temper, and he carried himself with a haughtiness that devolved into irritation whenever he felt someone was doing something stupid.

Still, we’d gotten to a point where things were at least friendly between us, and I sometimes got the feeling that he was trying to play-act the sort of easy friendship I’d formed with Mammon and Levi and the rest. But it never felt…authentic. I appreciated the gestures–book recommendations, shopping trips, things like that. But he was never really comfortable, so I was never really comfortable. I guess, more than anything, I felt sorry for him. 

…It makes me feel like an asshole to admit that to myself.

That’s Satan from my time, though. This Satan… Where do I even begin? Trying to explain would be tedious, so I’ll just continue with the story and let you figure it out yourself. To recap, this was the situation: I’d spilled tea on his book, but the expression on his face made me feel like I’d been caught killing a kitten. Horror. Disgust. Disbelief. But most of all, rage.

His hands were on my throat before I could get a word out. So we’re back to where I was before this little tangent, when I said: Satan scared me. I was scared. Part of me knew that this wasn’t actually going to be how I died. I’ve been assaulted and almost killed by demons too many times to count. Maybe I should have been used to it by now. But the panic that set in when I couldn’t get air to my lungs, and when I looked into his green eyes, clouded over with fury, and when I felt his hot breath on my face, like I was staring down a raging bull–

You don’t get used to that.

My eyes were watering and my chest was burning and I was clawing at his hands, and as darkness swept over us, I thought that maybe I really was going to die like this.

But then, the hands were gone, and I fell onto my knees, sputtering and wheezing as my pulse thundered in my ears. It was only after a few seconds of steady breathing that I realized my hands were touching a cold stone floor. Wiping my eyes, I looked up. I was in a dark hallway lit with only torches, with divergent pathways splitting off in a variety of directions. It was musty, and damp, and my skin felt clammy, but there wasn’t anything new about this place. Not for me, at least.

“What happened?” Satan’s alarm seemed to have overridden his anger for now. He looked up and down the hallway, peeking down a few of the off-branches, before turning to me again. “What did you do?”

I made a weak attempt at answering, but the instant I inhaled to speak, my throat stopped working, and I burst into a frenzy of dry coughs, gripping my burning chest and neck.

Satan tsked and turned away from me uncomfortably, looking the hallway up and down again. Something seemed to catch his eye at the same time that I caught my breath.

“I don’t… know what happened, but…” I wheezed, and Satan cast me a sharp glare over his shoulder. “I know where we are. This… is the labyrinth… under the Demon Lord’s castle.”

There followed a fresh fit of coughing, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t playing it up somewhat at this point. I wanted him to feel bad. I wanted to see some flicker of guilt on his face. The Satan that I knew was at least capable of that.

“Would you stop that?” was all this one said to me. “I have a headache. And I know where we are. I lived here for a year, or did you forget?” He reached down and picked something up from the shadows by the wall. It was the tea-stained book. He turned and held it out for me to see, silently gloating in this evidence that, whatever had happened, the tea fiasco was related, so this whole thing was really my fault.

Satisfied by my silence, he approached the nearest torch and held the book up to the light. "Mysteries of the Demon King's Castle," he read off the cover. "Now equipped with easy-to-use pocket dimensions, giving you a fully immersive experience– dammit !”

He stopped reading and hurled the book down the hallway, out of sight.

“...I didn’t realize pocket dimensions were unlocked with tea,” I muttered sullenly. “Why did you leave a book with transdimensional charms on it lying on the floor?”

I thought it was a sober, reasonable question, but based on what I could see of Satan’s face, he disagreed. As he turned on me, he suddenly seemed taller than I remembered, so much so that he blocked out the torchlight. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

I couldn’t see what kind of face he was making in the dark, and I was glad about that as I backpedaled somewhat. “I’m… I’m just saying there’s fault to go ‘round!”

That didn’t seem to do much to quell his mounting annoyance. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was angry about at this point. The spilled tea? The wet book? The pocket dimension? The suggestion that he might be partially responsible for our current predicament? All I knew was that there was a dark energy stirring around him. It wasn’t out of control yet, but I took note and stepped back.

“...This is stupid,” he finally mumbled. That illusion that he was taller than before had ended, and he was the same stature as always as he walked in the direction he’d tossed the book. “I’ll get us out.”

I stayed where I was, rubbing my sore neck, and stared into the darkness after him. The sound of footsteps slowed. Everything was silent.

Then the sound of footsteps picked up again. Rapidly. Satan was running back in my direction, and chasing him was–

“Cerberus?!” I was running before I had time to think I should be running. “What’s he doing here?!”

“Shut up!” Satan said rather unhelpfully. Then he made a sudden turn, and I nearly tripped over my feet skidding to a stop and running after him. I made a grab for his hand, just to have something to keep us from being separated in the dark, but he hissed like the touch burned him and pulled it free again. 

Now, I was starting to feel pretty angry too.

“Why are we running?” I snapped between pants. “Isn’t that your dog?”

“Lucifer’s,” was his terse reply. “Stop following me. If we split up, at least one of us will live.”

“Are you being serious?” I struggled to keep up my pace while giving him a look of appropriately scathing incredulity.

Satan didn’t appreciate my expression, because he refused to look at me. He kept running, eyes trained forward, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know! I need a minute to think! So shut up!”

Fed up with him, I picked up my pace with the last of my flagging strength and shoved him bodily into a crevice. He was so shocked that for a few seconds, while he was reattaching his jaw to his skull, I was able to take his own advice and assess the situation clearly. No running like a lunatic. No accusatory jabs. Just me and my thoughts… And that was all I needed.

It was incredibly simple. Cerberus was here because Cerberus wasn't really here. This pocket dimension was designed for the book it came with, so it goes to figure that the creatures living in it were little more than illusions.

“How dare you–?”

Satan had recovered his senses and looked ready to lunge at me, so I sidestepped out of the crevice and into the path of the other beast.

“Wind and fire, heed your master’s call!” I shouted. The wind began to whip fiercely around me as the torches blazed. I never got tired of this. It was badass every time. But I didn’t have time to appreciate the theatrics. Cerberus had just rounded a corner and was loping towards me, all three jaws snapping. “Vile illusion! I cast you back into the darkness!”

The wind blew so violently that I could barely keep my balance, and from the sound of a thud and a hissed “damn!” behind me, it seemed like the wind was even less considerate of Satan. But in front of me, the gale seemed to blow the image of Cerberus away. The wind rushed, the torchlight blazed, and in seconds, the creature had vanished completely.

The air settled down and the torches dimmed to their usual brightness. In the absence of the howling wind, every sound was intensified. My heavy breathing. Satan’s heavy breathing. His voice behind me when he rasped, “What…?”

“It wasn’t real,” I answered breathlessly. “Just… an illusion.”

“What…did you do?”

I turned around to face him, only to find him on his knees, fists clenched on his thighs. I wilted somewhat. I hadn’t meant to draw power from him, but he was right there, and the illusion had been so intense…! 

“I…guess I had to borrow some of your power to banish the illusion. It- It wasn’t intentional…” I started to stammer out the best excuse I could pull from my ass, but then he looked up at me. His eyes flashed dangerously, his teeth were bared, and the sound he made was more like a snarl than a voice.

“This is my body! You can’t use it! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t! I’ll kill you!”

As enraged as he was, he was too weak to do much about the situation. I mumbled an apology, taking a step back. Satan kept muttering curses under his breath, head bowed, and before long, I’d pushed his words out of my mind. It wasn’t like this was the first time one of the brothers threatened to kill me, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Fatigued from my own burst of mana output, I shut my eyes, slid down the wall, and sat on the floor, running a hand through my hair as I exhaled. We would be fine now, I reassured myself. Satan would blow off his anger, and we’d figure out some way out of here. Leaving a pocket dimension should be relatively simple. Even if that failed, at the very least, Lucifer or Solomon would figure out how to rescue us. Right… All we had to do was…

......

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but then again, who does? When I woke up a short time later, stiff and sore against the stone wall, I was alone in the hallway.

“Satan?”

My voice echoed in the stone passage, and I reflexively shuddered. How many creepy things have chased me down these halls? Sure, this one wasn’t the real thing, but… what else besides Cerberus might be waiting in the wings?

It took some courage for me to shout louder. “Satan!”

Nothing.

I groaned. Loudly, too, just in case he could hear it. That bastard. My head reeled as I forced myself back to my feet. There was no way he would have just walked off into this maze without me, was there?

…Was there?

A nervous knot was growing in my stomach. “Satan, if you can hear me, you’d better say something!”

“Something.”

The voice came from directly behind me, and I shrieked. It was an ugly shriek, and it was loud, and when I turned around indignantly, I saw Satan. That asshole. He stood watching me with an irritating expression of self-satisfaction, and in his hand, he held the damn book that started all of this in the first place.

“So you’ve decided not to kill me?”

It was a stupid thing to say, and I knew it wouldn’t do anything besides annoy him, but I was embarrassed and I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his stupid face.

It worked.

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking such irritating questions?” he snapped. “I was going to tell you I’ve found a simple way to get out of this nightmare.” He started thumbing through the pages, which smelled strongly of green tea.

One haphazardly sketched pentagram later, we were both standing in Satan’s room. A quick glance at my D.D.D. confirmed no time had passed during our little excursion to the illusory labyrinth. Thoroughly drained, I sighed and plopped down onto the floor with a bump. Three precariously stacked books proceeded to fall and hit me on the head, one after the other, like this was some sort of Looney Tunes skit.

“Careful!” chided Satan, steadying the stack. “You’ll start an avalanche, and I don’t have the patience to deal with that today! I have a headache.”

As I stood up, he flopped down on his bed, his back facing me. I stared at him for a few long seconds, then sighed. I could no longer repress a smirk.

“Want me to get you some tea?”

This was something I wrote while I was developing Let's All Be Shadows. It's a little sillier tonally. While I'm finishing Chapter 19, I figured I'd post this here, since I realized I hadn't done that yet.

[vinciwolf]

Loyalty Pt 8

(Recom)Na’vi!Miles Quaritch x (fem)Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: SLOW BURN, EVENTUAL NSFT, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, capture, romance, reader is female

Warnings for this chapter: the series FINALE, violence, action, fighting, blood, gore, death, cussing, a tiny bit of fluff if you have a magnifying glass.

Notes: Na’vi spoken is in [italics and brackets]; inner thoughts are in italics.

Tags: @deliwrites @ikranwings @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @avatar-lover @justasimps-blog​  @mechformers​ @perseny​ @dakotali​ @ragingloser​ @whereireid​ @whxre-bxby​ @miscellaneousfantasies​ @janelongxox​ @myh3artt​ @ducks118

 You had been trapped in this colorless prison for some time since Miles left. When you had finally recovered enough to stand on two feet, bullet wounds still havocking your body under fitted bandages, you were escorted to a basic cell. During that short walk, you realized that this place was still in fact the SeaDragon.

