#Just to look under his shirt and notice he may as well be a skeleton

[ferngle]

heh heh.. whoops!

[padfootagain]

The King and You (XVIII)

Chapter XVIII : Spoken out Loud

Alright! Here we go with another chapter for my Caspian series! We have only one chapter left after this one, guys!! The end is near…

I hope you all like this chapter, tell me what you think about it!

****

Pairing: Caspian x reader

Warnings: a bit of angst… the fluff is coming soon though… Also, sorry for the cliffhanger :D

Summary: Somehow, Caspian stumbles out of Narnia and into your world. He’s utterly lost and has no idea how to get out of this world filled with scary toasters, strange carriages and a woman who literally knocks him off of his feet. But does he really want to find a way back?

Word count: 3593

You were in Narnia.

Strange feeling.

Unknown earth under your feet, unknown air into your lungs, a foreign forest around you.

When you looked back, your bedroom had disappeared. There was no way back.

You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

You needed to find Caspian. It was all that mattered. It would be alright as soon as he would be by your side again.

But where were you supposed to go? Which direction? Wherever you looked, there was nothing but a forest, nothing but trees and grass and moss covered with skeleton leaves. You would have enjoyed these orange and red and golden hues, had you not been so terrified.

You noticed a direction where the forest seemed less dense, the trees leaving small pieces of the sky to be seen through their branches. You decided that it was an encouraging sign. If you found a village or any inhabitant of this foreign land, you would be saved. After all, reaching the King could not be that difficult, right?

You tightened your hold on your suitcase, and dragged it across the leaves behind you as you started to walk blindly across the forest.

After a short while, you found a lonely lamppost, standing tall in its dark iron body, in the middle of a small clearing covered in red leaves.

A lamppost… that was a familiar sight. It ought to be a good sign, right?

*********************

It had been almost a week since Caspian's strange disappearance and reappearance. For now, he still had not said a word to anyone about what had happened that day, or where he had spent the night. Whenever his advisers or friends tried to question him, he would change the subject, or blatantly ignore them.

The truth was, he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about you.

Since the announcement, he had managed not to show any sign of weakness. He had not cried again. He had not slept either, but that was another story.

He stared at the forest stretching on and on, as far as the eye could see, beyond the walls of the castle and the small village splayed at its feet. Or well… it was a fortress, actually.

He wondered where you were. What you were doing. Were you happy? Were you smiling? Were you crying still? Did you miss him the way he missed you?

The wind blew softly through the branches coloured with the vivid shades of autumn and its heavy rains. The sky that morning was of a bright blue shade despite the season, only a few clouds drifting peacefully under the sun.

The wind was blowing through Caspian's hair; he didn't even notice. He was merely wearing a black shirt with puffed sleeves and brown trousers, no coat. He didn't notice that he was cold, that despite the warm sun, he had goosebumps running along his arms. He looked up at the sun. Noon had passed already.

Were you thinking of him now, just like he was thinking of you?

You were always on his mind…

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn't notice the three silhouettes who climbed up the defensive walls, advanced towards him until they were by his side.

He jumped when Drinian spoke to him.

"Your Majesty, Lady Emilia and her father should arrive in an hour or so. You should get ready to welcome them."

Caspian slowly nodded.

"Yes… thank you, Drinian. I'll get ready."

"Your Majesty, if I may…" Lady Dalia added when Caspian took a step away from the wall.  "You do not seem well. Can we help?"

Caspian looked at his old friend, gave her a thankful smile, but shook his head.

"I will be fine… Eventually."

He tried to walk away, but Reepicheep stopped him, insisting.

"My Liege, you do know that we only have your best interests at heart. You have not been yourself since you’ve come back from this walk into the woods. What happened?"

Caspian stared at his three friends, the people he was closest with. If he did not tell them about you, he would never tell a soul.

His eyes drifted back towards the forest, a sea of orange and red and deep green hues against a pale blue sky. Somewhere, far beyond, was the path to your world. A path to you that would forever be forbidden to him, he knew it somehow. It was his first and last journey to your world.

He was Narnian, and would remain so.

"I am not certain that you would believe me if I told you," Caspian let out in a whisper, his armour slowly breaking, crumbling…

"You should know that we will always believe in you," Dalia replied, her smile reassuring, but Caspian didn't see her gesture, his eyes still fixed on the horizon, on the dark line that separated the earth from the sky.

He slowly nodded. Maybe talking about you would help…

"Very well."

His friends patiently waited for their king to continue. The wind blew hard on the high walls, and Dalia and Drinian tightened their hold on their coats. Caspian was still paying no attention whatsoever to the cold.

"I found the lamppost."

Three jaws dropped behind Caspian.

"I found the lamppost from Lucy's tale," Caspian repeated. "I found the edge of the woods, the hidden path to their world. I found it. It wanted to be found, I think…"

He finally turned to his friends.

"I spent a month there. To me, it lasted more than a month. For you, barely a day."

He told them about everything that had happened. How lost he felt, how he had tracked down Agatha, how he had visited the town, how he had flown across the ocean, the Pevensies' graves, the magical wardrobe…

… and you. Most of all, he talked about you.

He didn't realize the way Dalia clenched her fists as he went on. It would not have mattered anyway.

He rested his back against the wall behind him, finally falling silent. Almost an hour had gone by. His three friends were too stunned to speak for a while.

"I am sorry that I am not myself now. I reckon… it will pass, eventually. When the pain has waned a little, when it's become easier to breathe again… I will be myself once more. I just… I just need a little time to get used to being alone again; to get used to the truth: that I will truly never see her again."

He gave his friends a smile, that he wanted to be reassuring, but was merely sad.

"I will be fine. I simply need a little time."

Reepicheep nodded, offering the King an encouraging smile.

 "But then… what about Lady Emilia?" Drinian asked.

"Oh… yes, you are right. I should go get ready… she will soon be here."

"No, what I meant to ask was… should you really marry her?"

Caspian gave him a questioning look.

"This has nothing to do with my feelings towards Y/N," Caspian answered.

"But… if you love her so much…"

"She is gone. And I would have never married Lady Emilia out of love anyway. It might as well be useful to Narnia."

Caspian finally shivered, taking a step towards the stairs.

"We should get ready…"

But Reepicheep stopped him.

"Drinian is right. Perhaps there is something we could do… perhaps we could bring her here!"

Caspian struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat. He had tears in his eyes again, but refused to let them run free. He bit the inside of his cheek, until he would taste the bitterness of blood on his tongue…

"There is no need," he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. "It was best for her to stay. It would not be fair. She couldn't simply… leave everything behind. Not for me. Not so soon. No… she deserves better than that. Anyway… the chance passed. She did not take it. It is too late now."

He didn't let anyone else speak, and walked away. It was too much to deal with this time. He needed to walk away and be alone.

A gush of wind blew, particularly strong. He thought he heard your voice in the wind…

Was it what his life would be like from now on? Would he imagine you everywhere?

**************

You found a town after a couple of hours of walking through the woods. You had seen from afar, above the treetops, the walls of what seemed to be a fortress, and decided to aim your steps in that direction. Finding people meant a chance to find Caspian. You reckoned that learning where the king was would not be difficult. Seeing him might be a bigger problem… after all, if someone asked to see the King of England, they were not welcome with open arms inside Buckingham Palace.

But one problem at a time.

For now, you needed to find information about his location. With some luck, he would be in this fortress you were approaching now.

The village was bigger than what you thought it would be. It was more of a small town, actually. Houses stuck up against each other all the way up to the feet of the fortress. As you stepped inside the main street, you decided to follow the path going straight to the castle. There was no pavement, only mud and skeleton leaves. Yet, the houses seemed welcoming and warm, either made of stone or wood. It was a busy place. Shops on both sides of the street offered food, trinkets and objects of all kind. You noticed a smith working in his forge. He was speaking with a bird…

It struck you then, in a new way, in a deeper fashion. You were in Narnia…

The realization made you slow down, until you would finally stop, there, in the middle of the street. You noticed the way people looked at you. Your clothes, your suitcase, your bag… You did not exactly blend in.

 You decided to aim for what seemed to be an inn, only a few meters away from the tall walls of the castle. You reckoned that you could easily get some information there. No need to attract even more attention onto yourself by knocking on this fortress door if Caspian was not even there…

The room was rather large, a little bit too dark to your liking though. Narrow windows only allowed for little light to come inside the large room. There was a bar on the left side and sets of wooden tables and old chairs or stools. A large mantlepiece occupied most of the right wall, and yet it was still quite cold inside. A narrow staircase seemed to lead to the bedrooms upstairs.

You suddenly wondered how you would pay for anything when you had no money. Or at least, not the right currency.

You walked to the bar slowly, hesitating. Your voice was shy, your manners hesitant when you called for the owner of the inn, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar. There were a few clients occupying some tables, but the place was mainly empty. After all, it was the beginning of the afternoon already.

“Hi… I’m sorry to bother you but… I was wondering if you knew if the King was in the fortress at the moment.”

But the innkeeper welcomed you with a warm smile, even though she frowned at the sight of your clothes and your suitcase.

“You must be coming to see his departure! Do not worry, dear, you are just in time! Lady Emilia and her father are only arriving today. Actually, they should be almost here. The King should not depart for Cair Paravel before tomorrow.”

You heaved a relieved sigh. So, Caspian was in this castle… now you needed a way to get in…

You wanted to ask the lady another question, but were interrupted by loud shouts outside, that sounded like celebrations. And indeed, when you walked out of the building with all the clients, and even the innkeeper who seemed too curious to remain to her station, you found the street filled with a crowd that kept on growing, cheering for a set of three carriages that were climbing up the main road and hurrying towards the fortress. When they passed before you, you caught a glimpse of an elegant woman waving at the clamouring crowd, her hand covered with a red glove. You asked the innkeeper who she was.

“But, that’s lady Emilia, dear!” she answered as if your question was the silliest in the world. “Now that she has arrived, the king will ask her father to sign the treaties. I know it is good news for all of us, trades are going to bloom. But… I do believe the rumours about the king.”

“What kind of rumours?” you asked, trying to hide how eager you were.

“That the king did not want the marriage.”

You froze, too stunned to speak, to think or even to breathe…

“The marriage?” you repeated in a breath.

“Yes! They say that he only agreed to marry lady Emilia to convince her father to sign the treaties. Which I assume is correct. Some say the two have never met! But… apparently, he would have been against the idea for a while, and would have changed his mind only a few days ago. No one knows why.”

But you knew why. It was because of you. It was… it was this Lady he had talked about, but why so soon?

People slowly left the street. Soon, you were on your own, standing there, in the cold. You didn’t notice it at all, but the main road was completely empty, except for you.

Your thoughts were erratic. Still, you needed to take the right kind of decision.

But you couldn’t, not when you were so stunned by all this…

Luckily for you, your dedicated narrator is here.

You needed a little push in the right direction. It came from a scarf being blown by the wind; blue velvet carried up by the breeze. Where it came from, you didn’t know. But the coloured item caught your eyes, and you followed its movements without even noticing. Until…

You recognized his silhouette in a second, standing there at the top of the wall. His dark hair, his stature, the way he held himself…

You shouted his name before you could think about what you were doing…

…but he didn’t hear you. Or rather, he did not believe it to be true.

And so, he disappeared again.

*************************************

Caspian was very talented at hiding his emotions.

His time as king had completed the long years spent under his uncle’s scrutiny. It was easy for him now, to act politely when he was angry, or sad, or tired.

However, as he stared at Lady Emilia, he did struggle to put on a welcoming smile.

Caspian, the Lady and her father were taking a walk through the paved courtyard. They were talking of trades, of treaties, but soon the conversation settled on the wedding. Emilia seemed excited. Caspian struggled to summon a neutral expression.

“I must admit that I am very content with your decision, Your Majesty,” Lord Cirvan said.

“I am happy you find these conditions to your liking.”

“I must admit that I had given up on this idea of marriage… almost. But you seem to have chosen the wisest option.”

“Indeed…”

Caspian clenched his jaw, and Emilia noticed it. Because even if Caspian was talented, he was not perfect…

Now that she was paying close attention to him, she could see the way he had clenched his fists, the way the muscle of his jaw jumped, the dark look in his eyes he was desperately trying to hide.

Maybe he didn’t want this marriage that much after all…

“Do you still think that we could have reached an agreement without this wedding, Your Majesty?” Emilia asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled upon the group.

Her father shot her a glare, this kind of question was out of line. But she didn’t care. Instead, she stared at Caspian. He was clearly choosing his words carefully when he answered.

“I think that trades can be settled between our lands. I think we can establish an alliance, even without the bonds of matrimony. But I understand that you wish for reassurance, for certainty.”

She smiled.

It was an extremely polite way to admit that he was still doubtful.

“If we are to be married in Cair Paravel, then you still have a week to change your mind, if need be,” she went on.

But it was her father who answered.

“The wedding is a condition of our treaty. Marraiage will be ensured right after the signature. Actually… Your Majesty, I reckon that we have discussed everything that needed to be said. We can sign now, if you wish.”

Caspian kept on walking. They had been tracing circles for over an hour now, going back and forth through the courtyard. The sun was setting already. It painted the grey stones of the walls with red splashes of light.

Caspian nodded.

There was no hope anyway. You were not here. You would never be…

“Yes, let’s sign the treaty.”

***************************************

Apparently, shouting the name of a king right in front of his castle was not a good idea.

You had never been arrested before, it was a brand-new experience. One that you would have been happy to never live through, though…

You were thrown quite ruthlessly in a tiny cell, iron bars made brown with rust. You had stumbled down a flight of stairs, you reckoned that you were somewhere under the fortress. Torches were lighting the way, wet walls smelling of mould and earth…

You turned to see your jailers, right when they began studying your suitcase, trying to find a way to open it.

You remembered the first time Caspian had discovered a zipper. You needed to show him three times how it worked for him to finally get it. He was blushing so much as you stood before him, showing him how to close the jacket he was wearing. You stood so close then, you were laughing at him playfully, and you remembered how he had chuckled…

You needed to get out of this cell. You needed to find him…

You held onto the rusty bars, shaking them in anger and frustration but they didn’t move an inch. You were ready to cry at this point…

If Emilia was here, did it mean that you were too late?

“Listen to me, please,” you argued once more, although the guards didn’t seem to be paying any attention to you, merely turning your suitcase around in their search for a way to open it. “I must see the king. I know him. I need to see Caspian…”

“Be respectful of our King,” the man on the right warned you.

He was bald, with a black and white beard. You guessed he was about fifty.

“I know him! I’m telling you that I know him and I must see him!”

“Yes, of course… and I am the Queen,” the second guard mocked you.

You groaned in frustration, looking for an argument to give… Thinking about every detail Caspian had once told you about this world…

You suddenly had an idea. Because if Caspian would have been considered mad to tell anyone about Narnia in your world, it was different here. People knew your world existed. It was worth a try…

“I know the Pevensies.”

The young guard laughed, but the older one froze.

“I come from the same world as the Pevensies. I need to speak to Caspian. It’s urgent. Please, you have to let me out.”

“Why should we believe you?” the bald guard asked, crossing his arms.

“Tell Caspian that I’m here. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. He knows me. Please…”

“We cannot bother the King for nothing.”

“Have you seen my clothes? And my suitcase?” you argued. “Have you ever seen anything like that zipper before?”

“A what?”

“A zipper. The thing closing my suitcase. It comes from my world. I mean… take a look at me. Do I really look Narnian to you?”

But the more he looked at you, the more this soldier thought that, indeed, you didn’t seem Narnian at all…

This was a crazy idea. To think that someone of the other world could come back like this…

But then, he had known the times of the wars between Caspian and Miraz. He had seen the Queens and Kings of Old. And if he locked you up when you were one of them… he didn’t dare imagine what could happen, to Narnia or to himself.

Slowly, he walked up to your cell.

“I will warn my captain. But know that if you are lying, and that we bother the King for nothing… just for some silly woman trying to meet him… you will spend the rest of your days in this cell. Do you understand?”

But instead of being scared, of admitting that you were lying, you nodded frantically.

“Please, tell him I’m here. Tell him, quickly. Please…”

The guard walked away, but he didn’t leave before instructing his colleague to keep an eye on you.

You saw him climbing up the stairs again, and heaved a deep sigh. If Emilia was here, did it mean that you were too late?

****************

Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals: Hoist The Colours

Oh boy, we're heading into the big ones now!

Hoist The Colours was uploaded on September 18, 2021, and features Jose Rosario Jr in his second collaboration with Voiceplay. This one stunned a lot of reactors (one of them, Dennis King of King Family Reacts, literally got up and left the room after the video was finished because he had been rendered speechless by it!), and the video currently sits at 4.6 million views (close to 4.7!) (EDIT/UPDATE: as of the night of the 8th of March, it's now at 4.7, close to 4.8!). So without further ado, let's get right into this one, and hope I don't have to start paying attention to my screenshot count!

Can you believe this was only Cesar's second (full-length) video as a full-time Voiceplay member? Because wow

(Also interestingly enough, Rick Underwood is credited with makeup in the video description (shoutout to Rick!) but no one is credited with costuming, so did everyone just acquire their outfits themselves or what?)

Geoff was in charge of the video creation for this one, as well as doing the arrangement, and he worked together with Eli for the lighting design, so big shoutout to Geoff! (And as always to Eli the lighting whiz)

OKAY a few things to talk about here

First of all, love the set design, it's like the Little Mermaid Medley but on steroids and more pirate themed! Also love the horn-playing skeleton on the left-hand side of the screen (took me a while to notice it ngl 😅)

And of course the outfits/costuming! I can't really think of a lot of things to say individually right now, but there was 100% a lot of thought and effort that went into the clothes (even if the description won't specify who acquired the clothes. I'm going to assume Geoff, since the overall video credit goes to him.)

Oh hey it's my blog banner/background, or close enough to it at least! (Hoist The Colours has a decent few very cool visual moments that are totally screencap-worthy, and of course that's what I'm here for - to point them out!)

Geoff may play the villain (or otherwise just-generally-creepy/spooky/scary guy) a lot in videos, but as of the last few years at least, Eli's often been looking like the one that you really don't wanna pick a fight with. (Also cool ring, and is that fake scar tissue on his head?)

This is a better shot of everyone's outfits actually. A few notes on everyone (except Eli, who I just talked about?)

Cesar: Very ghostly, especially with the cloudy contact lens in one eye. Love the white coat/jacket, and love the pop of colour with the red sash! Also what is he holding/shaking? I thought it was a set of old-fashioned keys, but it doesn't look like it.

Jose: The "captain" of this "motley crew", obviously. Cool coat, and love the sword.

Layne: Not too much going on with his outfit, relatively speaking, but I love the bit of eyeliner under his eyes, and the fake scar on his cheek! (Seriously Rick did a great job here, as he always does)

Geoff: Wearing at least two necklaces, and in true Geoff Castellucci fashion, he's got the top two buttons of his shirt undone (well, gotta show off those necklaces! 😉😁). ALSO, bonus thing that I literally only just realized after taking this screencap, is that Geoff has "VP" on his right arm, done in a way that makes it look like like scar tissue I believe.

That is seriously a very cool and very smooth transition. Who edited this? Was that Geoff too? (Also Crazy Eyes Layne!)

As I figured, one of the necklaces Geoff is wearing, the gold one, is for costume purposes, and the other one, the silver one with the diamond-shaped pendant, is the necklace from Kathy that Geoff basically never takes off (bless him <3 )

I think Cesar's holding old-fashioned shackles/handcuffs or something?

Hang on that skeleton on the left lost his little horn/trumpet and got stabbed?? 😅😂

Yeah Layne had fun in this one I can tell 😁 (also his vest is more detailed than first appears! Very nice!)

What a really freaking awesome shot/moment. In terms of "money shots", these two might in fact be two of the most awesome stills from any Voiceplay video ever (or so far, anyway).

He's got charisma, I'll give him that (also cool necklace!)

How are they just an independent acapella group that make YouTube videos that we can all watch for free? Like seriously, this is top tier stuff (both in terms of the video and the song cover itself), but this wasn't even Voiceplay at their peak! Voiceplay doesn't have a peak! They don't stick to a lane, they take "risks", they get creative, they will sing pretty much anything, and it works

Voiceplay says in the description "we may have gotten a little carried away with this one", but honestly would it really be Voiceplay if they didn't?

