#ONE-EYED WILLIE IS CRACKED

[theminecraftbee]

what we thought we’d learn from decked out 2: the ways to avoid wardens and ravagers, exactly how dangerous wardens really are, the importance of good movement in the dungeon, compass skills.

what we’ve actually learned: I am never going near a trident drowned again.

[syoddeye]

down the hatch / badgering

141 x f!reader | ~1.9k | series page tags: p in v sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, bad jokes, manipulation, spanking, manhandling a/n: you know that tunnel scene in willy wonka and the chocolate factory? that's how it feels when i write this. a hoot and a half. banner by @/cafekitsune.

it’s an adjustment. living with roommates again. roommates who refuse to leave, thanks to all the death and destruction outside. convenient excuse, really.

no more naked mornings. you could go tits out—they fucking do—but you’re not entirely without reason. as salivating as they are, the hunks are your enemies.

even if they’ve showered, trimmed, and got some of the bloodstains out of their clothes. 

even if soap makes canned meat and powdered eggs palatable, whipping up a spam and rice bowl for you without asking.

even if gaz finds a five-hundred-piece puzzle on a scavenging trip and bites his tongue when you bat his hand away when he tries to help sort the pieces.

even if ghost slips a game of hangman under your door at lights out, and lets you guess a couple of letters each night. (first word? ‘wanker’. second? ‘larynx.’)

even if john—well, wait, no. the asshole hasn’t made a peace offering. probably because he knows you won’t honor them or because he’s sore about the whole ‘no cool nickname’ thing. whatever.

at night, alone in your room, you plot. how does one evict four man-roaches? make living with you worse than living outside.

in a weird way, your austrian neighbor and his aspirations for a fucking von trapp family: the squeakuel comes in handy. he hoarded all types of junk.

soap’s your guinea pig. he’s moody. something’s always itching under his skin. he snaps at the other men too easily and watches you like a dog admiring meat hanging off a bone. opportunity arrives one morning when john and gaz head topside and ghost settles in the living room. you corner the scotsman in the bunker’s tiny gym.

you linger in the doorway, fixated on the dark shapes under soap’s armpits. his mohawk sags, beads of sweat streaking over the freshly shorn hair. down his flexing muscles. and the grunting, christ. it’s a peek into heaven, which makes ruining it difficult.

without a word, you plop onto the other bench and take up the clarinet you found in your room. channeling the gusto of gus polinski, you wet your lips. how hard can it be? you don’t know polka, but you know rossini.

soap’s head snaps at the opening notes, nearly fumbling a pair of dumbbells, his face a flurry of anger, amusement, and annoyance. it’s a valiant effort, his ignoring you, but in the end, you only make it halfway through your best attempt at the william tell overture before he cracks. he rips the instrument from your hands and tosses it aside. he stands over you, smelly and slick, breathing heavily through his nose. 

you end up dragging him to your room.

soap is the definition of a romp in the sheets. a no-holds-barred deathmatch. it’s the first dick you’ve caught in months, and what a reintroduction. a miracle the bed survives. he starts with his mouth sealed to your clit, tongue working like it’s making up for lost time, as if your cunt and his face go way back. it’s refreshing, but you saw how fast he dropped to his knees for gaz.

two orgasms slip out by the time he wrenches off his damp clothes, chin glistening and eyes glittering. he goes cross-eyed the second his dick slaps against your folds, and you laugh at his desperate groaning when he sinks in. though, your laughs are choked off by his sudden, furious thumbing of your clit. (you punch him in the stomach—ignoring the filthy moan that elicits—and hiss out, “a genie isn’t gonna come out, stop fucking rubbing so hard!”) he ends up coming on your stomach and contorts to lick it off, muttering little gratitudes into your skin. it’s…cute. kind of gross, but cute. you kick him out after a power nap.

soap’s a wash. ba-dum tish. try, try again.

you set your sights on gaz. he’s tricky.

it quickly becomes apparent he’s the best at scavenging. smug about it, too, which you leverage. his ego’s easy enough to feed despite his unease. all it takes is batting your lashes and complimenting his hauls.

amazing. this must be the last jar of berbere ever.

pads? for me? so considerate, i’m stunned.

a mostly intact game of monopoly? wow, here, i thought we were done with landlords and taxes.

it’s simple. you begin with small requests. toothpicks. socks. lip balm. when he returns, he drops the goods in your lap like a cat with a mouse. stares at you with those pretty eyes while you lay it on thick. 

you escalate. either he’ll die on your absurd fetch quests or go crazy trying to fulfill them. brand new period panties. a specific type of hair dye. unopened baby lotion. naturally, he can’t find any of them. he still delivers approximations—granny pants, food coloring, and half a bottle of moisturizer—with a hopeful smile you crush under feigned hums of disappointment. ah, well, if this is the best you can do. it chips away at him. his smiles tighten.

you figure he’ll make a dumb mistake on his next outing out of some fucked desperation, and you’ll be down a roach. but after you tell him to keep an unopened pack of nail varnish because they aren’t your colors, he loses it. this time, you’re dragged to bed.

gaz pins you to the mattress, one hand on your throat and the other shoved into your leggings. pupils blown to the point where they’re shark-like. you’d spare a thought for all the poor creatures dead in aquarium tanks across the globe if he wasn’t hellbent on shoving a third finger in.

“so bloody irritating,” gaz seethes. “spoiled and greedy. have you always been a brat, or am i special?”

you spend your ration of oxygen wisely. “i think you think you’re special.”

for that, your knees meet your chest, and your pussy nearly chokes his dick. or so he tells you, pure filth spewing from his mouth. you giggle madly through the slight pinch of pain, mirroring the feral grin on his face. he’s big, and you could be wetter, but you’re not on your back for good behavior. he’s happy to tell you about that, too. how awful you are.

disappointingly, it doesn’t take long for him to lose his grasp on language. a shame, given his shit talk. 

he bats your hand away from your clit when you try to coax your orgasm along. clicks his tongue, eyes half-mast, and smirks. “gonna be good? gonna thank me?” 

in another world, you’d nod. whatever you say, beautiful. in this world, however, you flip the bird, and he flips you.

gaz pants like a bull, pulling you back onto his cock with an iron grip on your hips. his hand comes down across your ass, but there’s this je ne sais quoi missing. it’s the thought that counts, you guess.

after he makes a mess, you fully expect gaz to continue his tirade. instead, he finds a towel. he rolls you over and tucks you in. thanks you. it’s a shame memoirs are meaningless now as the perfect title comes to mind: ‘bunker bumping: backshots in the apocalypse’.

okay. zero for two. historically, settling for 50% isn’t unlike you. 

back at the drawing board, you reevaluate. annoying the men to death hasn’t worked, and they’re exceptionally durable in dogshit conditions. each day, they get closer to rigging the equipment necessary to contact their ‘friends’, seemingly unperturbed by your efforts. in fact, they seem more comfortable. at home. they poke around the utility room to assess what needs maintenance or improvement. the nerve.

it’s untenable. no matter what that dumb voice in your head insists, you miss solitude. miss not having an audience. you want to watch leon and the silence of the lambs without commentary. dance naked. leave the toilet door open. 

you withdraw.

the bedroom becomes your bunker within the bunker. you take meals alone. painstakingly move your puzzles and hoard books. shower at night after they go to bed. ignore them in the halls. keep your mouth shut when someone addresses you. it’s a fruitless endeavor, keeping your head in the sand, but a part of you hopes if you become as unobtrusive as possible, they’ll forget you exist. after all, they have each other. they put those squeaky single beds through the wringer.

problem is, you don’t account for scragglebeard himself. nosy fucker. 

it happens on shower night. towel-clad and testy, you trudge from the bathrooms and find your door open. you freeze in the hall, hearing clinking sounds and lowered voices. gaz and soap emerge, ferrying dishes and dirty clothes, not sparing so much as a glance. your stomach twists, immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario. they’re reclaiming the space, and they’re finally going to kill you.

unfortunately, it’s not so simple.

“whatever this is,” john sternly says the second you enter the room, “we’re going to fix it.”

ghost traipses past, arms full of unopened cans and more dishware. you glare at his back, then turn to john.

“get the fuck out.”

he chuckles. “sweetheart, what’s not clickin’? this isn’t just your shelter anymore.”

“got it,” ghost reenters, a roll of duct tape held aloft. 

well. you had a nice run. sure, the calamity was a setback, but considering you probably lasted longer than everyone you ever hated, present company aside, that’s a tick in the win column. 

however, ghost doesn’t bind your limbs or cover your mouth. he crouches at the ventilation shaft connecting our rooms, rips off several pieces of tape, and covers most of the grid. “you fuckin’ talk in your sleep.” he points at the small hole he left uncovered and stands. “my bed’s right through ‘ere. it’s fuckin’ unsettlin’.” grumbling, he shuffles out once more.

john’s not shy about scanning you from top to bottom, but apparently, he doesn’t like what he sees. he turns away. “what are we missing?”

you pick through what’s left of your clean clothes. “loaded question.” poking your head through a shirt, you shimmy the towel to your hips.

“where else would you find a clarinet?”

“up your��” he glares over his shoulder, and you smile sweetly. “there’s a small storage space in the closet here. it’s empty now.”

“we found the surveillance room and utilities. it stands to reason that there are others.” john scratches his chin, watching you like a hawk as you pull on shorts. 

“oh. you think?”

“i do.”

“well, think outside of my room. i’m going to bed.” you move to the bed and listen to john close the distance. he hovers, his breath hitting your neck in an exasperated huff. it sends a shiver down your spine. you bet he’s got what gaz was missing—experience behind the swing of his palm.

“like it or not, sweetheart, we’re sticking around. now, i’d prefer it if we kept things civil. based on what the boys told me, i know you’re capable of being friendly.”

it’s not the smartest decision in the world, wheeling on a man trained to kill. he catches your wrist as it winds up and twists it sharply behind your back. with one solid push, you get a mouthful of linen as your body promptly hinges at the waist. an angry string of obscenities gets lost in the sheets. you’ve never been so humiliated. or breathtakingly aroused.

john tuts.

“bad call, badger.”

[gemsarejustshinyrocks]

Reverse Robins AU where everyone is their canon ages but Bruce gets them backwards

And Sooner, thus smaller

Cass: David Cain makes the mistake of letting Bruce know of Cass. Bruce comes back to Gotham with an infant while David Cain resurfaces years later with a case of broken spine. Alfred is torn between pride in his son and exasperation at his newfound hobby of dressing like a furry. (Cass's first word is "bat")

Damian: Talia looks at Bruce (and his ruthlessness in child protection), likes what she sees, and decides he's her new baby daddy. She then spends the next few years in a push-pull seduction trip with Bruce (consensually, fuck you) while simultaneously building up her power base, weeding out her father's men, and plotting his downfall. However, when she becomes pregnant she vanishes for several months only for a baby to appear in Bruce's bed; swaddled in a beautiful blanket and tucked next to the wickedly sharp knife she murdered her father with. Cass is eight years old.

Tim: Bruce doesn't adopt Dick, he doesn't become Robin, thus Tim never connects crazy acrobatics between circus child and traffic light. He's still a baby stalker with an interest in Gotham's nightlife, but here batman works alone. He eventually figures it out anyway, but not before getting involved in something he really shouldn't have which leads to Bruce looking into the Drakes much sooner. By the time they fly back from wherever the hell they've been three months later, Tim's already living with the Wayne's and Bruce has legal blackmail a mile wide. Nine year old Cass has a new little brother big enough to dance with, One Year Old Damian is decidedly unimpressed as toddlers can be, and Six Year Old Tim is starry-eyed at living with the actual batman.

Jason: is eight years old when one of Batman's rouges explodes the building he lived in with his mother and Willis. (Something that wouldn't have happened if he had another pair of hands to help and distract with a quip and a laugh) Bruce Wayne finds him stealing his converter while visiting the memorial he set up in Park Row for his parents. (Jason doesn't know what this rich idiot with more money than sense wants with him; probably as a "playmate" toy for his three spoiled brats no doubt, but at least he'll be off the streets.) One kidnapping later and Jason is of the firm belief that he's still a rich idiot with more money than sense, because all his sense was beaten out of him in that fursuit. Jason turns nine with a seven year old stalker, a two year old demon, and a ten year old shadow as siblings and he's never been happier.

Dick: Oof. The scales of fate aren't fucked with lightly. His future siblings may have happier lives, but only because he suffered instead. Here's the deal: As in canon, the Graysons came to Gotham and died when Dick was nine. However, Bruce never went. Cass was sick, so Bruce never saw the Graysons fall. The Court of Owls did. And the rest, they say, is history. (Until the Kidnapping of Jason Todd, "Street trash" sullying the Wayne name, cracks the Court's disguise and Batman finds an immortal sixteen year old Assassin in the depths of Gotham's oldest cult.

[levi501ackerman]

Steel Heart Chapter 25:

Dead by Daylight

Hange x Reader Masterlist Chapter Index AO3

Megan's Note: title after my favorite video game Posted: 11/12/24

Word Count: 6.9k (ugh ik)

!!! Warning: Violence & Unsettling descriptions !!!

 You followed after, watching your feet as you stepped on stone debris and piles of rocks. As you entered the decimated borgo, there were bodies of knights, Marleyan Cultists, and horses scattered everywhere. The fires were dying out and the smokey air was clearing. You turned your eyes away from the horses, not wanting to have the gorey images stained in your mind. 

“How’s Hange?” Levi asked, looking around the borgo for them. 

“Hange climbed the rubble to the top of the wall.” Eren pointed upward.

Hange was on top of the wall carrying several swords and the Founding Titan was bleeding from his right eye. The blood was dripping down its face and oozing puss from the sword jabbed into the eye. Steam was bursting from the socket into the air and Hange was profusely sweating. Willy Tybur’s titan furiously punched the wall, causing raging tremors through the walls surrounding the borgo.

 Hange lost their balance and then gritted their teeth. They stumbled on top of the wall, trying to collect themselves, and they held tighter on their sword collection. When Hange got into a firm stance, they eyed Willy Tybur’s Titan, waiting for their window of opportunity. 

In a swift motion, Hange threw one of the swords they had gathered from the ground. The sword grazed his ear, feeling like a tickle to the fifty-foot titan. Hange dug through the pouch of their waistband and gripped the egg-shaped crystal. They threw it down on top of the stone wall. 

You gasped at the crystal cracking and a large turquoise dust engulfed the wall. Like a reflex, you ran a few feet toward the debris and rubble piled and built up to the top of the wall. Hange’s figure disappeared into the void of the crystal dust, and you looked at Levi, hoping he would have an idea of what Hange was planning. 

“What are they doing?!” You said into the air, hoping to get a sign or grasp onto control. Then the titan uttered an anguished cry and you covered your ears at the overwhelming blaring roar. There was a knot in your stomach at what Hange could be enduring in the crystal dust. 

There was a loud thud and the stone wall of the borgo shook. Large blocks of stones fell from the wall and crashed into the ground. The impact from the chunks of stone sent dust and dirt flying into the air. You coward and put your hands up to block your face. Levi dashed toward where you were and thrusted his shield in front of your face. The wind of dust and dirt trickled and scratched the shield as it passed. Though Levi looked away, the dust swept against Levi’s face, ears, and hair. Eren held up his sapphire shield at the gust of dust that swept the area of the borgo. When the debris settled, Levi shook the dust out of his hair. 

“Are you okay?” Levi asked.

“Are you okay?” There was a strong admiration for Levi’s quick thinking of getting his sapphire shield before you. You wiped away the dust that coated Levi’s armor and hoped Levi was genuinely okay. 

“I’m fine.”

“Me too . . . thank you, Levi.” You said, wiping off the dirt clinging to your tan slacks. 

The turquoise dust faded amidst the air, and a glorious sight appeared. The founding titan was slumped over the wall, exhausted, and crushing the stone. Steam continued to circulate around his body and Willy Tybur’s titan had blood dripping from the sockets. The right eye still had the single sword in his eye, but the left side of his face had six swords. Three swords were sticking out of his eye and the other three were sticking out of his cheeks. 

Hange was standing on top of the neck of the titan and heaved their jeweled sword over their head. They brought down their sword and sliced into the nape of the neck. The founding titan was at Hange’s mercy as Hange, with all their might, slashed the neck. 

Eren and Levi started climbing the stones piled to the wall's top.

Then Hange reached their hand inside the flesh of the titan’s body. They were practically shoulder-deep inside the body. Hange pulled out Willy Tybur from the neck of the finding titan. His arms were limp and weak, and his head was slacked. Hange held their sword to his throat and they had a sharp, fierce look.

You could see they were talking to him and Hange was evidently pissed. Hange was glaring at Willy Tybur, listening to him speak. You couldn't hear their conversation from your distance down in the borgo, only seeing Hange’s charged expression. Hange gritted their teeth and with an enraged strength, Hange beheaded Willy Tybur. 