The tinkling of the lights above annoyed you as you sat in isolation, trying hard not to let the earie silence drive you up the wall. Then you heard a commotion through the ceiling making your head peer up, brow furrowed. There was yelling and screaming muffled by the barrier separating you from the world above. Being in the unknown had your leg bouncing. Your ears picked up a new burst of hollering followed by rapid gunfire. Everything rocked and swayed so hard you needed to catch yourself against the wall. Something big hit the SeaDragon while the uproar continued.

You could hear the metal beams inside the ship protest to the massive weight moving around on the docks until that chaotic presence seemed to finally disappear, giving you momentary relief…until you felt the ship moving. And it was moving abnormally fast. Then you were slung to the other side of the room, air being pushed from your lungs as your body slammed into the wall.

Your whole body curled as you groaned from the pain flooding your abdomen. Lifting your shirt, you peeked to see if any blood drained into your white bandages, but when you found nothing, you sighed that luckily the stitches didn’t bust. Now all you wanted to know was what the hell happened. Was Miles alright? Where was Spider in all this mess? And what the actual fuck hit the ship???

You needed to get out of here, so you got to your feet and looked for anything to use to escape.

You threw a chair into the one-sided mirror but it only shuddered, never breaking. Then you had your fingers trying to pry open the door, only to release with a frustrated scream. You hated this feeling… being helpless… then your mind wandered to Sylway. Shame crept inside you. Nothing you did here, then, or in the future will make things right. Jake is probably dead or about to be…but…

Again! Your mind motivated your sorry ass to get up.

You took the chair and were about to fly it into the door but a noise halted your motion. The door to your cell flew open to reveal a face you thought you’d never see again.

“Neteyam…?” You dropped the chair with a loud thud and grabbed the young warrior into your arms, hugging tightly, smaller arms wrapping around your torso in a brief second of happiness.

You let go to then notice Spider.

“Come here!” you cried, grabbing both boys, glad to see they were alive and safe.

“What the hell happened!?” you asked frantically.

“Oh, that was me,” Spider joked with a beaming smile. “I crashed the ship.”

“And Payakan totally messed up those soldiers too, but we’ll explain more later! Let’s go!” Neteyam waved his hand.

You had a pressing question. “Is your father alive?”

“He’s more than fine!” the young warrior replied proudly.

“Yeah, he kicked some ass out there,” Spider added.

Your chest felt lighter listening to their words, but that was short lived when gunfire erupted, your hand pulling the back of Neteyam’s neck low as you shielded him with your body. Graciously, Eywa provided protection from the bullets by allowing you and the boys to scurry just in time behind some equipment. You couldn’t see where the soldiers were that fired at you, heartrate thumping hard against your breast, getting you even more excited when you saw Lo’ak jump down and, using an automatic rifle, blasted holes through the soldiers who were about to find where you hid.

“Holy shit,” Spider breathed in awe.

“Bro, that was insane!” Neteyam cheered his little brother on.

“We can congratulate ourselves later, move,” you begged only for more soldiers to aim their weapons at you, shooting in your direction.

Your hand grabbed Spider out of the way as you watched Neteyam and Lo’ak jump into the safety of the moonpool unharmed, but you were still ensnared by the rage of bullets devastating the environment, unable to dive into the water. So close, yet so fucking far.

“(Y/N)! This way!” the kid shouted, finding a tiny opening amongst the ship’s cargo and smaller vessels.

Following the nimble human, you barely made it away from the chaos only to stumble upon the decks below to witness something more sinister than just armed men.

Ardmore was in her Skel Suit with all the remaining Recoms at attention. The only ones who were missing were Miles and Lyle. Feeling a shift in your gut, there was something about that woman you still couldn’t quite narrow down. Then her voice echoed off the steal walls and gripped your soul, hair standing on your neck.

"As you know, the Colonel has gone soft on me. He's become feral, erratic. His methods are questionable, testing my patience... and trust. On the docks, we were hit by a Tulkun and ambushed by the hostiles, losing countless including a few Recombinants. The captain is still MIA, and the kid the Colonel allowed to be his pet has crashed the ship. This is all becoming one great mess. I've lost faith that he can get the job done, so I'm switching things up. I no longer trust Project Phoenix. I can no longer put my faith in beings that can evolve to become disloyal. As of this moment, I'm retiring the Deja Blu Team."

Your brow pinched together at the General’s last statement, then worried eyes shot to Prager who bravely stepped forward out of line.

“Sir, we’ve been nothing but loyal. You gonna put us on kitchen duty when our Colonel has Sully in his sights!? We’re so close to finishing this!”

It was as if his words fell on ears stuffed with cotton, as an annoyed Ardmore lifted her metallic arm with a huff “—just shut up—” and shot Prager through the forehead.

His body fell limp onto the floor with a crunch as his hallowed skull cracked from the force.

“No!!!” Z-dog shouted before her brains spitted out her skull.

The rest of the Recoms were executed the same way, bodies toppling over. Mansk was shot through the back of his head by a soldier he didn’t see coming. Now his black sunglasses splintered from the hole that gaped where his eye should be. Spider almost made a noise before you caught him in a hug, diverting his eyes from the massacre.

Shocked, your ears turned flat in horror at what you just saw.

Prager

Fucking Prager you shared a stupid kiss with in the half-finished, half-assed Recom issued barracks.

Everyone was dead….

"We need to go," you whispered to the kid, who you felt was shaking.

He peered up and softly nodded his head ‘ok’ before you were making your way to find somewhere to exit this ship of growing nightmares. But as you were sneaking behind crates and various machinery, your tail happened to be so cruel by accidently hitting a metal barrel, disturbing the air with a low vibration.

A soldier spotted you and bellowed, “Na’vi!”

"Run!" You pushed Spider forward away from a thwack of bullets that shot through the metal beams close by, clanking and sparking as they ricocheted.

You were too big to be agile, as the space around you dwindled from the encroaching soldiers following closely behind, limiting the places where you could escape to. But Spider wasn’t challenged, slipping easily past all the works and nooks making you happy that he could get away.

"Come on!" He shouted, an encouraging hand waving for you to follow.

“Shit!” You spat as you ran and dodged what you could, feeling your skin burst open on your arm as a bullet grazed through the tissue.

When you managed to find cover, leaning your back against a wall, you frantically looked around for Spider, who you had lost in the skirmish.

Fuck!

You had to keep moving, so you said a quick prayer before pealing yourself off the wall, holding your bleeding arm, and climbing up a stairwell to the upper deck. The breeze was a small relief allowing you to catch a break for your fatigued lungs, until you heard the click of a rifle. Slowly, you faced the source of the noise and saw Lyle. His focus was serious, gun unshaken.

“Lyle…” you said carefully.

“You killed them,” his voice broke.

Your hand dug into your arm as you tried to stop the bleeding slipping through your fingers, lifting the other in your defense before you argued pleadingly, “I haven’t had a weapon since my capture and if I did, why the fuck would I kill my friends!?”

You could see the falter in the Corporal’s eyes despite his finger never leaving the trigger.

“Please…Ardmore…she…”

That seemed to cause Lyle’s chest to heave strongly as he made his judgement, shaking his chin as he didn’t want to believe your words. But before he could lay his bullets in you, something massive hit the ship again, sending you flying overboard into the water.

You pried your soaked self out of the waves, spitting the sea from your mouth. The rocks under your hands were slippery as you made your way up the wet surface. Then the sky began to dim, eclipse creating a crescent of light as the planets slowly shut out the sun. Looking over to the SeaDragon, the damage was severe. Smoke rose from the engines with fire beginning to engulf the framework. That was when you noticed a Tulkun carrying away Lo'ak and Neteyam by the fin. They were alive. They were safe…but you still couldn't see Spider anywhere.

You hissed when the pain in your arm rang through your muscle, pulsating hot, making you take your eyes off the Sully boys and onto your pierced skin. Tugging off your shirt, baring your torso save for a sports bra and soaked bandages, you wrapped your arm, using your teeth to tug and secure the fabric tightly. A groan reverberated through your lungs at the bruising pull around your arm, blood slowing to a trickle, but your moment of exhaustion diminished when your eyes fell onto the demon that brought you so much agony.

You glared through your brow watching Ardmore before eyes widened when you saw what she had in her grip. A glimpse of Spider’s blonde locks startled you.

No…

He struggled and yanked in her hold being tugged along roughly until they walked out of view.

You couldn’t let the General live another day, even if it meant that this night could be your last, you wanted her dead. Gathering your rage and picking yourself up on shaky legs, you dived back into the ocean.

Night was here and you were ready to hunt.

Eywa give me strength.

~

Emerging from the water with careful silence, you climbed into death’s mouth. Bodies littered the SeaDragon deck, one catching your attention. It was Ja. Patting through his clothes, you found a sizable knife. Continuing over the mess, fire blazed around you so warm that your skin cooked under the heat. Everything was loud and chaotic as the whole ship screamed while its framework and gears broke apart. This had you thrilled, even feeling blessed, because you knew Ardmore couldn’t get away.

Then you came upon a distant clanking echo. As you advanced toward the sound, you saw the dark outline of a small body. Fidgeting with his restraints, Spider was tied to a railing. He grunted and swore under his breath until he noticed you running to him.

“No! It’s a trap!” Your knife sliced through the orange handcuffs as he shouted.

You didn’t listen, more focused on being glad that he was live, a little scratched, but alive, briefly kissing his fuzzy hair. Then Ardmore sprang from above out of the shadows with a roar, spear colliding with the metal floor where you once kneeled, dodging her attack thanks to your better hearing.

“Spider, GO!” you yelled. “NOW!!!”

Without hesitation, he listened and dashed away, jumping into the black sea with flashlight in hand.

The General adjusted herself in her Skel Suit, straightening her form, gripping hard against a double-bladed spear. It looked custom made for killing larger pray…for killing Na’vi.

“I was hoping for Jake, but you’ll do. Either way, they’ll come…one for his whore, the other to kill,” she taunted.

Lifting the hand that held Ja’s knife, your fangs bared themselves followed by a low, vicious hiss as you challenged the tiny human needing a metal skeleton to match your strength. The fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade readjusted and curled tighter preparing, your other hand balling into a fist in front of you as counterbalance.

“I’m gonna butcher you…then when I’m done, I’ll kill your whole family starting with that little brat!” Ardmore seethed.

With the wrath of a taronyu, a mother, a mate, you barreled toward the enemy, Sylway’s spirit making your legs bolt fast like you were flying.

~

Spider gasped and propelled his legs and arms to keep him afloat, clambering onto some rocks. Laying down on his back, he could feel the rapid pulse of his heartbeat in his stomach.

"Spider!" Miles cried out.