Anyway, I've got many more awesome videos ahead of me to write about, so stay tuned!

[lilmissbacon]

Rewriting&Redesigning Dragons: the Nine Realms — Part 4/4

D’Angelo Baker

There’s not much to say about the choices I made with his redesign other than how I wanted him to look like more than just a basic army brat. I did take reference from Snotlout in terms of his body’s physique.

Plowhorn

I actually really liked the original design of the Gembreakers. I’m just thinking that, realistically, it just doesn’t make much sense for them to have giant crystal looking spikes/horns unless their skeletons looked like that as well. Which it wouldn’t because we see dragon bones all the time and they look like the bones of any other creature on Earth, not like crystals. So I made the horn look like actual bone and made the rest of the design lean more towards a beetle.

I also wanted to make it’s wings more insect-like but I didn’t want to just straight up give her insect wings since all dragon wings look like bat wings in the httyd world, no exceptions. So instead I made it so that Gembreakers have multiple small wings, so they flap very fast and give off the impression of insect wings.

Alex Gonzalez

I just feel like this outfit gives off a more gamer/hacker vibe as well as it being cute. The detailing on her jeans and crop top is her own stitching. I did make her chunky, because realistically, she’s been inside all day everyday for years and with how often her moms seem to make her cookies, I would expect her to have some extra weight.

I should point out that I do understand that curly hair can be hard to model for animation this low budget but I think she just looks really good with curly bangs and I think I know a cheat code. Just copy and paste Gratuity Tucci’s bangs from Home. It’s a Dreamworks movie, so they have access to her model. I even straight up traced her bangs in this drawing just to prove my point.

Feathers / Pluma

I figured her design could be one where she looks scary but is actually very innocent. And keeping the Quetzalcoatl design aspect in mind, my brain immediately thought of the Slitherwing. Like maybe Feathers/Pluma could be a breed of dragon that’s a cousin to the Slitherwing, similer to Night Furies and Woolly Howls. Now I know these species’ haven’t been confirmed to be cousins but still.

Main differences between the Slitherwing and Featherhide here is that Pluma has feathers in place of poison and can mimic/sound-blast in place of venom-spit.

Also having a scarier design would help make Alex’s instant fear more understandable at first glance, since canon Feathers is just cute. And because my redesign now looks so much like a Slitherwing, on first viewing the audience would be worried about the poison Slitherwings have, until it’s revealed to have feathers instead of poison. A little bit of a subversion.

Eugene / August

I really wanted to give him this feel that he was like an Instagram or Tiktok fashion designer. That could even be a part of his character, maybe he and Jun bond over art and he helps her design the dragon armor later on.

Now I know I said that having loose clothing will look really bad in cheap 3D animation but listen; his clothes are not that loose and I made sure to frame his loose sleeves so they’d at least look okay within this show. And you can model wrinkles into the clothes even if they don’t move. Therefore giving the illusion of realistic cloth even though you’re not actually animating it like that. I also made it so that his pants would give some of that big boot silhouette without being bellbottoms and I didn’t make his shoes big as well —like I did with Olivia— as to kind of throw off the audience who'd notice, on whether or not he’d join dragon club.

You may notice that there are some similarities between his and Jun’s designs. They both wear thin sweaters (under August’s silk shirt), have circle necklaces and circle belt buckles. But with the clips of their buckles are on opposite sides from each other, as to kinda showcase the fact that they’re biological siblings but have animosities.

(Also note; I know the way his silk shirt shines is not how it would look in the final animation. That’s just the one creative liberty I took to make sure you would be able to tell it’s shiny in this art.)

Monstrous Nightmare

In regards to August's dragon, I think he'd name it Scorch. Original, I know but you know what? These names for the dragons on on the same level of Toothless being named Toothless simply because his teeth can retract.

I'd also color Scorch to be similar to the titan wing from rtte. Not exactly but very similar.

Other adults

I was originally going to redesign them as well since their designs wouldn’t have that many changes aside from better body proportions and maybe different hair. Along with Johann having modern clothes and Dr. Sledkin having a black or silver Rakke uniform. But it’s taken me two weeks just to make the pics that I finished and I have no more energy to make more. Maybe later on in life I’ll find the energy to do so and I’ll reblog this with those designs but for now I’m done.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[cavalierious-whim]

Green-Eyed Boy (Neuvithesley)

Part of 'Tea and Paperwork'.

Wriothesley is tired of seeing others hang off of Neuvillette so he proposes a late-night fuck on one of the hallway couches.

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter and Blue Sky.

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--

Neuvillette doesn’t even notice.

The woman leans a little too close under the guise showing him something on a report. She feigns tripping, apologizing as her ample bosom brushes against his forearm. Her shirt is low-cut, the line of her cleavage in full display, contradicting the more conservative style most women adopt in Fontaine. 

Neuvillette is too kind, reaching out to steady her by the elbow. “Miss, watch it,” he says, resulting in the woman cooing and fawning as she thanks him for his supposed heroism. 

Wriothesley is not a jealous man, and yet—

“You know, for all the teasing about Melusines being naive,” says Sedene from his left, shooting him a wry grin. “It’s insufferable, isn’t it?” 

“Is this a common occurrence?”

Sedene blinks placidly. “Would you feel better if I said no?”

No, he would not. “You’re terrible at lying,” says Wriothesley.

“Then I suppose I should tell you there’s a whole gaggle of women—”

“On second thought, don’t.”

It is a little condescending when Sedene reaches out to rub Wriothesley's shoulder, even if she means to comfort him genuinely. “For the record, he’s never noticed anyone’s attempts at flirting. Not even yours.”

Well, that’s true. Wriothesley hides a laugh by clearing his throat. “Right. Oh, look, this report. Was this a good trial?”

Sedene rolls her eyes but Wriothesley finds himself eased. And, it’s not as if Neuvillette will run off with another. There is, at least, that.

#

So, now that Sedene has said it, Wriothesley sees it everywhere.

Women and men, older and younger folk, and even a Melusine, of all things. And Neuvillette is just… too fucking polite, all genteel propriety as he unknowingly gives into their whims. Fingers ghosting arms as he steadies someone after an errant step. Leaning in as they point to something he must look at. Mutters of fuzzies in his hair as a person reaches out to touch.

Wriothesley may or may not have snapped a pen in half. He may have casually crafted a knife out of Cryo, running his finger down the edge, and definitely didn't think about slitting a throat or two. 

It is late now. The Opera Epiclese is quiet, running on one step below a skeleton crew. Wriothesley finally catches sight of Neuvillette strolling through the halls with a folder in his hand. 

“Wriothesley—Oh.”

Wriothesely tugs him into a dark hallway that’s been empty since lunchtime. He boxes Neuvillette against the wall, pressing close and yanking his face down for a biting kiss. Neuvillette stiffens, but then gives in, tilting his face back to nip at Wriothesley's mouth.

“Not to complain,” he drawls when he pulls back, “but should I remind you that we’re in the middle of the Opera Epiclese?”

Wriothesley tries to kiss him again but Neuvillette holds his face firmly. “Let them watch,” he finally says, turning to bite at Neuvillette’s fingers. “Maybe they should. All day I’ve—”

“All day you’ve what?” Then, Neuvillette’s nose twitches, having caught a scent. He leans close, inhaling near the juncture of Wriothesley's neck. “Beloved,” he murmurs, “there is nothing to be jealous about.”

“I know.” Wriothesley doesn’t mean to sound so aggravated. He grunts as Neuvillette kisses his neck, trying to soothe him, but Wriothesley is too on edge. “I—it’s just the way that they look at you even though they know.”

It is no secret who warms Neuvillette’s bed. They may not parade each other around but everyone knows. They’ve seen the gifts and shared lunches; the too-long tea breaks and how Wriothesley makes personal visits more frequently now than in the past. It should be obvious and that’s what irritates Wriothesley so much. 

Neuvillette sighs and kisses him again, slower, sweeter, his tongue tracing the seam of Wriothesley's mouth to coax it open. Too soft. Wriothesley loves it, loves him, yes, but it’s too little, too gentle. He wants more, fingers curling into Neuvillette’s hair, yanking at it. He kisses back with his teeth, sinking them into Neuvillette’s bottom lip.

A grunt. Neuvillette pulls back and gives him a searing gaze, his eyes glowing pale in the dark corridor. “You healed it,” says Wriothesely, dragging his thumb across Neuvillette’s lip, wishing he’d left it behind so that everyone else could see. A claim. He wants, he needs a claim. 

“You worry over the silliest things.”

“What if I smelled like you?”

“Wriothesley, I don’t care—”

“What if you smelled like me?”

“Wriothesley.”

“Can you fuck me here?”

Neuvillette sucks in a breath. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“How is this any different than your office?”

“It’s public,” hisses Neuvillette.

“You still haven’t said no.”

Neuvillette sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But when Wriothesley guides him to the abandoned couch he puts up no fight, dropping against the cushions with a soft trill in his throat. “Beloved,” he murmurs when Wriothesley settles across his lap, knees digging into the seat on either side of his thighs.

“Come on—”

“I—”

“Still not a no.” Wriothesley gives him a sly grin before tugging Neuvillette’s hand to settle against his ass. 

Which Neuvillette doesn’t remove, squeezing at the muscle instead. “You are—”

“You love me.”

“Yes.”

“So fuck me,” says Wriothesley, cupping Neuvillette’s cheeks. “No one else is here.”

At least, no one should be; this late at night there are a few guards outside, a secretary downstairs, and then usually Neuvillette in his office. These upper floors are abandoned outside of trials and the hustle and bustle of regular days, so… they should be able to get away with it. 

Neuvillette is weak; his other hand rests against Wriothesley's waist, thumb dipping into the waistband of his trousers. “An absurd request,” he says. And despite the comment, he pulls Wriothesley's shirt from his trousers. Neuvillette’s hand is hot against the small of Wriothesley's back as it rests there. “Needy boy.”

“Yeah. For you.” Wriothesley tips forward to kiss him again. 

This time, Neuvillete indulges, slipping him tongue. That hand wanders, fingers sinking into Wriothesley's waistband, tracing the scars there. 

Wriothesley grinds down moaning as their cocks brush together. Neuvillette is hard to—how can he be not? Wriothesley grins against his mouth as if he’s won a fight. “Go on,” he says, “touch me.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” replies Neuvillette, his hand slipping in entirely. A finger dips between Wriothesley's asscheeks, pressing against his hole. Already slick around the tip. Blessed be Hydro, thinks Wriothesley as he just smirks back. 

“Who knew you could be kinky?”

Neuvillette huffs. “Would you have taken no for an answer?”

“No.”

“Case in point.” Neuvillette’s finger sinks in to the second knuckle, stealing Wroithesely’s breath away. 

The sting is delicious. Wriothesley drags his hips down, riding it, forcing it deeper. Neuvillette gives in so sweetly, fucking him open on one, and then two fingers. It’s too quiet in the hall; the wet squelch of his hand is loud. Neuvillette glances to the side, watching the end of the corridor. A line splits his brow in worry. 

“Hey, look at me,” demands Wriothesley, pulling Neuvillette’s face back to him. “Don’t worry.”

“I—”

“Am I tight? Do I feel good?”

“Wriothesley.”

“Your cock would be better. Wouldn’t that be fun? To fuck here? Think about it—only we would know. We’d think about it every time we pass by this couch during the day. You’d smell it too—”

“Wriothesley.”

Oh, Wriothesley knows that look. Neuvillette’s pupils are narrowly slit and draconian. He’s two fingers deep and squeezes at an asscheek with his other hand. He considers it. Weighs his options. Oh, he likes that thought.

“Sweetheart,” says Wriothesley, knowing it’ll annoy him. And then his voice quiets as he dips closer, nipping at Neuvillette’s mouth. A hand drops between them and squeezes at Neuvillette’s cock, hard and aching. He fumbles with the fastenings of those trousers, and Neuvillette doesn’t stop him; he just flares his nostrils and lets Wriothesley do as he wishes, pulling out his stiff cock. Wriothesley thumbs across the tip, collects the precome, and brings it to his mouth for a taste. “Baby.”

Neuvillette whines when Wriotheslely pulls away, only to turn around on his lap. He raises his hips, shucking off his trousers just enough to free his ass and cock. 

“Wriothesley—”

“Please,” cuts in Wriothesley, already reaching for Neuvillette’s cock with a spit-slick hand. He gives it a rough, quick stroke that has Neuvillette hissing. 

“Yes, okay, okay—” 

Wriothesley leans back and sinks onto his cock. Thick. Long. He leans back when he bottoms out, bracing his weight against Neuvillette underneath him. And Neuvillette—Oh. His hands curl around Wriothesley's waist, yanking him down, grinding his cock deep. 

A groan. Neuvillette tilts his face and presses a kiss against the shell of Wriothesley’s ear, his forked tongue sneaking out to trace the edge of it. “Beloved,” he whispers, nipping at it next before guiding Wriothesley's hips to rock against his thighs. 

Wriothesley bites at his lip. “Fuck,” he hisses, rising and falling against him. Neuvillette’s cock carves its way through his insides. So full, his rim spread wide, bullied open. Perfect. Neuvillette helps Wriothesley move, angling him back to lean against his chest to change the angle. On the next thrust, the tip of his length nails Wriothesley's prostate. He yelps, then moans, fingers curling around Neuvillette’s wrist, nails digging into the flesh.

It isn’t aggressive but, rather, heated and passionate. They rock against each other, Neuvillette pressing against every roll of Wriothesley's hips. Smells like sex and them—and Neuvillette loves it, unable to stop the way that he sucks in his breaths, nose pressed against Wriothesley's neck. 

“Like that,” he murmurs, biting at it. “Mhmn, just like that.”

Too good. Heat sparks in Wriothesley's groin, zinging up his spine, leaving his cock hard and leaking at the tip. “I thought you’d—oh, that’s—” He palms it, stroking from base to tip. Anything to take the edge off the thick length lodged in his ass. Anything to distract from the searing heat that bubbles in his gut as Neuvillette grinds against him.

“This couch will be the bane of my existence.” Neuvillette’s chin rests on his shoulder, face tilted to keep his mouth latched against Wriothesley's sweaty skin. “You are right; I will smell it, our coming together here. And I will think of it every time.”

“Hot. Sexy.”

Neuvillette huffs in that way of his that makes Wriothesley's heart skip a beat. “Ruinous.” He presses his hand against Wriothesley's stomach and presses there. “You are an utterly ruinous thing, aren’t you?”

“Neuvillette—”

“Jealousy suits you.” Neuvillette ruts into him to drive home that point. He drags Wriothesley against to lean back against him, his weight heavy against his chest. His mouth finds his ear again for a kiss that makes Wriothesley melt. 

“They were—Archons—”

“None of that,” chides Neuvillette. “I too, am a covetous thing. The ire of a dragon should never be provoked. You, however—” He hums, pressing close against Wriothesley's nape. “Anyone else is a being unworthy of my attention. I may be polite, but you are the one that consumes my thoughts. My beloved. My mate.”

Their movements change as they crash together, uncoordinated, lacking rhythm. Neuvillette has an arm curled around Wriothesely, holding him close. The other holds his hip and guides him up and down on his cock. They both moan, the sounds lingering in the air for far too long. The slick slap of their skin is so loud that even Wriothesley is a tad embarrassed, heat pinking his cheeks. 

But gods, he loves this, how they move together so well. Neuvillette is just as needy, nothing but draconic bravado with a fancy cravat tied at his throat. In the end, he’s desperate too, drunk on Wriothesley’s scent and the feel of him. He fucks him earnestly, rocking Wriothesley against his cock. 

“Tight,” he mutters near his ear. “What a perfect boy.”

“I’m—gods, I’m going to—”

Neuvillette chuckles, leaning over his shoulder. “Show me.” His hand sweeps down Wriothesley's front, claws dragging through the coarse hair at his pubic bone. 

Wriothesley moans as he jerks himself off. He lifts his hips and slams them back down, choking off a too-loud sound. “You feel so good.” He tenses and shudders, the pleasure in his gut flaring. “Fuck, Neuvillette.”

He drowns in the heat. Neuvillette whispers praise into his ear and Wriothesley rises and falls at his direction. A hand sweeps between his legs, teasing the soft skin of Wriothesley's inner thighs. And then up, cupping his balls, squeezing them gently as he bucks into his tight heat.

Another stroke has Wriothesley coming, spilling across his stomach. He jerks, tensing as that wave crashes into him, dragging him under. Neuvillette inhales sharply, fangs sinking into the juncture of his neck. His next thrust is hard, searing as it strikes deep. And then the next, and the next—

Neuvillette grunts as he comes then, lapping at the mark that now bruises Wriothesley's neck. Hot and wet—Wriothesley clenches around his twitching cock, annoyed that they’ll have to separate and clean up. This is what he loves the best; the aftermath, pressed together, Neuvillette breathing against his neck. The soft touches, the lingering kisses, that slow come-down as they melt into the sheets. 

Neuvillette thumbs down the seam of his balls, giving them another light squeeze before letting them go. His fingers trail the length of Wriothesley's spent cock, then through the spend that pools on his stomach. Neuvillette drenches his fingers in it. Makes a show of bringing them to his mouth for a taste, that damnable forked tongue suckling at his fingers.

Wriothesley stares and Neuvillette’s mouth curls into a smile. He leans forward, kisses him, then says against his lips, “It’s a shame that here, I can’t take you apart again and again. You know how I love to dote when you’ve had a long and trying day.”

“Stop teasing me.”

“A tease? Never.”

It is. It absolutely is. Neuvillette is getting better at honing that sharp tongue, which he knows. His teases are promises that carry a heavy weight, which is proven only a moment later. He slips his cock out gingerly. Wriothesley stands and rights his trousers, sighing when Neuvillette reaches out to refasten them.

“You’re bad at this,” Wriothesely says when Neuvillette spends more time squeezing his cock back to half-hardness than dressing. 

“Nonsense. You asked for this.”

Wriothesley cannot argue with that. “And what about doting on me? My day was terrible.” Preferably sooner than later because Wriothesley hates the way come leaks down his thighs. He’d rather be naked in the sheets.

Neuvillette’s gaze is sharp. He still sits before him on that couch, leaning forward to kiss the sharp jut of his hip bone. “I do enjoy it when you choose to stay over. But, first—a bath, please?”

That, he can do. Wriothesley tugs Neuvillette to his feet, tucking his dick away. “Thank you,” he says, thumbing over the buttons of Neuvillette’s trousers as he returns the favor of fastening them. “I know this isn’t… the sort of thing that you do.”

“There are always exceptions. And, you painted a pretty picture.”

Wriothesley raises an eyebrow. “Of soiling that couch?”

“Of drenching you in my scent.” A pause as his gaze tips past Wriothesley. “And the couch.”

Wriothesley tugs his face close for another kiss. “Sweetheart—”

“Wriothesley.”

“I was just going to say that I love you.”

Neuvillette grunts, and though he dislikes public displays of affection, he does hold his hand all the way back to the Palais Mermonia. 

[nymphapunkcake]

Well well, I took the time to analyze almost second by second what little can be seen of Eddie's room.

Simply, why not?

(I hope that in volume 2 this Friday we can see more)

First of all, shot of his bedroom door from the inside, we watch Eddie hurry to his room already with his pretty dark eyes on his beloved guitar which I want to call Betty for some reason (don't tell me he doesn't would name his baby)

We can notice parts of two posters, and two warm light lamps. The poster on the left I assume is that of a movie, I can't figure out which one. The one on the right is a skull that I feel could be from a band of the time, movie, or just a cool illustration (if anyone knows please enlighten us in the comments) From this moment we can say his room feels warm, because of the lighting and how it is reflected on the walls...

(He looks so excited in this shot omg) We can clearly see a TV here, so we might think that his bed is just on the other side of the picture. I had not noticed the TV until I did the analysis. Anyway, I don't quite understand what he has on top of the television, it looks like a kind of neon sign or something like that... What do you think? I think it's not a window... But there seems to be one behind the TV.