His limp body slumped, and Hange held his head with Willy Tybur’s long blonde hair. Moments later, Hange fell to their knees, exhausted and relieved. Hot steam was coming off the Founding Titan and Hange was dripping in sweat, overwhelmed yet coursed with adrenaline. 

“Hange!” Levi yelled from halfway up the pile of debris. Hange’s head jerked at Levi’s voice. Then you saw them scan the borgo, noticing Eren’s presence, and their face landed in your direction.

“HANGE!!” You waved your arms over your head as you jumped up and down. Hange stood up hastily while gripping Willy Tybur’s head. Your heart jolted as you watched Hange run along the wall to the pile of debris. You headed toward the base of the rubble, trying to climb up, but Eren held out his hand.

“Stop! Let them come down to you,” Eren urged. You heard his words but focused on Hange as they hobbled down the pile while holding Willy Tybur’s head. The knot in your stomach unraveled with every step closer to you.  Their face and neck were covered in blood and sweat dripped down their face. Hange was carelessly running down the rubble, and Willy Tybur’s head was swinging around ridiculously. You climbed over the stones, losing balance and trying to keep a firm stance, but Hange’s pace was unwavering and determined to reach the bottom of the pile—to you. When Hange reached the ground of the borgo, Hange lunged at you. 

You opened your arms, receiving the weight of Hange’s body against you, causing you to stumble. With Hange wrapping their arms around you and Willy Tybur’s head bumping into your back, they pulled you toward them and your weight shifted comfortably to where you stood confidently. Hange’s presence warmed their cold steel armor against you. You buried your head into Hange’s chest and felt their body encompassing yours like a shield. The weight of destiny lifted from your shoulders and the coils of guilt loosened.

“You heard me.”

“I heard you!” Hange’s ragged voice said in your ear and you held tighter. Pressure behind your eyes built, and you realized your increased heart rate due to the exhilaration of Hange’s safety. You pulled away from their embrace and they placed their free hand on your soft cheek. You held their wrist and gazed into their twinkling, dilated, and warm brown eye. Like a halo from the heavens, Hange radiated light, blinding everything in sight. The blood on their face and neck was almost forgettable as if Hange’s pure existence shielded your sight from imperfections. 

As your heart rate settled down and the light faded around Hange, the smell of ashy smoke filled your nostrils. The strain that tethered duty and desire returned and you gave Hange a soft smile.

“I missed you.” You whispered, and the regret of your actions loomed over you. Your eyes glossed over, thinking about the day you were abducted. The moment of your hand on the doorknob of Flegel’s front door played in your mind. A tear fell down your face as you contemplated whether to tell Hange and Levi or get Jean back inside quickly. Your eyes flickered to Eren and Levi, and the gravity of Eren’s words set in. There in the borgo were just the four of you left—the consequences of your actions. 

“I missed you too, darling.” Hange’s words pulled you from your haunting thoughts. They read you like a book. With one look from Hange, it was like they knew you berated yourself daily in the room in the tallest tower. Hange knew the turmoil that you put yourself through for the choices you made and their eye gleamed. You didn’t have to explain your remorse. They already knew. 

“Hange, are you injured?” Eren asked and Hange turned toward him.

“I don’t have any major lacerations,” Hange shrugged. Then they noticed the cuts on Eren’s cheeks. “Don’t cut again, Eren! The itchy feeling should go away in a day or two.”

“Do you really have to keep his head?” Levi asked as he climbed down from the pile of debris and pointed at Willy Tybur’s head. Hange held him by his hair and blood dripped from his neck onto the ground. You avoided looking at his head because you didn’t want the gorey image to stay in your memory.

“Levi, I have to have proof I killed the Marleyan Cult’s leader! I’m bringing his head to the Queen.”

“Ew, Hange, do you have to?” You cringed, noticing a part of the spinal cord was sticking out of his neck.  

“When we return to camp, I’ll find something to cover his head. I promise, Princess, you won't have to look at him ever again.” Hange comforted and you nodded.

“We need to raise the exit gate to escape with the horses,” Levi said, motioning to the gate at the other end of the decimated borgo. The smoke dissipated into the air, and the fires died out. Charred knights, Marleyan Cultists, and horses were littered throughout the borgo. The destruction from the huge battle wrecked the buildings of the small village. 

“I’m not sure where my horse ran off to, but Connie and Niccolo didn’t make it through before the gate dropped. I told them to clear a path back through the stibnite thrones.” Your eyes widened at the mention of Connie’s name. Another survivor. Then another thought crept into your mind and you didn’t want to ask, but you had to know.

“Is . . . Jean alive?”

“He’s not here,” Eren said. “The day you were abducted, he collapsed and was taken to the castle.”

“His head injury got worse. I’ll tell you more after we escape this decimated borgo,” Hange said, and then they pointed to the gate. “There are seven winches near the gate, but according to the height we need to pass under with the horses, we only need to repair five. We’ll need to repair the winch if it’s damaged and then tie the rope of the gates to the winch. When we have five repaired, we can crank the gate up, get on our horses and forget about this place.”

“Once the five winches are repaired, I’ll get the nine horses and assist them through the opening in the wall,” Eren stated. 

You followed Hange, Levi, and Eren through the shattered square. There were piles of wood with sharp pieces jutting out from them. Pieces of glass covered the ground from the window. The small wooden buildings looked hollow and nearly empty. It seemed the buildings were more of a place of storage or work rather than living. Parts of the roofs on some buildings caved in from the hurling crushed stone. 

Glass crunched under the weight of your foot and there was an agreed silence as you walked past the bodies of the knights who had sworn to protect you. Many black crows filled the borgo and were on top of bodies, pecking at the flesh. You neglected to look at the bodies of the horses because you couldn't stomach the images. You looked over your shoulder back at the temple. The stone levels of both the upper and lower bailey were in the distance. It felt odd that you were standing up there and looking down at where you were currently just earlier in the day. What was once a battlefield of knights and Marleyan Cultists was now a cemetery of lingering dedication. All these knights and cultists fought and put their lives on the line in hopes of having you in their possession. 

You stayed close to Hange as they led the group to the portcullis gate. Fires popped and fizzled as they died out, and you carefully stepped over a pile of dark, black ash. Tables were flipped on their sides and discarded in the area, and odd-looking cages were lying on the ground. They looked long enough for a human to stand in. With each step near a crow, they flew to the sky, avoiding your presence. 

“It should take around ninety seconds to repair one, so if we split up, we can use our time efficiently to escape.” 

“I’m not leaving your side, " you hoarsely asserted, and Hange turned to you and gave you a soft smile. 

“These are the winches,” Hange motioned to a large steel horizontal cylinder that was out in the open on a patch of dirt. A rope wrapped around the cylinder led to the flanking towers housing the portcullis gate. “The rope is already wrapped around and attached, so we’ll need to see if the winch is intact. Then crank the rope taut and it will be ready when we need to crank the gate.” 

“Got it. Eren, how many flash crystals do you have left?” Levi asked and Eren dug through the pouch attached to his waist. 

“Three.”

“I have one left and Y/N has one.” You nodded, assuring Levi’s statement. You recalled when Levi told you to use it only when you have to. Then, the memory of Levi using the flash crystal to escape the cultists at the four-way junction flashed in your mind. 

“I’m all out, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Hange said.

“Do the first one with her and then she has to help out.” Levi and Eren jogged away from you and Hange. As they left your view, you felt on edge at the idea of something happening to them without your knowledge. Hange analyzed the winch and then crouched down to open a small door on the side. You watched as Hange looked at the gears and the inside of the machinery.

“Here, turn these gears and make sure they all spin.” Then Hange walked around to the other side of the steel cylinder. “I’ll make sure the gears are working on this side.”

You crouched to be level with the inside of the cylinder’s machinery. You placed your finger on a gear and gently rotated it. Then you moved on to the next gear, noticing the large main gear moving the smaller ones. The inside of the winch looked like all the gears were moving smoothly, and there weren’t any missing parts. 

“I think my side is good.” You said unsurely. Hange stood up and then nodded. 

“Mine is, too.” Hange then moved to the front of the winch, eyeing the rope. “There’s no fraying in the rope, so I think we can crank this winch and say our first out of five is completed!” 

Your heart began to beat, and you heard a distant noise. You turned over your shoulder and looked for a sign of Levi or Eren. In your view, they weren’t working on the two winches, and you couldn’t figure out what the noise was from. The noise sounded like a wood being thrown on another pile of wood.

Hange used the small handle on the side to crank the winch, causing the rope to pull taut. The rope that led to helping lift the portcullis gate was ready. 

“Alright, got our first one done, and it only took under a minute for us!” Hange said, picking up Willy Tybur’s head from the ground. “Kind of got the idea of what to do?”

“Yeah . . . but I’d rather not split up . . .” You translucently begged to stay with Hange. 

“I understand that, dear; however, if we do, this will go much quicker.” You sighed at Hange’s words and your heart thumped louder. A foreboding feeling was setting in and anchoring in your mind. Something did not feel right. Not having Levi or Eren in your sight was not aiding the feeling at all. 

Then, in the distance, there was movement in the borgo. A crow flew into the sky from the ground and someone was running. It was Levi looking over his shoulder at the person chasing him. The person chasing him . . . was a knight? 

You furrowed your eyebrows at the large knight holding a large blunt sword darting after Levi. This knight wasn’t someone from the Royal King’s Guard or a knight from the scout regiment . . .

You saw Levi run into a building in the borgo and the large knight followed him, gaining haste on Levi’s trail. Your heart thumped in your ears, aware of the distressing event near you. 

Then Levi vaulted a window from inside the small hut and quickly sprinted away from the building. Soon after, the knight stepped through the window and continued chasing Levi. 

“Hange . . .” Your voice wavered as you began to alert them. You pointed a finger in Levi’s direction. “Who’s that with Levi?”

Hange turned their attention to Levi, crouching in a bush while the unfriendly knight searched the area around him. Then the knight noticed Levi’s black hair poking out from the bush and the knight kicked Levi. With Levi's groan, he ran hastily from the knight into another part of the borgo. 

“Shit! I think I know who that is!” At Hange’s statement, there was still a lingering unsettling feeling. There was a sense that Hange didn’t know the knight for good reasons. Hange clasped their hand to yours. “That knight’s name is Tarhos Kovacs!” 

“Tarhos Kovacs . . .” The name sounded familiar. Hange urged you to follow them to the next winch to work on, now wanting you to stay by them. A memory flashed as you stared at the dusty ground and felt tiny rocks under your boots. When you were on the mezzanine with Willy Tybur and Bertolt, Reiner told the Cult Leader how the Knights of the Royal King’s Guard were on their way. Willy Tybur then commanded Reiner to let Tarhos Kovacs ready the defense ward. He’s the one who released the mutts. 

“I think he used to be a Knight of the Royal King’s Guard before I or Levi ever went through training. He left the King’s Guard and followed and believed in the Marleyan Cult and their belief that Titans should rule humanity. He and his gang must have been loyal to the Marleyan Cult after all this time . . .” Hange said almost in disbelief. You followed Hange to another winch against a short wall between two small, destroyed wooden cottages. You felt safer behind the wall and not in the open like the other winch. “Listen, we might have to be separated. You have a flash crystal, right? Use it only if you need to. Levi, Eren, and I will all make sure you escape this place, understand?”

“Yes . . .” The apprehension was brimming and overspilling into your shaking voice. You thought you were out of the woods, but yet there was this last trial to get through before escaping and leaving the decimated borgo and the Marleyan Cult’s temple. You and Hange opened the doors on both sides of the winch and began inspecting the quality of the gears. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder and check that the knight wasn’t in your proximity. 

“Listen, the knight has three guards. They’re stupid but will chase you for a little if you are spotted. Just keep running, and eventually, they will return to Tahros Kovacs because his deformed guards are quite lacking in the head if you know what I mean.” 

“Why can’t Levi just kill him?” You asked, wanting Levi to end your worrying.

“He’s too good, Y/N. He’s probably the best the Marleyan Cult has. We can’t risk any deep injuries. You only have just us! Levi has the right idea. He’s distracting the killer so we can finish repairing the five winches and escape!” 

You looked over your shoulder, and your stomach flipped when you saw Eren come into view. He ran over to you and Hange as you continued checking the gears and machinery. Your side was ready to go. 

“Commander! The knight, Tahros Kovacs, entered the borgo and he’s chasing Levi! He damaged part of the winch Levi was working on. It took me a few minutes, but I almost repaired it.” 

“Great, Eren! I’ll work on that one next. Help us finish this one.” Eren looked at both sides of the machine, then went to the side with the rope and ensured it was tied to the hook, which began wrapping around the cylinder.

“It’s good to crank.” Eren gave Hange a thumbs up. Hange started cranking and the winch started rotating and coiling the rope around the cylinder. You looked over your shoulder and noticed that in the distance, the knight was approaching your area. When you gasped, Eren and Hange noticed the knight. 

“Shit!” Hange whispered and cranked faster. You crouched and hid behind the winch, hoping the knight wouldn’t come after you. 

“He left Levi! Finish this and then finish mine! I’ll distract him for as long as I can!” Your eyes widened as Eren ran into the line of sight of the knight. A crow flew to the grey sky and caught the knight’s attention. Instead of the knight approaching the winch or going after you and Hange, he started chasing Eren.

Hange cranked the winch and when the rope was taut, the second winch was completed. You wanted to jump in the air as you were another step closer to escaping. You and Hange passed a pile of destroyed wood as you searched for another winch. 

As you and Hange approached the gate, you noticed Levi cranking the rope taut around another steel cylinder. Levi finished another winch against a wall closer to the gate. A sigh of relief came from Hange’s mouth. You could hear their tiredness while trying to remain focused on escaping.

“Levi! Are you okay? I saw the bad knight kick you!” You ran over to him. Levi rubbed his cheek and then wiped the sweat, tracing his hairline. 

“Ran the knight for a little, but the bastard couldn’t get me.” Though Levi said he was fine, you eyed his body, ensuring nothing was injured or looked concerning. 

“Glad he found you before us otherwise, we might not have gotten three done by now.” You nodded at Hange’s statement—grateful that Levi was okay and that he was able to buy you time. 

“Just two more, right?” you asked, and it felt easier to breathe knowing escaping the decimated borgo was practically at your fingertips. 

“Correct. Once we complete the fourth winch, we should have one person get the horses if Eren’s not available due to buying us time.” Hange’s voice was hoarse and made you swallow the lump that was gathering in yours. 

A loud, deep shout came from behind, like a cry of pursuit. Behind Hange was a dirty bald man with a red bandana covering his mouth. His eyes narrowed in on Hange and he lifted a short, broken sword into the air and started charging at Hange. 

You felt hands on you and then you were pushed off balance, falling into a bush. You placed your hands down, trying to catch yourself as the shrubbery scratched and pricked your hands, arms, and face. While lying on the ground, you looked up to see the guard chase after Hange. By the way, he followed Hange’s direct path rather than trying to cut them off, you understood what Hange meant by ‘lacking in the head.’ Hange ran around a pile of wood and the dirty man followed after. Levi kneeled in front of you and offered his hand. 

“Hange did that so you wouldn’t be spotted.” You nodded at Levi’s words, knowing Hange wouldn’t push you for malicious reasons. Hange did it because they knew Levi would be there to assist you. You brushed off more dirt from your white shirt and tan pants. 

“Yeah . . .” You swallowed and your throat was scratchy and raw. 

“There was a winch by that tree over there near that shack.” Levi beckoned you to follow. You jogged with Levi to a small shack with a window and two open doors on opposite sides. The roof of the wooden shack was caved through and a large piece of wood leaned against one of the doors. 

The tree was large, and a short concrete wall was built around it. It was barren of leaves, and clothes were hanging from the branches. The winch was against the wall and the rope was not attached. Your abdomen felt tight and you anticipated that at any moment, a guard or the knight would spot you and chase after you. 

You and Levi opened the sides of the cylinder and began inspecting each gear as usual. Each gear was moving smoothly on your side and it seemed like Levi’s gears were not giving him a problem. 

Another loud bang echoed in the borgo and you turned over your shoulder to see the knight turning the corner of a wall. It seemed like he was looking for Eren. The knight checked the bushes and then went around the wall. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to see if you could spot Eren, but you couldn’t find anything that resembled his silhouette. The knight came back around the corner of a wall and as he was about to pass a tall, narrow, and wooden outdoor utility cabinet, Eren quickly jumped out. The cabinet doors abruptly hit the knight and the unexpected force stunned the knight momentarily.

Eren threw a flash crystal on the ground, engulfing the area with turquoise dust and blinding the knight. When the dust settled the knight was in the same area by the cabinet and Eren was gone. You felt relieved that Eren was able to escape the knight from the use of his flash crystal. Then, as the knight was about to leave, Eren jumped out of the utility cabinet, stunning the knight again. Though you were too far from him, you could see Eren yelling at him, throwing the flash crystal on the ground, and blinding the knight again. It was almost comical as if Eren was bullying the knight. 