The kid shot up. Finally, someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

"Are you alright!?” The Recom searched the boy for any wounds.

“(Y/N)! She’s alive! Ardmore! It was her! She—she—! Prager’s dead—they’re all dead! She killed them all!” Spider stammered, still recovering from the tiring swim.

"What the hell are you saying, kid!?"

Gulping down some more air, Spider yelled, “Ardmore killed them! Mansk, Z-dog, Prager, Lopez! (Y/N) is still on the ship—she got between me and Ardmore so I could get away! She’s gonna die!”

Miles ground his teeth. Everything he lived for, everything he was told to be, the human legacy of Quaritch he was meant to preserve, felt bitter and alien. The Recombinants were commodified and expendable. Miles shook his head, patting his vest to see how much ammo he had left to find nothing, so he unsheathed his blade and took a deep breath.

Focus.

“Spider, where is she?” he asked firmly.

“She’s on the weld deck, near the moonpool.”

Spider’s eyes filled with concern as he noticed the calculating look that Miles was giving the distance, watching the burning SeaDragon. From where the Recom stood there was movement in the distance that directed his attention from the ship, over the black ocean, to a small cluster of boulders. Jake and his family huddled together recovering from the battle. A bold and stupid idea formed in the Recom’s mind.

“You’re crazy…” the kid said honestly, a little fearful.

“You got any better ideas,” he responded.

After a brief swim, Spider and Miles came upon a stretch of rocks that would be their pathway to approaching the Sully family. The kid went ahead to be a friendly face before the Recom would expose himself to whatever anger Jake and his wife held toward him. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t terrified, heart pounding in his chest at this insane move.

“He’s what—!?” Jake yelled at the kid.

Then Neytiri hissed, drawing her bow, as Miles made his way very carefully over the slippery rocks, palms empty in the air.

“Wait!” Spider pleaded.

Jake stepped forward with rifle pointed.

“Take one step closer—!” he warned.

Keeping his hands up, Miles breathed a little slower, finding the right words.

“I need your help. They have (Y/N).” His tail curved down, slightly tucking between his leg, hearing the clinking of the rifle trigger ready to fire through him any second.

Worry in her eyes, Neytiri’s ears curved back before she turned her head at her mate. Hearing that you were in danger, after too long being separated, made her want to run and kill every single human who dared touch you. She wanted you home.

Tuk whimpered your name, hugging a little tight around Kiri. The rest of the Sully children’s faces etched with fear for your wellbeing.

“You can kill me when this is over…just please…save her…help me save her,” Miles steadily begged.

“Why the hell do you care about someone you held hostage for months!?” Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Because he loves her…” Kiri’s soft voice spoke up.

The small comment from his daughter had Jake looking back at her and then to Miles, studying the way the Recom’s eyes fell shut with his lips tightening, almost afraid to hear the words that bound him to you spoken aloud.

Neytiri shot a look at Miles. Jake only released some air with a subtly of irony playing at the edge of his lips. He must’ve truly looked like a demon from where he held his hands up in the shadows. The only source of light on him was the burning flames of the SeaDragon reflecting off his shiny skin that appeared navy in the dim light. Spider then stood in the space between Jake and the Recom.

“Saving her life, that’s all that matters,” the boy added.

“Dad…” Kiri placed a small hand on her father’s shoulder, head tilting as she studied the Recom.

There was something in those eyes of the young Na’vi Miles couldn’t quiet place. She could see the change in him. She understood what he needed from Jake.

“Then let’s get it done,” Jake answered.

~

Your one lid swelled over your eye, covering your vision. You had fought hard, dodging the General’s attacks until she had managed to slice through your calf that made it difficult to move. Then she had you under her, using her metal hands to punch your face until you submitted, mouth filling with blood and staining your teeth.

Legs long collapsed from fatigue, you slouched against the pole your hands were currently locked together around. Your ear perked up when you heard the whirring of Ardmore’s Skel Suit as she steadied herself behind you. Her men stood guard anxious. All they had to do was wait.

“They’ll come…one for his whore, the other to kill.” Her words played inside your head over and over, making you grind your jaw tightly as the blood from your nose and forehead dripped over your face.

Then you heard screaming in the distance.

The killing had begun.

Ardmore motioned for her men to advance and fight, leaving fewer soldiers at her disposal. You smiled weakly, teeth red, thinking it funny how she’d run out of men sooner or later in her desperation to weed out Jake from the darkness.

Eventually, only five men stood with the General, ready to piss themselves.

Your heart beat faster when you saw Miles tossing a dead man aside as he approached the weld deck, blood speckled along his skin and face.

“Hold your fire!” Ardmore vocalized.

The Recom halted his stride, knife in hand dripping with blood.

“You betrayed me, Colonel.”

The only response Miles gave to the General’s comment was with a swipe from the back of his wrist over his dirty mouth, cleaning the gore off his face.

“I know you’re infatuated with this one—” she yanked your head back by the braid causing you to whine “—now all I must do is wait. You came for her…Jake will come for you. Hell, I might even get a kick watching you two fight.”

“Anyone who still has an ounce of self-preservation left in them: RUN.” Miles’ tone was stern and commanding over the blistering air, sparks flying from the crumbling debris.

It was funny how title and rank meant nothing when the odds stacked unevenly against selfish men. The remaining soldiers that stood around the General fled for their lives, believing in their own best interest before sacrificing themselves for a lost cause.

“Get back here!” Ardmore screamed, but it was too late. She was alone.

Miles then took a step.

“Don’t test me!” she seethed.

The sting of a blade pressed firmly into your throat as your head was held back uncomfortably by the lone woman’s metallic grip on your hair. But then the presence of the knife left you neck unexpectedly, only for your eyes to widen as you felt your braid being pulled taut.

You felt the whole world still, your whole body frozen.

Ardmore placed her blade at the underside of your braid near your scalp.

“If I don’t get to have Jake, you don’t get to have her,” the woman heckled.

“Just kill her!” you yelled, head painfully tugged when you spoke.

“Stop!” Jake hollered as he hurtled himself over some cargo. “Let her go, and you can have me!”

“We can do this another way!” Miles shouted at him,

“Do you love her or not!?”

The Recom was taken aback before he realized his pause.

“Yes, I do,” he answered evenly.

An arrow shot through Ardmore from behind. She stumbled forward, letting your hair go, gasping as she peered down at the massive arrow head stuck through her chest. Then another sliced into her body, this time causing her to completely lose control of her footing and faceplant into the deck. Her blood pooled under her while she took her last breath.

Neytiri jogged into the light, hissing at the dead body, before turning to you and cutting your restraints with her knife. You were weak, falling into her arms. She hugged you and kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you, Great Mother!” she praised.

Finding enough strength to stand with the aid of your sister, you found yourself pushing away from Neytiri gently as your feet shuffled you to your mate.

Miles grabbed hold of you tightly with a hand cradling the back of your head. You cried into his chest. He found your lips and kissed you repeatedly before picking you up and carrying you away.

He had you.

You were safe.

It was over.

[ldysmfrst]

I Got Interviewed!

Hello, dearest readers,

I had the honor of being interviewed by @psychosupernatural!

You may have seen the ask that was sent to my inbox.

After a mini-freak out for being asked in the first place, I agreed.

They also permitted me to share the interview with my readers!

I don't want to sound self-centered by sharing this with you.

I just thought that if someone was interested in knowing (even if it was for school), maybe others might want to know as well.

So here you go!

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

What’s your motivation for writing fanfiction?

I started my first story, ‘Breaking and Entering,’ for myself because it was the first winter after COVID-19 broke out, and the world was shut off from itself.  Then, after reading fanfics for the first time, I started writing my second story (Reciprocal Synergy) and stopped after no one paid any attention to it when I posted it on Tumblr and AO3.   After reading a fantastic story by @yoongiofmine, I was inspired to write American Mate—A BTS Hybrid Playmate AU. I was initially going to keep it to myself because the online world had already shot down one of my stories, so why do it again? My oldest child (15 years old) said, “So what? Do it for yourself.” And I did.

I tell newer or struggling veteran writers, “Write for yourself. Enjoy what you wrote. Somewhere out there, someone else will match your freak. Someone else will want to escape into your world. Someone else needs to feel that support, even from a character in a story on their electronic device.”  At this point, it's like an inner mantra.

How have you learned to write good fanfiction?

First, it is still being determined whether my fanfiction is good. Like all works of art and creativity, what I do may not be everyone’s cup of tea.  The fanfic that I write takes a lot of time to cultivate. Most of my time is spent researching anything from sciences and behaviors to interviews and documentaries. The ability to tie facts into my works is what I think sets me into a category that draws in others because it makes it subconsciously believable despite the characters being werewolves, hybrids, aliens, or soul mates with abilities.  I also use my American Sign Language and Psychology education to help build these miniature universes. When I write, I consider the characters' psychological aspects, internal processes, and non-verbal communication. For works that also include animalistic tendencies, I research that to the furthest of my ability. I have done it so frequently that my city's large animal and exotic animal veterinarian has helped me several times. This can make the writing good if the readers want to read it. 

How do you judge the quality of your fics? 

Quality requires consistency and continuity. If side notes, footnotes, or character reference sheets are not used to ensure a solid foundation in the story, the reader will be confused. That confusion, that difficulty to read fluidly, is where the quality lies.  I could have a fantastic idea, but if it is not easy to read, no one will read it.  As for the wording, grammar, and the like, I practically failed every English class. My degrees are very much fact-based research papers written in MLA and APA. Due to my horrible history with writing, I never had the guts to take something like a creative writing course, although I have had a poem published worldwide.  When I read something I have written, if it pulls me back into the story and makes me want to read on and keep writing, it has good enough quality to show others. 

How did you / do you learn the “rules” and conventions of fanfiction?

I don’t think I have to be honest. There are common boundaries of respect, such as placing warnings, indicating where adult themes start and end, and noting where influences have come from. As a writer, I follow these out of a desire not to shock or trigger my reader and to support other fanfic writers.  I have been the reader who started reading an out-of-this-world fanfic and was thrown into a panic attack because there was no warning. I ended up messaging that writer and letting them know they have a trigger in their story. That writer was shocked that the story was triggering. When I explained that it was gracing the edge of being a particular type of fanfic, yandere, and how it was doing that, the writer understood and updated the warnings.  Unfortunately, fanfics do not have a predetermined set of rules that everyone is made aware of before starting their fanfic writing journey. It is a game of mimicking with individualizations sprinkled in. Also, as a writer, you have to be able to take in the thoughts of your readers and make adjustments without taking offense to that feedback.

Do you tend to stick to only one fandom, or do you migrate from one fandom to another?