Well, the room doesn't seem to be very big so let's say we're in the middle (? We can see a little more of that light anomaly above the tv (? And then we already notice the beginning of a kind of big banner/sign that you can tell it must have been painted by hand. I can't quite understand what it says but we can think that it is referring to his band or probably about some protest he may have attended. I'm probably wrong, but that black cube in the corner of the furniture looks like a kind of speaker or something for his music, then some random things.

Eddie finally manages to get to his guitar Betty (? And we can see that he is a womanizer because he has ANOTHER GUITAR MORE BASED ON THE FLOOR. We could say that it is acoustic because of its supposed round shape, perhaps. Behind this guitar that we could call Daiana (not because it's almost the same as my name...) We see an amplifier of the time, it doesn't look very good but I'm 99% sure that it is. We see the final point of the flag and finish noticing that it was written with red spray paint. A smaller lamp and then we see what I imagine to be flyers with dates from his favorite bands, or from his band itself.

A bandana hanging from his lamp, and below some sprays that can be spray paint, whipped cream, or shaving cream which I doubt because I doubt he will grow much of a beard (? but who knows. A giant poster, probably his favorite since it is also next to Betty, the mirror that reflects her beautiful face. A jean jacket hanging, and there is also another black amplifier on the right that seems to be under A RED YO-YO? Or is it a marijuana grinder hahahah. Above the black amplifier there is a skeleton that I don't know if it's 3D or if it's a very well done poster, maybe related to Iron Maiden.

Last image, please, look at his precious little face, so happy to see his most precious object in his natural habitat.

We can see a beer/soda can on the side, more band brochures, one of which seems to say "Metal Night" which we can assume is an under date where several bands played, probably his too. There is a very small and colorful skeleton, which I would have used on a t-shirt in my teens, but I can't quite remember where it came from...

And that have been all! I really think that the fact that it is such a small room and such his world makes it cozy and warm. A place where you would feel safe. I would feel that way if they asked me! I hope we see the other side of his room in the last few episodes when he goes to get his guitar and gives us an amazing guitar solo.

Please comment if you think I missed something, if you recognized a poster, figure, etc, and tell me if you liked this necessary analysis of Eddie's room ♡

[mochiusagifanficchaos]

Crowley x Reader • You look like you've gone through hell•

Trigger Warning: mentions abuse and violence

This is an older fanfic I wrote some years ago but I still like the plot, please forgive me my shitty writing from back than 😂

A door slammed loudly and woke you up, angry footsteps followed and something was thrown to the ground, shattering on the wooden floor.

You flinched and looked at your alarm clock on your nightstand with sleepy eyes: 2 o'clock in the morning...

The door to the bedroom was slammed open and you already knew what was going to happen.

Scared you hid under your blanket, acting as if you would sleep.

But your boyfriend didn't care about it. He grabbed you by your shoulder and pushed you out of the bed: "Make me something to eat!", he ordered as you whined because you had hit the nightstand with your shoulder.

Without a word you stood up and went downstairs in the kitchen, making a Peanut-butter-jelly sandwich and placing it on the table.

You heard your boyfriend stomping down the stairs and mentally prepared for whatever he might get angry with you again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!", he yelled, pointing at the sandwich and threw the plate to the ground. "A sandwich?! I'm hungry and you dare to make me a sandwich?!"

With every word he walked nearer to you and was now standing right before you. You could smell the alcohol he had been drinking like every night and didn't dare to look him in the eyes. Angry he pushed you and you fell backward, hitting the oven behind you once again.

"Go and get me a pizza."

With tears in your eyes, you rushed into the bathroom. Your reflection in the mirror showed a pale girl with deep eye rings, bruises all over your body and a skeleton like build.

Tears swell up again as you saw yourself in such a bad state.

As tears rolled down your cheeks you asked yourself how it had come to this. When it had started that he hit you. When the good times had stopped. You sobbed and buried your face in your hands.

"(Y/N)!", you could hear him yelling out of the living room. "Go, now!"

Sniffing you pulled yourself together, wiping the tears away, put some makeup on and tied your hair into a messy bun before you walked out of the bathroom again.

Your boyfriend was sitting on the couch, watching some sort of porn and had another bottle of beer in his hand.

You opened the front door and the cool air hit you, immediately crawling under your t-shirt and sweatpants.

Shivering you walked through the empty streets, passing closed stores and full bars.

In front of one bar, you suddenly felt the urge to stop. You knew it wasn't a good idea to go drinking now since your boyfriend would beat the crap out of you when you come back in the morning but you didn't care right now. Determined you opened the door and walked straight to the counter, you sat down on one of the stools and studied the small menu, not sure what you wanted to order to drink yourself away.

"Two Whiskeys, please.", a deep voice next to you ordered and the next second you had one in front of you. Wondering you turned around to get a look at the man next to you.

He looked handsome with his black suit and his bristly beard, on his lips played a charming smile and he looked at you with mysterious eyes.

"Hello, darling", he greeted you and sipped at his Whiskey.

Suddenly you recognized the man. It had been years since you met him and you had nearly forgotten him but now he was sitting in front of you: Crowley, the King of the Crossroads.

"May I ask your name?", he asked politely, it seemed like he didn't recognize you yet, no wonder because of the way you looked now.

" It's (Y/N).", you smiled weakly.

This name rang a bell in his head, he narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a second before he finally recognized you: "(Y/N)?? My god, what happened to you?"

"Ironically for the king of the crossroad to talk about god", you chuckled, trying to change the subject.

" It's King of hell now.", he corrected you with a haughty look and crooked smile.

"Oh,", you answered in surprise. "So you moved up the ladder, huh?", you swayed the Whiskey in your glass, watching the liquid swirl.

"Now tell me what had happened to you. You look like you've gone through hell, and I must know it."

Sighting you took a long drink from your Whiskey before you cleared your throat: "My boyfriend became a pisshead and found fun in beating me up."

That was all you had to say about it, it explained everything and you rather stayed short about your problems since you didn't want any pity.

You gulped the rest of the whiskey down and felt the familiar burning in your throat. Crowley passed you his glass and you took it thankfully.

His face got serious: "Why haven't you left him?"

"I couldn't.", you replied between sips. " He is the only one left in my life. I would have nowhere to go and if I go who knows what he might do to me."

He looked at you as if someone had hurt his puppy: "Do you still love him?"

You needed to think for a moment, it wasn't easy to answer this question. You still loved the man he had been, when you looked at old pictures you felt butterflies in your stomach but then you looked at him now and it felt like somebody was stabbing those butterflies, leaving nothing but an empty feeling and sadness.

"No..", you answered Crowley's question with a shaking voice and attempted to gulp the rest of the Whiskey down again but Crowley stopped you, taking the glass out of your hand and putting it back on the counter: " Don't waste the good stuff, darling."

You sighed again, running your fingers over your face and through your hair.

"You know, I could help you.", he stated and you huffed amused: " I'm still not gonna make a deal, Crowley."

"How sad...But I already doubt it.", he said and stood up.

A feeling of disappointment grew inside you as you heard him walk away.

Maybe you should have made a deal. Crowley's hell couldn't be worse than your hell on earth.

You flinched as suddenly someone placed his hand on your hip and a hot breath brushed your right ear: " I'm still going to help you, love.", Crowley behind you whispered.

Your body tingled at his touch and his low voice like it hasn't done in years.

It felt so much better than the burning of whiskey in your throat.

"And how do you wanna do that?", you finally asked as the wave of desire had finally stopped rushing over you.

"Let's say...", he lightly kissed your neck. "He fell down the stairs and broke his spine..."

Crowley knew exactly damn well which buttons he needed to push to get the reaction out of you he wanted.

You bit your lip and inhaled sharply.

"Why would you do that for me? What are you hoping to get in return?"

He chuckled: "Oh, I already did it."

And with that, his hand left your hip and he was gone, leaving you uncertain about if he had said the truth.

Back at home, you found your boyfriend lying on the floor, unconscious but still breathing.

You called an ambulance and they first wanted to take you with them to take a look at your bruises and wounds but you were able to shrug them off.

Now you were sitting on the couch, staring into the black tv screen and didn't know what to do.

Meanwhile, Crowley visited your boyfriend in the hospital, he appeared in his room with a cocky grin on the face and his hands in the pockets of his black suit.

"Hello, Zac." [Let's just call him Zac], Crowley greeted and Zac jumped in surprise, letting out a quiet scream.

"What the hell?!", he yelled and threw a glass after Crowley, but he easily eschewed it.

" That's where I come from, I'm impressed you noticed it so fast.", Crowley chuckled and Zac looked at him with terror as Crowley's eyes switched to red and back.

"I heard you will never be able to walk again. Must be worse for a football player."

Zac stared at him with furious eyes, not really getting where this was going.

Crowley calmly walked towards the bed, Zac was sitting on.

"I could give you your legs back. You would be able to walk again and play football", Crowley's smirk grew as he saw how Zac was thinking about it. "What do you think?"

"What do you want in return?"

"Your soul."

Zac eyes narrowed in disbelief: "H-how?"

"Oh, you don't have to do anything for it. I'm just gonna claim it someday.", Crowley licked his lips, already knowing that Zac was about to say yes.

"Okay, deal.", he finally said and Crowley grinned once again. "I still can't feel my legs. Isn't the deal sealed yet?"

"It's sealed with a kiss."

"No way!", Zac shouted and Crowley sighted: "Normally our girl demons do the boys but there was no one available today, sorry."

With a disgusted expression, Zac pressed his lips onto Crowley's and pulled away fast.

"It was a pleasure to make a deal with you.", Crowley said and disappeared again.

At home you still sat on the couch, staring blankly at the tv screen.

Suddenly you heard a rustle behind you and turned around, only to see Crowly standing in the kitchen.

He had lifted his right foot and looked at it grossed out: " I knew it wouldn't be neat and tidy here because I haven't announced that I would come over but I wouldn't have expected that.", he said and pointed at the pb&j sandwich which was now sticking under his shoe.

A giggle escaped your mouth and he smiled softly at you before he whipped the sandwich away.

"We don't have much time, darling. Zac will be here in at least one hour so we need to hurry.", he said and grabbed your coat from the closet next to the door.

" What, how? The doctors told me that he wouldn't be able to walk again.", you asked puzzled and stood up.

"I made a deal with him, he can walk again. Now get your favorite belongings so that we can go.", he explained to you and you looked at him in disbelief. " So you only 'helped' me to make a deal with him?", you asked angrily.

Crowley walked over to you and looked you deep in the eyes as he spoke: "No, the other way around, love. I made a deal with him to help you. He only got three days until I'll claim what is mine."

You bit your lip and quickly turned away, walking upstairs to pack a bag with your clothes.

'(Y/N), don't even think about it!', you thought to yourself. 'He's the King of Hell and only playing with you!'

A bit grumpy about yourself you threw your clothes in your bag, hurried in the bathroom to get all your stuff and then rushed down the stairs.

Crowley noticed the grumpy look on your face: "Everything okay, darling?"

"S-sure,", you stuttered. " We can go."

He narrowed his brows, questioning himself what might be up with you, then he showed you a piece of paper: "I wrote him a goodbye letter from you. Maybe this will stop him from searching for you."

Surprised you took and read it: "Dear Zac, I'm sorry but I can't live like this anymore. I wish you the best. Love, (Y/N)."

"Did I hit your tone?", he asked and you just nodded, placing the paper on the kitchen table.

Your eyes rested on an old picture from you and Zac. He had an arm around your shoulders and kissed you on the cheek.

It felt wrong for you to go now, to just leave him since you always hoped he would get better again. But deep inside you knew that you had lost him.

Crowley laid his hands on your shoulder and turned you around: "We need to go now. He doesn't deserve this look on your face.", he said caring and before you knew it he had teleported you with him.

A bit dizzy you looked around in the new room.

It smelled and looked like a hotel room, there was one small bed beside a window, a little nightstand next to it and another door on the opposite, you guessed that there would be a bathroom behind.

"This was the best I could get in this short time, I hope it's okay, my queen.", Crowley said as he scratched his head.

You walked over to the bed, acting like you overheard his nickname for you and placed your bag on it.

"It's fine, don't worry.", you answered and failed to hide a smile.

The way he cared for you was so sweet and made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Are you going to stay with me the next days?", you asked with a bit of hope in your voice.

" No, I have some business to do. I'm sorry, darling", he answered and you sighted in disappointment.

"But I'm going to leave two of my men here. They will watch after you and protect you from Zac."

He snapped his fingers and two men appeared in the room, next to the door.

Crowley walked over to you, bend forward and whispered in your ear: "Don't go outside alone and don't do something stupid. I know you. Be a good girl, for me, okay?"

Shivers ran down your body at his words and the way his breath hit your ear: "Okay..."

Your gaze rested on his lips as he returned to his upright position, suddenly feeling the burning desire to kiss him.

Little did you know that he felt the same way, but he turned around and grinned to himself.

"Watch after her and don't leave her alone.", he ordered his minions and they nodded.

Then he turned back to you: " I have to go now. Goodbye, darling.", he bowed slightly and disappeared.

Sighting you threw yourself on to the bed, exhausted and looked at the clock: 6 o'clock in the morning, no wonder that you were tired. As you tried to recall everything that had happened in the last hours, your eyes closed and you drifted off into a restless sleep.

A loud crash woke you up, someone groaned in pain and something fell to the ground.

It took you some seconds to realize that you weren't at home anymore and that this probably wasn't just a drunk Zac, but also a really angry one.

You jumped out of the bed, ready to defend yourself, sick of always letting him beat you up.

In the light of the lantern which shined through the window, you could see two bodies lying on the floor, they didn't move or made any sounds. Fear crawled under your skin as you realized that your bodyguards were dead.

You didn't know if Zac actually killed the demons or if they just left in fear.

"Hello, (Y/N).", he said and your muscles tensioned by his cold voice. "Why have you left me? Don't you love me anymore?"

With every step he made towards you, you took one back until you hit the wall behind you: "Leave... Leave me alone!", you stuttered, feeling your pulse rising as he stood so near to you. His hand grabbed you by your throat and pushed you against the wall, making it difficult for you to breath.

" You think you can just walk away from me? Just write a goodbye letter and be gone?", the pressure on your throat increased. "Oh, how wrong you were. I'm not gonna let you go, my princess."

Tears swell up in your eyes, hearing him using your old nickname.

Formerly, when he called you this you could hear his love for you in his voice, but now you could only here obsession.

"Please don't hurt me...", you whispered between short breaths and sobbing.

"I'm sorry, but you're the one who made this ugly.", he answered and the next second his first hit your stomach, knocking all the air out of your lungs before he pushed you to the ground.

Coughing you tried to get your breath back, the room around you was blurry and you couldn't straighten your upper body since your stomach hurt so much.

You heard him unbuckle his belt and flinched as he snapped the leather against each other.

He kneeled down in front of you and grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks: "Are you going to come back with me now?"

You thought about every option, but everyone was even worse than the one before.

'Crowley!', you screamed his name in your head, hoping that he would somehow hear you.

Zac shouted something but you didn't hear it, you tried to shut everything out, cried Crowley's name over and over again in your head and became numb of the pain as Zac hit you with his belt.

Suddenly the hitting stopped and everything was silent, scared you dared to look up.

Zac stood there with his arm raised, the belt in his hand.

Crowley stood behind him, holding his arm in place.

It was like the time had frozen at this moment.

You didn't dare to speak.

Zac, who had turned his head towards Crowley didn't dare to speak.

And Crowley, whose eyes were red, didn't need to speak.

"I could kill you.", he broke the silence. "I just need to snap my fingers and you would be dead."

Scared and angry Zac freed himself from Crowley's grip, letting the belt fall to the ground.

"Please don't, Crowley...", you begged with a shaky voice and stood up.

Both of you looked at each other, he felt your pain and it took him all he had to hold himself back.

"You know him?!", Zac suddenly yelled and you flinched. " Did I fell down the stairs because of you?! You made a deal with him, didn't you?"

Crowley answered for you before you even knew what to say: "No, she didn't. She wasn't as bloody stupid as you to make a deal with me. But you are right in one point, I'm responsible for your fall. And I hope it had hurt."

All the anger and hatred Crowley had for Zac swang in his voice as he spoke the last sentence.

"By the way, I just decided to claim your soul today.", Crowley started in an ice-cold voice and smiled evilly after he saw the fear crawling into Zac as he heard a loud growl from behind him.

"I would recommend you to run. My little hellhound is fast."

Juliet growled again, dangerously and Zac ran off, as fast as he could, slamming the door after him which Juliet tore down seconds after as she jumped through it.

It was silent again. You stared at the door in shock. Not sure if you were happy or sad about what just happened. Suddenly all the pain rushed over you, mentally and physically and the tears, which you were holding back for so long streamed down your cheeks. Loud sobbing you collapsed to the ground.

Crowley caught you, embracing you as you both sat on the ground now.

"It's okay, I'm here, no one can hurt you now.", he whispered calming as he held you in his arms.

Crying you pressed yourself against his chest, sobbing and sniffing and realizing that it wasn't just because of the pain, but also because of relief.

It was over.

You wouldn't come home to an angry boyfriend anymore who yelled at you every day and hit you.

You wouldn't come home in fear anymore.

You could finally live again.

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

"Thank you...", you mumbled into his shirt as the tears stopped rolling down your face.

Crowley cupped your face between his hands as he lifted your chin to make you look at him.

Your cheeks were red and your eyes puffy, probably making you look like a fish but his eyes got softer and a small smile appeared on his lips.

Gently he placed a warm kiss on your forehead and then pulled you back into a tight embrace.

This time it was you who smiled. Sometimes actions do say more than words...❤

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

Sooo, this was it!

I hope you enjoyed this one-shot, and yes I know, it's pretty long🙈 (I really didn't mean to write so much!)

The ending is separated by the way because I first wanted to finish it with the sentence "You could finally live again", but I thought some fluff at the end wouldn't be bad ;)

It would mean much to me if you leave a vote and comment🙇

Sending you all my love, thank you for reading! ❤❤❤

My Wattpad: @/lilakudo

[possum-rat]

(Y/n) talks to the dead

Previous 

Next

Normally waking up to the Undead hovering over you would scare anyone shitless. But (Y/n) was slightly less startled. "SHI-WHA? WHO ARE? WHAT?" (Y/n) yelps as they fall out of the bed in a mess of blanket and clothes. Two skeletons stand on either side of their bed staring blankly at the opposite wall. Chain mail armor on the one stationed on the left side of (Y/n), and an odd mixture of gold and neitherite on the right. The one on the right turns toward (Y/n) before crouching down as holding out a hand toward them.

(Y/n) takes it hesitantly staring up at them. "Wha?" They murmur as the skeleton nods a slight smile in place. "I'm Violetta Beaux. If that's what you're wondering my dear." They state simply in a soft tone. Violetta then gestures toward the chain mail wearer and says fondly "that's Isidora Blanc" Isidora merely nods as their mentioned.

"Why are you here? I mean- I don't mean to be rude or anything but..." (y/n) trails off confusion evident in their expression. "Clementine told us," Violetta replies gently. Nodding still confused (Y/n) lets the covers fall from their shoulders. Stepping from the mess of blanket under them they walk toward the bathroom.

--

Staring at the mirror intently they sigh. Their once (S/c) now more grey and sunken. Dark purplish rings under their eyes with a crazed look. Reaching their hand up (Y/n) gently presses the purplish-pink swollen delicate skin. Breathing out in pain (Y/n) removes their hand before testing their nose. Nothing seems to be broken, just a little swollen or painful. Pulling out a washcloth (y/n) dampens it and cleans the dried blood from their face.

Feeling slightly better (Y/n) turns on the shower before heading into their 'Room' and grabbing some clothes: a tan trench coat stopping at (Y/n) thighs, a white collared shirt, grayish-black jeans, and long socks with their favorite boots. (perfect for kicking any super straights)

Once finished with the shower they pull on the clothes in the privacy of the bathroom. Mentally (Y/n) thanks themselves for placing the bathroom into a room with a door away from any visitors. As (Y/n) steps out of the bathroom the smell of freshly baked bread greets them.

grinning to themselves (Y/n) notices that Violetta is beside the furnace pulling out a loaf of golden bread. "(Y/n)? Oh hey dear! I made bread. Here take some!" She says cheerfully as she places the loaf on the small kitchen island. Isidora seems to be slightly more emotional than before as she gazes at the bread. Staring at the bread (Y/n) asks "You can make bread?" Isidora replies gruffly "Best at it. She also makes a killer cake."