“Guess what I found!” Hange’s voice turned your attention to them. Hange was holding Willy Tybur’s head, but in the other was a toolbox. “After the guard retreated, I saw a chest and broke it open, hoping to find useful items!”

“Hange!” You jumped on them and wrapped your arms around their waist. Knowing the guard the knight summoned didn’t harm Hange was a relief. Hange wrapped one arm around you and held you tight. 

“I’m alright,” they whispered reassuringly. You felt like you could relax in their arms, but you pulled away, knowing you’d have all the time in the world if you escaped the shattered square. You glanced at their blood-stained face and Hange’s eyes had dark circles you hadn’t noticed before. Levi pulled the rope and tied it to the hook near the cylinder. The rope wrapped around the steel cylinder as Levi cranked the handle. The fourth winch was completed. 

“Great! Now, there is just one more left, and hopefully,” Hange shook the toolbox. “This will have items that will speed things up!” 

“Did you see where the last three are?” Levi said, looking around the small village. 

“We’ll find them, but since Eren’s not with us, you bring the horses here,” Hange said and Levi jogged back toward the temple entrance. You knew Levi, and Eren could take care of themselves, but Levi and Eren being out of sight clawed at your mind. Perhaps it was the lack of control or the fate of the unknown. But the fragility of their life didn’t leave your mind.

You followed Hange into an area where the last three winches were. One was against the stonewall of the borgo, another was closer to the gate, and one was in an unfinished building without a roof. You watched Hange's eye dart between the three winches. You could tell Hange was analyzing the situation and that something was off. 

“Is everything okay? What are you thinking?��� You tugged on the same arm that connected the hand that held Willy Tybur’s head, and his head bumped into your side. You cringed and went around to stand on Hange’s right. 

“I didn’t think about this beforehand, but the last three possible winches to fix are close in proximity. If the Marleyan Cult’s knight figures out what we are trying to do, he might stay around the last three winches until he recaptures you.”

“Can we do that one then?” You pointed at the winch that was located in the unfinished building. “I feel like that one is safer . . .”

“I trust your judgment, Princess. If he comes over here, run away early and I’ll try to get him to come after me. Hide in a bush or crouch somewhere he won't spot you.” Your lungs pinched as you and Hange ran over to the last winch. The area was dusty and the wooden ground of the unfinished building had dirt scattered on the floor. You opened the familiar small door on the side of the steel cylinder and inspected the gears. Hange opened the toolbox and the objects clicked inside the tin box as Hange searched for anything useful. There were scraps of screws and springs, gloves, a grip wrench, and a large gear. “Perfect, I got a brand new part.”

Hange took out the large main gear and replaced it with the newer one. Within a few seconds, their side was ready to go. You turned the gears on your side, wanting to finish the winch quickly. 

Another crow flew into the air and the sound of running footsteps were behind you. Eren, with the knight behind him, was bolting toward you and Hange. It was the first time you were getting a clear look at him. His armor audibly clanked with each pace heading toward you and your heart pounded in your ears. He was a large person and his armor was dull and grimy. He wore a helmet that covered his face and long strands of disheveled black hair were poking out of the slits that were intended for his eyes. 

Hange frustratedly groaned with Eren accidentally leading the knight over to you. You sprinted away, running as fast as you could from the building. You looked over your shoulder at Hange running away in the opposite direction. 

The knight didn’t follow Hange, and you didn’t notice if Eren returned in the direction he came. With a bated breath, you slowly trudged to the unfinished building. You didn’t hear anyone working on the winch in the building and it didn’t sound like anyone was inside. You pressed gently against the wooden wall, hoping to be slickly out of sight.

Then you spotted Hange silently walking back, scanning their surroundings. It felt odd that you didn’t see the knight follow Hange, and from your point of view, you couldn’t tell if he had left the area. You inched closer to the edge of the wall to get a peak around the corner. Your breath was shaky, and you felt constantly on edge. You carefully peeked around the corner and felt lighter, not seeing the knight there. Eren must have led him somewhere else. 

You relaxed your shoulders and with haste, you quickly returned to your side of the winch, wanting to repair it as soon as possible. You touched all the gears again, and they turned smoothly. It was a relief to know your side was also good. Once the rope was wrapped around the cylinder, the gate would be ready to rise high enough to escape on the horses. Hange came into the area from behind a wall. 

“My side’s good!” You said with a large smile. Hange’s eyes widened, and then you felt strong arms wrapped around your waist. You felt yourself be lifted from the ground and then the knight put you over his shoulder. You let out a wailing shriek and you thrashed in his grasp. “LET GO!”

The knight gruffed loudly, turned around, and left the unfinished building. He didn’t speak and you could hear his heavy breathing from behind the mask. You wiggled in his grasp, trying to free yourself. Then suddenly, a sound like a crack of glass came and your vision was filled with turquoise dust. It was like smoke and then you felt the knight drop you from the unexpected blinding smoke. You hit the ground, landing on your arm. 

“You like that, you idiot?!?” You heard Eren’s voice through the foggy blue cloud. You scrambled onto your feet to escape the knight’s view before the crystal dust dissipated. You ran toward Hange's direction, wanting to be in their presence. 

As you emerged from the turquoise dust, Hange hastily cranked the handle and the rope was taut. While you were grabbed and Eren saved you, Hange finished the fifth winch. Adrenaline coursed through you and there was a great sense of hope. 

“Come with me!” Hange bolted toward the portcullis gate, and you did not want to be near the Marleyan Cult’s knight. With a new sense of hope, you passed Hange, sprinting to the door. The adrenaline masked the pinching sensation in your lungs and escaping the temple was at your fingertips. “I think it’s that final handle over there!”

A large metal handle was on the side of the gate. With the ropes taut around the five winches, the final step was to open the gate, and the inside machinery would activate and slowly pull the heavy metal gate. 

From a distance, the heavy hooves beat the ground. The familiar odor of horse stench filled your nostrils. It was exhilarating to see how Hange’s plan was coming together. 

Hange set Willy Tybur’s head on the ground and then used both hands to rotate the handle. The grinding metal lifted from the ground, and as Hange continued pushing and pulling the handle round and round, the metal gate screeched as it was being lifted. It was lifting slowly, and you could hear many gears shifting. The ropes from the winches were leveraging the weight, and the gate was just above your waist. 

Metallic, clanking footsteps raced toward you, and a battle cry came from behind you. The knight’s dirty guard was summoned, and once again, his eyes narrowed on Hange. 

“Hange! Look out!” you screamed, and the guard had a blaze in his eye. Hange frustratedly shouted instinctively and took off from the gate. Hange easily outran the guard with the red bandana. They ran past the unfinished building and out of sight. You huffed, looking at the large crank of the portcullis gate. With a seed of determination, you asserted yourself in front of the crank. You cringed, noticing Willy Tybur’s head on the floor. His cheeks were fading and beginning to look cold. 

You gripped the handle and pushed it downward. It didn’t budge at first, but then the handle begrudgingly moved. Your own strength surprised you and fueled the drive to go faster. You pulled the handle upward and when the crank gathered enough momentum from your strength, the gate slowly rose. The rhythmic whir of the machine sang with each rotation. 

The pointy ends of the gate were becoming higher and Levi on Beauty and Eren on a horse came into view. The seven other brown horses followed and Hange’s white mustang joined the pack. Blood was smeared over the body of the white horse and its neck had a mix of dark blood and grimy black ash staining the skin and hair. The white mustang resiliently fought a gruesome battle and showed its staining victory. 

“A guard is chasing Hange!” You cried and Levi looked over his shoulder, his eyes darted around looking for a sign of Hange. “I don’t know where they are!” 

Eren dropped down from his horse and ran over to the crank.

“I can do the rest. You get on the horse!” Eren grabbed the handle and urgently cranked it. The portcullis gate rose quicker than when you were doing it. The gate didn’t budge higher when it reached around fifteen feet above you. The last two winches you didn’t repair or set up would have helped the weight distribution of the last five feet. 

“Levi! Hange is being chased—”

“I know, get on!” Levi’s gruff voice commanded.

“We’re not leaving them, right?”

“Of course not—”

“But—”

“GET ON THE DAMN HORSE!” Levi’s yell rattled you and you obeyed. It’s been a while since you rode Beauty, but it was comforting and familiar when you hoisted yourself up. Levi urged Beauty and the rest of the horses to pass under the portcullis gate. 

In the distance, coming from the stibnite thorns, were two more knights on horses. The knights that didn’t make it into the borgo before the gate was dropped. Connie and Niccolo, the two knights that Hange ordered to clear a path through the stibnite thornes. You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking about the last time you saw Niccolo in the Karanese District Headquarters. He was the chef that made the delicious mushroom risotto.

Behind you was a yelp, and you turned to see Hange hit the ground. Their toolbox flung out of their hand on the impact. With his back facing you, the knight stood over them in the distance, in the doorway of the wooden shack. Eren bolted toward where Hange was downed. Your frantic self jolted behind Levi, and Beauty whinnied, not liking how you anxiously shifted on her. 

“HANGE!” You cried. 

“Don’t worry!” Levi said as he turned Beauty around to face the decimated borgo from the exit gate. Your heart raced and you couldn’t take your eyes off the wooden shack. As Eren was sprinting his way over, the knight hoisted Hange off the ground like Hange was a weak doll. Hange started wiggling against his hold, and then Eren made it to the doorway and with brute strength, he pulled down the piece of wood, leaning against the doorway. It hit the back of the knight and Hange was dropped from his grasp. Hange slid over the large broken piece of rectangular wood and, with Eren, sprinted toward you. 

Your chest was heaving not from stress or anxiety but from the elation that once Hange and Eren got on their horses, you were leaving the Marleyan Temple, the cult, the ritual, and everything behind you. 

When Eren reached the exit gate, he climbed on the horse closest to him, and Hange quickly went to the side of the gate. You rolled your eyes when Hange came back into view, holding Willy Tybur’s head. The knight was running at full speed toward you, desperate to get the last chance to keep you in the clutches of the Marleyan Cult. 

“Are you okay?!” You yelled to Hange as they climbed on their horse. Before Hange could reply, Beauty took off galloping away. The horses followed after and Eren and Hange joined the stampede away from the temple. You held onto Levi as Beauty rode out toward the open path of the stibnite thorns. 

Connie and Niccolo noticed the group of horses emerging from the exit gate and they tapped their heels into their horses. The knights bolted down the path. You turned over your shoulder to see Tahros Kovacs standing at the gate, watching you leave hell. Eren was flipping him off. 

Your eyes met Hange’s gaze and were filled with adrenaline, yet they gave you a feeling of comfort. Hange gave you a weak smile, and your eyes began to tear up from the events that had taken place. The gravity of the battle, blood, and bodies began to weigh heavily on your mind. 

You glance at the temple one last time and a few cultists were watching you from the upper and lower bailey. They couldn’t stop you and they couldn’t do anything. All they knew was that the knights and the cultists had a devastating amount of death, and in the end, the knights won. You were in their possession once again. Your eyes flickered to the tallest tower you stayed in for several weeks, staring at the window's large arch opening. 

During captivity, you dreamed of Hange and the knights rescuing you daily. You recalled how you drearily stared out the window all day, hoping to see the knights approach in the valley you were currently riding through. 

In Hange’s clutches, Willy Tybur’s long blonde hair flowed behind him as the wind carried his hair. His words from earlier played in your mind. When you were watching the dust from the knights fighting the mutts in the valley, he asked you a wagering question. Which outcome do you prefer? All your knights die and the Dame lives? Or the Dame dies and the knights rescue you?

Hange was alive, and including you, six of you rode away from the Marleyan Cult’s temple.

 

nect chapter: chapter 26: Silent Hill

masterlist, chapter index

[czenzo]

Just an Act

[ao3]

summary: When Lockwood & Co. are called out on a case involving a jealousy-ridden Visitor, Lucy is forced to confront her own tangle of feelings and why it bothers her so much to see someone shamelessly flirt with her boss.

words: 6,360 rating: T

notes: this is my secret santa gift for Mar (@thegirlfromthesea)—I hope you like it! thank you to the Lockwood discord for hosting it again :)

happy holidays!

“So, Mr Lockwood, where’d you learn to use your rapier like that?”

Lucy snorted; she couldn’t help it.

A girl, not much older than Lucy, looked up at Lockwood through thick lashes. She was stereotypically pretty—irritatingly so—and had taken quite the shine to the company leader.

Lockwood smiled politely. “I took lessons as a young boy. Fantastic teachers, they were. Now, er—if you don’t mind, Miss…?”

“Haine,” she said with a smile. “Emily Haine. But, ooh, just Emily is fine.”

Watching Haine stick by Lockwood’s side as he inspected the nooks and crannies of the master bedroom made Lucy think of a limpet. The girl leaned in further and ogled his figure in that slightly too tight suit of his; it negated the explanation she gave of wanting to ‘learn the tricks of the trade’ when they first encountered her. They were only an hour into their work for the evening, and Lucy had already held back several scoffs.

Lockwood awkwardly cleared his throat. “Miss Haine, if you would be so kind as to give us a tad more space so we can work efficiently, that would be wonderful.”

She took a single step back.

George, who had been mid-tea sip, spluttered. “Christ. Lockwood, I’ll go and get a head start on the other room readings while you deal with this. Luce, do you want—”

Lucy scooped up her bag and held the door open for him. “Yes.”

Once the door swung shut behind them, George turned to her with a knowing look. “Not too keen on her, are you?”

She gave him a sidelong glance as they advanced down the hallway. “You don’t seem to be, either.”

“Anyone—or anything—that hinders our work is a nuisance in my book, sweet young girl or not." He paused to clean his glasses on the hem of his jumper then added with a chuckle, "She batted her eyelashes so much I thought she’d fly away any minute.”

Lucy held back what she was sure was a very ugly bout of laughter. “I can’t believe Mr Albrecht is letting his staff run around all willy-nilly while we’re trying to work.”

“I doubt that's the case,” George said. “This place is massive. He’ll have loads of staff, but she’s the only one we’ve come across. There must be a reason for it.”

Lucy’s reply tapered off as she eyed up the closed door they were distancing themselves from. Lockwood was on the other side of it—and now, with a lack of audience, Haine was likely to throw all shame out of the window. Lucy shook away the mental image of her idiotically cuddling up to him. Lockwood had self-respect and at least a shred of common sense, she reminded herself. He would keep turning down her advances despite being alone, surely?

“Luce?”

She blinked and turned to George, only to find they were no longer walking. “What?”

“You trailed off and stopped. Everything okay?”

She looked back to the door again, for what she told herself would be the last time.

“Ooh, she’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she? Tell you what, how about we get some recordings of this…” he pushed open the door beside him and it opened with a menacing creak, “lovely little bathroom—god, it looks like it’s never been used—and then we can crack open the biscuits?”

Biscuits were a good solution to (or rather, distraction from) many problems. Not that Lucy had any in that particular moment—Lockwood could fend for himself, Haine’s pursuit of him was not her concern—but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to dig into the digestives.

The bathroom wasn’t far from the size of Lucy’s bedroom at 35 Portland Row, and George hadn’t been kidding when he first peered inside: it was squeaky clean. When Mr Albrecht, their filthy-rich client and owner of the property, had given them one last briefing before hightailing it out of the place, Lucy recalled he had mentioned something about eight bathrooms. At the time she’d brushed it off in favour of focusing on the important info—i.e., the Visitor that was disturbing his family and targeting staff—but as she swept her gaze across the pristine porcelain and sparkling tiles, it came back to her with clarity. Eight bathrooms between its three non-staff occupants… no wonder this one looked as if it had been pulled straight from a catalogue.

“I’d bet good money we’re the only human contact this room’s seen, besides the installers,” George sniffed, pulling out his notepad. “I’d bet those digestives that nothing’s here, but we ought to take readings anyway.”

They went through the motions. Lucy checked temperatures (nothing out of the ordinary, as suspected) and Listened for disturbances (the pipes were a bit squeaky, but that didn’t count as a psychical threat), while George jotted everything down. Once they were done, they wasted no time in retrieving the biscuits and thermoses from the depths of their bags.

For the first time that evening, Lucy took the skull jar out. It sat between them in their small iron circle (made more out of habit than necessity) and immediately began pulling faces at George. It had formed an annoying habit of waffling while clients spoke and shouting random numbers as she took readings, so for the sake of her own sanity she’d kept the jar shut tight.

Up until now.

“I reckon if you bludgeon that soppy little fool you could hide her body in this bathtub and it’d be years before anyone found her.”

George looked at Lucy expectantly.

“It doesn’t like Miss Haine,” she translated. George simply nodded and dunked a biscuit in his tea.

“That was some shocking paraphrasing, Lucy. I never said I didn’t like the girl—I said I’d be completely at peace if you caved her skull in and made the body disappear. Two very different things, I tell you.”

Lucy decided that didn’t warrant a reply. “What do you think about the case, George?”