I migrate fandoms.  My first fanfic was ‘Breaking and Entering,’ an original Young Adult high school werewolf story. I started writing it because I was bored while having COVID.  One of my most popular fanfics, American Mate, was inspired oddly. I read a BTS fanfic written by Yoongieofmine. The Playmate AU aspect of her story caught my attention because BTS is not among the top K–pop groups I follow. However, that story made my mind run with the thoughts of combining Playmates with Hybrids. I ended up writing Yoongieofmine and asking permission to write ‘American Mate.’ I have also written for other K-pop groups, Ateez and Stray Kids, and a Thai Boy-Love Drama, KinnPorsche.

What sort of relationship exists between you as a writer and the characters that you create on the page?

Interesting question, to be honest or not…  All of my stories, except the werewolf ‘Breaking and Entering’ story, are written in a y/n style, meaning the main character is the reader. These stories are written to pull the reader into them by negating a leading character name and replacing it with the notation y/n = your name.  I have to put myself in that leading character role to write these stories.  I fully understand that the stories are just that– stories. None of what is written is in any way possible. Still, while the reader or I read the story, I do my best to immerse myself in the place of the leading character and have those relationships, experiences, trials, and fears with the other characters.  Each chapter that is written starts as a dream or fantasy that I have personally had. Those give me an outline to work with, but I have had the experience where I am so into and connected with the characters that when I stop writing, I think, “wait, what happened?” So, I have to go back to read over what I have written, and then it's a moment of “Oh!! That is what I wrote. Well, that came out of nowhere.” Simply, I have a connection with them because I don’t think I could write them if I didn’t; however, I am not delusional enough to think they are anything more than words on a page. 

LdySmFrst Library Link

Permanent Tag List

@bethanysnow @braveangel777 @danielle143 @elliegrace1999 @skyys-universe @reallysparklychaos @stylishhwa

American Mate Series Taglist - Closed

@nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie @seoullove96 @reallysparklychaos @tired7o7 @channiespup @cryingpages @kittycatkrissa @captain-joongz @roseidol @hecateslittlewitchling @ayoo-bangtan @someshinesomedont @cerulean1riz @butterfliesinthenightsky @kayways @elliegrace1999

Incomplete Series Taglist - OPEN

@nenefix-on @dimeb29 @stylishhwa @fr34k4c1dr41n @reallysparklychaos

Breaking and Entering Taglist - OPEN

@firstherohairdostudent

Reciprocal Synergy Series Taglist - OPEN

[peaches2217]

I'm slowly but surely easing back into writing now that I'm acclimating to my new job! I can't say for certain when I'll have my next completed piece up, so in the meantime, please have the first page and a half of one of my longer WIPs, because if I don't post something I am going to gnaw my arm off like an understimulated animal. So please accept this gift which I'm presently calling...