As Violetta pulls out a giant Long sword she hums happily as she slices the bread with the sword. The whole sight is comical. As (Y/n) takes a slice of the bread they take a bite and proceeds to melt. You know the kind? Like when you eat something so good you've literally just ascended to heaven momentarily-yeah that's what the bread tastes like.

"Told you," Isidora says simply. By the time (Y/n) ate around half the loaf with the other two they've gotten a message from Wilbur.

<WilburSoot> (Y/n) help. Tubbo and Tommy are on a tangent.

smiling slightly (Y/n) stands up from the chair and makes their way toward their chest. Squatting down they pull out their sword and a few potions. Violetta stops (Y/n) before they leave. "Dear take some armor I have an extra unused she's plate and helmet. Stay safe okay hun? Isidora will go with you." (Y/n) nods and waits patiently-well as patiently as one with horrible attention spans can-

"and here you go, hun." She says as she hands an enchanted netherite chest plate and helmet to them. (Y/n's) eyes widen as the heavily enchanted armor falls into their ownership. "You can't-Are-wha-" they stutter as Isidora takes the armor from (Y/n) and gently places it onto (y/n) making sure it fits snugly. "Come on kid. I'm your bodyguard or some shit today. Come on."

---

as the two of them walk into L'manberg Wilbur freezes staring at Isidora. "(Y/n)? Your aware that there's a skeleton standing beside you?" (Y/n) nods and says "Yup. They're my grumpy bodyguard or something!" Isidora did not like being called grumpy apparently as (Y/n) yelps as Isidora punches (Y/n's) shoulder.

"I- uh okay. Anyway, Tubbo and Tommy are over there mind watching them?" Wilbur asks tiredly as he rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

(Y/n) nods and skips toward them happily. "No, He's always like...Psst hey, kid...wanna buy some content? Do we have manhunts? Or speed runs." Tommy laughs as he does a horrible American accent. (Y/n) chimes in "įⱮ Ⱥ ꝈįͲͲꝈƐ φįϚϚ βȺβӋӋӋӋӋ" Tubbo coughs in audio tune before dying with laughter. Tommy does his famous cackle. "What the actual fuck?" Isidora murmurs as she stands a few feet away. Tubbo frowns tilting his head confused his long brown ears flopping down.

"what? I just heard a series of tapping?" Tubbo says confused. "Oh, she just said " what the actual fuck." She's nice that way." (Y/n) says happily.

Isidora frowns while flipping (Y/n) off. "Yeah Love you too bitch." They call grinning.

Tubbo frowns and asks "Wanna go to the nether?" (Y/n) nods but freezes momentarily as everything suddenly grey. Like a cave. But instead of the normal ruggedness of a cave, it's like a box. (Y/n) shivers as they gaze around at the freezing room. A small Fox is curled up in one of the corners along with a brown spotted cow. As (y/n) walks closer the Fox opens an eye before closing it in disinterested. An arrow sticks out from its coat staining the white fur on its throat rusty red.

"Fungi?" (Y/n) asks in awe. The Fox yawns before nuzzling closer to the cow. The cow opens its down brown eyes before giving a soft content "Moo." Gasping in delight (Y/n) cheers "Harold?" The cow thumps his tail before standing up unsteadily and clopping toward (Y/n).

Harold bobs his head as he moves toward them, stopping infront of them he nuzzles into (Y/n's) outstretched hand. As (y/n's) fingers brush over the slightly rough texture of Harold's fur they blink.

The stone claustrophobic-inducing box is no more. Instead (Y/n) is surrounded by people in chairs staring up at a podium. A Man with curly Horns with various golden trinkets stands there. He's clearly slightly hungover.

"That was pretty easy. And you know what I said, the day I got unbanned from the DreamSMP, and the day I said I was running... an election that I won by the way?" The man's voice booms deep and clear demanding to be heard "I said; "Things are gonna change". I looked every citizen of L'Manberg in the eyes and I said; "You listen to me... this place will be a lot different tomorrow." Let's start making it happen. My first decree, as the president of L'Manberg- the EMPEROR! of this great country-! Is to REVOKE the citizenship of WilburSoot, (Y/n) and TommyInnit! Get 'em outta here! Get 'em outta here! You're no longer welcome!"

All though (Y/n) may not understand what's going on they have enough sense to stand up from their seat and bolt. Isidora stands on the outskirts of L'manberg waiting under the shelter of a tree. Isidora straightens up upon seeing (Y/n). She sighs and holds out a hand. Voices of the deceased begin screaming in (Y/n's) head.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU LEAVING?

"HELP THEM"

"STAY HOME"

"STAY"

"run"

As Isidora's hand closes around (Y/n's) they're suddenly wrenched from L'manberg, and back home. (Y/n) pulls their hand from Isidora's grip to press their palms into the sides of their head. "Please- make it stop." They whisper. Their eyes claimed shut as they press their back against the wall sliding down. Schlatt's voice echos loudly "Oh, it was so easy! Until further notice... WilburSoot and TommyInnit are merely a memory of L'Manberg. A relic- A relic of the past. A reminder, of the darkest era this country, has ever seen- and I guarantee you all; dear citizens... Tonight, that changes. We are entering into a new period of L'Mangerg- a period, of prosperity! of strength! of unity."

Sitting down for a few minutes they stand up before rubbing their eyes and turning toward the two women and saying quietly "Stay here. Please I don't want either of you to get hurt." they state with a certain authority that none of the three knew (Y/n) possessed. (Y/n) then walks toward their chests before digging out the materials needed. Choosing to take their half-finished crossbow, and sword, along with the armor they were currently wearing, a few potions, and pick along with food, as they walk toward the door they hesitate before returning to the chest and pull out a few End pearls along with their totem.

----

At around 3 am (Y/n) finds a half-assed base. Sighing slightly they duck into the base holding up their hands in surrender as a sword is healed to their throat. It doesn't help that the voices are still shouting. And expressing their distaste or agreement at the current predicament.

"Jesus (Y/n) where the hell have you been?" Wilbur sighs as he makes eye contact with them.

"Went by my base to grab some stuff we'll need. No, we aren't going to my base." They say as they sit atop the crafting table beside Tommy. Leaning back against the wall they glance down at Tommy. He's visibly distressed. (Y/n) taps the air infront of them withdrawing a potion of their own creation they like to call "Anti-Insomnia, sleep your problems away :)"

Pulling out a small vile of it they grab 2 cups that for some reason Wilbur had. Pouring a few drops into the cups they hand them to each of their accomplices saying "It'll help you sleep. It'll take your mind off of it." Tommy nods and asks "Wait you know Greek mythology right? Didn't you and Techno talk about it?" (Y/n's) lips curve into a faint smile at the memories.

they nod and ask "Yeah. I remember that." Wilbur asks "what's your favorite story?"

they nod before thinking. "Eros and Psyche." The words fall from their lips effortlessly. As (Y/n) begins to ramble they stare at the opposite wall.

"Psyche is a princess so beautiful that the goddess Venus becomes jealous. In revenge, she instructs her son Cupid to make her fall in love with a hideous monster; but instead, he falls in love with her himself." Tommy's head lolls before falling against (Y/n's) shoulder. (Y/n) tenses up slightly but upon realizing that it's only Tommy they continue.

"He becomes her unseen husband, visiting her only at night. Psyche disobeys his orders not to attempt to look at him, and in doing so she loses him. In her search for him, she undertakes a series of cruel and difficult tasks set by Venus in the hope of winning him back. Cupid can eventually no longer bear to witness her suffering or to be apart from her and pleads their cause to the gods. Psyche becomes an immortal and the lovers are married in heaven."(More info: here ) (Y/n) finishes their story glancing down at Thomas.

"hey? (Y/n)? How's Lilith doing?" Wilbur asks quietly. (y/n) freezes before rubbing their face and rubbing the faint scar on their neck. "No clue." Wilbur frowns and asks "What'd you mean?" He asks as he shifts to a more comfortable position. "Haven't seen her since she broke our engagement...rather brutally for my taste. Like I understand sure, I may not be the best person but burning down a house then murdering your fiancé? That's a bit much even for me. Like where's the pizzazz?" (Y/n) laughs quietly as they stand up and pull off their coat draping it over Tommy.

Wilbur frowns. "Wait. You only have one life?" He asks. (Y/n) nods as they rummage in their pocket before pulling out a small simple ring with a frog upon the center. Slipping it onto their finger with the other array of various rings they stretch and turn toward Wilbur. "Jesus Christ (Y/n). You need to be careful!" Wilbur chides. (Y/n) narrows their eyes at him before grumbling quietly "yeah yeah."

---

[piratestrash]

Yay, thank you! :D

Jack sat there on the Barnacle's deck for what felt like a long while, but in truth it was at most a few short minutes. He sat there thinking about his options. The navy wasn't really after him, were they? Fitzwilliam had said it himself. They just wanted to use Jack in order to find Teague. It was the Keeper of the Code they wanted, not Jack. So why was Jack so worried?

He was worried because, despite running away from home, assembling a crew, and experiencing adventures upon the high seas, there was still one thing that mattered to him above all else. That was Teague. Jack and Teague may not have always seen eye-to-eye, but that didn't change the fact that they had a very close bond-they were family.

Because of this, Jack could not let himself sit idle while Teague battled, or tried to escape, the navy. He needed to take some sort of action. But he knew that Teague might not be very receptive. After all, Jack had left home in the middle of the night and stowed away on a merchant ship bound for the pirate town of Tortuga. No parent or guardian or person-who-might-be-your parent would accept that. Unless he was a pirate.

"Jackie," Teague called out from aboard his ship. The huge reddish boat dwarfed the Barnacle. A figurehead of a woman with a tail for legs decorated its bow, and along the ship's side was the name Misty Lady. Jack looked up. "What?"

"Maybe you've forgotten, but the navy is bringing up the rear. Mighty quick, too." "What on earth does that have to do with me?" Jack asked, wishing his face was still buried in his knees.

Teague raised an eyebrow and gave Jack a knowing glance. Jack knew exactly what that look meant. No matter where Jack tried to run to, no matter how hard he attempted to escape, he would be inextricably linked to Teague and his pirating ways forever.

"I'm not a pirate," Jack said evenly. "It won't matter much what you are if you're blown to bits by a cannon blast, will it?" Teague replied. His men were scurrying across the deck, readying their ship for battle. Jack stood up. The navy was merely a league or so away now. Jack had two options: he could sit in his boat and most likely be barreled over or blown apart by the navy, or he could hop aboard Teague's ship and only less likely be blown apart.

"What makes you think I'm not a match for the navy and their friends?" Jack asked.

Teague laughed quietly. Then he grabbed one of the pirates who was scurrying aboard his ship. The pirate wore a vest but no shirt, and Jack noticed that some of the many tattoos on his arms looked familiar. One of them was the same icon that adorned Teague's Jolly Roger-a skeleton holding a speared heart. The pirate ran his fingers through his spiky black hair as Teague whis pered something to him. Then he saluted Teague and rejoined the rest of the crew.

"Remember all those times I needed to step in and come to your rescue?" Teague asked.

"You speak as if you'd let me forget," Jack said.

"Well, this is another one of those times," Teague said.

This gives me the feeling that he's both being controlling/saying "You can't survive without me" but also a bit of love for Jack.

He wants Jack alive and does seem to care about him. He's just not doing it in the best way. Which, granted, he has a point here and were there not other behavior, I'd probably say he's not being manipulative. But I can't disregard other instances of manipulation and abuse.

Jack is linked to him and while technically not sailing under a pirate flag anymore, he'd still probably be killed either due to a stray shot, association with pirates, or even in the eyes of the law, being no better than a pirate/considered one anyway.

And bringing up other instances would be a way to say "You aren't as good as you think you are. Let me protect you so I can keep you alive."

However, he's used this in the past and most likely not in nearly as understandable circumstances. Which is why it at the very least, is probably a double meaning in "You are not capable/Need me. You have to listen" and "I care about you, you are overestimating what you can do, and most likely they aren't going to care anyway"

[sabraeal]

If All Else Fails Just Play Dead

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Swan Princess AU

There is a boy in her house.

Two boys, actually; not counting Uncle, who is the Margrave Entaepode, or Papa, who acts like he is, or Raj, who everyone simply tolerates because there are worse things than having the first prince adopt your heir as their particular friend, and all of them start with denying said prince what he wants.

(And also because when he’s not trying to flex all his royal powers at once, Raj can be almost tolerable. He at least believes in magic, which gives him a leg up over just about every other boy Shirayuki has known, save for uncle, even if he doesn’t know any himself.)

Sakaki is also not to be counted, though she feels bad about it, on account of how often she typically forgets that Sakaki is a boy and not just some boy-shaped furniture Raj travels with, like how he always brings his pillow and his favorite chair. She’ll have to remember to bring him some extra pastries from the kitchen as an apology.

No, these are two entirely foreign boys, shipped straight from the court of the King Who Isn’t, as her father calls him-- though not within his mother’s hearing. Shirayuki is resigned to make the best of it; Uncle asks for so little, and she is the Lady of the Manor, even if she only comes by the title from a lack of older women to fill it. If she must, she can entertain their guests, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, not one bit at all.

A shelf rattles, jostling the books on their bindings. Shirayuki’s fingers nearly dint a page as she turns it, but she does not look up. To look up would be to give in, and even if she is charged with entertaining, she does not need to be the entertainment.

It rattles again, now with two giggles to accompany it. Excellent. It seems both her troubles are accounted for.

With a sigh, she collects herself. This is what is fair, after all. It is her duty to see after Entaepode’s guests, and Papa is already taking on the brunt of the Her Majesty’s needs, as well as the marquis’ that travels with her. Not that she would have minded if he wanted to switch; Queen Haruto at least seemed like the sort to enjoy a quiet afternoon in the library.

A leg swings over the top of the shelf, long and skinny and ending in a particularly scuffed boot.

Very much, Shirayuki thinks, slapping her book shut on the table, unlike her son and his companion. 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She means to be mild, but each sound falls so waspish from her lips that it could sting. Oh, Uncle will be displeased when he finds out she was rude to their esteemed guests. “It harms the books.”

A sly, cat’s grin shines down on her as a second leg follows the first. “We’re just on the shelves.” Obi twitches his shoulders in a lazy excuse for a shrug. “It’s not like we’re ripping out pages.”

Of the three of them, he’s older-- oh, well, both boys are older than her, but he’s oldest. Only a few years shy of being a man in his own right; the sort of older that’s supposed to know better. Not that he looks it-- Obi’s supposed to be thirteen, but he’s barely an inch taller than Prince Zen, showing none of the stretch in his limbs that boys his age should before they come into their growth.

His feet dangle, just at the level of her nose, and uncharitable irritation itches in her thoughts. Maybe he’ll be one of those boys who’s small forever, a man in a child’s body. The sort of boy she’ll be looking down on instead of up at, should she get Papa’s height, or Uncle’s.

“The shelves are where the books live,” she tells him officiously, fists high on her hips. “And if you knock it over, then you might hurt your spine, or worse, one of theirs! Or even worse,” she adds with no little horror, “you might tear out a page!”

He blinks, those wide, gold eyes flashing like candlelight. “Huh.”

She conjures up Uncle at his most imperious as she says, “This isn’t a training yard.”

“How would you know?” The shelf wobbles, and a pale white mop heaves itself over it. The second Prince of Clarines is pinch-faced, like he’s always just finished sucking on a lemon, and pale as an invalid. She could believe he was bedridden, from the way he keeps waiting to be served. “It’s not like you’ve ever been on one.”

A breath hisses between her teeth. It’s not from lack of trying, she wants to say; her last birthday, Papa has trousers sewn for her, plus a shirt and waist. He’d promised her a sword, even traipsed her through the halls to the yard, but Uncle had been waiting right at the gate, mouth drawn to a forbidding line.

What are you thinking, Mukaze? She’d heard him growl, her ear pressed tight to the study door. My own heir, and you put a blade in her hand.

If she were a boy, you’d have thought I’d done it too late, Papa had replied, easy as always, the way that would drive Uncle mad. I don’t see the harm--

Of course you don’t. Uncle had never sounded so cold, so bitter as he did in that moment. You never do.”

Her stomach twists, slithering around like a nest full of snakes, only getting more knotted, more sick as she thinks about it. Uncle and Papa were close as brothers, surely--

Surely, she shouldn’t be worrying about this at all.

“Why are you wearing all that black?” she snips instead, ignoring the heat that licks up her neck. “It’s summer.”

It’s not doing him any favors either; all that thick velvet just makes his limbs skinny and his face more drawn, like he’s a skeleton rather than a boy.

The prince stills, legs no longer kicking, lips no longer flapping; just a steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. Obi-- a study of constant motion-- doesn’t even do that; instead he sits, utterly immovable, and stares.

With a voice chilled with the winter he’s never felt, His Highness finally says, “My father died.”

She’d known that, she had. His Majesty died a year ago, her Uncle even told her, their legs pressed tight on his study’s sofa. She liked doing that, lining bone to bone, like they might one day be a matching set, margrave and heir both. Another pair of shoulders to carry the burden of rule, after so many years of an absent, broader pair.

Her Majesty has ever been a bosom companion to this family, he’d continued, a strange tightness to his voice. Now that her mourning is over, she is bringing her youngest son to visit. I’m sure your father would be pleased if you became...as close as they.

So much for that. Uncle would be so disappointed-- not only had she scolded the prince, but she’d insulted him too, and--

And he had started it. Her mouth settles into a thin line, so like Uncle’s.

“So did my mother.” So long ago that she is barely more than a song and a scent. Still, there is no ceding ground, not to Prince Zen; every inch she gives him yields a mile, and he considers it his due. “And you don’t see me walking around in velvet during high summer.”

The prince’s skin is pale as moonlight, the envy of every maid in the manor, but it flushes an angry red now, his body trembling to contain him. “My father, he sputters, leaping off the shelf, “is more important than your stupid mother ever will be.”

Papa praises her for her even-temper. Just like your mother, he laughs, not as boldly as he is wont. You never let anything under your skin. Not like me. Though all our impulse certainly bred true.

Anger, Uncle would say in his soothing voice, every syllable measured, makes a man a fool. You would do well to eschew it if you can, my little girl.

So it is not that Shirayuki is angry; oh no, she is incandescent.

Her finger curl, carving pitted crescents in her palms. For once she is glad that magic is consigned to history books and scholars in their towers, for if she could but call fire to her fingertips, this whole library would be alight. Her mother may be more sense than solid to her, but there is not a stone here she has not touched, and--

Well, Uncle is right, but Shirayuki is content to be stupid.

“Maybe so,” she says, so calm, so even, just as Uncle might. “But at least people liked her.”

For a moment, Prince Zen looms, every line trembling, and she is convinced that he will raise a hand to her, that he will truly treat her as her father’s mouth has earned her. But instead he spins on his heel, stalking out of the library with naught a word.

Wrath leaves her at once, a spirit exorcised from her chest, and oh, she’s dizzy with the lack. Her hand reaches out, meaning to grab for the chair--

But another hand grabs it instead. Shirayuki had never noticed at what a patrician angle Obi’s nose sat, not until he stares down it at her, his face a smooth bronze mask.

“That,” he says, finally sounding his age, “was badly done.”

Had her father sat her down after that terrible, disastrous morning, and told her that one day she would consent to marry the prince, Shirayuki would have--

Well, she would have done something Uncle wouldn’t approve of, surely. And she had, when Papa sat her down not too long after the queen’s carriage disappeared into the horizon, and told her that their union had been agreed upon, dowry and all. But to think she would ever want to, that she herself would gladly make the plans-- impossible.

If only it had stayed that way. If only she had remembered why she’d waved him off at arm’s length every summer, why she’d tossed him in the pond when he tried to kiss her at fifteen and told him he’d have better luck finding a princess of his own species in there. At least then she might be able to scuttle this whole wedding, instead of having Papa and Haruto cluck at her pitifully when she asks, telling her that it would all work out eventually.

After all, hadn’t she loved him just last night?