His face lit up at the chance to delve into it again; it was so charmingly George that Lucy felt a sudden surge of fondness for him. “The staff’s reports of a detailed apparition makes a Spectre quite likely. One mentioned it looked like a young man, so I researched deaths on the property while at the archives—and sure enough, a few poor sods have met their end here. An ancestor of Albrecht’s from the 19th century got shot just outside, a lad who used to work here not long ago slipped down the main staircase, and a burglar recently got caught in the act and had a heart attack when the police apprehended him. What a way to go, eh?”

“Would any of them have a reason to return, though?”

George shrugged noncommittally. “In one way or another. The ancestor’s death stopped the ownership of the property transferring to him, the ex-staff might’ve been unhappy with how he was treated here, and the burglar… well, if I died in those circumstances, I’d be pretty miffed. I’d come back to haunt the place as a distraction from that embarrassment.”

“Your whole life’s an embarrassment.”

This time, it was Lucy’s turn to splutter mid-sip.

“What? What did it say?”

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

George narrowed his eyes, but soon let it go. “Another biscuit?”

“Go on, then.” Lucy reached for the proffered sleeve but froze when an ear-splitting shriek echoed down the hall. She shoved the skull jar in her bag and discarded the tea and biscuits in favour of bolting in the direction of the scream, with George not far behind.

Lucy threw open the door, rapier in hand.

The skull, half-sticking out of her bag, peered over her shoulder and cackled. It let out a comment so crude Lucy would have winced if she weren’t so distracted by the way Haine had her arms wrapped around Lockwood.

George panted heavily beside Lucy. “What happened?”

Haine held on for a moment longer, then had the gall to look sheepish as she slowly pulled away. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Lockwood! I could’ve sworn I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and oh, it looked awful, and I knew I could count on you to protect me from it.”

“Pah! What a trollop.”

Lucy, rapier still raised, looked to Lockwood. His face was pointedly blank as he considered the blushing girl beside him. In the blink of an eye, one of his trademark smiles appeared—to Lucy’s relief, it wasn’t one of the charming or flirting variety, but instead one of careful politeness.

“I’m glad you feel you can put your trust in us,” he said, “but I can assure you there’s certainly no psychic activity in this room, according to the readings we got. Not a single death glow, either. There’s a slight draught in here—perhaps the movement you saw was the curtains.”

“The atmosphere seems to be taking a toll on you, Miss,” Lucy said. Her knuckles ached from her grip tightening around her rapier hilt. “We should get you set up to stay somewhere else for the night, so we can work without you getting in the—er, without you being at risk.”

“Nice catch, really smooth. Though personally, if I cared enough about dear old Locky, I would’ve just told the bint to sod off.”

Haine eyed Lucy with disdain. “What on earth is that thing sticking out of your bag?”

“Nothing,” Lucy said, shoving the jar further in and out of sight. She hadn’t the time to flick the lever in the same motion, so the skull’s cries and colourful insults were still audible. She prided herself on her ability to keep a poker face as it described, at length, where exactly Miss Haine should shove it.

Lockwood swiftly moved the conversation on. “Good idea, Luce. Mr Albrecht mentioned he usually has a team of night staff—where are they tonight, Miss Haine?"

“Most stayed home. The few who didn't get the memo in time and showed up anyway were sent to a nearby hotel for the night... But it’s so late now, they wouldn’t possibly take me in.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t you join them?”

“Ah, well, when he informed them all of the arrangements, I was preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“I was—er, ah… I was polishing. The bathrooms. You saw how clean they were, yes?”

George peered at her over his glasses. “We assumed it was because no one used them.”

“Oh no, they do. And I clean them—a lot! So I missed Mr Albrecht’s instructions. And then I stumbled upon you three!”

“Four.”

Lucy frowned. “If she gets hurt, Lockwood… We’ll be liable.”

“Yes, that is true,” Lockwood said, his smile now laced with a hint of uncertainty. “Time’s ticking, though, and we need to get a move on. Since we’ve deemed this room safe, we can keep her in here. The two of you can help me quickly fortify the room, and then we can resume work. Is that alright with you, Miss Haine?”

Lucy had never seen her expression look so sour. Her short reply of “Yes” was not convincing at all, but the trio got to work laying out protection for her nonetheless.

“All sorted,” Lockwood said, clapping his hands together. “You shouldn’t be disturbed in here, but just to be safe, don’t leave this circle. If you need anything at all, give us a shout.”

“There’s some tea in that thermos,” George added, “and I’ve generously donated a few biscuits. That’ll keep you going til dawn, I reckon.”

“Thank you,” Haine said stiffly.

Lucy plastered a smile onto her face, though she couldn’t manage the same amount of fake politeness as Lockwood. “You’re welcome.”

Without the hindrance of a fourth unqualified person, Lockwood & Co.’s efficiency skyrocketed. Lucy lost count of how many rooms they took readings in. The place was eerily labyrinthian, and she was grateful that George had the mind to print out a map beforehand.

The evening grew darker, and after locating the area with the most psychical red flags—the staff quarters, a small series of rooms in the basement—set up their own iron circle in preparation for any oncoming manifestations.

After filling Lockwood in on his suspicions, George sat cross-legged and leaned back on his hands. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard a peep out of Haine yet.”

“I thought she’d be calling out for her knight in shining armour in minutes,” Lucy said, an amused smirk creeping onto her face.

Lockwood raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you’re referring to me?”

“‘Course I am. She was all over you.”

“I wouldn’t say that… ” He averted his gaze. “But she did seem rather fond of me.”

“God knows why. I’d rather neck a street rat than look Lockwood in the eye.”

Lockwood frowned as he watched the skull’s ghostly mouth move. “What is it saying?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Should we let Albrecht know one of his staff’s gone rogue?” George said, straightening to stretch his back with an odd groan.

Lucy wasn’t sure why every fibre of her being was advocating for the girl’s downfall. After a moment’s consideration, she chalked it up to being ‘hangry’—as Bobby Vernon once used to describe George in a heated conversation—and grabbed another biscuit.

“Legally, it would be the right thing to do,” Lockwood mused. “But I’d hate to be the reason the poor girl loses her job. If she keeps shtum for the rest of the night, I’m happy to let it go. Is that fair?”

George shrugged. Lucy made a noise of vague discontent. The skull voiced its own unpleasant opinion.

“Great,” Lockwood said with a grin. “It’s settled.” He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and checked his watch. “Miasma’s setting in. We ought to be seeing activity soon… Have you heard anything yet, Luce?”

As a matter of fact, she had—the skull’s voice notwithstanding. “The occasional word. I can’t make out what it's saying, but it’s definitely a young man’s voice. It’s steadily increasing in volume and frequency.”

“Good, we’re on the right track. George is probably spot on with the Spectre assumption. And considering where we are, it’s likely to be the lad who used to work here.” He eyed up the room around them, and Lucy followed suit. 

Presumably, this was where Albrecht’s staff spent their breaks, away from the demands of the filthy-rich family. They were in the ‘lobby’, so to speak, of the staff area. It was a small room with sparse seating, various mops and brooms propped against the far wall, and an old radio next to some stale refreshments. Branching off from the main room was a restroom and a dingy bedroom containing the flattest mattress she’d ever laid eyes on. It was so far from the life of luxury the Albrechts lived it almost felt like a different building entirely. It meant George was probably correct about yet another thing—the deceased staff member might have returned seeking revenge against his stingy employer.

Lockwood’s narrowed eyes suggested he was having the same train of thought. “What I am wondering, however, is why now? You said he died a year or so ago, George, but Mr Albrecht said his staff only started complaining in the past few months.”

“Can’t say for sure. Maybe someone disturbed his Source while working?”

The skull let out a cackle. Lucy’s gaze snapped to it. “Do you know something?”

“Maybe I do.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“There’s no need to be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, it’s just” —it let out an elated cry—“this is hilarious. You’re so close to the truth! I’d bet good money you can’t get it through your thick skull, though.”

“What?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lockwood leaned forward. “What’s it saying, Luce?”

“It knows something. Said we’re close to the truth, but doesn’t have faith we’ll work it out.”

“No no, I said you. Cubbins’ll be on it in no time, I reckon. He isn’t riddled with the same distractions as you are.”

She carefully repeated its words, and George’s face lit up. “Oh, now I really want to know what it’s going on about.”

“Are you talking to a jar?” An annoyingly familiar voice said from the entrance.

Three heads whipped around in surprise, one haunted skull cackled gleefully, and one Spectre manifested in the middle of the room.

Haine screamed as Lockwood leapt forward, rapier slicing through the Visitor within seconds of its appearance.

Lucy and George scrambled to their feet. With the skull as a distraction, Lucy hadn’t noticed the disembodied voice becoming more prominent, but now it had her full attention. The pressure in her head made her wince and let out a hiss of pain. George gently placed a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles in a silent moment of understanding.

Lockwood hauled Haine into the iron circle. “What—and I say this out of concern for your safety—the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Miss Haine? We asked you to stay inside the circle. You could’ve been killed!”

Haine was deathly pale, and it took far longer than expected for her to voice a reply. “I… I know him.”

“You recognised the Visitor?” George said. The skull continued to laugh.

She nodded shakily. “His name is Adam. He works—worked here. We… had a thing, so to speak. He was lovely. But one day he… he—oh, god, he—”

“Slipped and fell down that huge staircase in the foyer?”

Haine let out a choked sob.

The voice had quietened; Lucy was able to think clearly again. “You said you ‘had a thing’?”

“His return could have something to do with that,” George said.

Lockwood nodded. “It’s likely. Now, Miss Haine, I beg you to stay inside these chains. We’re dealing with a dangerous Type Two that has personal ties to you. He may target you. Please let us work unhindered.”

“Or, if you do get in the way, at least make your death entertaining.”

“Unfaithful…”

Lucy tried to discreetly whisper to the jar she’d left on the floor. “What?”

“I said, if she does get in the way—”

“No, no, not that. The other thing.”

“That wasn’t me, Lucy. All this time being your partner in crime and you can’t even recognise my voice?” It scoffed. “Those biscuits have a higher IQ than you.”

“Mine…”

The words were a welcome distraction from the way Haine clung onto Lockwood’s sleeve. “I can hear him. I can make out the words.”

“What is he saying?”

“Unfaithful. Mine.” She paused, and then, “Cheat.”

Haine tightened her grip. “Adam said those things?”

“Oh,” George said. “Oh.”

“What did I say, Lucy? I bloody knew he’d catch on first! Oh, I’m a genius. I deserve some kind of award.”

“What?” Lockwood said, somewhat impatient.

“Miss Haine,” George said slowly, “are you naturally flirtatious?”

The sudden change of topic startled her. “Well, I wouldn’t say that… But if a man’s good-looking, I’m not going to ignore it.” She glanced at Lockwood for a split second. “Take Richie, for example—he started here earlier this year, and I know we’re colleagues, but you only live once. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to—”

“When did he start working here?”

“Er… A few months ago, I think?” Her irritation was visible as she spoke to George; it was a stark contrast to how she behaved with Lockwood. “How is this relevant?”

“There we go,” George said with satisfaction. “Adam still has feelings for you, and isn’t particularly pleased to see you moving on.”

Haine let out a small, dumb, “Oh.”

Lockwood whistled, long and slow. “Visitors with romantically oriented returns tend to be the most aggressive. Stay on your guard, everyone. And once again, Miss Haine, do not—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, though everyone surely knew what he planned to say. They were all too distracted by the Spectre’s return to dwell on it, however.

He stood—or rather, floated a few centimetres off the ground—near the iron circle, and now Lucy could get a closer look at him. He was faded and blurry around the edges, but she could still make out the inner details. He wore a similar getup to Haine, with the dark trousers and a slightly wrinkled white button-up. His attire, combined with his red hair and thin face, made him look alarmingly like a fusion of Lockwood and Kipps. What caught Lucy’s attention the most, however, was the ugly bruising circling his neck. It was a grim reminder of how he met his untimely death.

He was so young. He couldn’t have been much older than Lockwood or George. Emotions were distracting; Lucy let out a shaky sigh and tried to let it wash over her. Meanwhile Haine, untrained and vulnerable, broke out into a fit of sobs.

“How are we dealing with this, Lockwood?” George said, ready to leap into action with his rapier in hand.

“Miss Haine, I’m sorry to ask this when you’re feeling so delicate, but we need to locate Adam’s Source. Do you have any idea as to what it could be?”

Haine sniffed and ungracefully dragged a sleeve across her damp face. “No. I haven’t got a clue, I…”

Lucy felt a pang of sympathy. It was almost enough to make her forget what had irked her about the girl earlier. “It could be anything with sentimental value to him, or something involved in his… passing.”

The skull scoffed. “Don’t start going soft on her now.”

Haine turned away from the Spectre and curled further in on herself. “He wasn’t a materialistic person. Never let me get him gifts. But—oh. Oh! He was working when he fell, he…” Her eyes swept the room and stopped when they found the mops. “He was using one of those! Oh god, you don’t think…?”

Lockwood nodded solemnly. “It could be one of them, yes.”

Adam’s voice was still audible in Lucy’s mind. “He’ll pounce the second we step foot out of these chains.”

Haine moved closer to Lockwood. In the blink of an eye she was leaning into him, one hand resting gently on his arm. “I’m so scared. What if he—”

A cry ripped from Adam’s throat as he rushed forward.

Lucy flinched and stumbled backwards. She crashed into Lockwood, who caught her and set her upright. “Miss Haine, try to keep your hands off our boss. Your late ex isn’t very fond of him.”

“He sees Lockwood as competition? By far the worst case of insecurity I’ve ever seen.”

“He sees Lockwood as competition,” Lucy murmured, then repeated it louder as it dawned on her. “Lockwood’s riling him up. If we can get Adam to disregard him, he might calm down long enough for us to reach his Source.”

“Good thinking, Luce,” George said.

Lockwood took a careful, wide sidestep away from Haine. “How are we pulling that off?”

“You’re a real threat to him if you’re single,” Haine said. “You are single, aren’t you?”

Lucy’s head pounded as Adam’s voice boomed.

“Er,” Lockwood said eloquently.

“Not any more,” George declared, before pushing Lucy and Lockwood together. They collided and instinctively grabbed onto one another to avoid tumbling out of the chains.

As Lockwood looked down at Lucy, George’s intent dawned on her. She adjusted herself so one hand wrapped around Lockwood’s torso, and leant into him like she’d seen Haine doing all evening. Slowly, Lockwood’s hand reached up behind her and rested at the nape of her neck, toying with the hairs there like it was second nature. Lucy’s stomach did strange flips while the skull feigned retching and loudly voiced its complaints.

Haine made an odd noise. George smiled like the cat that got the cream and turned to face Adam triumphantly—only to find he was no longer there.

“Give it a minute,” he said. “Miss Haine, try coming onto Lockwood again.”

“You can’t force those kinds of things,” Haine insisted.

“Try it anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mr Lockwood, you’re looking rather dashing in that waistcoat.”

“Blind as a bat, she must be.”

Lucy turned her head to look at the waistcoat in question and was met by a familiar smell she’d come to associate with the feeling of home; for a brief second, she almost forgot she was out on a case.

The waistcoat did look nice, albeit a bit snug.

“Oh, I’d gouge my eyes out if I had any.”

George was tense in anticipation, but relaxed after a few moments of nothing. “I dare say I think it worked. Adam seems happy that Lockwood can’t possibly be interested in Miss Haine if he’s preoccupied with Luce.”

“‘Preoccupied’ is an odd way of putting it,” Lockwood said. His thin fingers continued to drift along the back of Lucy’s neck, and it was a whole world of distraction. She struggled to think straight and subconsciously tightened her grip on Lockwood’s waist. If he noticed she’d brought him closer, he didn’t let on.

“Stay there,” George said, holding his hands up as if they were jittery animals. “I’ll have a look at the mops.”

“It would be pure comedy gold if Cubbins kicks the bucket while you’re busy fondling each other. God, Lucy, you’re only supposed to be acting. Dial it back a bit, you desperate ninny.”

Lucy watched with bated breath as George cautiously stepped over the chains. He held his rapier aloft in anticipation and in a few large steps reached the far wall where the mops stood. Keeping his back to the wall, George stayed alert as he passed a hand over each mop. He violently flinched upon making contact with the last; it teetered and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Got it. It’s freezing cold.”

Lucy held tightly onto Lockwood. His hand had steadied on her shoulder; the weight kept her grounded as she Listened for oncoming danger. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haine alternating between giving her strange looks and watching George.

The skull faked a yawn. “Just get on with it already.”

The sound of its voice mingled with Adam’s whispers—he was still present, still watching, and had taken notice of George’s movements.

“Hurry, George,” Lucy murmured. Her hand came to rest on a salt bomb in her belt.

From the depths of his duffel, George had to retrieve one of their largest silver nets. It came out snarled and scrunched, and for an excruciatingly long moment, he stood there untangling it.