Musings on a Motivation (WIP, also still looking for a less cringy title 😅)

~~~

“Did you truly want to marry me? Or did you just want to take Bowser’s victory for your own?”

Peach presented Mario with this question in the Snow Kingdom, huddled across from him in the corner of some Shiverian cafe. Her quiet voice was resolute, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes from the mug of hot chocolate in her hands.

For the first time in two days, Mario felt cold. She had warned him, told him she was going to bring it up again, but he didn’t feel any more prepared in spite of the advance alert.

“There’s no wrong answer,” she assured him, and though her smile was sad, it was equally sincere. “No matter what you tell me, I won’t think any differently of you. I just… I want to know.”

He nodded, though his head felt heavy and disconnected from his shoulders. Right. He supposed he did owe her an answer.

This wasn’t the first time they were discussing the incident on the moon. He knew for a fact it wouldn't be the last, either.

Half an hour after the offending event, Mario had broken the silence of the trip back home with an apology, face flushing redder and redder with shame the more he dwelled on it. His princess, l’amore della sua vita, the one he would travel to the ends of the earth and beyond for, had almost been forced into a marriage with the Koopa King Bowser, the very creature who caused her constant torment.

And what had Mario done after saving her from a marriage she hadn't asked for? Tried cornering her into another one. Proposed to her, a proposal that was quickly challenged by Bowser himself. Gotten into a squabble over her hand with the aforementioned creature like two boys fighting over a plastic toy. All of this minutes after rescuing her.

Peach had tiredly forgiven him, but asked to discuss it further once they were home and rested. Three days later, she reaffirmed her pardon over cake and tea, but held none of her own feelings on the matter back: how childishly he’d painted himself in her eyes, how she felt like nothing more than a trophy, some grand prize that would go to whoever shoved flowers in her face the hardest, how little she worried he valued her affections if he actually thought Bowser, of all people, was competition. The timing was bad, the execution was infinitely worse, and she felt both affronted and humiliated by the last man she ever expected to cause her such distress. 

Mario, for his part, was grateful. If she could feel all of those things — if he could cause her to feel all of those things — but she could still forgive him, then perhaps she still trusted him. 

But it stung no less to hear, and it certainly didn’t soften the blow when she asked for a break. 

“I need a vacation,” she had sighed. “We both… we need space. Some time apart.” Mario had numbly agreed.

In parting, he had taken her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, wishing her safety and happiness on whatever ventures she had planned; she had excused herself quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the first of her tears. That image routinely kept Mario awake into the early hours of the morning.

Glancing at the untouched slice of cake lying before him, he gulped. That had been a month ago. Peach had parted from the kingdom the following afternoon, and after a few lethargic days hiding beneath his blankets, Mario heeded the pleas of his brother and his newest friend and decided a vacation didn’t sound half bad. 

Luigi elected to stay home and tend to some sort of balloon-adjacent business, yet even without his twin, Mario found himself mercifully distracted. It began as a week-long expedition to both the major landmarks and best hidden alcoves of Cappy’s home nation. But somewhere between Big Beanie and Bucket-Hat Palace, their sightseeing stint segued into another hunt for Power Moons, fueled this time by adventure and pure entertainment rather than necessity, and Mario came to discover that an international game of hide-and-seek is an excellent way to distract oneself from heartbreak. 

So that was what he threw himself into, and the less excitable but every bit as goal-oriented Cappy was more than happy to assist. Yesterday was Day 35 of their adventure, and having spent the previous week roughing it in the choking heat of the Forgotten Isle, they’d agreed easily that a cooler change in scenery would do them both good. They arrived in the Snow Kingdom that morning and planned to spend the day acclimating in the (relative) warmth of Shiveria, then soldier on in their quest with no end goal. 

But just barely within the walls of the town, a black beret and a halo of golden hair stopped Mario in his tracks. 

Peach’s face was flush from the cold, but her eyes shined brighter and bluer than the carbonated sea of Bubblaine, and she called his name with all the warmth of a stroll along its sunny shores, and how his legs didn’t give out on the spot he wasn’t entirely sure. Suddenly the month that had flown by without her felt like an eternity. 

~

If y’all have any feedback thus far I would appreciate it most sincerely, I wanna make sure it’s at least somewhat coherent so far!!

[flame-of-tar-valon]

End-of-Year Special 10: Beaconhill Lighthouse

Vivimani hummed to himself as he set the finishing touches on the meal presentation. It wouldn’t win the Dellemont d’Or, but it looked tasty enough by Vivimani’s standards. He just hoped his message would be enticing enough to convince his honored guest to follow him here. (It seemed a tall order — Beaconhill sat on a tall rocky bluff, its tunnels and battlements fitted with enough stairs to put Sasamo’s penance to shame.)

Vivimani needn't have worried, though: barely a quarter bell passed before he spied her on the ascent below. Good. She had guards, of course, but the builders of Beaconhill had made the doors Lalafell-sized, which would at least mitigate the size of the entourage she would bring.

Dewlala Dewla entered the tower alone, her guards positioned outside so that she and Vivimani could speak in confidence. Vivimani welcomed her with a deep courtesy, a warm smile on his face. “Might I say it’s a delight to see you so well, despite the… terrible damage the Sacrarium has suffered,” he greeted her as he showed her to the table. “That her Prioress should nevertheless be graced with a seat on the Syndicate truly speaks to Nald’s great blessings.” She did look well; she was not at all winded from the climb as far as he could ascertain.

Dewlala spent the next several seconds studying Vivimani’s face; finding nothing blatant to take umbrage to, she eventually spoke, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “It is the privilege of the Order of Nald’thal to counsel the Royal House of Ul. It is this duty that we place before all else.” She did her best to suppress a grimace. She must know she sounded defensive. And for what? She was the head of the city’s religious affairs, justifying herself to a mere adventurer after meeting him outside the city — at his invitation, no less. Oh, that must sting.

Dewlala’s eyes narrowed. The urge to smirk at her suspicion bubbled under Vivimani’s skin. Still, he pushed it down. In order for the veiled subtext of his speech to truly rattle Dewlala, she'd have to sift it out from Vivimani's affected piety herself: “How curious that the Sacrarium lies in ruins, yet its Prioress has the funds to purchase a seat on the Syndicate. I wonder if this ‘miracle’ holds up to more secular forms of bookkeeping?”

The table was set with a modest Thanalan dinner: roasted nopales, a spicy tuco-tuco loaf set on flatbread, and a couple meat miq'abobs, with a chilled pitcher of spiced Sil’dihn tea to accompany the food. Vivimani was curious to see if she would take any of it. She had no way of knowing if it were poisoned. 

(It wasn’t, at least by Lalafell standards; Vivimani never bothered to learn what ingredients were poisonous to the other humanfolk, but he vaguely recalled tavern chatter about tuco-tuco meat on the menu.)

Taking a bite from his own miq’abob, Vivimani took pity on Dewlala. “It is a precarious position you hold. The Sultana’s seat grows weaker by the day, and your colleagues on the Syndicate circle like vultures. But the fact that you showed up to dine with me today tells me three things with absolute certainty.” He leaned in, tugging ever-so-slightly on the mana housed within Heartstrike, and dimmed the lights in the room. The effect was almost imperceptible — enough to make Dewlala more pliable under the tension, but not enough for her to realize he’d done anything. 

“Firstly, that your council is fractured. You serve the city, just as you serve the Traders. And that means when you heard about the missing crown, you had to act.” Dewlala’s grip tightened on her scepter. There was no surprise in her eyes when Vivimani mentioned the crown. There should have been — only a handful of people were supposed to know about it at this point — but instead of confused or shocked, she looked grim. But she didn’t speak, which Vivimani took as tacit permission to continue his monologue. 

“I have neither the means nor motive to cause any significant harm, to you or to the Sultanate,” he said, which walked a tightrope between truth and lie so fine that Vivimani himself wouldn’t be willing to gamble which it was. “I can but assume that you have your informants, which is more than I can say for myself, as I have but my guildmates at my disposal — and that, only assuming their loyalty doesn’t waver.” He was downplaying his connections, and Dewlala knew this — as Prioress, she would know what had been going on in the Thaumaturge’s Guild. So, although he didn’t spell it out, Dewlala heard his second conclusion: that Vivimani could trace her network back as far as he needed to — as far back as the Immortal Flames, perhaps.

“Most importantly,” he said, moving in for the kill, “despite all the ways I may be a danger to you, your career, or even your bloodline… you believe that the best odds for keeping the city afloat in these trying times rely on a partnership with me. You don’t know me well — you don’t know my price, my morals, my past �� which is a comfort in some ways and a danger in others. It’s hard, in a city as cutthroat as ours, to find someone without skeletons in their closet. But there’s something to be said for the devil one knows being more reliable than a stranger.”

Dewlala flushed with indignation and opened her mouth to speak —

Vivimani bowed. Deeply. Face to the ground. “By the most sacred name of Nald’thal, I, Vivimani Qiqimani, hereby pledge my lifeblood to the service of the Order and to the Sacrarium, ‘till gold erodes to dust and ‘till flesh burns away to ash. So do I swear.” Then, drawing on the magic of the dagger again — Mormo clamored to be let out, but Vivimani kept a firm grip on the leash — Vivimani summoned a flame, just a candle’s worth, and stretched out his hand to let it mark him. Dewlala stared. He held onto it, just until he had to hiss from the pain, then let it vanish.

“You don’t know if you can trust me. I understand that. There’s a lot of my own past I can’t recall. But while I’m here… I’m going to do what I can.” Until I choose not to, at least. 

That was the thing about piety. It was very meaningful to a lot of people. It was also, essentially, theatre. If a burn scar on his hand was all it took to convince a member of the Syndicate that he was trustworthy, Vivimani would make that sacrifice a thousand times over. There were far worse ways of getting friends in such high places.

Still, a part of him — deep down, buried underneath all his anxieties about Mumuepo, underneath his guilt about the Qarn mission, even underneath his last words to his parents — a part of him really hoped the day would never come where he would have to brazenly betray an oath sworn to Nald’thal. Nor to any of the Twelve.

* * *

The meal Vivimani prepared consists of roasted nopales, a tuco-tuco mole loaf, meat miq'abobs, and mulled tea. It was difficult to come up with an authentic traditional Ul'dahn meal, but I think this is ok.

Fun fact: Dewlala uses Plainsfolk model and naming conventions, but it doesn't make sense for her not to be Dunesfolk — even the Encyclopedia Eorzea says that she is canonically Dunesfolk! So I'm giving her their poison resistance (if not extending it to all Lalafell just because I can).

Join me tomorrow for the grand finale of this preview series, to see what happens when Lleidspaer, Nia'a, and Vivimani all find their paths converging...

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 26

Do you ever write a chapter and just...hate it?

That was this chapter and I've been working and reworking it over and over again and this morning it finally clicked what I was missing and so I hope you enjoy this chapter more than I do, because I have beef with this chapter.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23 Content Warnings: unhealthy parent dynamics All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

“So,” I began, trying my best not to fidget, “How do you find Berdusk?” 

The Lady Allara seemed to be a timid creature, we had been walking along the grounds for at least an hour and conversation was dreadfully, painfully slow. Some might be surprised to know that her conversation skills were inferior to that of orcs. 

“Oh, it’s quite nice.” She replied, blinking her wide eyes at me. She had an uncanny gaze that never strayed from my face. I could never tell if she was pleased when she looked at me, or simply frightened out of her mind, either way her wide, globulous eyes and her open mouth smile never was not on me.

There truly was no time to be amused by anything, but I couldn’t help but think that Drun would find her just as unsettling as I, and there was some warm comfort in that. Despite the distance and not knowing his condition, I still felt him near me. He was in my every waking thought and motivated every breath I took. He would return to me, that I was determined, and in the meantime I forced myself to believe that all was well and that what I was doing was enough.

I looked behind me and bit back the sigh I wanted to release when I locked eyes with the guards who followed us close behind. 

Earlier that day, Commander Gideon had only just left before those same guards  had returned with the servants to prepare me for the day. Since then, they had not left my sight, even within the privacy of my own room. It took much wailing and gnashing of teeth to convince them to let me bathe without one of them watching me. The absolute perverts.