Shirayuki huffs, rolling to her side. She’s no longer livid, which is an improvement; last night she’d thought quite long and extremely hard about how many tapestries she would need to tear from the walls to get a good, solid bonfire to catch and burn Wistal palace to its very stones. Once she started considering where the custodians might keep turpentine, or whether she could wheedle the key to the cellars out of the chatelaine, she’d forced herself to lay down. Few things had ever made her so angry that they couldn’t be solved by a good night’s rest.

Wrath and rage has cooled, but not to her usual levelheaded calm, the answer filling her with vim and vigor and a dangerous determination. Oh no, instead her fine barrel of fury has turned to melancholy, and with each minute that ticks by, she drinks a deeper draught.

Is beauty all that matters to you?

Even now her breath catches at the roiling confusion in Zen’s eyes. What else is there?

“What was I thinking?” Her fists clench at her sides, but it’s not enough, not until she brings them to her eyes and pressed down, colors sparking across her eyelids. “Why did I...?”

She thought he had changed. They all had, these last few years, hadn’t they? No longer the three children that had tripped over each other in her uncle’s halls, bickering and pinching and causing trouble wherever they roamed. Shirayuki’s temper had mellowed. Zen had grown taller-- or at least tall enough to please him. And Obi--

Obi should be here. And now he’s not, and it’s yet another why she has no answer to.

A timid knock brushes against her door, followed by an even softer, “M-my lady?”

Shirayuki pulls her fists from her eyes, blinking away the blur. “Come in.”

A small girl slinks inside, dark eyes wide and round. “M-my lady...” Her brow furrows. “Your hands are wet.”

She glances down, staring at the fingers laces so tightly in her nightgown. Her knuckles do indeed shimmer in the light, right where they had been pressed along her eyes. “So they are. I...suppose you are here to dress me.”

“Ah...” The maid loses her certainty, eyes darting around the room. “About that...”

Her heart leaps in her breast. “Has something happened?”

“Ah, well.” The girl winces. “There’s a bit of a, um, problem. With the arrangements.”

“The arrangements?” Shirayuki echoes.

“Ah...”

That’s when she hears the screams.

Her twelfth summer marks the moment that this arrangement becomes completely, irrevocably unfair.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Branches shiver above her, the only sign of Obi a few flashes of black and buckskin and the leaves quivering in his wake. “You two have gotten nearly civil these days.”

“But you’ve gotten tall,” Shirayuki grouses, tucking herself between the roots of the old oak, book sprawled upon her lap. “Any day now you’ll be head and shoulders taller, and what if Zen’s the same? I can’t be the smallest.”

“Well.” She can’t see him, but she knows he settles above her, perched on a branch too precarious for his size. “You are a girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be tall.” A finger taps against the page, thoughtful. “Haruto is.”

“For a lady.”

“For anyone,” she corrects primly. “It’s fine enough for you to be tall-- you’re tolerable. But Zen...” She grimaces. “His height it the only thing that keeps him humble. The king isn’t tall, is he?”

“He is,” Obi informs her with relish. “Almost taller than my father, and he’s not done growing.”

She pictures it, Zen being able to look Haruka square in the eye, and shudders.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Shirayuki sighs, finger knitting in her lap. “Uncle should forbid you from coming. You can stay for now, but next summer is right out.”

It’s strange how even though she can’t see him, she can feel his grin on the air. “I’m sure nothing would make him happier.”

“Or me,” she admits, wistful. “What good neighbors Zen and I might be, if we never had to look at each other again. Save for weddings and births and funerals, of course. And you’d always be welcome, Obi.”

“Thanks.” He drops down one of his too-long legs, toes curling in the air above her, the only visible part of him. “But I wasn’t talk about the Young Master.”

Shirayuki blinks, mouth curving in confusion as she parses his words. “You can’t mean Uncle.”

Obi leans, just enough for her to see his dubious, arched brow. “Why not?”

“Uncle’s always liked Zen.” He’d been the one to calm her when she’d come crying, distraught that Papa would make her marry a boy as pompous as him. Plenty of boys grow out of their pettiness, little girl, he’d told her, smoothing the wild riot of her hair, at least as many that don’t. “Even now, he’s with him, showing him the march.”

“Only because your father asked him,” Obi says, settling back into the canopy. “The next Margrave Entaepode needs to know what his lands can bring. Especially if he means to bring them to his brother.”

Shirayuki frowns. “I’m the next Margrave Entaepode.”

“No,” Obi hums. “You’re the next margravine.”

Shirayuki is not sure what she expects when she walks into Clarines’ great hall, but it is certainly not carnage.

“What happened?” she breathes, picking her way over a toppled chair. There’s not a scrap of fabric that’s not torn, not a table nor chair without a wobble. Flower petals lay strewn on the ground, and the cake--

“Oh no,” she sighs, “I was so looking forward to desset.”

It’s toppled, every tier crushed to the stone beneath it, buttercream and jam and custard smeared up and down the aisle. It had been a gift from the Seirans; Zen had been so excited to know their much-beloved cook had made each layer with him in mind-- Except one, Obi reminded him, swiping a bit of cream from a spoon. You know who Cookie loves best.

“A beast did it,” the steward tells her, near to tiers. “Knocked it over, then even stopped to take a bite.”

“Three bites,” a maid chimes in. “Odd, it was. I could have sworn it thought about it too, just stood there looking as Cook came in, shouting to high heaven, and ate its share.”

Shirayuki glances down. “Flew? As in-- with wings?”

“Yes,” the steward agrees, “it had wings, and a mouth with cruel teeth.”

“There weren’t no teeth,” the chatelaine snaps waving the wailing man off. “It was just a bird. Swan, I think, from the size. And the meanness. Came in here like a holy terror, it did.

“It was a beast with teeth,” the steward insists, “and it bit one of the footmen!”

The chatelaine huffs. “What did you expect, trying to grab it like that?”

Shirayuki can’t help but agree; she’s bitten more than a man or two that tried to catch her as well. But that’s not what has her attention now; instead it is the cake on the floor, those three big bites out of it, baring chocolate sponge and raspberry custard. The layer Cookie made special. The one she thought would go to waste when...

“Where is he now?” At their looks, she amends, “I mean, it. The beast.”

“Outside,” the steward says, sending a narrow look toward the door. “A few of the maids managed to chase it out, but I’m afraid it will have gotten into the decoration-- my lady, where--?”

“I’d like to take a look,” Shirayuki calls back, slippered feet already carrying her to the door. “I, ah, think I might know how to solve this...problem?”

The steward blinks. “Is there some...Tanbarunian folk tradition for this? Ridding the grounds of a foul beast?”

Her feet stutter at the threshold, and she swallows down a laugh. “Certainly something for removing one fowl.”

At thirteen, Shirayuki will admit, Zen becomes tolerable. Not without extreme duress, and certainly never if Obi is around, but being in his presence no longer feels like slivers under her fingernails. Now it’s just that unpleasant drone of cicadas, the same that herald his arrival every summer.

“Are you supposed to be climbing?” she asks, settling herself at the base of the tree’s trunk, as always. “Your mother won’t thank you for ruining those trousers.”

Obi laughs, already deep in the canopy. “I think you mean his laundress.”

“I have plenty more,” Zen scoffs, levering his boot over another knot, giving him the height to reach the first branch. “And I think you’re only so cross because you can’t climb for beans.”

She retracts her opinion. His Highness has certainly not become tolerable in the least.

“Come off it,” Obi laughs, so easy in his bower. “Anyone can climb.”

Zen grins down at her with smug authority. “Not Shirayuki, she’s a girl.”

“So is Kiki,” Obi reminds him, “and if she heard you talk like that, she’d come up and throw you off that branch herself.”

“Kiki hardly counts as a girl--”

“--That’s not what Mitsuhide would say--”

“--And that doesn’t mean Shirayuki can,” Zen adds, tone brooking no argument. “She doesn’t even have trousers on.”

“Shirayuki can climb in a dress just fine.” Obi swings down, right to the lowest branch. Or rather, the second lowest, since Zen hasn’t vacated the first. “Come on, I’ll tell you how.”

She spares the tree a dubious glance. “Are you sure--?”

“Always. Don’t you trust me?” He lowers down a hand, callused and bronzed, and she takes it. “Good, now put your foot there. Now just...think up.”

She sends him a dubious look. “I don’t think it’s possible to just go up by thinking it.”

He grins down. “You’d be surprised.”

Shirayuki is definitely ruining her dress.

“You’re sure it’s up here?” she calls down, a worried swarm of footmen huddling beneath her. “Waterfowl aren’t really...tree-dwelling birds.”

“I’m sure, my lady,” one pipes up beneath her. “Took to wing, then hopped up the branches easy as you please.”

Shirayuki casts a long look up the oak, sighing. “Of course he did.”

One slippered foot lifts, hooking over a thicker branch, resting her weight right by the trunk.

“Just think up,” she murmurs, irritation rising with every word. “Just think up and it’s hardly anything at all.”

“HONK,” agrees the goose above her.

“Oh.” She blinks, taking in the sleek white body and the webbed feet tucked unnaturally beneath it. Well, not that the pose was unnatural, but the place. “You’re not a swan at all.”

“HONK,” the goose informs her, wistful this time.

“Be glad,” she says, reaching for him. “If you were any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to carry you, and you’d be stuck up here with your big wings and bad decisions.

The goose ducks it head, abashed. “HONK.”

“You better,” she starts, trying to wrangle a bird his size beneath her arm, “be exactly who I think you are.”

This close, her fowl friend doesn’t dare express his opinion at the only volume nature saw fit to give him, but instead, cuddles right against her neck. For one, weak moment, Shirayuki leans against the trunk, letting her head sink into his feathers. Please let this be him. If it is, she can worry about the how later. Maybe even the why. As long as he hasn’t abandoned her, there’s nothing--

“Not to interrupt you,” a lady’s languid voice drawls beneath her. “But I’m assuming that you might need some help getting down.”

Fifteen is when Shirayuki is made aware of just how utterly unfair her life will be from now on, now that she’s to be the wife of a prince.

“No, no,” Obi laughs, nervous. “I think the Young Master has it right this time, Miss. You can’t come.”

“Why not?” He’s gotten much taller now, taller even than when he arrived, and she has to look up to guilelessly meet his eye, much more than she’s used to. “If I can climb trees with you, I can splash around in a pond just fine--”

“Yes, but--” his mouth split into a pained grimace-- “climbing trees doesn’t involve taking off clothes. You can see how that might be a, hm, problem now, can’t you, Miss?”

“No.”

His exasperation is completely unwarranted, considering how exasperating he’s being. “You’re a lady.”

“One that can swim,” she counters. “We’ve done it before, I don’t know why it’s bothering you now.”

“Because you’re...” He waves a hand at her, a harried up and down, but she only stares back. “Of all the things for Master to leave to me...”

“I can keep my shift on,” she offers, “if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, Miss.” Obi sighs, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Surely your father-- no, your uncle. Surely your uncle’s talked to you about how boys and girls shouldn’t, um...you know.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s just...” He takes a steeling breath. “Miss, you’re a woman now. You can’t be naked with men.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I said I would wear my shift. And besides, you’re not men, you’re boys.”

Obi head rolls heavenward. “Only to you.”

Shirayuki gives him a considering look and pulls out her trump card. “Would you let Kiki Seiran come?”

She doesn’t know this Kiki Seiran, not from anything more than what’s been said in her presence, but she knows-- whatever a man does, Kiki does, and better too. The moment her name leaves her lips, Obi drops her a helpless glare.

“Kiki,” he says, as if savoring the word, “doesn’t count. No one lets Kiki Seiran do something, she just does it, and we all live with the consequences.”

A fond smile flickers across his lips, and for no reason at all, her stomach twists. “You should marry her.”

Obi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kiki Seiran,” she says lightly. “It seems she’s really quite impressive.”

For a long moment he stares at her, unblinking. Then he coughs, one, twice, until it’s no longer a cough but roaring laughter.

Shirayuki stares at him. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he wheezes. “That’s some vote of confidence, but Kiki Seiran-- she’s not for the likes of me.”

The sick knot in her stomach dissipates into affront. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Again, you really know how to compliment a man,” he teases. “But no count worth his acreage will marry his daughter and heir to a bastard. With her pedigree, they’re probably planning to marrying her to Elder Highness as we speak.”

“Well, that’s silly,” she huffs. “You’re worth a thousand princes Obi. Any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His smile wavers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“You should bring her next time,” she decides. “I can talk to her.”

“Ah,” he coughs, shaking his head as he traipses after her. “That won’t be necessary at all.”

This is not how she thought she’d meet the illustrious Kiki Seiran, her wedding dress torn to rags and goose hugged tight in her arms, but it would not be the first time today fate thwarted her expectations.

“I’m fine,” Shirayuki assures her, slowly making her descent. “But do you have, um, water?”

One elegant brow arches. “Water?”

“Ah, yes.” She drops down before her-- oh, Lady Seiran is...quite a bit taller than she’d imagined, and at least twice as pretty. No wonder Obi always smiled when he talked about her. “Like a, um, lake? Or a river might do?”

“A lake?” Her gaze drops, mouth canting into a thoughtful line. “For your avian compatriot, I suppose. You think his home must be close by.”

“Yes,” she lies, because babbling about ancient texts she’s certain she was never supposed to see and magic of the blackest sort seemed a poor first impression to make. “It would probably, uh, help with the...destructive behavior.”

“He has left quite a spectacle behind. It will take hours to clean that up. Or days,” she adds with a pointed look toward the goose. “Your wedding seems to be thoroughly postponed.”

Good, she doesn’t say. This Kiki Seiran is Zen’s friend too, after all. And even if Shirayuki could have shaken him to pieces last night, she’s that too.

“Water?” she says instead.

It’s the right thing to say, since Kiki turns around, gesturing toward the treeline. “There’s a pond back there. Just follow the cobblestone path and it should take you right out to the dock.”

“Perfect.” Shirayuki takes two hurried steps before pausing, turning over her hip to add, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Kiki. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s that brow again, lifted into an elegant arch Shirayuki could never hope to mimic. “Only good things, I hope.”

Her stomach lurches as she replies, “The best.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Hey there, I’m not sure if you still take requests or anything but agh, I’ve been going through a really rough depressive episode since Christmas and your blog brings me such joy. I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to write something about War saving reader from demons or something along those lines? Or even just something fluffy? No pressure of course, if you’re not up to it that’s fine :)

Sorry this took so long, hope you’re doing a bit better now, though if not, maybe this will at least cheer you up for a few minutes <3 <3

War X Reader. 

---

When you ran into the formidable Red Rider in the ruined streets of your old home city, you knew without a doubt that you were gaping up at a veritable force of nature, rather than a man.

War turned out to be everything the name suggests.

Physically, he's enormous - taller than you by at least a few heads and broad as an ox, cloaked in red and covered from head to toe in weathered battle armour the colour of gun smoke. His pale face – half hidden by a crimson hood – seems to be etched with a permanent scowl that only ever shifts if he's snarling or unleashing a blood-curdling battle cry. Not once in all the time you've been travelling with him have you seen him crack a smile.

Although, you suppose, a Horseman of the Apocalypse might not have a reason to smile, nor an inclination to.

'Oh well,' you muse as you follow the gruff and stoic behemoth through the inner-city graveyard one foggy night, 'He's better company than the demons, at least.'

War certainly wouldn't have been your first choice of travelling companion, just as you're sure you aren't his. Yet, as circumstance dictates, if you want to stay alive, you'll just have to put up with his imposing presence and general lack of social graces.

All of a sudden, you're halted in your tracks when an enormous, metal gauntlet catches you roughly in the stomach, the fingers splayed wide against your shirt.

Slightly winded, you open your mouth and a wheeze shoots out. “What?” you choke, throwing War a nervous glance. He merely stands there in utter silence with his head turning on a slow and constant swivel whilst a pair of icy, blue eyes scan the graveyard, searching. After a few seconds, you swallow down a lump and hesitantly ask, “You see something, big guy?”

The Horseman's broad chest puffs out at the nickname, though you can't tell whether it swells from indignation or pride. However, instead of offering clarity, he reaches up with his free hand and tugs his sword – Chaoseater – from its place strapped to his back, and at the same time, he begins to push firmly at your belly, forcing you backwards. “H-hey!” you yelp, “What're you doing?!”

Before you can protest further, your spine hits something cold and solid and you whip your head over a shoulder to see that you've been unceremoniously herded up against a large, mould-caked headstone. Sending a quick, mental apology to the owner laying buried just below your feet, you crane your neck around War's bulk in an attempt to see the cemetery beyond him, only to have your vision promptly obscured by the appearance of familiar, billowing smoke. In another second, the mass of darkness has taken on a much more tangible form and you suddenly find that the minimal space where you're sandwiched between a Horseman and a headstone has been invaded by the Watcher.

“What's the hold up?” his wispy voice hisses in your ear and forces you to fight back a shudder at the chill his trailing, vaporous tail leaves when it brushes against your legs.

“Dunno,” you reply in a whisper, “I think War sees something.”

The Horseman in question lets out a low grunt. “Not see.. Smell,” he clarifies, which is as descriptive an explanation as he's inclined to give, apparently.

Scoffing, the Watcher mutters, “All I can smell is this rancid human standing next to me...”

“If you don't want to smell me, then why are you hovering so close,” you shoot back, swatting at the wisps of smoke that escape from the top of his head until he draws back to a less suffocating distance. Still, with your curiosity peaked at War's strange admission, you tilt your head back and sniff idly at the air. “It just smells... earthy? Uh, and kind of sweet, I guess, like-”

“- death...” the Nephilim finishes.

You fall silent for a couple of seconds, using the time to share a bemused glance with the Watcher. “A graveyard that smells like death, huh?” you smirk, noticing that all six of the sprite's eyes are now glimmering with amusement,“Wonders will never cease.”

While he may be far from a fan, the Watcher still takes great delight in seeing you poke fun at War, and of course, he can hardly resist jumping in with a jab of his own. “Next, he'll complain that a forest smells of wood,” he sneers.

You're not quite fast enough to bite back a laugh as it bursts out of your throat.

“Quiet.” War's growl causes your mouth to snap shut and the Watcher bristles irritably, preparing to remind the Horseman of his place when the blood red hood twists to one side and you briefly catch a glimpse of War's striking, blue eye. He doesn't look angry at you though, or at least, no angrier than usual. Instead, if you didn't know any better, you'd swear you can detect the barest sliver of confusion as the Horseman peers down at you and asks, “Do you hear that?”

Furrowing your brows, you cock your head and listen intently to the eerie ambiance of the graveyard.

To begin with, there's nothing especially out of the ordinary, only the creaking of rusty hinges as the wrought-iron gates swing to and fro in a gentle breeze and the skittering of leaves against the cobblestone path somewhere nearby, or the soft 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' 'ssshk,' that breaks up the monotony of near-silence -....

 “Wait a second,” you murmur, holding a finger up and going completely still, straining your ears to hear the shifting, shucking sound coming from somewhere very close by. So close, you can feel the vibrations through your.... feet? 

The Horseman locks eyes with you and all at once, your heart plummets into your shoes when, at the exact same time as War and the Watcher, you realise exactly where the bizarre sound is coming from and all three of you drop your gazes to the heaped dirt you've been standing on.

There isn't even a split second to react before a cold, clammy hand suddenly shoots out of the loose soil below you and latches itself around your ankle, gripping with a supernatural strength that causes your bones to grind painfully together. Although you know that screaming is the absolute last thing you ought to do in the middle of a demon-infested city, the unexpectedness of being grabbed it sends a bloodcurdling shriek jumping up your neck and out of your mouth, drowning the graveyard in a noise like an especially shrill dinner bell.

Sensing the impending battle, the Watcher swiftly disappears back into War's gauntlet as the Nephilim lunges towards you and curls his fist into the front of your shirt, wrenching you towards his chest without thinking too hard on the consequences of doing so. The motion does rip you free of the sinewy hand that flails in the air afterwards in search of its lost victim, but in doing so, long strips of your skin are left behind, embedded underneath the vicious claws of whatever had a hold of your ankle.

Gritting your teeth against the sting, you spin about, feeling your back hit the Horseman's sturdy chest and he keeps you tucked under him for a moment, his lips curling into a snarl as the two of you stare down at the emerging arm that braces itself against the soil. Then, in a fashion hideously similar to that of those old zombie movies you used to watch, the earth begins to rise as the monstrosity buried beneath it heaves itself up and out of its premature grave.