“God, this is painful,” Haine said. She watched for a second longer before huffing and stepping out of the chains towards him. “Here, let me—”

“CHEAT!” roared Adam; he materialised mere feet away and wasted no time in rushing towards Haine with outstretched arms.

Lucy and Lockwood moved synchronously. Together they leapt, Lockwood brandishing his rapier and Lucy taking aim with a salt bomb, and landed in the space between Haine and her enraged lover. Lockwood’s blade swung and the bomb soared from Lucy’s hand; both hit Adam with a vicious hiss of ectoplasm and a ghostly howl.

Not a moment later, George unceremoniously dropped the silver net on the mop.

Lucy’s ears popped and her jaw ached as the effects of the Visitor’s presence lifted. She didn’t mean to lean into Lockwood as her shoulders slumped, but neither of them moved away, and at some point his hand had returned to her shoulder.

“That was possibly the most boring outcome,” the skull lamented. “I was hoping to at least see Lover Girl croak. Not you, Lucy, the other one.”

“That was simple enough,” George said, nudging the sides of the net inwards.

Lockwood grinned. “Good work, you two. And as for you, Miss Haine”—his smile faded as he turned to her—“we’ll have to inform Mr Albrecht about what went down here, which means telling him you, er…”

“Went rogue,” Lucy supplied.

“Rogue, yes.”

Haine’s gaze was unflinching. “Perhaps I should tell him the true nature of your company, then.”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Being involved with your employee isn’t a good look, Mr Lockwood,” she said, with a hint of smugness.

Lockwood scoffed and exchanged glances with Lucy and George. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Are you kidding?” She nodded to him and Lucy, who suddenly became minutely aware of how much of Lockwood’s body was pressed against hers. The warmth of his hand seeped through the layers of her clothes. “It’s obvious that relationship distraction wasn’t an act at all. Tell Albrecht I was here and I’ll tell him what you two really got up to in his bathrooms tonight.”

“Oh. I’m starting to warm up to her, actually.”

*****

As they waited for a taxi outside Albrecht’s manor, Lockwood shivered and turned up his collar. “I can’t believe she blackmailed us with a complete lie.”

“It was either that, or find yourself on the front page of tomorrow’s Times,” George said.

“Lovebird agents shag in millionaire client’s bathtub,” the skull chuckled. “What a headline.”

“We should have found another way around it,” Lucy said indignantly. “Albrecht deserves to know the truth of what happened tonight, whether Haine threatens us or not. Besides—who’s to say he’d even believe her, anyway? She’s only one of… many staff.”

“We can think of something after a good night’s rest.” George yawned. “All the stairs in that place tired me out.”

He fell asleep in the taxi, notebook open in his lap and pen still poised to continue writing his notes. Lucy carefully placed them back in his bag, then caught Lockwood watching her from the passenger seat. His smile was small but tender. It was the one he usually reserved just for Lucy, the one that never failed to make her heart flutter.

“I need to talk to you before you turn in for the night,” he said. He looked at George, then back to her. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”

She suddenly felt as tense as she had been in the iron circle. “‘Course. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” He flashed her one of his bigger smiles, then turned back around to face the roads swathed in the light of the ghost-lamps.

Despite Lockwood’s reassurance, it still niggled at the back of Lucy’s mind the rest of the way home. She gently shook George awake as they pulled up outside 35 Portland Row and bid him goodnight before he began to trudge upstairs.

After dropping the skull jar off in her room, she found Lockwood in the kitchen turning the kettle on. He set out two mugs and turned to lean his back against the counter. When his eyes met hers, he smiled. “Luce,” he said, quietly. “Tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Her feet ached from the long night; she hopped up to sit on the counter near him. “What did you want to talk about?”

For a moment his brows furrowed, his gaze drifted to the side, and he seemed as if he were trying to recall something—as if he’d planned out exactly what to say, and was now struggling to find it again. Lucy restlessly shuffled her weight around, trying to make herself comfortable on the cool granite.

Lockwood took a breath. “What Haine said… it bothered me.”

“Well, yeah. She blackmailed us with an outright fib—she’s a nasty piece of work.”

“No—I mean, yes, that was awful, but that’s not what I’m talking about right now. She said it was obvious that us being together ‘wasn’t an act at all’, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said slowly. “But it clearly was. She’s probably as thick as she is manipulative.”

Lockwood’s gaze flicked up to the ceiling; a subtle wince passed across his face before he spoke. “Was it?”

“What?”

He looked back to her, face utterly sincere. “An act.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Lockwood.”

Lockwood’s mouth opened and for a second, he appeared on the verge of saying something uninhibited. The kettle clicked, snapping him out of it, and he got to work putting their drinks together. “It was unprofessional. A complete lapse in judgement. I wanted to apologise to you, Lucy, in case it made you uncomfortable.”

“Er… Well, it’s not like there was an alternative. And George was the one who orchestrated it, anyway.”

“That can’t have been our only option,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have gone along with it. I should have looked for another way for us to deal with the situation.”

“Lockwood, it’s fine. It was fine.” She leaned to the side, putting herself in his line of sight. “You’re fine.”

“Am I?” His usual smile and bravado were gone, leaving nothing but worry etched into his features. “I’m concerned I’m blurring the lines too much in my relationship to you. Yes, I’m your friend, but I’m also your employer. I forget how much power I technically hold over you.” He let the spoon clatter into one of the mugs. “Accidentally using it against you would be my worst nightmare.”

“You haven’t. And even if you did— though you wouldn’t—we both know I wouldn’t let that slide. If you think I can’t stand up for myself and give you a good kick to the backside if you need it, you’re sorely wrong, Lockwood.”

“No, I know. You’re good like that. I just…” He sighed. “I hate how quickly Miss Haine got the wrong impression of us. We were just doing our job—in a slightly unconventional way, yes, but it was for the sake of the case—and she so easily twisted it into something else. What if she thought I was manipulating you, in some way? What if I was, and neither of us realised?”

“Lockwood, you’re being a bit silly.” She took one of the mugs in both hands and soaked up its warmth. “It’s late, you’re tired, and you’re overthinking it.”

He leaned against the counter and stared into his own mug. “You’re probably right.”

“Besides”—she took a sip, winced at how it scalded her tongue, and surprised herself with the words that fell from her mouth—“I never said it made me uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Stop jumping to conclusions.”

Lockwood’s body stilled, and his gaze flicked to her. “What do you mean?”

She sucked her teeth and decided to throw all caution to the wind. “When George contained the Source, I could’ve let go. I had more than enough space to back away from you. Did I?”

“…No?”

“I held on. I leant into you.”

“You were weary.”

“I enjoyed it,” she said. It was an admission to both Lockwood and herself; part of her wanted to curl up and hide as it dawned on her that she had thoroughly loved being so close to him, and that Haine hadn’t just been annoying, she’d been… competition?

Something clicked, and suddenly Lucy understood Adam.

“You enjoyed it,” Lockwood repeated quietly.

“And hypothetically, if we had to do something like that again, it’d be fine. I’d be fine.”

“On the job, of course.”

The corner of her lip twitched upward. “Of course.”

“And hypothetically,” he spoke slowly, edging away from the counter and closer to her, “if something like that were to happen outside a working environment, how would you feel?”

Her words came out close to a whisper as anticipation flushed her cheeks. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Oh.” Lockwood stopped in front of where she perched on the counter. They were almost at eye level. He held her gaze for a moment before faltering, then spoke with uncertainty: “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never—should we—”

“Me neither,” Lucy said, then pulled him in by the waist to kiss him. He stiffened for a second before melting into her touch; she parted her knees for him to move closer.

Lucy’s grasp softened at Lockwood’s sides when he reached up to cup her face. A small noise escaped her before she leant further into the kiss.

Time seemed to warp—though their lips parted after a few moments, it felt as if a whole hour had passed while they were engrossed in each other. They pressed their foreheads together as their quiet gasps for air filled the otherwise silent kitchen.

Someone cleared their throat by the door.

Lucy and Lockwood’s heads clacked together as they startled, warranting identical hisses of pain as they jerked their heads in the direction of the noise.

George leant against the door frame, clothes rumpled and hair unruly—it was clear he’d fallen straight into bed after coming home.

“Got peckish,” he said, adjusting his crooked glasses. “I see you’ve sorted things out. Took you long enough.”

Lockwood was the first to snap out of the shock. “What?”

“Kipps reckoned it would take another few months, at least,” he said, rummaging through the cupboards. “I had more faith than that.” He poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and drifted back out into the hall. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” they both replied, though it came out sounding like a question.

Lockwood caught her eye, and they fell into a fit of laughter. Her head fell onto his shaking shoulder; the rush of giddiness had her feeling wide awake.

For a brief moment, she was not an agent in a Visitor-infested world, she didn’t have to frequently put her life on the line for work, and she hadn’t lost her best friend because of a system that let her down. Instead, she was a normal teenage girl getting flustered over a teenage boy, giggling into the warm fabric of his shirt and hoping he didn’t notice how red her cheeks had become.

Lockwood brushed her hair away with a gentle swipe of his fingers, then pressed a kiss to her temple. “We really are fantastic actors.”

Lucy burst into laughter all over again.

*****

end note: right before posting this I realised I gave Haine almost the exact same name as Metric’s lead singer?? I swear that wasn’t on purpose lol I love u Emily Haines

[snapple16]

Hello, Hello! So since I mentioned it here first I'm gonna share the first ch for the Bowuigi 20s au here! Now as I say on my fics comments much appreciated!

Warnings!

Tw: Blood, Guns. It's a gang fic so..

Also this ch is tame compared to what I have planned

____________________________________________

Cricket song filled the night air as fireflies danced amongst the tree trunks. The small man-made lake glittered in moon light, owls called out to the night as they took flight. It was a peaceful night, until the grind of wheels on the dirt road interrupted the nighttime symphony. The headlights of the two vehicles were kept off even though the occupants were on their own land. They didn't want to draw attention to themselves. The first vehicle, a Willy's Overland Whippet 93A came to a stop just on the shores of the lake. The car's occupants filed out, the four turtle like creatures moved quickly around to the large padlocked chest strapped to the back. The driver pulled a large key ring from his pocket, letting out a triumphant noise when he found the key on the large ring and unlocked the trunk. The larger of the four a five foot ten bruiser reached in and pulled out the beaten up occupant.

"Pl-please.. I.. I didn't want to.." The koopa pleaded as he was dropped unceremoniously on the ground. The green shell on his back was cracked badly, leaking blood as did his nose. The brown hair on his head was matted from blood and dirt. The front passenger door of the specially built Rolls Royce Phantom Limo opened as a nicely dressed koopa hybrid got out, his head was clean shaven a few black scales dotted around his single eye while the other was covered in an eye patch. A black shell lay over the suit jacket.

He moved over to the back of the door and opened it allowing the King to exit. "King" Bowser Ryujin was an intimidating sight for his men to behold no matter how many times they saw him. Standing a little over seven foot tall with firey red hair slicked back between two sharp horns, sharp fangs poked out from his bottom lip of a mouth set in a human face that always had a nasty smirk. Dressed in his nice three piece suit with his large spiked green shell on the back he looked every bit of the Mafia boss that he was. His scaled tail swished back and forth like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey, fiery red eyes glowed as they focused on the koopa man before him. From behind him came a much shorter man with round rim glasses and a pointy cone hat perched on his head, dressed in a fancy suit Kamek did not look at all that intimidating until he waved the wand that doubled as a cane.

The bloodied koopa started to crawl toward his old boss still trying to plead his case. "Boss, I.. I'm so sorry I didn't want to. You gotta believe me. King Boo he.. he tricked me.. he said he'd-"

The koopa flinched as the one eyed koopa reached into his jacket, the traitor expected a gun or a knife instead he pulled out the case holding the King's prefered cigars. The other koopa pulled one out and deftly clipped the end and offered it up to his king. Bowser plucked it from his third's fingers holding one end up to his mouth where he blew a small flame on the end catching it on fire. He blew it out allowing the end to smolder before he stuck it between his lips.

"Marky, Marky, Marky." Bowser shook his head as he started toward the shivering koopa on the ground before him. "I don't care why you did it. I don't care that you let that over sized marshmallow trick you. I care that you BETRAYED me, now had you come to me and told me what he was going to do, I might have let you live for even entertaining the idea of betraying me. Maybe I'd only take a finger or a hand. Now I'm afraid you put me in a difficult position: Kill you quickly and end your suffering, or make it last."

In what seemed like a split second of thinking the koopa Mark chose for him. Seeing no other way out of the situation alive Mark tried to scramble up and make a run for the lake. He seemed to have forgotten what the king had living in the lake, for in a matter of seconds he was overwhelmed by alligators attracted by the scent of blood. The screaming only lasted a few seconds. Bowser took a deep inhale of his cigar before letting out the smoke with a few sparks.

"Howitzer." Bowser motioned to his third.

"Sir." Howitzer nodded, he didn't even need to be told what to do already knowing what his boss wanted done. It was going to be an unpleasant night for Mark's family.

*

The midday sun shone brightly on the street, the pedestrians had smiles as they enjoyed the spring sun. The warm beams seemed to point toward one particular flower shop, the shop name Bella Rosa was carved into a green and blue plaque over the front door. The bell of the small flower shop jingled, signaling another customer coming in. Luigi Mariano, the owner, stood from behind the counter where he'd been kneeling, blue jean overalls slightly dirty at the knees. His blue eyes sparkled brightly as he saw who had come in.

"Mario, mio fratello!" Luigi smiled brightly as he moved around the counter to greet his older yet shorter twin brother.

In terms of appearance Mario had the same blue eyes as Luigi, his mustache was a little more styled than his brother's. Clothing wise however they were on the complete opposite of the spectrum. Mario was sporting a red three piece Italian pinstripe suit, which only made sense since he was the boss of the Mariano family mafia. Despite his lifestyle Mario always made time to visit his little brother. While Luigi was spared the life of a mafia leader or at least second, their father had made sure he still got into 'real man's work' and had him drafted into the military, special forces to be exact.

Mario had been furious and wanted to get his little brother out, unfortunately before Mario could get to him Luigi had finished his basic training and was shipped out. By some miracle, Luigi had survived the first world war and made it home. To Mario's shock, he was still the same sweet, slightly skittish man he'd been when he left. Even so Mario made sure his baby brother wouldn't be involved in anything violent ever again. Now head of the family Mario had a protective order put on Luigi and his shop.

"Lu, how's business?" Mario asked warmly as he embraced his brother, not at all bothered by the dirt getting on his thousand dollar clothes. "Must be good since its spring time."

"Its going well, everyones getting ready for mass and Easter sunday." Luigi nodded pulling away. "What are you up to?"

"Just a routine drive around. DK's wanting to meet up later for drinks so I figured best get work out of the way." Mario stated. "Heard rumors there's been a few koopas running around the area."

"Only the few civilians that don't live in Bowser's territory. Not all koopas work for him you know." Luigi shook his head. While he's heard stories of the terrifying dragon turtle hybrid he'd never seen the man. Not that he wanted to, if even some of what he'd been told was true. "I know I'm beating a dead horse but please try not to get caught by the police in a speakeasy or start any fights?"

"Hey, I don't always start those fights and I've never been caught." Mario huffed, crossing his arms. Luigi couldn't help but giggle, even as a mafia leader his brother still acted like a child sometimes. It was good to see Mario still had his heart even with what he does for a living. "Oh by the way, Peach wants to meet up this weekend with us and the other girls. Daisy's gonna be there." At Mario's eyebrow wiggle Luigi just rolled his eyes, his brother knew his preference lay with his own gender. Didn't mean Mario wouldn't tease him relentlessly.

"Still, please try to stay out of trouble. I really don't need your men dragging your tail in here like they did two months ago." Luigi stated.

"Hey, that was not my fault. DK said that area was legit, how was I supposed to know it had already been overtaken by those koopa creeps?" Mario defended. Luigi just shook his head as he pulled his older brother back into a hug.

"Go handle your business, I got orders to fill." Luigi smiled at him as they pulled apart.

"You sure you don't want me to leave a couple men here for you? I'm sure they'd be willing to help out." Mario offered. Luigi shook his head no.

"No, Fratello, you need all the help you can get to keep you out of trouble." Luigi smiled. "Now go on."

Mario always hated leaving his little brother alone since he came home from the war. Not that Luigi couldn't handle himself, the skinnier Mariano brother was a gentle soul and prefered talking to fighting. He would rather himself get hurt than someone else. And the last time he left Luigi alone he'd been shipped out.

Mario sighed as he nodded. "Alright, bro. I've been hearing some of King Boo's men and more of Bowser's have been spotted roaming our streets at night. So don't go out unless absolutely necessary, and even then call me so I can send someone to be with you."

"Mario, I'm not a little boy anymore you know." Luigi rolled his eyes.