“Do you miss Triel?” I asked Allara. “You’ve been gone almost a fortnight, is that correct?”

She shrugged, “I’m content to go where father takes me.”

Odd answer. I looked over at her again. Her expression was vacant of most any emotion. She didn’t look anywhere but me, in fact I don’t think she had looked out at the gardens once.

“My mother started this garden, you know.” I changed the subject. “She brought seeds from her homeland, isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes, quite.” She neither blinked nor looked away from me, not even once. 

I swallowed thickly. “My lady, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly.” She said, “And you?”

I narrowed my eyes while I looked back at the guards, “The same, I suppose.” I said vacantly. They wouldn’t give away anything. Even if they knew, they’re helmets concealed too much of their face to even help.

“How about some tea?” I asked. I needed to distract myself from her and a drink and something sweet to eat from the kitchen seemed like a good idea.

“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She said, “That sounds perfectly splendid.”

“Do you like tea?”

“Oh yes.” She bowed her head.

“Hmmm.” I nodded softly. I clasped my hands behind my back as I led her and the two guards behind us back into the interior of the Great Hall. I glanced back one last time to the gardens, appreciating the work that had been done to keep my mother’s plants alive. Someday, Drun would see it, I vowed.

The kitchens were pleasantly warm and quite busy when we entered. The head cook glanced up and nodded sagely when I walked in. They were used to my brothers and I coming in after our studies to enjoy a sweet treat with some tea. It was a safe space amongst so few of them and the cook was always kind even though I had never seen them speak a word in all my time knowing them.

They moved quickly to set two seats for myself and Allara to rest and then placed a setting for each of us to receive tea. A kettle was already beginning to boil.

“My lord, what a surprise!” I turned and gasped when I saw in the corner the large shadowy shape of a Dragonborn. How had I not seen them there? Doxxah was carrying a tray of baked goods, steam still rising from them.

“Doxxah! Wonderful to see you.” I said. I gestured for Lady Allara to take a seat, which she obliged with no objection. I stepped away, closer to my old friend.

“Likewise my lord, though a bit unexpected.” Doxxah gave a knowing stare. “Would you care to help me?”

I glanced at my fiance, who sat contentedly on her chair, her feet swinging slightly back and forth. From my distance it even seemed she had more of a natural smile on her face as she held her cup of tea. I turned back to Doxxah and nodded, “I would be honoured to help.”

 “How is the Lady Allara?” Doxxah’s voice was soft, not carrying above the sounds of the kitchen in use. We both glanced over at her, but the girl did not seem to notice the conversation being about her.

“Odd.” I said. “But not unkind.”

They nodded in acknowledgement. “And how is your paramour?”

“I do not know.” I answered. I glanced at the guards standing at the door. “I am…a bit stuck.”

They nodded. “Take heart, my lord, things will work out.” They placed a clawed hand upon my shoulder and winked. “You have many who are eager to see you happy.”

I bowed my head, “I know that, I am grateful.”

“There’s a but in there.” They said.

“But what if even after everything, my happiness can never be mine?”

“Hmmm, an honest question.” They reached for the last tray they had that had rows of steaming cinnamon rolls. I reached and pulled them from the tray and onto the serving plates on the table next to us. “Truly I am not the right person for this question, for I am ever the optimist. If you are not happy, my lord, then that is not your ending. Do not settle until then.”

“But what if he’s gone?” I breathed. I wasn’t certain if they could even hear me. To utter my greatest fear aloud, that Drunrag might be dead without my knowing, haunted me. I was suddenly shivering where I stood.

“Oh my young lord.” Doxxah lifted a plate with a roll on it and placed it into my hand. “Do not dwell on what we do not know. Take heart and in the meantime, warm your stomach with what is good. I have to be going, but I am always nearby.” They bared their teeth in a friendly, but also quite ferocious grin directed at the guards. They lifted their stack of trays and waved to the cook who was already working on a different dish before they made their way out of the kitchen.

I sighed. I supposed Doxxah was right. I had no way of knowing and thinking about it so obsessively made no difference. I needed to follow through on my plan. 

If I’m not happy, then it’s not the end. Not yet.

Lady Allara didn’t react as if I had even stepped away when I sidled into the seat next to her and placed a plate with her own cinnamon roll in front of her. “For you.” I said. 

Her eyes locked onto me, a sudden passing expression of fear on her gaze. “You are very kind.” She said, her voice was lower than normal, more mellow and somber. “I’m sorry.” she whispered.

“Sorry?” I asked. “Whatever for?”

She looked down into the bottom of her cup. “Our parents aren’t very honest people, are they?”

I drew my hands back from the table and onto my lap. “Allara, is there something you know that I don’t?”

Her hands were shaking and she couldn’t meet my eyes. 

“Whatever you can do, don’t play their game.” She finally met my gaze. There was hate and rage in those eyes, her demure appearance shed away to reveal a creature filled with spite and revenge.  “My father and your father…they each hold each other in a chokehold of secrets. There would be no reason for a wedding if those secrets were conveniently revealed.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How might one go about that?” 

The doors suddenly burst open and I jumped, I spun in my seat and looked down at my uneaten pastry.

“There you are!” The Duke of Triel exclaimed, my father just at his heels. “We thought you two would be in the garden. We had to search all over to find you.” His voice was jovial, but when I spared a stare I caught a sharpness in his stare as he closed the distance between himself and his daughter.

“I should have known you’d show her your favourite haunts, son.” My father smirked, but it was not a kind one. “But at this hour? It is only an hour before suppertime.”

“My daughter tends to have an upset stomach if she’s consumed too many sweets before a meal. She’s probably got some shaking in her. Ah yes, there it is. Come my love.” The Duke of Triel spoke quickly as he ushered towards the young woman and pulled her away from her seat. I watched as her eyes met mine. There was nothing vacant or uncanny in them. They were alert and locked onto me and then, the duke’s hands were on her and she was dragged away and soon out of my sight.

Did they truly think I was an idiot to not see what was happening here? I looked over to my father, glaring.

“Any particular reason you’re so displeased with me today, son?” He asked dryly, “Or is it the same as usual?”

“What are you doing to her?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” My father asked. All innocence in his tone. 

I rose to my feet. “You’re both up to something, and we’re being used as your pawns. I won’t accept such dishonesty, especially from you. It’s time we stop following in the steps of our forefathers. Look where it got you. Where it got our whole family. If I am to take your place as Duke, I will set the precedent now that this will not continue.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure what you’re seeing that’s making you so upset, son. I expect a bit more congenial attitude at supper. And you better be dressed.” Was my father’s only response before he turned and walked out.

I slumped back into my chair and looked down at my tea and cinnamon roll, both still warm. I took a bite and felt the hot buttery bread soften and melt in my mouth, cinnamon pervading any other flavor. I suddenly felt hot tears on my face. 

“Drun.” I said under my breath, burying my face into my hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing without you.”

I should have hurried back to my quarters to dress for supper, but I held back for as long as I could. I savored each bite of the pastry, and then slowly sucking the icing and cinnamon off of my fingers. I imagined another world where Drunrag was sitting next to me, sitting on his hands as he expectantly watched me try something Doxxah taught him how to bake. I showered him with praises and let him lick the sugar on my lips before kissing me deeply. 

My stomach twisted at the sight of it all. If only it could be so blissful. More tears spilled over.

“Brother.” 

I raised my head and Selhar had taken Allara’s empty seat. His eyes were wide with concern. 

“I’m fine.” I said, “Just thinking too much.” I sat up straight and wiped my hands clean. “Will you be at supper?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just for you and Allara and the Duke. Father insisted on privacy.” He dropped his bottom lip. “Whose pastry is this?” He suddenly asked, a touch of his young childhood whine snuck into his voice as he looked down at the roll before him.

“Yours, if you want it.” I sniffed and wiped my nose. “Lady Allara was meant to eat it, but she had somewhere else to be.”

“But I think this might be yours.” He said, sliding out a small slip of paper from beneath the plate. In small, loopy script was written, “Altan.”

Selhar kept an eye on me as I unfolded the slip, but his mouth was already full of the warm roll. 

Altan,

I don’t know if I will ever have the presence of mind to give this to you, but you must know the truth from my side. You and I are victims of dishonorable men who happen to be our fathers. Neither of us want this marriage, I’m aware. So let us help one another. 

My father, the Duke of Triel, is the father of at least five illegitimate children. There may be more. I have in here included the names of those I was able to track down. Since my father discovered my knowledge of them, he has kept me drugged so that I will not reveal his secret. But you may be able to do something with this information.

Lastly, even when I am under the influence of the herbs my father forces on me, I am still aware of many things. I’ve heard our fathers speak about the underground guild known as the Red Hunters. I have always understood them to be a neutral force that is swayed by whatever is the stronger power. At this time, the Red Hunters and your father’s partnership is built upon a common enemy: the orcs that reside in the Fields of the Dead. The Red Hunters are promised a share of those lands after the orcs have been cleansed and your father intends to use the rest to expand the Trade routes that exist beyond Triel and Berdusk. Perhaps a bargain can be struck if you can offer something greater.

Should we both remain in the chains our fathers built for us, please know that I will not hold any ill will towards you.

Yours, 

Allara

I passed the note to Selhar and rose to my feet. “See if you can get this to who it needs to. I have to go.” I reached for his head and tussled it lightly. I didn’t dare say anything else with the present company, but I met his stare and we each shared a nervous smile. “And take a sweet to Robin. He’d like that.”

Things would be alright, I thought to myself, I still had my brothers to look after. Drunrag haunted my every thought, but I had to be realistic. My brothers were just as important and I would not abandon them.

The dining hall was vacant of any guests except for myself, Allara, The Duke of Triel and my own father, the Duke of Berdusk. It was a small, intimate dinner arrangement that only took up one end of a very elongated table. I wished that Selhar and Robin could be there, if only to distract me from the uncomfortable stare I would get from the three other guests.

Allara’s expression had returned to its vacant, empty stare and she answered everything with the same politeness and poise that I was familiar with. I searched for some sign of that trembling, human girl beneath, but whatever the Duke had done to her had suppressed her completely. I eyed the Duke cautiously as he sat across and to the right of me.

In a rare act of humbleness, my father had left the head of the table vacant to sit next to me on my right and across from the Duke of Triel. It certainly gave the appearance of two happy families preparing for a joyous wedding amongst friends.

It was just so far from that when we all knew that Allara and I were being used as toys in a game that we never were explained the rules to. And one of us wasn’t even given the presence of mind to fight back.

The food in front of me was decadent and elaborate, I envisioned the cook when I had seen them earlier that day, bustling from one end of the kitchen to the other. It was a wonder they managed to make it all on their own. But the passing thought that I kept coming to was fear that maybe if I took a bite, I too, would end up just like Allara, caught in a web that put me exactly where my father wanted me to be. Compliant, pleasant, obedient to his every desire.

“Something the matter?” My father asked under his breath. 

I looked over to him, blinking.

“You haven’t taken a single bite.”

Certainly words like that ease one’s worries when they believe they’re about to be poisoned. I felt my stomach as it twisted and I took a spoonful up to my lips and prayed silently to the gods that I would somehow be spared. Oh gods, spare me.

I waited for the inevitable to happen as I slowly chewed and swallowed the warm food. My father didn’t glance over in my direction as I held my breath and waited.

Nothing happened, thank gods.

“So, Altan.” The Duke Triel asked. “Your father and I took some time to discuss wedding dates. We believe sooner is better than later. What with kidnappings and other dangers about, we believe it’s best to heighten security and quicken the pace.”

“Is this something that can be negotiated?” I asked.

I felt a harsh boot jam into my foot below the table. I didn’t flinch or look away from the Duke of Triel.

“Well…is there a reason you would like to wait?” He asked.

“Oh yes, you see. I don’t think marrying so quickly is a competent choice on either of your parts. If such dangers are causing risk to myself and my betrothed, then such dangers also exist for our people. Until we can assure competent security and my kidnapper is brought before me, the wedding will not happen.”

“Son.” My father’s voice was tightlipped and forced. “This is not the time nor place.”