The sweet stench of rot hits your nose full force now, but you hardly even register it, too busy gaping at a grinning skull that emerges from the tumbling dirt, its empty eye sockets and parting jaw filled with soil and worms, all of which are flung in every direction when the living skeleton wrenches the rest of its body onto solid land.

Your startled yelp is swallowed as War promptly tries to swing you behind him, letting go of your arm in the process and inadvertently sending you crashing to the ground at his heels. Not that you can complain about the rough treatment however, for not a second later, the skeleton throws itself at him and lets out a shriek of outrage that cuts through you as sharp as any knife.

The Horseman, apparently having recovered from the unexpected attack, simply lifts his gauntlet and engulfs the monstrosity's skull when it leaps within range. In a rather anticlimactic turn of events, the skeleton's assault is cut short and now it resorts to scrabbling furiously at War's metallic fingers. You forget that for a man as large as he is, the Nephilim can move extraordinarily fast.

However, before you can marvel for much longer at War's impressive catch, you stiffen, splaying your fingers over the ground underneath you and twisting your head around to watch a few, nearby pebbles skitter up and down in place.

“U-um, War?” you gulp, now painfully aware of a continuous and thunderous rumble coming from deep under the earth, as though an enormous train is careening along on its tracks somewhere far below you.

At the sound of your timid voice, the Horseman spares a glance over his shoulder and sees you sprawled out on the ground, your attention turned to the graves lining an iron fence several metres behind him. Casting the skeleton dangling from his fist a last, fearsome grunt, War flexes his gauntlet. There's a sickening 'crack!' and the creature's flailing limbs fall perturbingly still. He tosses it dismissively to one side and you hear the clatter of broken bones hit the stone nearby as the Horseman turns fully and blinks down at you, his eyes going immediately to the bloody welts left in your ankle. 

Sensing his gaze, you whip your head about and almost gasp at the wrathful expression he's subjecting your injury to. One side of the Nephilim's mouth and nose scrunches up until he's giving you a very uninterrupted view of his gleaming teeth and you find yourself swallowing loudly, your heart throwing itself against your ribcage so violently, you'll hardly be surprised if it manages to break out of its bony prison. Your eyes fly nervously to War's hand as he forces it out of the tight fist it had curled into, regarding him closely when he raises it, draws back in hesitation for a moment before at last reaching down towards you.

He doesn't manage to get far though, because just then, the rumbling you'd been feeling reaches a crescendo and there's a sudden cacophony of howls and bellows all around you, filling every corner of the dark graveyard like a terrible orchestra playing its funeral march.

War tears his eyes off you and raises his head, leering hard at another skeleton that bursts out of its tomb, though it’s soon followed by a second, then a third, and after that, you stop counting because the knowledge of how many undead are suddenly surrounding you makes you feel queasy and light-headed.

A veritable plethora of skeletal monsters, each varying in shape and size, turn their skulls in your direction, their hateful, burning glares washing over you with the force of a tidal wave and you wonder if you're the object of their ire because they're envious of your life, or hungry for your flesh.

Regardless, neither leads to a favourable outcome for you.

You're almost embarrassed at the sob that manages to push out from between your tightly closed lips, but staring into the faces of creatures you know had once been human is a little more than you're equipped to handle.

Behind you, War's immense shoulders bristle when he realises that the majority of skeletons have their sights set undeniably on the vulnerable human sitting near his boots. In response to the clear threat, something angry rushes to curl itself around the Horseman's heart. At the very epicentre of his swirling rage, he becomes aware of only one thing. Those skeletons are standing between his charge and safety – and that, War will not permit.

Like a murderous river eddying around a fern, the Nephilim steps out in front of you and plants his feet firmly on the ground, an immovable barrier of flesh and metal standing protectively between you and the salivating undead.

Once again, you find yourself with a grave at your back and the Horseman to your front. 

Then, all of a sudden, something changes. 

Still subjecting the skeletons to his loathing glare, War falls back a few steps, moving himself around and to your rear where he proceeds to crouch over you, his chest pressing uncomfortably against the top of your head until you get the message and bend forwards as well, twisting your neck about to shoot him a wary glance but finding his eyes are still trained on the circle of creatures surrounding you. He plants one hand into the soil, digging in with the clawed tips of his gauntlet whilst with the other, he raises Chaoseater high above your heads where it lingers, poised and waiting - for what however, you have no idea.

As the bloodthirsty blade begins to hum in anticipation, you try to twist your neck around to peer up at War, hoping that your horrified expression accurately conveys the question you want to ask. 'What the Hell are you doing!?'

He doesn't look back at you.

With the skeletons prowling towards you like a pack of circling, salivating dogs, he can’t afford to lose focus.

You're not ashamed to say you let out a hoarse cry when, without warning, they all charge as one.

The skeletons are just a few feet from being right on top of you but as they close in, one of your hands flies up to cover your face and in the same moment, War suddenly brings Chaoseater down hard, plunging the blade's tip into the ground mere inches from your toes.

No sooner has it breached surface soil than a dozen more blades burst up from within the earth, each resembling the Horseman's treasured sword. 

The skeletons don't stand a chance. 

Like a shockwave, the ethereal blades that have been conjured from seemingly nowhere continue to erupt out of the ground and take the charging undead by surprise.

Femurs, rib cages and tibias are obliterated in less than a second, skulls are thrust from the ends of spines as Chaoseater's earth-bound friends impale the skeletons from below, a place where they never would have guessed an attack could come from.

You can feel the heat of the blades closest to you, hot enough to singe some of the hairs off your legs, no doubt. 

Then, just as soon as they appeared, they begin to retract back inside the earth, and when the dust settles and you lower your arm to look, all that's left is a scattering of bones, strewn about the vicinity. Blank, featureless skulls stare back up at you through unseeing eyes, dead – for what you really hope is the last time.

“Ho-lee crap,” you breathe shakily, flopping back onto your elbows and knocking your head against the underside of War's chest, adding, “Ow,” at the latter.

“You're hurt...” The rumble of the Horseman's voice rolls gently over you, prompting you to glance up, only to find a pair of bright, blue eyes blinking back down at you.

Lifting a hand, you rub absently at the spot where you'd bumped your skull into his armour. “I'm all right, that didn't actually hurt.”

“No,” he insists in a growl and roves his gaze down to the scratches on your ankle. You follow his glare, blanching at the sight of the gouges left behind in your skin and grimace, bracing your hands on the ground in an attempt to pick yourself up. You hardly manage to get one foot underneath you before a large, metal hand promptly grabs the back of your shirt and lifts you effortlessly into the air. “Hey!” you squirm, trying to stretch your toes to find purchase on the ground, “Put me down, War. I can stand up by myself!.”

The Horseman makes a skeptical sound at the back of his throat, but he does lower you – albeit hesitantly – until your shoes meet the dirt once more.

Any confidence in the strength of your legs is short-lived however the moment his hand withdraws.

You take a step, only to find yourself immediately punished for the action when a white-hot bolt of pain lances up from your ankle and you cry out, teetering sideways and trying to hop desperately for a few seconds on your good leg. 

Just then, there's a deep sigh of exasperation and War's gauntlet is at your side in the next second, sliding around your waist and nudging you upright again.

“Here, sit down. Let me see it,” he murmurs, and you hesitate to say he's gentle when he turns you around and attempts to guide you to the ground once more.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to stop?” you ask, leaning out of his grasp to glance around the shadowy cemetery, “I mean, that wasn't exactly a quiet fight...”

The implication hangs in the air between you and after a moment, War draws his head up and blinks, the strategist in him concurring with you. “That is... a fair point,” he mumbles and if you weren't so grateful to him for keeping you alive, you'd be insulted that he sounds surprised by your common sense.

In keeping with the typical, straight-forward bluntness you've come to expect from him, War wastes no time in bending down and extending his arms, aiming to scoop you off your feet. “Come,” he declares, “I shall carry you to Ulthane. He will know best how to treat a human's wound.”

The Horseman’s permanent frowns deepens though, when you hop away from him on your good leg, splaying your hands out to stop him from proceeding. Undeterred however, he gives you a warning glower and huffs, “Keep still.”

“W-woah, hold on now,” you protest, stumbling back as he once again tries to reach for you,  “Seriously, War, thank you. But I can walk, I'm not a baby who needs to be carried!”

“You are injured.”

His tone implies that he's angry, but the way he's now staring at your leg makes you consider whether he's angry at you, or something else entirely. “Wait, what if... what if you need to use your sword?” you point out, “You won't be able to if your arms are full of me.”

You can tell that he's far from happy, but he tilts his head, pondering you for a moment longer before huffing brusquely and averting his fiery gaze. “Very well,” he grumbles, adding, “But if you fall again, don't expect me to catch you.”

The Horseman's acquiescence, if nothing else, at least reassures you that you won't be a total liability. Satisfied for the time being, you nod and turn about, starting to hobble off towards the cemetery gates, confident that the enormous Nephilim will overtake you in a few, steady strides. You make it all of five steps before your ankle turns to jelly and seems to lose all of its bone structure, collapsing out from under you and as you topple sideways once again, arms flailing, you idly wonder whether the damage is only skin-deep.

Luckily, whatever jarring impact you might have made with the stone path is prevented by a strong set of arms that emerge like a pair of safety nets and sweep underneath your knees and shoulders, letting you fall harmlessly into a secure hold. Gasping, you tip your head back and sheepishly risk a glance at the Horseman, meeting his disapproving frown. At the sight of it, you try and push against his broad chest to put some distance between yourself and his ire, but he soon silences you with a throaty growl that reverberates through your head.

Pursing your lips, you reluctantly give up on your meagre effort of trying to escape the warrior and instead let yourself flop gracelessly in his hold. “Hmph.. I thought you said not to expect you to ca-” War whips his head down to glare at you so fast, you instantly allow your mouth to click shut and decide – perhaps wisely - not to finish that sentence.

[aka-indulgence]

For @llamagoddessofficial

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVELY LADY :DDDD

You may recognize what this is :::>>> I was gonna post when you were awake but I hope you can wake up to this!

(Also theres a snake in here so if anyone reading is afraid of snakes! Be careful!!)

MF!Sans/Reader

How did you end up here?

You stand there, as still as a statue, your heartbeat pounding loudly in your chest that your hands are shaking by your sides, until you finally lift your hands up to your chest, nervously palming each other as you watch the skeleton in front of you chuckling, before continuing to speak. He takes a thick cigar between his phalanges and lifts it to his shark-teeth, the golden tooth glinting menacingly in the sparse lighting of the room. The end of the cigar burns a brighter orange-red, lighting up his face in its fiery glow as the monster takes a puff. There’s a light right above his desk, and… nothing else. You feel like you’re trapped in a noir film, and you wonder if he’s turned off most of the lights on purpose exactly for the atmosphere. The skeleton exhales, red smoke filtering out of the razors of his mouth and spreads in the air. You try not to cough.

Sans.

It was no point in hiding it. Just from looks alone; his dress shirt, the pinstripe vest, the suit… most of his outfit was black, and it made the red of his tie and vest pop. Not to mention it fits perfectly well with the dark skeleton, with his blood-red eyelights, always looking to demand power whenever he looks around a room. Along with the tooth, he had golden rings around his phalanges that sparkled whenever the skeleton moved his hands in a gesture. All in all, just his display was intimidating enough… and we haven’t even gotten to his actual job yet.

You had the misfortune to get caught in a city with rising groups of mobsters…. and in your case, you were dealing with monster mobsters.

Sans wasn’t new in town… far from it. It’s been at least a year since he’s claimed your part of the city… you regret not moving out when you had the chance.

It was just… a scary thought. You weren’t sure you’d be stable making such a hasty decision when criminal groups started popping up around the city… but it’s too late now. Best not dwell on unmade choices.

The point now was that you’re under his power. What with his office not too far from your neighborhood… if his family speaks, you all had to listen. Actually, this isn’t the first time you’ve had a one-on-one with him. As if being a mobster wasn’t enough already, you've always made sure you never had to meet him on the road or anything of the like. You did your best to stay invisible to never have to meet him like that again. You still remember his words, his whisper…

“why don’t we have fun hn? jus’ me an’ you, doll.”

“i promise ya, you’ll forget about everything i do fer a living once ya get under me.”

You couldn’t take that. You didn’t want that.

Not him.

And yet… you received a special invitation, sent to you by one of the lower guys from none other than Sans himself, for a “Private Meeting”, saying he had something to “discuss” with you.

Despite your instant repulsion… you knew you had to play along.

So here you are, standing in a dark room, the scent of expensive mahogany and smoke in the air, alone with a monster.

“sorry i had ta call ya on such short notice, dollface.” The nickname makes you want to flinch and press your back into the door behind you. “but i had… veryimportant matters to discuss with you.” the skeleton says as he brings the tips of his phalanges together, leaning on the desk behind him.

You gulp. “O… of course, Mr. Sans. I-it’s no trouble at all,” you force yourself to say, though you cringe from how much stuttering you did.

Sans makes a sly chuckle, pressing a hand to his sternum. “aw doll… ya amuse me.” He says, and his words surprise you (though in hindsight, you really should’ve expected it). “that’s one a’ the things i love about’cha. ya try to be polite even when ya know what’s happening… so i’ll cut to the chase fer ya,sweetheart.”

“ya know, i’ve been waitin’ for ya.” Sans says, his sockets hooded. Your face blanches at his words, trying to decipher what he means, but Sans seems to not notice or ignore this. “and waitin’ gave me plen’y time to think…” Sans trails off for a moment, “to think about you.”

“i found out what i could about ya, and i don’t think i have ta tell ya the details fer ya to know that it ain’t legal, heheh… but i’ll tell ya anyway.” His sockets turn into wicked crescents while he takes another puff of his cigar, watching your shocked expression. “i’ve been followin’ ya, and i ain’t ashamed to say it as it is- i stalked ya, fer a long time.” He says in a purposefully casual tone… like this is nothing to him- something he does every day. You don’t hesitate to believe that thought.

“i watch ya from afar and see everything ya do… yer work, the things ya do at yer quaint little home…” You almost miss it when he flicks his eyelights to the carpet, a frown on his face when whispers to himself “it sure does look cute, but i think ya deserve somethin’ better.”

His eyelights dart back to you, his smirk coming back full-force. “and ya know what i think about it?”

There’s a predatorial edge to his grin, and you want to shake your head at him. Sans just smiles, though there’s nothing friendly in the look.

“i like what i see.”

Having him confess his… deep interests in you so openly, you grit your teeth. You hate that he’s the one in power here, and he knows it - knowing that you have no real means of escaping him. You’re not the one in power here. your mind echoes. You feel faint as your anxiety starts rising… like something slithering up your skin.

“and you make me hungry.”

You make a frightened squeak when right after Sans says that, you hear a hiss right next to your ear- and you almost flinch when you feel a tongue flicking against your earlobe almost excitedly.

Of course. The snake.

It almost exactly resembled a red-bellied black snake, except its belly really is a vibrant red, and its eyes were just as red, unlike natural snakes. It had black slits for pupils and you could see they were almost ovals as it was looking at you.

It had been an interesting learning experience when you learned that monsters could manifest their magic to have themselves in two bodies- the other one being an animal that manifests to the creature that the owner most resembles in soul; called a daemon. And it comes off as a surprise to no one that Sans’ daemon is a snake. The snake, though a manifestation of Sans himself, acts as if it was a pet- a fiercely loyal pet. It’s often someone would be able to see it slithering up his arm to perch its head on his shoulder, or watching the scenes from above somewhere.

And right now, you had its body coiled around you- from your stomach up to your neck.

You release a shuddering breath.

Sans chuckles, ignoring (or is he actually taking pleasure?!) in your predicament, shaking like a leaf with the terrifying “pet” (as he liked to call it- perhaps to create the illusion that it was a separate being with him) wrapped around you like a ribbon on a present for Sans to open.

“i think he likes ya.” Sans drawls teasingly, his sockets hooding, appearing to be pleased with the view.

You’ve heard the stories… (of course) people fear the snake as much as they fear Sans. It’s obvious from the snake’s reaction that Sans doesn’t like most of the people he’s dealing with, no matter how he hides it with ‘pleasantries’ and ‘small talk’, though he seems to enjoy letting them know that he doesn’t like them… challenging them to act out against him. You’ve heard the rumours of the snake actually serving as Sans’ way of assassinating people, easily moving into cracks and letting Sans do his own thing while the snake… does something else. No one knows for sure, but you wouldn’t be surprised to learn if it’s true.

… and here it was, having draped itself on you, watching you with intent from what you could see out of the corner of your eye. You chose not to look at it orSans, instead looking to the wall right above his skull.

Sans makes another ill-intentioned smirk, but decides to give you ‘mercy’, taking his hand out as if he was calling his daemon back to him.

“come back here seriph. it’s ok, ya can have some more… fun … later.”

You let out the smallest whimper as the snake slithers off of you, its whole body sliding against you as it lowers onto the ground. It returns to Sans, and you watch it climb up his arm back to its perch on his shoulder.

Your mouth and throat are dry. So, so dry…

“oh, don’t gimme that look, doll.” Sans says in mock chastising when he sees your horrified expression, “ya didn’t think i was actually interested in ya when i first asked ya fer a little… dance? ”

You hold your breath and shake your head timidly. Sans just laughs at this.

“ya know seriph here doesn’t jus’ warm up ta anyone. and he was all over ya.he’s my core… i can’t lie about my intentions, darlin’.”

It’s as if the room darkened when Sans’ eyelights grow more vibrantly, staring with you with such a hunger that it pins you into place effortlessly.

“i want you.” Sans growls, his sharp grin widening.

“and i’m gonna make ya mine.”

His possessive, greedy words snap you into focus. They’d terrified you so badly that you instantly felt a jolt coursing through you that finally brings you into action. You turn and run- relieved that Sans hadn’t locked the door and running blindly through the hallway, heading for the exit. You don’t care that you’d just run on a mob boss with a violent reputation- you just had to get out of here.

…

Sans… doesn’t look all too bothered by this. In fact, his hungry, predatory grin just seems stronger than before.

He was hoping you’d try to run.

And now.. now he could have fun.

Seriph hisses- excitedly- on Sans’ shoulder, and he could feel his daemon jitter and squirm in the slightest, having exactly the same desire as Sans has. He lowers his hand to the ground and Seriph doesn’t hesitate to get off him- all the while Sans feels his magic grow, literally, channeling into his snake and making it grow from the size of an average snake to big enough that its thicker parts were the width of your stomach. Sans stands back.

“go get her.” was all he needed to say before the snake hisses in predatory glee, and follows you out the door like a cascade, the wind he caused causing Sans’ suit to flap while Sans holds onto his hat.

You don’t even make it out the building.

You just managed to throw a door open, finally escaping from the hallway with your getaway just in sight- without a moment to celebrate when you scream as you hear something big crash into the wall where the hallway turned, in its excitement to catch you. You only spared a glance back to see the huge mass of red-and-black moving at speeds unnatural to the animal it resembles before you throw yourself out the hall and into the room, making a mad dash for the door.

You almost make it there too, a hand reaching out in hopes to meet with the door handle when the snake shoves its head forwards and around your legs, tripping you. You try to recover, trying to jump out of the serpentine-barrier but the snake has wound around one of your legs and drags you back, away from the door. You scream while it coils itself around you, struggling, though you might as well not putting much of a fight from how easily the snake loops and loops around you. You see swathes of red and black as the snake binds you, eventually completely covered in its now-massive body, save your head.

“you didn’t think you could get away that easily, did you?” The daemon speaks in Sans’ voice, leaving your eyes wide as it slithers around you, raising its head so that you could see its eyes, red and glowing with mirth.

(You… you’ve never heard his daemon talk. And from what you heard, neither did most people.)

The snake laughs Sans’ distinctive, dark laugh as it starts squeezing you gleefully, and you see Sans’ malicious, adoring gaze in its vibrant red eyes when you let out a weak wail, your breath escaping you.

You hear a chuckle, this time not from the daemon as it lowers its head to rub against your face (is it… nuzzling you..?) and you see Sans’ shiny black shoes, thumping dully against the carpet. You try to look at his face, but you can’t see his eyes; he seemed to be looking at the wall.