"No but you are a mafia boss's brother. A dopo, fratellino." Mario walked toward the door where his men waited outside for him. As the door closed he looked down at the toad with blue spots, "Mikey, you stay close to this shop. If Lu leaves you, follow him, capiche?"

"Comprendo, Boss." Mikey nodded with a salute to his mushroom cap.

"And for God's sake stay out of sight this time." Mario ordered as he approached the car waiting for him. Mikey saluted again as he hurried away from the shop front toward a good vantage point.

All the men under Mario 'The Plumber' Mariano learned one particular rule upon their initiation: No one touched Luigi Mariano. Any who broke the rule, gang member or rival member learned very quickly what Mario's wrath felt like.

[pedgecalmdown]

my alpha - p.p.

summary:

It’s the full moon, and piss boot seems to be hiding something.. 🤫🤔😈

word count: 1.5k

warnings: werewolf, sticky cheese, uncut wolf wewe, Tight Wolf Butthole, hot dog in bun, pejole many chins, pudgy werewolf, Wet Wolf Willy, Tight Wolf Butthole, brown bloody chunk squirt, unidentified wolf squirt?, Damp Clammy Enclosure, pissicle

It was a dark and stormy night, and you were on the couch with Piggle watching a scary werewolf movie. You noticed your sweet hubby wubby twiddling with his fingies, which you assumed was from the movie. You tried snuggling up to him to calm him down, but to your surprise he actually nudged you away. “Oh.. sorry babe, I’m just not comfortable with that right now. Maybe a little later..” Confused, you replied, “Oh… okay..” You climbed back onto the same position on the couch you were before, but with a newfound worry for your husband. Was he okay? Or was he simply just scared? You didn’t know how to bring up the subject without being awkward, so you just let him be.

You sit on the couch, opposite your husband once again. You felt worried that you had done something wrong, glancing at him every few minutes to see how he’s doing. He makes a peculiar coughing sound and moves his arm quickly to cover a random spot on his other side. He quickly stands up, “um.. I’ll- ill be right back.” He awkwardly trots away, as if something is hurting him. You couldn’t be more confused. You try to direct your attention back to the movie for a few minutes, but you hear a ruckus coming from the bedroom behind you. You debate on seeing what’s wrong, but decide it’s your right to know. You slowly tiptoe your way to the door, and open the doorknob slowly. Even while the door is only slightly cracked, you see a figure writhing around on the floor. ‘is that pissicle?’ You think to yourself. It can’t be, this creature is much too big and hairy to be him. Suddenly, the moonlight barely spills into the room. You’re horrified at the sight in front of you.

Without warning, the creature let’s out an almost agonizing howl while the light of the full moon shines down on him. It holds its head in its hands in pain, and you watch, frozen, as the creature grows bigger and bigger until it finally turns around and you can see its face. It’s… PEETLE?? You duck for cover, totally unsure of what to think. You continue to hear all sorts of ruckus and whatnot coming from the bedroom with the occasional howl, and suddenly, it stops. You peek your head out and see Pedro staring at the mess he caused, fully transformed into a werewolf. Upon examining him, to your dismay, you found his werewolf self actually very attractive. The clothes he was wearing before had ripped upon growing in size, and there was one particular part that had grown exponentially.. Petro turns around and sees you with fear in his eyes. “Y/N!! I’m sorry… I can explain…”

You say nothing. Your eyes are wide and staring at a particular part of him. He starts babbling about how he didn’t want you to see him like this and how this isn’t how he wanted you to find out but all you can do is stay wide eyed and silent. He slowly looks down and realizes what you’re looking at. He was so panicked that he didn’t realize his pants had completely snapped and were now completely gone. His werewolf Willy was out and about, standing straight up and hitting his pudgy furry belly. You start walking towards him and he steps back. “N-no.. im gonna hurt you if you get too close.. im not safe to be around right now!!!” You look into his eyes and step closer until his feet hit the wall. You stare up at him and notice his furry double chins and wolf mustache. His nose is wet with spit and snot and his eyes are teary. He lets out a wet cough and some spit gets on your face. You think back to the movie you two were watching. You didn’t think that werewolf was that scary, after all.

Suddenly, the look in Piddle’s eyes changed. Some primal werewolf instinct must’ve taken over him, because he immediately grabbed you with his paws and marched you over to the bed. You peeped his chins as he cheekily smiled and let go of you to lay down on the bed, large wolf stomach and member all out for you to admire. “You want a bite?” He asks mischievously. “Oh boy..you know I do..” You rub your hands together as if you were a mad scientist and Peejolé was your experiment. You immediately jump on your husband’s stomach, looking at his face and many chins. You gaze into his eyes and say with a smirk, “Where shall we begin?”

You start by rapidly removing your shirt and pants, leaving you in just your underwear. Polio stares at your chest. “Sweet mama! You really gotta sweet pair of milkies 🤤” he says, tongue hanging from his mouth. he brings his paws up to tickle you slightly. “Here comes the tickle monster!” His fingers dance over your stomach and chest, making you fall backwards in laughter. Once you’re on your back, he hovers over you and brings his hands to your underwear, ripping them off and eating them. He licks his lips, or where his lips would be, and starts lowering his head to you and sniffing you at a rapid pace. He sniffs everywhere, getting lower and lower. His chins stick out prominently as he does so. you bring your hand to his head to scratch him, and he lets out a fart of excitement. It quickly fills the room with a hellish, pungent odor. He is a wolf, so it makes sense.

His jaw eventually nears your entrance, and he goes full on wolf ham on you. He knocks you down with the force at which he was tasting you. In all this excitement, you hear multiple squeaks emerge from his butthole. It makes you smile. You were just so glad Pishposh was so comfortable with you. Unfortunately, the smell was so peppery and spiced, you could feel your dinner come back up and splatter all over your pleasurer. He doesn’t even look up at you while he continues to lick your whole body clean. It tickles!!! You’re giggling the whole time, but you eventually have to stop him to return the favor. You glance down at his Wet Wolf Willy and smile. His eyes light up and he squirts a little as he exclaims, “Boy oh boy I can hardly wait!” You cover your mouth with his finger and get to work.

You start licking the ginormous, uncut member, from the base to the tip. He lets out a high pitched moan, and you continue. You use your thumbs and pointer fingers, pinching, to pull down his Wolf Fore Skin to see loads of sticky cheese and buildup. You lick it clean, and savor the taste in your mouth. He shudders and squirts even more, this time coming out with chunks. You can tell he’s about to burst, so you start going faster. ‘Oh I know what’ll get him to blow..’ you think. You slowly sneak your finger under him, and shove it inside his Tight Wolf Butthole. He gasps and moans before letting out his wet, watery, translucent, chunky, brown seed into your mouth. You swallow it all, reveling in the feeling of the chunks sliding down your throat. “I guess it’s time to stuff your bun full of my furry hot dog, huh? 😏” he says with a smirk.

You immediately obey him and lay on your back. You can still feel the squirted brown, bloody chunks sliding down your throat. His Raging Red Rocket was slammed into you, and I mean SLAMMED. The sheer force of his thrust almost made you fly off the bed through the wall. His chins were staring you down as he continued to ram your Damp Clammy Enclosure. He gets so riled that he starts singing the song of his people.

“AWOOOO AWOOOOO AWOOOOOO.”

He’s claiming you as his territory, and you just love it. You feel yourself nearing completion and you let out a guttural moan. He starts pounding harder, so hard in fact that you have to hold onto his fur so he doesn’t propel you through the wall and out yonder. When you finally cum, you let out a loud, “OOGLY BOOGLY!!!” of satisfaction. Projectile looks pleased with his work and he gives you a smooch, except he doesn’t have lips so just licks your mouth. “I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did 😈😇😁”

You look at him with nothing but love in your eyes. “I did :3” you say. He collapses on top of you, crushing you with his weight in the best way possible. His chins land on your face, so you have to fold them away from you to breathe. You start petting his back and his tail starts wagging slowly. You giggle. I guess you could say you were addicted to your werecreature 😉😉

———————————————————————————

A/N

We’re broadening our horizons for this one.. ☝️🤫.. lets just say.. we had some inspo… 😈😉

[princess-glassred]

Henry Bowers: Former child star (a short thing I wrote about Henry and Connor Bowers)

"Come in." Connor commanded, lifting a black king's piece to checkmate his invsible opponent sitting in the empty chair across from him.

The big brown doors to his master suite bedroom clicked open, letting a bit of hallway light spill into the room and brighten it, even though it didn't really need it given all the light green furniture.

Golden curls flopped down from Connor's head to his temples as he contemplated his next move.

A shambling and gloomy figure poked his head out from the door, uncharacteristically meek and quiet.

It was his older cousin, Henry, looking as pitiful as a sopping wet kitty left out in the rain.

Connor usually found Henry's visits very amusing, as even on his worst days he could look in the mirror and smile, knowing he was THE Connor Bowers and not his bumbling idiot cousin, who might as well have been the biggest schmuck in hollywood.

Of course it wasn't always like this, he had to fight tooth and nail to make sure things changed the way he wanted, but it was all well worth it in the end.

He smiled at him, a relaxed and inviting smile, but not a particularly friendly one.

He rested his chin on his hand and leaned forward "Ah, Henry, i'm so glad you popped in. I was wondering when you'd come out of your room and rejoin the rest of the human race." Connor heartily laughed, but Henry didn't react, He didn't even crack a smile, he just stared forward with the same vaugley depressed glare he usually had.

He'd been staring at Connor like that a lot lately, like he suspected him of foul play but was only partially aware something was wrong.

Glassy eyed, distant, hopeless, and a little bit angry at Connor and himself for being unable to put the pieces together.

Henry felt so odd in his room, like every part of it was designed to make him feel unwelcome, most because his bedroom was just so much better than his, although part of that was simply from motivation and ego.

Connor Bowers like to keep up a snazzy appearance, anything less just wouldn't do, while Henry stopped giving a crap about anything after he turned 15.

Heck, he didn't even care enough to get one of their maids to clean it for him, they were filthy rich thanks to Connor, he didn't HAVE to clean if he didn't want to, but even that was too much to ask of Henry these days.

There were many more superficial reasons as to why the room was nicer though, the expensive furniture and size of the room being two of them.

The most striking thing of all about this room though was his large book shelf,which housed all of his hard earned awards and memorablia from his cousin's long and quite impressive career.

He was a pretty damn good actor, after all, four oscars and a network of famous people to throw money at you had to mean something talent wise, if not a talent for acting, at least some astounding charisma.

Henry seemed to be on that same track once too, but that was a long time ago, and everybody in showbiz knows that once that spark dies it's hard to start it again.

Only somebody like Brando could do that, and Henry Bowers certainly wasn't no god damn Marlon Brando, he was barely even a Marlon Wayans.

He didn't wanna spend all afternoon in here, Connor's room- or rather Connor- gave Henry the willies, and he'd rather refrain from spending more than a few minutes at a time with him.

He fiddled with his hoodie strings, a little ancy, looking like he wanted the thing to swallow him whole or wrap him up like a cocoon.

He sighed, "Connor I was wondering..." henry strained, still fighting off the last bits of a nasty sore throat. "When you have your big party tonight, can I skip it?" he mumbled.

Connor feigned a pout "Aw, but Henry, everybody's gonna miss you so much if you're not there." that was blatant lie and he knew it.

Connor's friends didn't like Henry, and Henry didn't like Connor's friends, the only times they interacted was when Connor dragged him out to parties for whatever reason.

He said it was socialization, afterall, his doctor said he was in desperate need of people, but Henry knew the real reason.

It was mockery, he hadn't figured out how or why yet, but he had a hunch that this was all big haha on him somehow, or maybe everything in his life was a big haha all along.

Maybe the mansion they lived in, Connor's whole career, and maybe even Connor himself was somehow a big haha on him.

That might have just been the paranoia talking though, his doctors did say he struggled with that stuff, sometimes Henry couldn't even tell where the shizo-paranoia ended and the existential depression started.

"I don't mean anything by it, I just- don't wanna go, ya know? I never have a good time and I don't wanna go somewhere if i'm not gonna have a good ti-" "You know Henry, you might have a good time if you bothered to dress up. When's the last time you bathed?" Connor asked, pretending to be much more worried for his cousins well being than he really was.

Henry looked down at himself and swallowed, he did look pretty bad, especially next to Connor.

Age had not been as kind to him as it was to his cousin, Connor got prettier and prettier the more years ticked on, thanks to all his skin peels and mud wraps and every other skin treatment under the sun.

Henry looked rough and haggered, he gained quite a bit of weight and you could totally tell, plus he smelled like a wet hound dog.

He bit his lip and balled his fists, his depression slipping away a little to let Henry's more violent and brash personality take the stage again.

"You know what Connor-" "Hmm?" Connor hummed, standing up to go pour himself some tea from a silver teapot.

He was clearly only half paying attention to his cousin, which only served to make Henry even more angry with him.

"I've had it up to here with you. You always walk around with a smarmy smile on your face and treat me like i'm some kind of- kinda- leper! What's your deal? Do you just hate me? If so you can tell me, i don't care. Just tell me so i can fuck off to my room forever." Henry ranted, squinting at Connor with a sort of tired anger, like this question had been bubbling in the back of Henry's mind for a while.

Connor took a moment to think of a response, then happily sighed " Alrighty then, 'spose I should tell you the truth now. I've been dying to tell you for a while anyways.".

He quickly drank from his teacup and slammed it back on the tray upside down, sliding down onto a comfortable love seat beside his bed.

"First I gotta ask you a question, do you remember your father, Henry?" asked Connor, giggling as he noticed a flurry of panic flush his face.

That was always the quickest way to get under Henry's skin, any mention of the late great Butch Bowers drove him up the wall, and Connor found that all very very funny.

"Of course I do, I mean jeez Connor, he hasn't been dead that long..." Henry grumbled, and Connor nodded.

"Well do you remember when I first came to live here?" He questioned, and Henry's mind went blank.

That was admittedly much more hazy, but pretty much all of Henry's childhood memories were like that, which was probably more than enough proof that it wasn't the best childhood.

What little he could gather from his fractured memories was that Connor's arrival was both unwelcome and quite sudden.

His parents had died, the cause of which also eluded Henry.

Something about a fire? Or was it car accident? Or maybe it was a big storm one night? He couldn't tell, and frankly, he just didn't care enough to think about it too hard.

Despite the toll it took for him to recall it, Henry could still recall it, so he simply nodded to Connor's question and awaited more context.

"Well, funny story about you and your dad... I used to actually be sooo jealous of you two, I'm sure you've blocked out this whole part but it's true. I was real jealous of you and that steady gig you got on that one show, what was it called again? The uh- the uhhh-" Connor snapped his fingers, the name too far back and generic for him to remember.

"The family for Ameli." Henry solemly replied, the name putting a pit in his stomache.

Connor laughed and clapped his hands in agreement "Haha! Yes! You got it!" he cheered.

Henry had had a pretty good stint on that show, he'd become a break out star on it not too long after the first few episodes aired, and the longer it went on the more he stole the spot light from every other character.

He played some annoying but cute little neighbor kid, ala Dennis the menace, spouting catch phrases here and there, and as he got older he began to mature into the more cute bad boy love interest type, and it was fantastic.

He was young, popular, and most of all bringing in the big bucks.

Butch loved that about Henry, in fact it was his favorite thing about his son, how much dough he could rake in just from a few tv spots and commercials.

More roles began to fall into his lap, and it was all happening so fast Henry thought there was no end insight, he thought he'd found the holy grail of job oppertunities.

Then he hit 14, and his voice got squeaky, his face got pimply, his teeth needed braces, and all of sudden, his "talent" to stand there and look cute while reading cue cards didn't seem as awesome as it once was.

This was pretty bad for him already, especially since Henry and his father had spent a long time trying to fight the pains of puberty and keep that cash cow mooing.

They counted calories, they dressed him more like a kid, Butch was even considering puberty blockers before Henry realized that was probably going too far.

As bad as it was though, Henry probably would have been able to handle it, being hated by his father certainly wasn't anything new, and not every child star can make a successful career out of it.

But Connor was there now, and that flipped Henry's whole world upside down.

At first, Butch and Henry treated Connor with indifference, and sometimes, even outright cruelty, but Connor made it very clear though that he wasn't just gonna sit down and take it, he was too spiteful for that.

Somehow, he convinced Butch to let him become an actor too, and unlike Henry, Connor had actual talent.

He was good, really fucking good actually, and Henry watched on as Butch began to favor Connor more every year, while Henry was driven to darker and darker places.

It was rough, and if his lack of talent didn't ruin his career before, his depression and substance abuse sure as fuck did.

He might have acted like he didn't really care but a part of him longed for the time when he was the most important Bowers, no matter how phoney it was.

He might have just been a glorified puppet or a doll you could click the button on and get a catch phrase, but he was a well loved doll.

He was a praised and respected doll, he was revered and put on this pedestal as the next big thing.

He wanted to be the popular again so badly, but of course... that time was long gone now.