“Is it not?” I asked. “I was under the impression that you expected me to become the next Duke, what with all of those council meetings I was forced to attend. Should I not be thinking about the greater good for our people, and yours?” I nodded to the Triels. “I doubt a single council member would disagree that safety is our upmost priority, not secrecy. The people will want to celebrate this wedding, and I will have that for them, especially after so many years they’ve spent grieving the loss of our Duchess. But if you had wished me to be submissive as before, perhaps you should have expressed your intentions differently.”

Neither Duke spoke, which let me continue, “And seeing how between myself and Alarra, I seem to be the only cognizant one present in a conversation, I suppose the decision is left up to me, isn’t it my betrothed?” I asked sweetly. 

“Whatever you wish, my lord.” She responded with her saccharine tongue. “I am happy to be by your side.”

I grinned. “See?”

“She has not been well, my lord.” Her father replied.

“That’s apparent.” I sniffed with contempt. “I promise the both of you, that whatever secrets you have hidden so deep beneath your fine coats and thick necks, I will expose the both of you, unless you promise me my kidnapper returned to me alive.”

“An empty threat son.” My father said, “End the theatrics now.”

I turned sharply to face him. “Is it? You don’t know what I know. Two can play this game father, and you were such a good teacher.” I said, my grin widening. I rose to my feet. “But the game will end and when it does, I hope your names are sent straight to the nine hells.”

I didn’t wait to be excused, nor did I look back to see their faces.  Half of the battle was convincing them that I was worth being feared, intimidated by and carrying the confidence to not care what they thought. 

I stepped out into the hall and let out a deep breath. I predicted that things would likely get worse before they got better, but I was determined to see this through.

I was followed back to my chambers with an extra guard in tow. I glanced back at them and winked before stepping into my room and hearing one of them following in behind me. 

I was surprised to find Robin asleep on my bed. His face had sticky bits of frosting on his cheek. He looked peaceful. I let out a sigh. There would be no rest for me, not yet.

Want to be updated on new chapters? DM me to be added to the tag list!

@eltrolodecadadia

@sizzlinghideoutcoffee

@carjis

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

Febuwhump Day 15 - "Who did this to you?"

The We Forgot To Post Some Prompts Special, part two. We're linking the index here. This one's more Scarlet In The Worst Possible Situations.

"And what on the path could put in a state like that? I know I'm not an ant, but I don't think that a trip to see the queen is that treacherous."

"Ah, I appreciate your concern, but I'm not-" Scarlet cut himself off as the moth set a heavy paw on his shoulder, their scent shading to concern in what he was almost certain was a trained response by now. He could practically taste the sympathy in their scent, carefully laid to mask the trace scents he'd been following- they knew what they were doing, he was sure, and trying to work out what motive could possibly lead a bug to pretend at warmth like that made his wings itch for the safety of open air.

Scarlet quickly checked to make sure that his stress pheromones were still out of production. Something was giving him a very, very bad feeling about this.

"It was nothing," Scarlet said. "Just me getting a bit lost."

"So you've been saying," the moth agreed. They didn't move a muscle. He couldn't help but feel the slightest bit skittish at the clearly-trained scent they were still putting off. What were they playing a role for?

Scarlet racked his memory, trying to remember if he'd done anything to prompt it. His memories of the past week were entirely too blurry to parse, muddled in the haze of whatever substance he'd had to clear from his bloodstream- indistinct rivulets of thought that he hadn't the time or the presence of mind to parse. Everything was a mess of texture, the taste of rose tea, the distinct feeling that something had gone wrong, the presence of a bug he couldn't name melted into his side-

"I don't think that nothing breaks shell like that. I don't think that nothing splinters carapace, or layers a scarf to hide beetle-horn wounds, or drugs a bug to the gills on nectar that'd have to have been harvested during a festival that happened months ago. I especially don't think that nothing lands a bug on enough of something to have him cuddling up to my daughter like letting go for a split second will stop his heart dead."

The moth ruffled their wings, a faint steel underlining their voice. "Doing something like that needs intent. Needs effort. Needs a bug behind it - and I know for a fact that it's too far out of season to find Venus Bud nectar in the wild. Be honest with me. Who did this to you?"

[spadeselfshipcorner]

SPADE x HUNTER Chronicles

The Hunter Exam Pt. 4

In case you don't come from the main post, hi. This is my attempt to fully insert my HxH S/I in the main story! Gotta thank my friends whose feedback has kept me motivated to continue writing and finally posting this work, because my original plan was to keep it to myself lol

January 8th OST: Koshitantan... 08:30 AM I had some breakfast with my team on the airship, nothing too special, I just grabbed myself some tea and cookies. Leorio got coffee, Kurapika some matcha-flavored things and Gon and Killua grabbed all sorts of sweets. Leorio asked me if I wanted some coffee too, because I looked tired, but I had to decline cause I cannot handle caffeine for shit.

09:00 AM

We finally got to Trick Tower! Our goal this time around was to climb down the tower before the time (72 hours) ran out, something pretty easy… that is if we could find a way to even get IN the tower. I started looking around with Gon and Killua, until I accidentally found a trapdoor and fell through it. But the two kids were unable to follow after me, and rushed to tell Kurapika and Leorio. Leorio was worried about me being on my own in such a place, and tried calling out to me and getting down from the same trapdoor as well, but he couldn’t do anything, and I could barely hear him through the thick stone ceiling. I’d fallen down into a dark room… and found out that my teammate for this section of the exam was the FUCKING needle guy who’s friends with Hisoka, examinee #301. He just looked at me as if he was ready to get rid of me right there and then, but before he could do anything, Lippo, the examiner for this session, spoke up and told us our path was the “Couple Puzzle” path, and to get through it, we needed to both wear bracelets and complete puzzles together. An extra rule was that if either of us died the other would also be disqualified, so my life was spared.

I attempted to communicate with the guy, but he just stared at me creepily. I KNEW I’d heard him talk before, but maybe he just felt okay talking with Hisoka… I tried not to judge, in case it was selective mutism? Anyway, we both used our bracelets and unlocked the door, allowing us to proceed.

OST: Mind Boggling Two-Choice Quiz 09:30 AM We entered our first puzzle room. It was an obstacle course suspended in the air! I started going for it, but Gittarackur stopped me for some reason, until I looked at his path and noticed that there were traps underneath some platforms; I could only see the traps on #301’s side, and he could only see mine, so we had to collaborate to get to the other side together. Sounds easy enough… if it weren’t for the fact that the guy refused to talk to me, so it took us way more time than needed. Still, we passed in 30 minutes and I tried high-fiving the man, but he left me hanging… guess he’s not much for celebration… awkward. The second room was a more proper brain teaser. We each needed to solve a tridimensional puzzle on the wall. It was really complex, but didn't require much communication to solve it, so it took us about an hour and a half to solve and gain access to the following room. Now this is where things got frustrating. The room was split by a glass pane, and we had to choose which side we would go to, without really knowing what we were supposed to do. I chose the left, and Gittarackur chose the right, and then the two paths got locked, so we couldn’t switch places anymore. And that’s the awful part. On my side of the glass I could see a puzzle I was supposed to solve, while on his side, as the speaker explained, he could see figurative instructions on how to solve the puzzle, which he was supposed to describe to me. He still wouldn’t talk to me, so… that was great. It basically meant I needed to solve the puzzle all by myself. As it turned out… It was incredibly tough, like- ten times harder than the one in the previous room, so after 6 hours of me trying to solve it on my own I got pissed off at #301 and blew up at him. The guy finally gave in and started helping me out, and three hours later we finally solved the puzzle and could proceed to the next and final room. It was a double fight against two inmates. We had to beat them and obtain two pieces of a riddle from them, and then put them together and solve it. I wanted to fight them fair and square, but Gittarackur had other plans as he killed both of them instantly and got both halves of the riddle.   ”I speak without a mouth And hear without ears. I have no body, But come alive with the wind. What am I?”

Again, #301 refused to communicate with me, so I was left alone for a while, but at least thanks to his stunt the fight had taken very little. It took me roughly 30 minutes to find an answer, we only had one chance for this, so I asked the guy if he thought my answer might’ve been right, he just nodded, which made me wonder if he’d solved the riddle on his own already and just kept the answer to himself. We both typed “Echo” in the keypads and the door finally opened, at which point it was just a straight tunnel to the exit room.

09:30 PM  We finally reached the goal after 12 hours, and we were respectively the second and third ones to get there. The first one was… HISOKA?! And the moment 301 saw him he spoke. Chatlog:

– [Gittarackur]: “Yo.”

[Spade]: “You- you TALK?!”

[Hisoka]: “Oh my, you look about ready to explode”

[Spade]: “No, no, I’m totally fine, definitely did NOT spend the last 12 hours trying to solve puzzles while Pinhead here refused to say a word to me-”

[Hisoka]: “Is that so? Hah, that’s cruel, even for you”

[Gittarackur]: “…”

[Spade]: “Ugh… oh well, at least we passed… wait, Hisoka, you’re injured?”

[Hisoka]: “Hm? Oh these? It’s nothing…”

[Spade]: “They look pretty deep though… who did this to you?”

[Hisoka]: “An old friend…”

[Spade]: “It… looks painful, I have some bandages in my bag, I could patch you up-”

[Hisoka]: “Aw you’re worried? That’s cute… there’s no need for that though, they don’t hurt at all” –

I couldn’t help but notice that Leorio, Gon, Killua and Kurapika were nowhere to be seen, but then again, they did give us 72 hours to finish Trick Tower, so it probably meant some paths were harder and longer than others… which meant that for now I was stuck with those two, and- Hanzo. Hisoka hadn’t asked me to fight yet, probably because he didn’t want anyone to interfere.

I used my chance to go and chat with Hanzo, because we’d never really spoken before, and I wasn’t sure I could survive just talking to Hisoka and Gittarackur for two days straight. Chatlog:

– [Spade]: “Hey uh… can I sit here?”

[Hanzo]: “Oh? Sure! I don’t think we’ve properly talked yet. It's nice to meet you, I’m Hanzo, and don't tell this to anyone, but I’m actually a ninja!”

[Spade]: “Ah, that’s cool! I’m Spade”

[Hanzo]: “Say, Spade… I saw you getting through that door with #301, that dude seriously gives me the creeps! Such a nasty murderous aura”

[Spade]: “You can tell?”

[Hanzo]: “Well, yeah, it’s pretty easy, still, kudos to you for surviving half a day with that guy-”

[Spade]: “Honestly it wasn’t THAT bad… if we ignore the fact he didn’t speak a word to me for 12 hours-”

[Hanzo]: “SERIOUSLY?! That’s somehow even creepier, you have a very strong spirit, that would have driven me crazy”

[Spade]: “Aha… yeah, but it’s done now, I’d still be stuck inside the tower if it weren’t for him, so I forgive him… anyway so… back in phase 2 you mentioned sushi was a dish from your home country, where do you come from exactly?”

[Hanzo]: “Heh, just a small island called Jappon, it’s pretty far from here actually, I traveled a whole week to get to Zaban! I miss my hometown already, I want to get a license and get back to training!”

[Spade]: “Wha- no way, you come from Jappon?! So have you… ever been to BaraAkiha?”

[Hanzo]: “Ah… no, never had the time to, besides, it doesn’t really interest me. Why do you ask? Are you a fan of that stuff?”

[Spade]: "Noooo, absolutely not! It’s just… one of the most famous places so- yeah, but, I wouldn’t mind visiting other places in Jappon, I like drawing, and I’ve heard Jappon has some pretty breathtaking sights!”

[Hanzo]: “Oh yes!! It does, it’s a beautiful country! Actually if you ever visit I’d be glad to give you a tour if time allows it- I’d bring you to the places with the best landscapes so you can draw them… wait you draw?! Oh that’s cool! Do you have anything to show me? Would you draw me?!”

[Spade]: “Eh? Ah… yeah sure, it’s not like we have anything better to do”

[Hanzo]: “Make sure to capture my awesomeness! And then later I can teach you something in exchange maybe!”

[Spade]: “H-huh? Like… what? And hold still, otherwise the portrait will come out weird-”

[Hanzo]: “Oh, sorry heh, hm… how about meditation? Sorry, can’t teach you any secret ninja technique, because… they’re secret!”

[Spade]: “Ah… that actually doesn’t sound bad- hey, I told you to hold still!” –

After dinner, which was brought to us by some guards, Hanzo actually did teach me the correct way to meditate, and it was really surprising how much better my aura flow got after just an hour of doing that. I'll be doing ninja meditation for the rest of my life!

From January 9th to January 10th OST: Elevatorstuck