“aw… i always took ya as a smart little lady.” Sans shakes his head as if he was chastising you. “don’t ya know? i always get what i want.”

He finally tilts his head down to you, and you see his eyelights. It’s exactly like his daemon’s eyes, bright red with a slit of black, seeming to endlessly bore into your soul whenever you looked into them. You watch in horror when his maw opens and a glowing forked tongue of red snakes out of his parted teeth, dripping with saliva as he stares you down.

“and now… you belong to me.”

[ask-the-riders]

His Only Warning

Diamondback doesn't appreciate Othni touching anyone or anything that he cares for, and one day, he decides to confront him. Othni isn't receptive to any of his threats, so he makes sure to give Othni a warning that he's sure to remember for a very long time

((Slight warning; The beginning portion of this is a little suggestive, but I did my best to keep it as vague as possible. There's also some violence since Othni gets his ass kicked the two demons fight, too))

The demon donned a charming grin, idly stretching his arms and resting them along the backrest of the sofa. Val would be out for a while, but he wasn’t complaining; Not when he got to spend some time alone with his host’s adorable little date mate. The female skeleton cuddled up to him and he sighed softly, content as he wrapped an arm around her. Val had given him the green light to temporarily “borrow” his appearance, so right now, his date mate was under the impression that she was with her partner. 

She was oblivious to the fact that he was someone entirely different, and he intended to keep it that way.

Lifting a hand, he gently caught her jaw, prompting her to meet his gaze. Once her golden-orange eye lights met his false multicolored ones, he continued to offer her the same charming grin from before and murmured, “I’m happy that you chose to come see me again, Chimera. There really aren’t any words that could help me express how much I love being with you like this.” The female skeleton offered him a small, sheepish smile in return, her cheekbones flushing a soft shade of orange, “Of course, Val. I really love spending time with you, too.” Despite the way irritation fluttered in his chest at hearing her say his host’s name instead of his, Othni continued smiling, tilting his head as he looked at her. He brushed his thumb over her teeth and her blush darkened ever so slightly. Noticing this, his expression softened and he purred, “You’re beautiful, you know that? Truly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” 

Her blush darkened again and she hummed, “I’m… I’m really happy you think so. You’re not so bad looking, yourself.” Still grinning, the demon’s cheeks flushed with a soft cyan blush, “Thanks, Gorgeous. I’m glad to hear that.” The pair gazed at each other for another moment before he slid his hand back along her jaw, still gently holding it as he closed the distance between them, capturing her in a kiss. As he expected, Chimera was quick to reciprocate, happily kissing him back. It wasn’t long before she found herself on his lap, one arm wound around his neck while her hand rested on his chest, weakly gripping his shirt. Othni began to purr softly, his hands absentmindedly caressing her thighs as he allowed himself to become drunk off of the kiss.

Chimera pulled away after a moment, her blush noticeably brighter as she pressed closer to him. Chuckling softly, he held her close, playfully arching a brow bone, “Well goodness me. It sure seems like you were missing me quite a bit, Beautiful.” Noting the way his accent thickened and gained a husky tone, Chimera shivered, smiling shyly and shrugging, “Yeah, I guess I was. Have you been missing me too, Handsome?” Already knowing what it usually meant when she referred to him as anything other than his host’s name, his purr grew louder and he smirked, “Of course. I’ve been missing you dearly.” Chimera shivered again, unconsciously squirming as her blush became even brighter than before. Just as he was preparing to kiss her again, the scent of something warm and musky that was reminiscent of cucumbers flooded his senses, and he stopped. Breathing in deeply and taking a moment to process the scent, he made a face; Ah. It would appear that they had a visitor.

The female skeleton tilted her head, her brow bones furrowing, “Val?… Is everything ok?” The demon made a sound of confirmation, smiling at her and lightly squeezing one of her thighs, “Everything’s fine, Gorgeous. I do believe our time together is coming to a close, though.” Also beginning to pick up the scent, Chimera let out a deep sigh, “So it would seem.” There was a knock on the front door and Chimera slid off of the demon’s lap, following his lead as he stood. He made his way to the door, the skeleton close behind him; Damn it. Everything was going so well, and if the snake-loving prick hadn’t shown up, they could be going even better.

Answering the door, Othni felt himself immediately become tense as the ever analytic green stare of the demon outside settled on him. Chimera cleared her false throat, drawing the other demon’s attention away from Othni as she spoke, “Do you need something, Soren?” Diamondback arched a brow, briefly considering the question before he hummed, “Yes, actually. I need you to head home now. You have company, and he’s becoming rather antsy to see you again.” She let out a deep sigh, “Of course he is. Cobalt, I’m assuming?” Diamondback shook his head, “Skink.” A grin slowly stretched across her face upon hearing her guest’s name and she looked up at Othni, “I’m sorry for the interruption and for leaving so suddenly… If you’d let me, I’d like to make it up to you tomorrow.” 

He nodded, gently taking one of her hands and raising it to his face, pressing a kiss to the back of it, “It’s alright, Chimera. If you’d like to see me again tomorrow, I’d love to have you.” Her cheekbones gained a soft orange blush again and she leaned up to steal a kiss from him, murmuring playfully, “Sweet… So it’s a date, then?” He made a sound of confirmation, “It’s a date.” He reluctantly released her hand and she looked up at Diamondback, “Are you heading back with me, Soren?” The demon in question offered her a tiny smile, “I’d like a few words with Val, first. If you’d like to start heading back, I’ll catch up with you.” Already well aware that his statement wasn’t up for debate, she nodded and chirped, “Ok! I’ll see you at the house then, I guess.” Diamondback tilted his head, “You’ll see me before you even get there, and that’s a promise.” 

Chimera made a sound in acknowledgment, smiling up at him again and lightly nudging him as she slipped out of the front door. Diamondback waited for her to be a full block away before he shifted his attention to the other demon, his grin fading as his voice took on a deadly serious tone, “You are to keep your disgusting mitts off of her, Othni. Tell me you understand that, so I may leave.” Othni was momentarily taken aback, shifting back to his normal form and looking down at Diamondback as if to challenge him; There might have been no more than a three inch height difference between them, but Othni was more than willing to take full advantage of it whenever the chance presented itself. Regarding Diamondback with clear indifference, he shrugged, “I’ll do whatever I want, Soren. You seem to have forgotten that I don’t take orders from the likes of you.” The snake demon felt one of his eyes twitch and he hissed, “Only my friends are allowed to call me that. You’re not my friend. Never have been, and never will be. Unless you’d like me to shove my foot up your ass, you’ll watch yourself. Surely you’re smart enough to know your place by now.” 

Othni let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes, “Fine, fine. Diamondback to your face, egotistical jackass to your back. How’s that sound?” Diamondback narrowed his eyes at the other demon, “As long as you keep your hands off of Chimera, then I don’t care what you call me behind my back.” The tiger demon pinched the bridge of his nose, “Oh, this again. If the thought of me touching her bothers you so much, then why don’t you just mind your own damn business?” Diamondback lashed out, a hand shooting forward to snag the collar of Othni’s shirt, and before Othni could process what was happening, he’d already found himself being thrown back into the house. He collided with a wall, letting out a startled yelp, and catching him off guard a second time, Diamondback appeared before him again. One hand latched onto Othni’s face, slamming his head back into the wall at full force and cracking both the drywall and the wood beneath it, earning another shocked cry. 

Opening his mouth and baring his fangs, he hissed, “I wonder… If I bit you and injected my venom, how long would it take for you to drop dead? How long would it take for you to shrivel up and rot?” Othni began to struggle, clawing at his arm, and Diamondback scoffed, slamming his head back into the wall again. A faint rattling sound began to echo around them, and as Diamondback’s fangs could be felt pressing into one of his arms the smallest bit, Othni let out a pathetic squeak, his eyes widening. The rattlesnake demon growled, and then proceeded to sink his teeth into the other’s arm. His eyes began to glow softly as he began to inject a small amount of venom, releasing Othni’s arm after a few seconds and stepping back away from him. He released his face as well, watching blankly as Othni cried out, his body twitching and his face becoming flushed. Diamondback watched as the other demon’s grayed skin began to darken and turn black around the bite, and he took note of the way he began to gasp for air, nearly gulping it down. 

Even as Othni toppled to the ground and began to dry-heave, he appeared unimpressed. Spitting out the tiny bit of blood that was in his mouth and wiping off his face, he lightly nudged Othni with his foot, gaining his attention before speaking, “I didn’t inject enough to kill you, but I did, however, inject enough to make you wish you were dead. It’ll hurt for a while and you’ll be paralyzed soon enough, but you’ll live. This is the only warning I’ll give you. Unless you want to die, then stay away from Chimera.” Othni wordlessly nodded, before his body lurched and he finally emptied the contents of his stomach onto the wood floor. Without any further conversation between them, Diamondback turned and began to head for the door; He had places to be, friends to visit with, and a mate to entertain. He didn’t want to linger here even a single second longer. 

[mortimer-writes-sometimes]

AWF Outtakes: A Night With the Skelebros

I asked if anyone would be interested in reading some of the scenes I wrote for A Warm Feeling that didn't make the cut, and I got a pretty positive response! So, here's something I wrote out, decided didn't fit, and then decided I wouldn't be able to reuse later.

This takes place in the middle of chapter four! I'm a little impatient, so I ended up skipping a lot of Grillby actually staying with the brothers. This is the missing segment describing the first night! (Note that because this is an outtake, it picks up very abruptly. The paragraph that smoothly transitioned it into the fic no longer exists.)

Of course, just as Sans promised, Papyrus was just as insistent as his brother that Grillby stay the night. "Eating three meals a day is an important part of every monster's routine!" Papyrus declared. "Neglecting that need is unacceptable! You need not worry, however, my dear friend of Sans! I, the Great Papyrus, shall cook you all the spaghetti you can eat! Nyeh heh heh!" He dashed off to the kitchen to do just that, excited. They had a house guest! And it was one of Sans's friends!

Honestly, Papyrus had been worried about his brother lately. He never seemed to really talk to anyone, other than when he was hanging around that greasy bar. Papyrus had heard from others that even there, Sans was unusually quiet these days. The fact that Sans had brought home a friend that he seemed very close to was a good thing! Papyrus was just glad that his brother had someone to talk to. Sans… didn't really talk to him as much as he used to, these days. He needed a friend.

While Papyrus cooked, Grillby was still sitting on the couch (by order of Sans). Sans had turned on the TV and was spread out on the other end, watching some weird one-man play Mettaton was doing. The story was really hard to follow, but part of that could've been that Sans's attention kept drifting from the screen to the fire monster relaxing nearby.

Grillby looked more relaxed than Sans had seen him in ages. He was reading quietly, some sort of historical fiction book in his lap. The skeleton noticed that Grillby would occasionally tilt his head and adjust his glasses when he came across something that intrigued him. It was… cute.

When Sans saw the bartender adjust his glasses for the third time, he chuckled, accidentally giving himself away. Grillby looked up at him over the rim of his glasses, a small smile forming when Sans quickly redirected his gaze to the TV. Not quickly enough. "What's so funny?" the bartender asked, amused.

Sans shrugged. "I dunno. You, I guess. I mean, well um, it's that thing you do when you read."

Grillby looked confused. "What thing?"

"When you're reading, you tilt your head," Sans explained shyly, "And then you push your glasses up. Which is good, because they keep slipping down, heheh." Sans rubbed his neck again, looking up at Grillby with a nervous laugh. Grillby tilted his head and pushed up his glasses, making Sans snort. "You just did it again!"

Grillby blushed a bit. "What? Oh, I… I guess I did. I never noticed." He couldn't help chuckling to himself. He was surprised that Sans noticed that little habit. "I suppose it may be a little funny. Well, it's not like you don't have any quirks of your own."

"Like what?" Sans asked.

"Well," Grillby began to explain, "You rub the back of your neck when you feel awkward or shy. You do it every time I catch you staring."

If Sans had a stomach, it would have done a flip. "Staring? I wasn't staring. We just, uh, happened to look up at the same time. Yeah."

Grillby chuckled, then pointed to Sans's arm. "Told you so," he said mischievously.

Sure enough, Sans had moved to rub the back of his neck. "Heh, alright," the skeleton chuckled, "But that doesn't prove I was staring. And you have anxious ticks, too."

Grillby set his book aside and sat up, sitting cross-legged as he turned to face Sans. "Oh? Well, do go on."

For some reason, having Grillby's full attention made Sans feel almost flustered. The fire monster's expression had settled into a soft, amused smile, and his eyes were alight with more than the usual fire. They shone when genuine interest and amusement, his expression and body language gentle and at ease. It occurred to Sans that he'd never really seen Grillby in a casual setting. It was nice.

"Sans?"

Grillby broke the skeleton's train of thought, sounding slightly concerned. Oh yeah! He was still waiting for a response! Sans came back to the present and chucked. "Sorry, I was just thinking about what to call you out on first," he bluffed lightly. He leaned back and looked at the ceiling before beginning. "So, Grillby's nervous ticks. Where should I start? When you've had a lot of rude customers, you tend to flick your wrist a bit sharper when you mix drinks. When it starts getting really crowded sometimes you tap your pen against your notepad when you're taking a large order. You tap your foot when you're impatient and you kinda bounce on your heels a bit before you run off when you're in a rush…" Sans trailed off, looking at Grillby again to gauge his reaction to all that.

He'd expected Grillby to be amused, or maybe surprised. That wasn't quite the case, though. Grillby was blushing madly, covering a shy smile with one hand. "Well," the bartender mumbled slyly, "I didn't know you watched me so closely. Maybe you stare more often than I thought."

If Sans could blush, he would've been as red as Papyrus's spaghetti sauce. He pulled his hood up and pulled on the strings, tightening it to hide his face in embarrassment. "Grillby-!"

"I don't hear you denying it anymore." The bartender chuckled softly, leaning forward a bit. "Aww, Sans, don't be so embarrassed. I… I really don't mind."

Sans peeked out from his hoodie, cautious and shy. What the hell did Grillby mean by that? He liked the attention? Or… was it possible that he liked the attention specifically from Sans? "Heh, Grillbz… I–"

And then suddenly, the Great Papyrus appeared! "DINNER IS SERVED!" he declared loudly, balancing three plates of spaghetti in his arms. The monsters on the couch startled and jumped away from each other, back on their respective ends of the couch. Papyrus didn't seem to notice, passing out plates and sitting between Sans and Grillby. He turned to Grillby with a wide smile and an expectant look in his eyes, apparently eager for the bartender to try his pasta. "Now I know you prefer greasy foods," the skeleton said, "But trust me when I say that you will undoubtedly be won over when you try spaghetti made by none other than master chef Papyrus!"

Grillby picked up his fork as he considered the pile of noodles on his plate. He looked up to see that both of the skeletons were watching him then. "You're making me nervous," he chuckled.

Sans rolled his eyes. "Just try it already!"

"Alright, alright." The bartender lifted the fork to his mouth, feeling awkward under the attention. Finally, he took a bite of Papyrus's spaghetti.

It was… interesting…

Papyrus looked happy, though! "What a passionate expression! You must love it!"

Sans expected Grillby to make a comment that it wasn't good, or he wasn't hungry, or something else awful. He braced himself for the awkward conversation, but it never came. He was surprised to see Grillby pull a smile back on his face, despite the strong aftertaste that Sans was sure had to be lingering in the back of the fire monster's throat. "It has a very unique flavor," the bartender commented lightly. "I really appreciate you sharing your cooking with me."

Papyrus straightened up with pride. "Of course! I'm happy that you like it. There's plenty left, so don't be afraid to ask for seconds!" He picked up the remote and turned the volume of the TV up a bit, gleefully watching Mettaton do whatever it was that Mettaton was doing.

Once he was sure that Papyrus was focused on the television, Sans leaned forward and mouthed a quick 'thank you' to Grillby. Grillby responded with a small smile and a nod that made something warm spread through his chest. It was one thing to be kind to Sans… but it was a whole new level to be that kind to Papyrus.

After dinner, Papyrus took all the plates to the kitchen with him and started on washing dishes. Sans took the opportunity to move a bit closer to Grillby, hunched over a bit as he rested his elbows on his knees. "Hey… thanks for that."

Grillby looked away from the TV, confused. "For what?"

"For being nice to Papyrus," Sans said quietly, not wanting his brother to overhear. "I mean, people are polite enough talking to him, I guess, but he can be a little much for some monsters. I also know that his spaghetti is a little bit of an acquired taste, heh. I'm surprised you ate everything on your plate."

Grillby smiled a bit. "It wasn't that bad after you got used to the aftertaste, actually. Your brother is very… enthusiastic. I don't see anything wrong with that. So, you're welcome, I guess. I'm glad I made him happy tonight."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, a warm feeling settling over them both as they went back to watching TV. They were totally unaware of the tall skeleton spying on them from the kitchen, thankfully out of earshot. Papyrus wasn't sure what the two had been talking about, but Sans had looked very happy.

He'd missed seeing Sans happy.

Later that evening, Papyrus managed to find a shirt and some sweatpants for Grillby to sleep in. They were both too large, seeing as they belonged to Papyrus, but it was better than sleeping in the formal clothing that the bartender wore to work. The drawstring on the pants was pulled almost as tight as it would go, and the shirt hung off of him also like a nightgown. He looked small, under all that fabric.

Question was, where would Grillby sleep?

"He can have my bed," Sans immediately volunteered. There was no way he was going to make Grillby sleep on the couch when he wasn't feeling well. He'd been the one to bring Grillby home, so it made sense that he'd be the one to make room for him, right?

Papyrus frowned at that. "Sans, your 'bed' is just a mattress on the floor. You don't even have a sheet on it. He needs a proper place to sleep! He should take my bed!"

"Boys," Grillby interrupted with a nervous chuckle, "Thank you, but I really don't mind sleeping on the couch. I'm already feeling much better than I did this morning…" He trailed off into a yawn, blinking tiredly. Yeah, perfectly fine. Sure.

Sans huffed, a little irritated. He was getting tired of Grillby saying he was fine when he was obviously not fine. Was this how Papyrus felt when Sans dodged questions about why he was having so many nightmares? Sans made a mental note to be more honest with his brother as he took a deep breath. "Look, Grillbz, we both know that's bullshit. As much as I hate to admit it, Papyrus has a point. My mattress is barely better than this couch, anyway."

"Exactly!" Papyrus one hand on his hip, using the other to gesture at his door as he spoke. "I am more than happy to open my room to a friend of Sans, and a future friend of mine! And as poorly as Sans may speak of this couch, it can actually be quite comfortable when you find the right position."

Sans rolled his eyes, chuckling. "And sleeping on the couch means Papyrus has an excuse to stay up and watch Mettaton's late shows."

Papyrus huffed. "That is absolute slander!" he cried. "I just so happened to have already decided I wanted to watch the late show tonight! And I do not need any excuse to do so!"

"Uh huh. Whatever you say, Paps."

"You are incorrigible!"

Sans glanced towards the couch and stopped. "Paps, shush."

Papyrus scoffed. "Do not shush me! The Great Papyrus will not be–"

"No, really," Sans cut him off. "Look." He nodded to the couch pointedly. When Papyrus looked, the reason for Sans's sudden concern about volume quickly made itself clear.

At some point during their bickering, Grillby had fallen asleep on the couch, breathing gentle and even. Sans chuckled. "Heh, I knew it. He can't fool me when he's tired." After a moment of consideration, the skeleton shrugged and turned Grillby blue, levitating him gently so he wouldn't be disturbed. Once he was sure the bartender wasn't about to wake up, he turned to Papyrus. "Why don't you go get ready for bed while I tuck this guy in?" Sans asked in a whisper.

Papyrus nodded, chuckling as he lowered the volume of his voice. "Agreed."

There's a LOT more deleted scenes where that came from. Like, over thirty pages of deleted scenes, and there's sure to be more as I go. Let me know if you want to see more! Thanks for reading!

[localcactushugger]

Badass Nico Di Angelo Moments in ToN that make me Feral

spoilers under the cut for The Tower of Nero!