Henry had been told he was a somebody for so long, that when that thing he was so sure he was was ripped away from him, there was no Henry Bowers, just a husk named Henry Bowers.

He'd been so many different kids ove the years, the real kid was lost along the way, if it ever was there in the first place, and even though it was irrational, he knew it all had to be Connor's fault somehow.

"Why are you even bringing this up? I hate talking about it." Henry complained.

"Because it's important to the story." Connor replied, and Henry frowned.

"Is that really it? You got problems just cause i was better than you as a kid?" Asked Henry, but his cousin shook his head.

"Oh trust me, I did have issues, but I solved them a long time ago." He explained, and Henry could feel this conversation was leading to something bad, something very very bad.

"What- what is that supposed to mean?" He asked, and Connor smiled wider.

"I've been very good at supporting you Henry, i paid for your private doctors, i give you a room, i even put that clause in my contract to make sure you always got roles along side me. But i would be lying if I told you I did all that out of love..." said Connor, walking back over to the chess board and aimlessly picking up the queen piece.

"You see Henry, the real reason I put that clause in my contract wasn't because I wanted you to get work, but because I despised you, I've always despised you, and that clause was meant to be your comeuppance. I didn't want you to stop getting roles because I knew if you stopped getting roles you'd eventually have to move on, and I didn't want you to move on. I wanted you stuck, I wanted you to feel worthless and trapped like you made me feel. You could have found a job you actually liked, got married, foun some friends, and even maybe have a few wonderful children to call your own, but because of me you never got to leave. You never got to heal or grow. I made sure everytime i succeeded you'd be forced to take my left overs and do the same tired old song and dance you hated. I never wanted your wounds to heal, so i made sure they grew every day, so you could know what it truly means to feel worthless. And believe me, i'm not sorry." Connor stated, venomous hatred seething throigh his voice as all Henry had long since supsected about his life finally came true.

He'd been right about Connor's lack of caring, he was right about everything, and now Henry was wondering what else he was probably right about.

Were the doctors phoney too? Was all of it phoney? Was nothing he knew real? He wasn't really sure of anything anymore, but he knew one thing, he was pissed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Henry yelled, and Connor just nodded with no remorse.

Henry began to shake with rage, it was a miracle he didn't start crying.

"I'm- I'm-" he huffed, hands trembling "I'm going to kill you!" He screeched, lunging for Connor, but his cousin side stepped him like it was no big deal, sending Henry falling right into the chess table.

Henry hit his head right on the side of it, but was still mostly okay, or just about as okay as some one could be after getting decked in the face by a hard surface.

Reeling from the bump on his head, he looked up at Connor with almost heart breaking cofusion, his jaw dropped in shock from the pain.

Connor still looked flawless as ever, and Henry still looked like a total wreck, so admittedly wasn't as worried as he should have been for a dude who almost just got strangled by his cousin.

He carelessly straightened out his clothes and smiled mischeviously, eyeing Henry with malicious intent.

"Kill me all you want, still won't change what I did-" He smiled, smugly satisfied with himself "-trust me, If you could still fix your life you wouldn't be here right now, so it's better to just shut up and accept what i've given you, cause it's never gonna get better. I made sure of that." He finished, leaning over Henry ever so slightly just to emphasize how much control and power he had over his injured and depressed cousin.

And that's when Henry's heart skipped a beat and he finally realized the awful truth about his life, that no matter what Henry had tried to do from now on, Connor would always be ready to sabatoge it.

He was still the same old puppet he was as a kid, the only difference was that his only audience left was his vindictive but oh so perfect cousin, who really only wanted to see him fail.

And Henry just had to live with that now.

[invisibleraven]

It’s not that Alex wanted to be up this early, believe him he would love to be able to sleep in for once.

And the Greater Polyphantoms Polycule?

It’s not that Alex wanted to be up this early, believe him he would love to be able to sleep in for once.

It's just that Grammy noms come out at the crack of dawn, and with Flynn on the other side of the country with Carrie to promote her fashion line, Alex was the one elected to get everyone up to watch in case they got a nomination.

Willie was first, given he was sharing a bed with him the night before, and usually an early bird. All it took was a few kisses and he was up making coffee while Alex dealt with the other three.

Thankfully the boys were curled around Julie like a pile of codependent puppies, so that meant he didn't waste precious time searching.

Julie was easy to wake up, wave a mug of coffee under her nose and she was a pretty easy riser-even if you weren't allowed to talk to her until she had drained that first cup.

Luke was a restless sleeper as it was, and deprived of his favourite teddy bear-aka Julie, he snuffled awake soon after, blinking up at Alex with a confused expression on his face.

"Surprised you fell asleep with what day it is," Alex said wryly.

Luke leapt out of bed at that, demanding to know if the ceremony had started, running around manically until Julie sat him down with some calming tea and his guitar. "You've got about twenty minutes, it's okay mi vida," Julie assured him.

"Which might be how long it takes for us to get Sleeping Beauty up," Willie joked, pointing at the still slumbering Reggie.

Reggie was a notoriously heavy sleeper, usually needing several alarms to even get him close to drowsy and not log like. Alex often envied him that ability, especially on the tour bus, where Alex usually dozed more than anything.

"Hey Reg, wake up, we got trophies to collect!" Luke yelled, bouncing on the chair.

"Luke, chill. Drink your tea man," Alex cautioned. "You'll burn out before they get to us at this rate."

Willie took Luke aside for some meditation and breathing while Julie went down to the kitchen to make food. Leaving Alex with Rip Van Winkle.

He knew shaking Reggie would never work, and though he was tempted, tossing water on him would only earn Julie's ire since it was her bed. So Alex went for his tried and true approach-tickles.

Reggie squirmed awaked, giggling, batting Alex's merciless fingers away after a few minutes, glaring at the drummer. "Man Lexie, what gives?"

"Luke was about to vibrate out of his skin if you didn't get up in time for the Grammy noms," Willie supplied.

"Oh shit, I knew I was supposed to set an alarm for something," Reggie said with a snap of his fingers, then leapt out of bed, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

None of them knew how he did that either.

The rest of the morning was a blur of celebrations, phone calls, interviews, and a whole lot of screaming.

But they were all passed out in Julie's oversized bed by mid afternoon, and Alex already called not it for next time. And every year after that-of which there would be many.

Everyone declared that was more than fair before drifting off into sleep, cuddled together, already dreaming of glory and just where to put all their new statues.

[yourlocaltrashpandaa]

OG Tygra being a sweet shy Babygurl.. who’s surprisingly a beast in the sheets~ 😩

(Note: just a tiny mini fic, for our dear Captain of the OG Tygra Simp club, enjoy friend~)

This man is very hesitant to start a relationship because anyone he ends up with is instantly going to be a Mother of two very mischievous, prepubescent teenage Thunder-kittens.. something Kit & Kat teases him about every now and then…. they may not be his cubs by blood but he truly loves them as if they were.. the stress they put him through is proof enough of that.

He was convinced he’d never find his Mate in this life after Thundera exploded.. even before that he had doubts.. he definitely wanted a Mate, someone to share his life with.. he just never had the time to find her.

And now on Third Earth, he’s frozen still as stone.. because the beautiful Warrior Maiden who stands before him at the front doors of Cats-Lair had just returned a very dirty and guilty looking Willy-Kit & Willy-Kat right as he was about to run off to find them.. her scent seems to make his fur stand on end, its the most heavenly scent he’s ever come across in his LIFE..

And he Knows what that means… it means Mate.. she’s his Mate.. and he curses his Shy nature for making himself so awkward and stiff as your first impression of him..

It takes him days to bring up the courage to talk to you again, and he melts inside when you ask him how the Kittens are doing..

but that immediately switches to shocked concern when you mention you’d found those two tangled up with a hungry Carnivorous plant!! forgetting his nerves and shyness when he grabbed your shoulders asking how that could’ve happened..

But he freezes again when you gently grab his hands and telling him with a soft voice and kind smile that it’s actually a common occurrence in the rainy season.. those unfamiliar with this world can’t possibly be expected to know it was dangerous.. especially curious children, even Fathers who worry for their young can fall for the plant’s clever disguise.. for a moment he’s just staring at you in a mix of awe and smitten appreciation for your kindness..

Before you suddenly toss him over your shoulder with an incredible amount of strength before slicing the vines he hadn’t noticed around his ankles, hearing a loud shriek as a large plant erupted from the ground, in a blink you’d chopped its blossom-like head in half, a cracked dark stone falling to the ground.. he never even noticed the thin blade you had hidden in your shepherd’s crook-like staff..

Again, now he’s sitting with his ass in the dirt but eyes smitten as you explained you didn’t have time to finish the creature off before, as you were more concerned about getting the “little ones” back home safely..

He’s certain he’s already fallen in Love with you..

It takes more weeks of both Kit & Kat pestering him to ask to formally court you.. before he actually does.. your response… left him a bit horrified in all honesty..

You hesitated before saying you were only interested in perusing a long-term relationship, and weren’t looking for a fling, mentioning how you’d already experienced a heartbreak or two when you were younger, and just to make sure your intentions with him were not, in any way, misunderstood..

But here’s the thing… Thunderians Mate for life, so for Tygra to hear that some people had tried to toy with your feelings in that way in the past?

Made his blood boil.. and without thinking it through told you that as a Honorable Thundercat he would Never hurt You, his Mate, in that way, ever!

You just stared at him wide eyed with your face beet red and heart hammering in your chest.. which he could hear by the way.. right as he realized that he just called you his Mate.. it was true, but it probably wasn’t the best time to drop that little info bomb… his shyness came back as you slowly started to smirk up at him.

Saying you should get started on making a gift of intention for him then~ basically proposing to him.. but he.. didn’t know what that meant..

And his face turned scarlet under his fur when you told him he could read you mind to find out~ all while gingerly looking at him as your hands now slowly moved up from his abs to his chest and then landing on his broad shoulders…

He thought about when the kittens must have told you about his abilities as a psychicly gifted Thundercat.

He quickly backed up, coughing in his hand as he looked away, quietly saying he may have no need to do that.. your sudden advances having made it pretty clear what you meant.

Tygra definitely didn’t expect you to tease him like that.. not that he actually minded.

But he didn’t think it appropriate to act on any suggestive impulses immediately after having just asked to court you..

…..

Yeah.. that thought didn’t last very long.. within a few days he had you pinned down to his bed, Mating you in full. Your face pressed into his pillows with your ass against his hips as he pounded your pussy.

His mouth occupied with leaving his Mark on your neck, to show the whole world that you’re his.. His Mate, His Love, His and His alone.

Gentle even in the throes of heated passion as he kept milking more of his cum in you, but heavens! He filled you so completely with just his cock it was so thick, every roll of his hips hitting your womb as you begged for him to not stop! Mewling in pleasure as he decided to slam into your g-spot as he growled low in response.. his way of saying he didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.. right as another orgasm shot through you.

It may have been the first time he Mated you, but he learned every easily how he could use his base instincts to make you putty in his hands.. you might be a confident flirt in a domestic situation.. but he definitely had the upper hand here..

The way he kept fucking you was driving you crazy~ you never dreamed sex could be this addictive.. being Mated like this, felt amazing~

Made you wonder for a moment…. What Tygra, your Mate.. actually Breeding you would feel like~ it’d feel absolutely divine no doubt~

.. it really is to bad he heard that little thought of yours right as it crossed your mind~ cause you’re going to find out now~

He’ll make you a proper nest to Breed you In tomorrow.. but he doesn’t have the patience to wait for that right now.. by morning he plans to have you fully knotted, and not able to walk for a good long while, but for now he’ll give you exactly what you want.. he’s going to Breed you until he’s sure you’re satisfied.

Bro! I’m sorry this is late but thank so much for this!

👀🥵

This so good! Thank you!

[arthyritis]

A/N: idk when this takes place but a little thing of Chase and P’s first meeting.

.

P tapped its foot against the ground, facing the ginormous white walls in front of it in the smoking zone of the commons. Not many I.R.I.S. employees actually smoked, so it was the quietest spot out there, away from all the chatter of employee friend groups and, unsurprisingly, cliques. That was one way to survive here, P supposed, though it couldn’t help but be reminded of school all over again, a place it thought was long behind it.

It sighed, pulling its company jacket around its shoulders as a chilly breeze washed over it and closing its eyes behind its glasses.

Someone’s coming, the eye rendering P with a hidden anomalous status called out. It opened its eyes back up and shifted its undershirt so that the eye was covered and turned around, finally hearing the crunching footsteps against the crisp, white snow.

The being known as Chase froze in his steps. It had been watching him in the cameras for a while now, and could guess from him being outside that he was allowed to be here; the normally strict security measures wouldn’t allow this willy nilly. He was safe in the confines of the commons.

“Hi,” P greeted, smiling in a friendly gesture and extending a cold hand to the bench it was sitting on. “Take a seat.”

Chase stayed frozen for another moment before approaching again. “Thanks. Cold out here, eh?” He pulled his own company jacket around him, one that was entirely too big, even for him. It had a name on the chest that wasn’t his, so P guessed it was borrowed from a staff member, but it didn’t recognise the name. This was a big place, after all.

“Very cold. First snow,” P informed, turning back to looking at the white walls. Everything blended together from the ground up until you hit the blue sky, but even that was a lighter shade of blue than normal. “Enjoying the outdoors, n-nonetheless?”

The found anomaly shrugged, eyes flashing a little. “I guess. It’s my first time out in a long time, since all this shit started, I suppose.” He eyed P carefully, taking note of everything.

“Yeah, that’s how it is.”

“I’m sorry, does your name tag just say ‘P’, like the letter?” Chase blurted and P looked back at him with caution. Chase blushed a little and looked away, taking it as a glare. “Just curious.”

“It does,” P confirmed, guarded. “S’my initial. Don’t use my full name often.” Chase hummed his acknowledgment, still looking away. P looked at its watch. “Oh, m-my break’s almost over. I should head back inside.”

Chase looked again as it stood from the bench, knees cracking as it got to its height, just a couple of inches shorter than him. He tilted his head. “You’re not like the other guys here, are you? You’ve got secrets.”

P turned and raised an eyebrow at the unsolicited words. “I beg your pardon?”

“Guards, scientists, there’s just something off about them,” he continued, unbeknownst to the awkwardness. “It’s not necessarily bad but… you’re normal. Too normal.” P did actually glare a little this time but Chase couldn’t see with its face hidden behind its jacket the way it now was. Chase looked down. “You sit here often?”

“Every day. Haven’t made many friends yet,” the words came out muffled.

“Good. I’ll sit with you again next time I’m out.”

Don’t trust him, the eye spoke and P silently agreed, backing away from the other anomalous man without a word, making sure its jacket was high enough that the eye was hidden. It never sat there again, opting for the chaotic break room instead.

[pomegranateseedssdv]

The bitter October wind cut through the light jacket that Rey had chosen. She didn't expect the temperature to drop so quickly but with a storm bearing down on her the degrees were in the lower 60's. She had a good reason to be striding with purpose through the rain, there was a grand mystery to solve, something had been draining her cows of blood all autumn. She turned to the forest spirits, juminos, for help. They spun a tale of an eons old monster that stalks Stardew Valley, a monster with jade green eyes that glint like steel. It was all the juminos has spared to her, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. 

No matter, Rey was very confident in her monster-slaying abilities. If this Jade-eyed monster was anything like the ones in the mines she felt she'd have a good handle on the fight. With her sword and her experience in the mines she was completely confident that she could solve the problem killing her cows. 

She had been finding clues all over the place. She heard local folklore about the monster, how it often takes the shape of a person to stalk its prey at night. She found secret notes that hinted at the monster's location. Finally, after cracking open a rock in the hundredth floor of the mines, she found a note that simply read:

"Third rainy day of autumn. Go to the dock, and make an offering of great value to you. You will find all that you seek." 

For days Rey had watched the weather forecast, they had already had two rains that season by the time she had found the note. Sunny day after sunny day and then finally a spout of rain was reported for the next day. 

Rey had chosen her first bottle of wine that her farm had ever produced as her offering of great value, it symbolized the four years she had been here and how far she had come. How far she was willing to go to keep her farm in operating order. 

Now, she was sloshing through the cold puddles on the ground, and nearing the bridge that lead to the beach and therefore the dock. The storm bore down with a fury, wind ripping at her clothes, rain stinging her face, every piece of her environment seemed to push her to return home. She pushed on, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. 

When she arrived at the docks, she found a small box with a note inside. It was barely protected from the rain by the fishing shack that Willy owns. She opened the note and began to read.

"Your offering will be placed in this box, and come nightfall your knowledge will be presented."

Rey chewed her bottom lip. Was she actually prepared to fight an unknown monster? She shook the doubt from her head, she would protect her farm at any cost. She set her wine into the box, and took the note with her. 

She managed to get back to the farmhouse in a quick enough fashion, and slipped out of her muddy boots. She changed into a different pair of jeans and T-shirt combo, she needed to be able to fight in the event that things went sour. She put wood in the fireplace and lit it to give the house light and warmth. 