The two following days were really calm. Aside from Hanzo, Hisoka and Gittarackur, however, nobody seemed interested in chatting. I missed my team a lot, Leorio especially. I was really worried, the tower was most definitely a dangerous place, and I did my best not to think too hard about them possibly being dead. It didn’t help at all that just before this challenge, both Leorio and Kurapika had reassured me I was considered part of the team, it had me spiraling a little. I kept killing time. Hanzo was always happy to share some stories with me and he also taught me how to make the best green tea.  I played cards with Hisoka and Gittarackur and taught them how to play Scopa by using my own deck of Napoletan cards, and Hisoka was rather fascinated by the symbols. Unlike the classic suits of Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds and Spades, Napoletan cards are divided into Swords, Clubs, Golds and Cups. Bonding over cards with a psychopath was not how I expected to spend one of my afternoons. This is how they ended up discovering my home country is Itaria. Gittarackur could tell I was foreign from my accent too, but couldn’t pinpoint where I came from exactly. I also took my time to draw the places I’d seen so far from memory, and look at the other examinees one by one as they came through various doors.  I saw that Ponzu and Pokkle had found their way there, and that made me happy! I also saw the #197 #198 and #199 come through, those three are brothers, or so I’ve heard. One last thing I did to kill time was sparring a bit with Hanzo, because I was curious to see how he’d do in a fight, but he said he still wouldn’t use ninja techniques on me. We had to stop however because we noticed Hisoka staring at us as we sparred, and his bloodlust was growing dangerously.

Part 3

Master post

Proship/Comship and Kink blogs DNI

[detectiveichijouji]

Case 13 - A Cat and Rat game

[AO3 version]

Maybe because of that night, things sounded weird to the group. Ken was the kind to be skeptical and way more rational than Daisuke (who’s skeptical but pretty emotional) so he sat on his desktop chair and thought about what was said.

“Arsenemon told me. Really, he just let us do it because… He didn’t want to see that Bakumon suffer like that.”

Despite everything, Ichijouji Ken wasn’t the type to get fired up with a ‘criminal’ as Daisuke and he would rather have some rivalry with Arsenemon in the same way as a detective and phantom thief have. But… This was still intriguing to him…

Yet he had witnessed this happening before -- The time Kitagawa Kentarou was stealing armor and equipment from other digimon… And the time a Meicoomon was trying to follow in his footsteps. The fact he managed to have a talk with Daisuke, who’s so determined and passionate about trying to catch him… Is no surprise.

The surprise was why Daisuke himself. Ok, Ken is aware Daisuke is the kind to give others a second chance when there’s room for improvement and redemption, but… So far all Daisuke had babbled about Arsenemon was actually assumptions and weird theories…

“Why would he suddenly… Ask directly a question to Arsenemon out of a sudden?”

Ken was sure sooner or later they would end up asking the right questions to Arsenemon, but Daisuke did it first and without their presence… Also why would Arsenemon let them have a piece…? Wouldn't it be more logical to make a trade, help the Bakumon and in return take the piece from Daisuke?

“... Something is off,” Ken concluded.

“Ken-chan?” Wormmon looked at him from the bed. The digimon was reading an old manga about phantom thieves up there, “Do you think that Daisuke-san was the real one?”

“... What do you mean?” Ken looked back at Wormmon, “V-mon would’ve suspected that as well, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, but… Arsenemon had pretended to be you once and Daisuke-san and V-mon didn’t notice…”

“... Ok, you got me there. But he was with us until we left to take the train back home. Hikari-san lives in the same apartment complex as Daisuke, and Tailmon is smart enough to know the difference between Daisuke and someone pretending to be him.”

“But you deceived them when you met them in this world when you were the Kaiser, right?”

“Yes, but they didn’t realize it was me this whole time, even when I was… Dropping all the hints…”

“I… I also name dropped you once when fighting Tailmon…”

“But we were complete strangers back in time” he sighed, “I do think we talked to the real Daisuke and V-mon, though they weren’t… Too invested in capturing Arsenemon now.”

“True…”

“I’ll make some tea, can I offer a cup for your reading?”

“Yes, I’d like my favorite if possible.”

Ken laughed innocently, “Yes, sir.”

“So uhh… I think I have to thank Noel for the tip.”

Hikari and Takeru were leaving the class with Daisuke the next day, heading to their usual spot to check if more people or digimon needed their help. But this made both kids and their digimon curious.

“What tip?” Takeru asked for them all.

“Noel said that it’s odd that a bad digimon wouldn’t want world domination,” V-mon commented, “We only know that Arsenemon is after those fragments, but not his real objective.”

“Hmm…?” Tailmon raised an eyebrow.

“I… I don’t know anymore” Daisuke sighed, “The stuff Arsenemon stole and were mistaken with the fragments were sent back to their owners later, And he helped us to deal with the fake Arsenemon-cat and now with a rampaging Bakumon…”

“You mean… You don’t feel the motivation to keep chasing him like before?” Hikari frowned.

“Of course I want to catch him!” Daisuke snorted, “But, I don’t understand what he meant by not believing him if he told us what he planned to do with the Digimental pieces…”

“... Do you want to investigate that? I mean, Arsenemon’s motives?” Patamon asked.

“That’s impossible… we know he only appears at night and when he sends a calling card…” 

“That’s a phantom thief etiquette” V-mon shrugged.

“... That’s it!”

“???” They all looked at Daisuke, clueless.

“I mean, we don’t catch a phantom thief by thinking like a detective! You catch a phantom thief by thinking like a phantom thief!”

“Does it even make sense?” V-mon and Patamon looked at each other.

“You’re not pretending to turn into one, right?” Tailmon said with an annoying voice, “You would get in real trouble if you do that.”

“O-of course I’m not doing it! I mean, we just imagine what we would do if we were.”

“Ah! The ‘imagining scenarios’ thing??” V-mon gasped, “But Daisuke, you’re bad at this game. You don’t think.”

“H-hey of COURSE I think!!” he grabbed V-mon and put it under his arm, “I’ll meet y’all later, go without me!!” and he ran down the street.

“W-wait where are you going--” Hikari asked, but he was too far away from them at this point.

“Sometimes I worry how Daisuke-kun would be if it weren't for us…” Takeru blinked, and the other three sighed.

An hour later…

“...” Miyako, Hawkmon, Iori and Armadimon were staring at whatever Daisuke and V-mon were wearing. Yes. he went this far.

Armadimon glanced at Takeru, Patamon, Hikari and Tailmon: “What are they doing, dagya?” There was a certain annoyance in his tone though…

“They’re trying to think like phantom thieves,” the four said, awkwardly and shrugging.

Daisuke and V-mon were wearing tuxedos, those carnival masks and top hats, with Daisuke having the goggles on the hat, and capes. The others had no idea what would the outfits help them with the imagination, but maybe that’s because Daisuke comes from a family where being overly dramatic is in their lineage (after all both Daisuke and his sister Jun have inherited their mother’s dramatic fangirl genes) -- But none of the four (and their mons) would dare to interfere, unless they put themselves in danger.

“... Daisuke I think this is not useful” Ken, however, had no problem in calling him out.

“There’s no Daisuke here! Just… Uhh…”

“Goggle Kid and Saint V!” V-mon shouted, doing a swirl with his cape.

“Yeah!! That! I’m Goggle Kid now!”

“Is this a ripoff of Kaitou K--/Saint T--” Armadimon and Hawkmon had their mouth/beak covered by Iori and Miyako.

“I think you don’t need to go this far” Ken shook his head, “Nevertheless, what comes next?”

“We uh… Would send a calling card about a piece,” then he just handed Ken a fake card made by V-mon, with a ‘V’ mark on the back, “Now you know mr. Detective what we’re up to!”

“It says ‘30% discount steak bowl coupon’ here” Wormmon read the paper and squinted his eyes at the ‘phantom thieves’ in front of them.

“That’s it, we’re stealing a steak bowl,” Daisuke nodded sagely, “Now try to catch us.”

“Ok then…” Wormmon used Sticky Net on both Daisuke and V-mon, but they dodged.

“YOU DIDN’T LET US TRY TO ESCAPE FIRST!! 💢💢💢” Both shouted.

“... You two didn’t say to wai--”They ran away. The rest of the group sighed, “This won’t end well… 💧”

Daisuke Armor evolved V-mon into Lighdramon outside the karaoke bar’s building, and fled. The others came after him, possibly expecting things to get bad. Maybe his encounter with Arsenemon messed up his head??

But then… Ken remembered of an important detail:

“So, Arsenemon casted a spell on you?” “Yeah sorta, but it didn’t last for much time…”

He gulped, maybe Daisuke was still under Arsenemon’s control…!!?

“Ok we have to stop those idiots before they get in real trouble,” Miyako growled, "Let's see this steak bowl ticket again.”

“It’s at the end of the street,” Takeru read the ticket, “The shop belongs to a schoolmate’s family…”

“Tominaga-kun’s family, right?” Hikari looked at the coupon.

“We must go after them,” Iori said and everyone nodded.

On their way to catch Daisuke and V-mon, Amardimon bumped into Noel and both sat falling on the floor.

“Ouch…” / ”O-ow…”

“A I’m sorry!!” Hikari and the others stopped behind Armadimon, and she gasped, “Huh, Noel-kun?”

“A-ah…?” Noel blushed, ashamed, “I’m sorry!! I… I didn’t want to bump into y-you…”

“No no, I’m the one who’s sorry, dagya!” Armadimon babbled, “I didn’t look where I was going…!!”

“Noel-kun,” Takeru helped him to get up, and then asked, “Have you seen Daisuke-kun and V-mon?”

“M-Motomiya-san…?” He took a moment to think, then he pointed behind him with his opposite hand, “I saw him… riding on Lighdramon this way.”

“Thank you!” Miyako smiled, and then the group went in that direction.

“... What is happening here?” Noel tilted his head.

Soleil and Lune were passing by when they saw Daisuke on Lighdramon running through the street. With some annoyance, Soleil commented with her and their digimon:

“What is that buffoon doing this time…”

“I sense something strange coming from him,” Lune sighed, “Well, it’s none of our business. His friends can handle it.”

“Should we do something, Youta?” Coronamon asked.

“Nah, it’s what Lune said… We let the famous group handle it themselves.”

Then they see the rest of the 02 group coming and passing by them as well.

“You sure we shouldn’t do something?” Lunamon asked this time.

“Absolutely” the two kids replied in unison.

Lighdramon suddenly stopped and turned back; he and Daisuke saw the group coming in their direction. They seemed bored already?!

“Y’know you could have caught us already if you had used your digimon evolution, right?”

“I think using the digimon in the crowd would’ve been a bad idea,” Iori replied, gesturing to the people around them.

“... Ah, true true…”

“Can you simply give up on this ridiculous idea!?” Miyako hissed, “Or do you want us to use brute force instead!?”

“Yeah! So I can find a way to catch Arsenemon with no mistakes!!”

“You just gave him ideas,” Patamon said with a shrug.

“I know why you’re acting like this Daisuke,” Ken glanced at the other, and with a serious tone he continued, “You’re still under Arsenemon’s control.”

“Eh?!” they all (Daisuke and Lighdramon included) exclaimed and looked at Ken.

“How-- How can that BE possible!?” Daisuke babbled, “I’m not! I just--”

“Is this like a vampire or werewolf bite, dagya?” Armadimon asked.

“He didn’t even bite me!!”

“Not literally, dagya… 💧”

Someone approached them and hid behind in an alley nearby their discussion. It was… Noel?

“Why do ya think I’m being controlled by Arsenemon, man!? I’m not! I’m doing it to learn how to think like him and then catch him all at once!!”

He can’t be kidding…!! -- Noel thought; he had a grimace on his face. Has he made things worse?? By trying to make Daisuke not assume things about Arsenemon without solid proof??

“That’s the only logical explanation for your actions” Ken kept his serious tone, “So…”

“So…??” The rest of the 02 group repeated.

“Pucchiemon, NOW!”

Suddenly Pucchiemon appeared behind Lighdramon, out of the blue. None of them knew how it happened, or when Ken Armor evolved Wormmon before. Daisuke and Lighdramon had no chance to escape now!!

“HEARTNER BEAM!!”

“WH-- ACK!!”

Pucchiemon’s soft light hit Daisuke and Lighdramon for a moment… And then the fairy-like digimon just hit them in the head with his hands. Lighdramon devolved into V-mon by the hit -- K.O.!!

“Case closed,” Ken smirked, triumphantly. Until a black card with a golden cat paw flew on his face. He took it off and looked at it, “Huh??”

“A Calling Card!?” They all (minus Dai-Vee, they’re dizzy) exclaimed.

The fancy card said…

No, I’m not controlling your friend. He’s doing it of his own free will 😐

“W-WHAT!?” the group gasped “ARSENEMON WASN’T CONTROLLING THEM!?”

“... Makes sense,” Tailmon nodded sagely, “He had done strange things before, like that idea of turning into a villain named Daisuke Kaiser.”

“True/Fair/Alright” they agreed.

“Motomiya-san…!!” They heard Noel’s voice and the boy approaching. He was a little breathless, maybe he ran after them this whole time??

“Noel?” Daisuke and V-mon blinked, and then Noel stood in front of them.

“I’m… I don’t know what you were doing, but…I’m sorry!” and he bowed his head.

“Huh?” they all didn’t get it.

“A-ah, that’s right!” Daisuke blinked, “You helped me to understand Arsenemon a little better, Noel.”

“D-did I…?/Did he??” Noel and the group exclaimed.

“Yeah! When you said villains usually want world domination and power hunger… I was able to notice Arsenemon wasn’t after the pieces because of himself. He’s after something else with those!”

“Is he??” They also said it together.

“He helped the digimon before, so it doesn’t mean he’s evil right? And he helped us before, so… Thank you, Noel.”

“Well” Ken started, “It makes sense, and the stuff he stole and weren’t real Digimental pieces he returned them back, didn’t he?”

“Hmm… Right,” Takeru nodded.

“But we still have to catch him first and discover what his goal’s purpose is,” Miyako added, “So you shouldn’t let your guard down.”

“Yeah we won’t give up here” Daisuke smirked, “We gotta get faster and smarter to catch a sneaky cat-like digimon!”

They all laughed, but then Hikari looked around and… Noel wasn’t there anymore.

“Huh? Where’s Noel-kun?”

“Maybe he felt we were ignoring him and he left” V-mon frowned, “I didn’t mean to…”

Steps away from them, Noel walked into an alley… Where Espimon was, waiting for someone. What business would Espimon have with him??