#1) Nico 100% wanting to help Apollo despite the fact that he's been been having horrible nightmares and PTSD flashbacks, along with hearing voices from Tatarus. He’s tired of focusing on things that he can't change so instead he focuses on tasks where he actually has control. This is very in character for Nico. Despite pain he perseveres and focuses on the mission, trying to help in anyway he can. This is even after Apollo confirmed Jasons death as well. Jason and Nico were close, and Jason was the first person who accepted him for who he really was. But Nico pushed forward anyway.  (This is one of the reasons why Reyna basically adopted Nico. He always pushes forward, despite the pain, and perseveres. Something she can relate to.)

#2) Nico stubbornly refusing to watch the original Star Wars trilogy despite the wrath of his Glow-in-the-dark boyfriend

#3) Nico getting Camp Half-Blood to make him his own black T-shirt because he simply refuses to ruin his black-and-white aesthetic

#4) Nico conveniently having a plan to use Troglodytes in the battle against Nero.  (Hey you need an undead army for the battle of Manhattan? oh yeah, the Doors of Death? I know where those are! The Athena Parthenos? I can totally carry that across the world without disintegrating into shadow! Hey Percy just swim in the River Styx DUH. seriously I never get tired of Nico finding ways to save the day.)

#5) Nico leaping across a fucking cater onto a crane and scaring the living shit out of Apollo. My boys giving his future Father-in-Law a heart attack 😂

#6) Nico saving Apollo’s ass Pt.1 by shadow traveling him and Meg away from feral death cows at the last second. 

#7) Nico saving Apollo’s ass Pt.2 by fucking turning a guard into a skeleton right before that bitch was about to stab Apollo in the chest 

#8) Nico saving Apollo’s ass Pt.3 by dragging Apollo across Neros Tower while he simultaneously cut through monsters without even slowing down or hesitating as Apollo was giggly, delirious, and injured. I'm also really glad that Apollo noted how Nico is much stronger than he looks. Nico may look like a twig at first but even Jason said at one point (was it in MoA or HoH?) that Nico had gained muscle from sword training after Tartarus. People always characterize Nico as not eating either (which is true when he's feeling really depressed) but he's gotten better at it since BoO. 

#9) Nico saving Apollo’s ass Pt.4 with his dramatic entrance. literally breaking down Neros blast doors with a fucking feral bull that he somehow turned into a skeleton. And then this dramatic bitch who is 100% sick of Neros B.S has the audacity to point to Nero and say “Kill that one”. Honestly picturing the Bull scene is hilarious to me. Imagine being seconds away from killing Apollo after years of planning, only to be interrupted by an exasperated, beat-to-shit, battle hardened, feral 15 yr old, who looks like he should be working at Hot Topic. And is he wearing a white cowboy hat?? Where did he get a bull??? The randomness and pure panic in that scene is absolutely gold. Nico Di Angelo is an agent of chaos and I live for it. 

#10) Nico fighting a group of Germani by himself in Nero throne room while his bull wreaks havoc on all those who get in its path. Bonus points for saving Apollo from that one wolf monster who was about to bite his head off (Nico saving Apollos ass Pt.5 lol. Seriously Will you need to tell your dad that Nico isn't a babysitter) 

#11) Apollo giving Nico an opening to attack Nero by shooting one of the Germani he’s locked in combat with. The second Nico gets a chance this boy doesn't hesitate. He fucking tires to cut Nero in half !!!  if Nero wasn't immortal he would’ve been done for! So when cutting Nero in half doesn’t work and Nico sword get’s grabbed and tossed across the room what does he try??? Does he back off like a normal person?? NO! HE TRIES TO STRANGLE THAT BITCH!!! 😂😂😂 This gremlin child 100% tried to strangle an immortal emperor! He said “I don't need a sword to kill you bitch, try me”. Nico Di Angelo is raw as fuck. and that only in this book. The son of Hades wakes up every morning and chooses violence. I love him.

#12) The fact that Nico is willing to go back to Tartarus, the place that left him with immeasurable trauma, just to save Bob. because he “doesn't like when people are forgotten”. (this is the boy who spent most of his life alone, who talked to Hestia when no-one else noticed her, who spent time with Bob when everyone had forgotten about him. Who always selflessly tried to help other people because he knows what it like to be miserable and in pain. Nico is such a sweetie.) 

[cinnaminyoons]

( NEVER-NEVER LAND. )

ミ☆ there is mystery afoot, and taehyung is at the heart of it.

⤷ PAIRING kth x m!reader 

⤷ WORD COUNT 3.5k 

⤷ TAGS alice in wonderland au, alice!tae and mad hatter!reader

⤷ NOTES hello, i’m back :) here’s a little something to get back into writing, lightly inspired by @yougotnojams73​‘s fairytale au reactions!

taehyung is beginning to get very tired of shovelling manure out of the stables. it is a chore that never ends—never for long, anyway, because as soon as one is clean there is another waiting impatiently. once or twice he had taken a break, sitting down and wiping his brow of sweat because the sweltering day makes him feel quite sleepy, but he cannot put off his work for long before he fears someone may find him and shout at him.

he considers whether or not it may be useful to take off his shirt. shortly before being shoved into the stables with a rake pressed into his hands, he had returned from a little outing to the city with friends, for which he had put on a pale blue blouse with white pants. however well it suits the city, it is the most extreme opposite for farmwork.

it is when his hands rise to unbutton his shirt when a large white rabbit with round black eyes runs close by him.

there is nothing remarkable in a passing rabbit, but what piques his interest is that the rabbit is saying to itself, “oh dear, oh dear, i shall be very late!”, and is taking a little gold watch out of its waistcoat pocket.

taehyung rises abruptly at the realisation that rabbits do not usually talk or check watches or wear waistcoats. burning with curiosity, he races after the rabbit, leaving his chores behind with little more than half a thought.

he chases after it across the field of horses, which stand calmly by and flick their shining manes out of their eyes when he passes them, and is just in time to see it disappear through an oddly-large rabbit hole under the hedge. 

he follows it, dropping to his knees to crawl under the hedge, and doesn’t for a moment wonder how on earth he may get out again. the rabbit hole is tall enough for him to stand, albeit slightly hunched, and goes straight on like a tunnel. he can still hear the rabbit muttering but it grows faint, and he urges himself to run faster. 

the rabbit hole dips suddenly around a corner and taehyung has not a second to think of stopping himself before he finds himself falling down what seems to be a very deep well.

perhaps the well is very deep or he is falling very slowly, but either way, he has a lot of time to think about what is happening and how to get back up. first, he glances below him to see what might await him at the bottom, but it is too dark to see anything. 

next, he looks around him and notices that the sides are filled with bookshelves and cupboards and several strange-looking maps pinned by pegs. as he passes, he steals a corked jar from a shelf, labelled ‘cookies’. to his great disappointment, it is empty, so he puts the lid back on and manages to slide it into a cupboard as he falls by.

well, he thinks idly, after a fall like this, nothing of any height will scare me. how brave i’ll seem.

down, down, down. 

will the fall never end?

“i wonder how far i’ve fallen,” says taehyung aloud, and his voice echoes back to him. “it’s quite nice. is this what a waterbed feels like?”

he stretches himself out as far as he can and his fingers brush the bookshelves and cupboards before he is fully extended, and he pulls his limbs back in just in case something catches on his clothes. 

down, down. down. only down.

there is nothing much to do while he falls, so he talks to himself. the echoes sound a little like a reply. 

“ah, how long has it been now? maybe hours. days, even.” a sudden thought strikes him. “oh, no. what if it never ends? i’ll be falling for ages until i die, and after that i’ll still be falling until i’m just a skeleton in a nice shirt!”

to his left he spots a large piece of paper, rather like the maps he saw earlier, but this one is a drawing—no, a painting. he flattens it out as best he can while he falls. 

“how pleasant.” it depicts a face in a style oddly reminiscent of his own. he examines the thick strokes of the brush, and once he blinks to get rid of the bleariness of his eyes, he realises that the strokes create the shape of a man from the shoulders up, grinning widely, with a tall hat on his head that does not look so bad.

“maybe i’m falling into a world of princes,” he says, quite liking the slight turn of the painted man’s head so that he feels mysterious. “this one is the fun one. the one who’ll take my hand and lead me on adventures.” he sighs and slips the rolled-up paper into a bookshelf. 

“princes!” he says loudly. his voice returns to him off the walls. “princes, princesses. i feel much more inclined towards the former, if i might say so myself. there’s nothing more fun than a handsome prince who might whisk me away into the night and lend me his crown.”

taehyung begins to get rather sleepy. he goes on speaking to himself, in a dreamy sort of murmur, “princes with crowns? princes with crowns?” and occasionally, “kings with crowns?” he cannot answer either, as they are not quite questions, no matter which title he uses. he feels that he’s nodding off, the silence around him quite comforting, until: thump!

down he falls onto a soft pile of leaves and silk-petalled flowers, and the fall is over. he manages to catch himself before he stumbles face-first into the grass, and rolls over one shoulder instinctively onto his feet. hm, he thinks as he dusts himself off and pulls a leaf out of his curly hair, i’ve never done that before.

he is not the least bit hurt, if a little dirty from his crawling. he glances around and sees that the cupboards have turned into polished wooden walls and wooden floors and wooden ceilings, all the same type but never the same colour. the white rabbit is still in sight, hurrying down this new corridor and holding an oil lamp to light the way. 

there is not a moment to be lost, so taehyung runs after it. he is close behind when it turns a corner, but when he turns it, the rabbit is nowhere to be seen. instead, there is a milky-glassed door ending below the height of his knee and a table at the farthest end, on which sits a small glass bottle of rose-pink liquid. tied around the neck is a paper label with elegant writing in black ink: drink me.

it is all very fine to put a label on something urging the reader to drink it, but taehyung is not usually going to drink something without first knowing what it is. but, as he picks it up and turns it around in his hands, he realises that it feels very familiar, as if he has held it in the very same way before. a little frown creases between his brows. 

he looks around one more time, though it still looks all the same. there are no other doors, no other tables, and a fall like that may take days to climb back up. 

he uncorks the bottle with a quiet pop and places the rim at his lips. it is so small it takes him only two gulps to drink it all, and once he does, he tilts his head to one side. the liquid has a mixed flavour of banana, cherry, caramel, and warm bread, which he finds to be very nice.

with a blink he finds himself staggering to hold the bottle, which has become the height of him, or the other way around. putting it down so that he may keep himself safe from broken glass, he finds that he is the right height to fit through the little door, which is not so little any more.

opening the door makes him squint at the brilliant brightness of it all—mad as it is, with mint-coloured grass and golden-leafed trees and fat blue-striped bees, it is wonderful, something out of a children’s tale, and taehyung feels dizzy looking up at how big and strange everything is. as he trots down the small hill, the blades of grass reaching his knee, he trips and clenches his eyes for the worst.

but the worst never happens, because it seems, as he opens his eyes carefully, that he’s returned to full height, having grown up very fast in one step. the first thing he notices, at his proper size, is that there is a man sitting in a nearby tree, ankles crossed and legs swinging gently, watching him curiously. what is most odd about him is not the fact that he is reclining in a tree, but that he has on his head a pair of dark-coloured feline ears. around his wrist and arm lazily wraps a tail of the same colour.

the man only grins when he sees taehyung. he looks nice, taeyhung thinks, but his smile looks very pointy and i’d rather not find out how sharp it really is.

“hello, sir,” taehyung begins, quite timidly, because the man looks like he deserves respect and taehyung does not know whether he will take offence to the name or not. however, he only smiles a little wider. “would you tell me, please, which way i should go from here?”

“that would depend on where it is you’d like to get to,” replies the man in the tree.

“i don’t really care where—” taehyung starts.

“then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” he says.

“—as long as i end up somewhere,” taehyung adds.

“oh, you’re sure enough to do that,” says the man with a dismissive flick of his hand, “if you only walk far enough.”

taehyung feels like he won’t get much else out of the man from that. “what sort of people live around here?” he asks instead.

“in that direction,” the man says, raising his left hand, “lives a hatter. in that direction,” he waves his right hand, “lives a march hare. visit whoever you like; they’re both mad.”

“mad? i’d prefer not to talk with mad people,” taehyung comments.

“it seems you already have,” answers the man with a growing smile. “we’re all mad here. i’m mad. you’re mad.”

“how do you know i’m mad?”

“you must be, or you wouldn’t have found this place.”

that proves about nothing to taehyung, so he continues, “how do you know you’re mad?”

“well,” says the man, looking thoughtful, “i suppose i am a man. but i am also a cat.” his feline ears flick. “you know what a man looks like; you know what a cat looks like. i am both, i am neither, and therefore i am mad.”

“maybe you are a man with ears like a cat, or maybe you are a cat with the face of a man,” taehyung muses. “an interesting thought.”

“only to those who think it so,” says the man, stretching his body the way a cat may stretch on a couch pillow. “i must be off to the tea party. the hatter will be utterly gobsmacked when i tell him this.” the last part seems more towards himself than taehyung, and he vanishes.

taehyung is not too surprised at this, as he is getting used to seeing strange things happen. while he is still looking at the branch the man had been on, he suddenly appears again.

“by the way, might you be interested in a cup of tea, taehyung?” queries the man, “i’d nearly forgotten to ask.”

“only if it is good tea. the chamomile kind.”

“splendid,” the man says slowly and quietly, and it reminds taehyung very much of a cat’s purr. he vanishes again.

taehyung waits a moment, expecting to see him come back, but when he doesn’t, taehyung starts off towards the left, towards the hatter. “i’ve seen hares before,” he says to himself as the golden trees shed their golden leaves onto him. “a hatter, i haven’t. not properly, anyway.”

as he looks up from the intriguing grass, he finds the same man laying stomach-down in the fork of a tree. he’s wearing some fancier clothes, whimsical and patterned, though only in shades of black and purple. “did you say ‘chamomile’ tea?”

“yes,” taehyung replies, staring up at him, “and i wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and disappearing so quickly—it’s enough to startle someone.”

“oh, all right,” the cheshire drawls, though he still has his smile on his face. this time he vanishes rather slowly, starting with the toes of his shoes and ending with his sharp grin, which stays for quite some time after the rest of him has gone.

taehyung shakes his head and wanders farther into the woods. he does not need to go far before he finds a curiously-shaped cottage with two chimneys and an attic window shaped like a heart. it is a large house with a fence around it, though the fence sways into the shape of an uneven oval, and a few flowering bushes dot the inside. he pushes the white gate open, walking under a pretty arch woven with yellow roses, and hears voices.

there is a table underneath a gold tree behind the house, and at it sit three figures and one lazing about in the tree. one wears a red and gold waistcoat over pure white clothes, sipping daintily at a teacup; another with a tall hat has his long legs thrown over the chair closest to him, leaning back against the one in the middle, whose mousy-brown head looks just about asleep on the table. the first two talk over the middle one’s head.

the table is long, set with white sheets and whiter china, but the three are all crowded on one side with the one with the hat at the head of the table.

“—no oddly oddless boy is here,” cries the one at the head, looking at the man with the feline ears. “not at my party!”

“tell that to him.” the cheshire grins, raising his arms above his head to stretch before dropping his arms again. the one in the waistcoat offers a cup and saucer and the cheshire takes it.

“to whom, my dear friend?” the hatter asks sceptically. 

the cheshire looks at taehyung and waves a hand in his direction. “why, him, of course.”

“why—” the hatter turns to stare, as do the other two. the one in the middle is the furthest thing from asleep—his eyes are very wide and alert. the hatter stands abruptly, lips parted in shock, and taehyung wonders what is so wrong with him. perhaps it is his clothes. 

“you... we—i—” the hatter moves slowly towards taehyung and lifts a hand to cup taehyung’s face. “you can’t be here. no, you are not,” he says firmly and spins around, hands on his hips. “yoongi! is this any way to treat your closest friend? stop your trickery!”

the cheshire turns over languidly. “there is no trickery here,” he—this ‘yoongi’—answers. “he is more real than you and i.” 

“well, well, well, what an interesting happening,” murmurs the one in the waistcoat: the white rabbit. “today has been one for the books.”

“no more interesting than what happened yestermorrow,” quips the middle one, who is a mouse.

the hatter shakes his head and flings himself into his chair, and it rocks on its hind legs. he takes off his hat and taehyung realises he is the same man as the one in the painting. “no, no, how cruel you are,” he mutters, then puts the hat over his face so that he may not have to look at their new guest.

“there is nothing more interesting than a stranger returning to a place he vowed never to return to,” says the white rabbit to the mouse, in the tone of one who knows what he means and intends to share his meaning to others. he turns to taehyung and waves a hand, saying encouragingly with a dimpled smile, “have some wine.”

taehyung sits down in a large arm-chair on the other side of the hatter, which is the closest seat to him. he looks over the table. “i don’t see any wine,” he remarks.

“there isn’t any,” says the white rabbit, who is not so much a rabbit anymore as he is a man.

“then it wasn’t very nice of you to offer it.”

“it wasn’t very nice of you to sit down without permission,” the mouse retorts.

taehyung frowns. “i didn’t know i wasn’t allowed to. this table is laid for many more than four.”

“but there are only four,” says yoongi, waving his saucer about carelessly. “therefore it must be laid for four.”

“that doesn’t make any sense.”

“nothing does.” yoongi rolls around, and he grins down at the white rabbit. “tea, if you will, namjoon.”

namjoon, the white rabbit, takes his cup and pours some tea from a teapot. taehyung doesn’t think there had been any in there before.

“what is going on?” taehyung cries. “you all act as if you’ve met me, but i have never before seen even one of you.”

“oh, one of us has done much more than merely ‘met’,” grins the cheshire, “our dear hatter took your first kiss.”

taehyung’s head whips around and he stares at the hatter, who is still flung over his chair. the hatter’s silence does not sit well with taehyung and he stands up, yanking the hat off his face. the hatter does not open his eyes, quite petulantly, and that too does not sit well with taehyung.

“you took my what?”

“kiss,” supplies the mouse helpfully, who then gets nudged by namjoon with a warning, “jimin...”

taehyung turns to the hatter angrily and jabs him in the chest. “you did not!”

“he did, and you liked it,” yoongi says. “enough so that you asked for another.”

“oh, hush, the poor boy’s getting embarrassed,” namjoon scolds. “how red his cheeks are now.”

jimin touches the hatter’s shoulder. “well, it seems he doesn’t remember you. don’t forget your manners before everything else goes, too.”

the hatter does not look at taehyung, which only serves to infuriate taehyung more. he runs his fingertip over the rip of his teacup and says, rather stiffly, “you called me yn.”

“called you that? what do you call yourself?” he throws the hat at you and you hardly catch it before it does something disagreeable to the colour of your cheek. “there is no proper answer around here, is there?”

“i was only the hatter,” you say airily, as if nothing is the matter, “and he was only the white rabbit, the dormouse, the cheshire cat.”

taehyung says, appalled, “you mean you never had names? i’ve met nobody who was nameless.”

“he didn’t just call you yn,” yoongi notes with a grin that looks more wicked than before, “he m—”

“do not!” you shout over him, slamming your hands against the table and making the china rattle, but no odd character bats an eyelash. “do not finish that.”

namjoon sips his tea, looking between you and taehyung with a strange sort of twinkle to his eyes. “perhaps you should talk to him, yn.” he checks his watch and tucks it back inside his waistcoat hurriedly. “oh, dear, the queen shall have my head! i’ll be late again!” he leaves the table, long legs taking him wherever they need him most, and jimin gives you an enigmatic smile.

you sigh, hat in hand, and stand up quite suddenly. “come with me, taehyung.” you begin walking and taehyung hurries after you, somewhat worried about how his brash actions might turn on him.

“what about those two? will they be alright alone together?”

you offer a wry smile as you open the door to the house, letting taehyung into its cosy warmth. “i assure you, they get along more than well.”

taehyung notices the cupboards and shelves, all filled to bulging with types of teas and sweets. a teapot squeals on the stove and you move it aside. it quietens. 

“do you have any questions, taehyung?” you tell him with your back turned.

“yes, a fair many... what happened, last time i was here?” he asks timidly. he has been told you are mad, but there does not seem to be much madness around at the moment. quite the contrary.

you say nothing for a long while, stirring a teacup at an agonising pace, and taehyung wonders if he should ask again, in case you missed it the first time.

but you do eventually speak, and there is nothing mad, nothing at all, in the sobriety in your voice. 

“the last time you were here...” you begin, rather softly. “the last time you were here, you were killed.”