The sun was rapidly setting, as it always does in the Autumn. As the last of the blood orange rays vanished from the sky, she heard a grand commotion coming from her chicken coop. 

She rushed outside, sword in hand, and raced towards the coop. Halfway there, the commotion fell silent. She froze to her spot, eyes straining against the dark. She heard the coop door squeak open, and then bang shut. That was all the warning she had before something bore down on her from the dark. 

It took her off her feet, slamming her into the ground where her head met the dirt and stars erupted in her vision. She dug her knee blindly into the assailant's ribs, but nothing caved. It growled in a low, guttural fashion. She could hear the gasping, rattling breathing coming from the monster. 

Just as quickly as it attacked, it relented. Rey jumped to her feet, sword in hand again as she slowly spun circles looking for the enemy. Another soft growl slithered its way out of the darkness. Something ripped the sword from her hands, sending it flying out into the abyss of the night. 

Having no weapon, she was forced to break for her weapons chest, certain to have a dagger in there that could provide some chance worth of a fight. Her feet ate up the distance, and as she gained speed she could hear the monster's feet pounding into the ground a beat faster than her every time. 

She burst through her front door, whipping around to slam it shut. A foot planted in the center of the door sent it and Rey flying. She crashed into the back of her sofa, where she scrambled up and stood her ground. 

The monster that stood in her living room was very much human-like. But not exactly. 

It's long, copper hair flowed with the breeze coming in through the butchered front door. It's fangs were bared, sharp and deadly. It's eyes did gleam, just like in the legends, in the dimness of her front door. Most of its face was concealed by the shadows and its hair. Slowly, it stepped into the soft light of the fireplace. 

Rey gasped, fumbling backwards to try and put distance between she and it. She swallowed the fear in her throat, it wasn't an it. It was a he, and a specific he that Rey knows personally. 

The friendly glint was gone in his eyes, instead there laid a vicious, predatory gleam. His hair was not carefully smoothed and styled, instead it was disheveled and matted. The memories of all the times that they laughed and danced together and drank wine together.

Elliott. The author and resident hopeless romantic. He breathed in ragged gasps, and began to stalk towards her. Before she could react, she was pinned between he and the wall she had inadvertently backed herself into. 

Slowly, the ragged breathing became smoother and his voice came out gravelly and cold. 

"Rey. You could have left this alone. You might have never known and we could have continued being friends, maybe even lovers later on. But your curiosity and bravery will always be your downfall. Your hubris...you flew too close to the sun this time. Asked too many questions. This will have proven to be your ultimate demise."

With that, he opened his mouth and revealed his razor sharp teeth. Rey fought with all her strength, she screamed and kicked and struggled. She was no match. As his teeth sank into her and the dim light of the fireplace began to fade, she thought she could hear her grandfather calling her name. 

[ryo-maybe]

Pithy comment about Monday. Prompt: Phosphophyllite. Did. Nothing. Wrong.

Focus returns to my sight little by little, the darkness chiseled away not by what I see, but what I can hear. It begins with the pitter patter of rain splashing over my body. The impossibly fast crescendo plays over my aching skin, sweeps into cracked bones and restores gelid awareness to muscle fibers battered beyond belief. Cold water like poison, awakening numb nerves to the agony of pain like nothing I've ever felt. I feel my jaw burn, caught in the strain between the desire to scream and the effort to keep myself from doing it.

I doubt anyone would hear me anyway. The ground beneath and around me has turned muddy, a disgusting mixture of dust and sand littered all over with ever-widening puddles. Or… maybe, it's still me, bleeding all over from bruises that trick and warp my waning consciousness. If that were the case, it would mean the footfalls I hear are trampling me. Dozens of steps, carelessly pressing into my sores with squelching, careless noises, quartering parts of me as they all head in different directions. Leaving behind nothing but this pair of unseeing eyes and ears to listen as my dignity dissolves droplet by droplet.

It cracks. Again and again. Contrasting with the feet dragging across the mud, another sound, much sharper and deafening. It tears through my self-pitying fantasy, cutting through my very being with a blade fashioned out of cruel reality. Plastic, metal and glass, crumpled into an unrecognizable heap within the impetus of a single motion - this is the sound of my heart shattering.

"Nice job! That was the most spectacular loss I've ever seen!"

A lively string of words chipperly forces its way through my stupor. I am so bewildered I don't immediately notice that the rain has stopped falling over my face. It's taking what little energy I have left just to breathe; even so, I muster as much of it as I can spare to force my eyelids to pry themselves open. My right eye is too swollen to allow anything more than a narrow opening. As for my left one, a fine film of blood has covered it, seeping from a cut somewhere on my forehead. A blurry smattering of colors greets me, most of them painted over by a curtain of dark red. Above all else, an overwhelming shade of pink, and something moving back and forth over my face. For the price of a piercing headache, I manage to squint enough to realize it's a hand waving at me.

"Hi there. First duel?"

I grunt, immediately regretting it. The reverb of my voice in my chest tugs at broken ribs and lungs struggling to squeeze every inch of life they can out of insufficient air. The pink mass leans to one side, coming slightly into more focus. It's hair: a wild, somewhat unkempt mane. It looks soft, feathery almost. But the pair of white horns protruding from it tell me this is no bird, as do the scales covering the cheeks of a visage peering with what looks vaguely like puzzlement.

"That a no or a yes?" A light finger, topped by a pointed, slightly curved nail, taps twice on her pursed lips. Then, a shrug: I see her shoulders, covered by a light blue coat. The color of the sky, I think idly.

"Sad either way. Challenging a Collector all nilly willy like that? That's a biiig no-no, newbie or not. Especially if not."

She grins, white teeth framed by mischievous lips. I would resent her, if my vision hadn't cleared enough to see it. Her gaze. Thin, vertical pupils embedded within a murky shade of amber.

"Why did you lose?"

Her question is a calm reprimand. A pitying encouragement. I don't get it. She wants me to give the right answer, and still expects me to get it wrong. At the fringe of my hearing, I still hear the sound of plastic, metal and glass loudly breaking.

"Not… 'nuff… g-glasses…"

My chosen obsession. The steps with which I decided to build the ladder towards my Ascension. It used to be kaleidoscopes at first. Back when, bold and bright-eyed, I used to gaze up at the continents of Supra floating amidst the clouds. Imagining myself over on the reverse of the same landmass that is now dumping accumulated moisture all over the stage where my life has screeched to a crashing halt for the second time.

"Nuh-uh. Try again."

Her gaze narrows ever so slightly, as does her thinning smile. Judging and pitying me at once. I can't tell the difference, can't decide which I would rather she did. It would be simpler, if she were merely mocking me. If I could tell that she's laughing at me for the decisions and vicissitudes that led me to become a shell, carved and emptied of all the possibilities that had been gestating within. Because I am weak, I cannot rebuke this stranger with either the truth of my conviction nor the falsehood of my zeal.

I lost because glasses were an easier medium to adapt to the innate gazing abilities of us lamia.

I lost because I, a mere Hoarder with a scant few duel wins under my belt, felt like I could leap ahead faster by challenging a Collector.

I lost because I was too afraid of hunting Mahou born of more high-quality glasses, thinking I could make up for quality with sheer quantity.

I lost because of my conceit. I lost because I was too ambitious. I lost because I wasn't ambitious enough.

"The hell… does it matter…"

I struggle to sit up, feeling my insides stir in directions and ways they were not built to endure. I cough out blood, vomit and fragments of my dimming patience over my clothes, holding my stomach as if to keep its contents from spilling directly out from under my frayed shirt. Behind my damp back, something warm gently pats the cold away and keeps me propped up, preventing me from falling back when my consciousness threatens to pull me back into the mud.

I see it now, all too clearly. The source of that noise. A massive boot rises and falls, unheeding of the rain, to smash a pair of glasses. The force of each stomp is such that most of the fragments have embedded themselves into the muddy soil. What few pieces I see shine with a faint, alluring glimmer - until even those are trampled into oblivion. I scoff, shaking my head. Compared to the leftover bits of my sorry ambition, the gems adorning my chosen adversary's clothes and body give off so much brighter a luster.

"We all hunt… fight… collect. Whether we win or lose. It's all the same… for me, that bastard… and you."

The ceaseless cycle of the bottom feeders stranded on the world's garbage dump. Yeolk, the First Layer. My home. My miserable, inescapable home.

"It doesn't matter."

Because I lost. Because, even if I somehow, against all odds, had won–

"Ah."

I grit my teeth in unison with the last crunch. I see the winner of my hopeless scrap bend down to look at the shards embedded in the sole of his boot, before rubbing it furiously against the mud. As if even soiling it with viscous grime would be preferable to the taint of a weakling's possessions.

"Did you like those?"

The girl speaks next to me. A quiet murmur, almost lost to the rain: something to be shared only between the two of us. Oddly intimate, strangely comforting. When I turn my head away from the bejeweled Collector of gemstones, I see her staring intensely at him. As her face snaps towards me, a light jingle lures my eyes to something glinting on one of her horns: a pair of bells, tied around the bulky ivory with an intricately woven blue bow.

"Yeah." With nothing left worth the effort of hiding it, I easily surrender a truth that I would be too embarrassed to admit to an acquaintance. "I… I really didn't want to lose that pair."

The girl with pink hair like feathers closes her eyes. Her brows knit with vigor, contrasting vividly with the delicate line of her smile. It is only once she has gotten up that I realize she had been holding an umbrella above our heads. An elegant one, with a lacquered shaft and a paper canopy made of vermilion. I see others with the same shape and a dozen more, hanging by the hem of her coat like a rainbow-colored skirt.

"A little more of that."

She raises the arm holding the umbrella until it is fully extended. As soon as it has reached that zenith, she brings it down, slamming the bottom of the shaft onto her open palm. A wave of sheer pressure explodes outwards: I squeeze my eyes and mouth shut, still too tired to properly protect myself with my battered arms. But all I feel is a faint breeze caressing me, inviting me to look at the reason why the sound of the rain sounds so feeble now.

Droplets of water lie suspended in mid-air, surrounding an invisible sphere with her at its center. While I stare, slack-jawed, at the absurd phenomenon, she closes the umbrella and twirls it with practiced ease, stepping onwards and past me. Trailing behind her, poking through her skirt made up of umbrellas, I see blue scales topped by a line of pink fur. A long, bulky tail, swaying sinuously in tandem with the cadence of her rubber boots.

A dragon. In the legends passed around the campfires, they say the first Hoarder to Ascend was a dragon. Nowadays, mean stereotypes have their race pegged as too lazy and fearful to pit their collections in a duel.

To me, however, this dragon, who strides confidently towards the Collector who kicked my ass without breaking a sweat, looks like neither the stuff of legends nor a laughing stock.

"If you had more of that love to spare, your precious things would never have let you lose."

Now watch. The wink she gives me over her shoulder is playful and serene in spite of the unsurmountable wall she is about to willingly face, as if for nothing more than to prove a point. And watch is all I can do. That, and wondering.

"Hey, Sparkly! You got one more fight in you, or is bullying those poor glasses all that bling's good for?"

He does not seem to have appreciated the nickname. His gaze, above the pair of gem-encrusted sunglasses lowered on his thin nose, is hard as a diamond and filled with a sentiment blacker than obsidian. The vein bulging beneath his (also gem-encrusted) enormous pompadour seems rich in prime quality irritation.

"Mh? Mmh? Mmmh!?" With each noise shaking his gullet, the gemstone Collector leans forward, rows of rings like those adorning his hands - the same hands that pummeled me and my paltry hoard to a fine pulp - dangling menacingly and shiningly from the hems of his glittery jacket. He takes his time sizing up the dragon girl half his imponent size, before leaning backward, so much so it is a wonder he does not end up splashing into the mud like I did, one beating ago.

"Little lizard. Do you have chalk for brains, or are you just dumb like a sack of rock? Why, oooh why why why! A pebble on the road would have put up more of a fight than your friend there, and now you! Having seen that! Would still! Try your luck!"

Each sentence is punctuated by a dramatic shake of his head, his damp hair sending drops of water splashing to and fro that the dragon deftly catches with her umbrella.

"Vvvery well then! If you want so badly to feel with your body what happens when phosphophyllite shatters against quartz."

His fists smash together, dozens of rings inlaid with gemstones still awash with my own blood and bits of skin. His lips part, a window opened on rows of teeth embedded with emeralds, rubies, sapphires and other rare - and painfully hard - rocks.

"Tell me your name, little lizard! Once I'm done with you, I'll use it as a synonymous of 'dummmbass'!"

His zany posturing is not mere bravado. I have sampled it myself: his skill and the quality of his possessions are undoubtedly those of a skilled, merciless collector. I should be worried, or even indifferent, towards the fate of a complete stranger picking a fight with him for no seemingly good reason at all.

But I can't. Trumping such logical and cynical thoughts, I find myself mesmerized. The dragon girl, undaunted and eager, takes hold of another of the umbrellas from her "skirt" and, with both hands thus armed, fluidly bends her body into a clear combat stance. Even if I cannot see her, I know from the booming excitement of her voice that she is wearing a carefree grin.

This dragon is neither the stuff of legends nor a laughing stock.

"Heir to the 99 Karakasa-ryuu Umbrella Fencing Arts!"

With pink hair like feathers, clad in sky blue. She reminds me of a bird, flying through clouds and Layers alike, unfettered by any and all. Something I wish I could be, what I yearned all life to become.

"You may call me Naki!"

To me, she looks like the embodiment of absolute, sincere freedom.

[thewritingboi]

Grand Reopening - Chapter 5

Old wounds part one

TW: Some body horror, i will put a TW when it starts and ends

Henry walked over to the metal box that he had retrieved when he was in DaveTrap's body and flipped the latches. Opening the box, the pink eyed corpse grabbed the pile of wires with a white clown mask perched upon it.

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

Dave turned around to look at his rabbit counterpart and gasped.

"Damn, I didn't know I looked that fuckin' ugly!" Dave spat

"Come here ya purple fuck, I can't see like I used to and that makes it hard to beat the shit out of you" DaveTrap growled back

Both men charged at each other, as Dave reared back his fist to strike his adversary the rotting rabbit dropped on one knee and launched his fist into the aubergine man's gut. Dave stumbled back and slipped on the wet ground caused by the rain the night before, thinking quickly Dave grabbed a nearby rock and chucked it as hard as he could at DaveTrap. The stone hit is mark and crashed into the springlocked man's face, knocking off a chunk of metal and flesh.

As DaveTrap stumbled back Dave hopped to his feet, whipping out a kebab he packed for lunch he took off all of the meat in one bite and in one swift motion throwing it into DaveTrap's eye. The rabbit grunted in pain before slowly pulling the spike out of his eye and twirling it in his hand.

"Bad move willy, bad move." DaveTrap said smugly before charging at his doppelgänger fo a second time

Dave doged and weaved as the rotting man kept slashing and stabbing, the aubergine man grabbed DaveTrap's wrists and slammed him downward into his knee. As the rabbit stumbled back Dave grabbed a switchblade out of his pocket and activated it.

"Oh thats cute." DaveTrap said throwing the kebab stick into the wall and reaching into the nearby dumpster to retrieve his ax

o shit Dave thought as he threw his knife into DaveTrap's chest before running away towards the pizzeria. As he ran he felt a burst of pain in his calf knocking him to the ground, looking down he saw a the fire ax in his now bloody leg. DaveTrap walked over the the bleeding purple man and retrieved his ax, laughing at the yell of pain that came from the man. The moldy rabbit raised his ax and swinging it towards Dave. TW

"STOP!' DaveTrap heard a shout and looked up at the perpetrator, he saw the homeless man with thick bloody wires ripping through his flesh "we need him alive."

Dave felt his heart drop into stomach as he gazed at the decaying mix of metal and flesh with his old father figure's voice, the tube-like wires wrigged around in the corpse poking out of its eyes, ear, mouth, and the gash in his chest. It pulsated like it had worms under its skin, its blood seeped out of it like a rag being wrung out. Dave heard it cracking and clicking as its broken bones shifted under its skin. TW over

Dave fell unconscious from his blood loss and shock as he felt his limp body being dragged away

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

Jack paced around the living room glancing at the clock every few seconds. Dave did not come home with them today, at first Jack thought that Dave was just at a bar or stopping by the store but after he didn't show up three hours after everyone got home Jack started to worry.

"He will be fine" Said a shadow voice behind him

Jack whipped around and spotted BlackJack resting on the couch with his head on his paws

"BlackJack you know you should be with Dee, she's been so lonely without her and Peter having the bunk bed." Jack shot back

"She is fast asleep and I could feel your distress, why must you be so worried about your crush. He is a being of chaos and very resilient." BlackJack said calmly

"I don't have a-" Jack begin when a letter slipped through the mail slot "what the hell?"

The orange man walked over the the envelope and picked it up. Opening it Jack felt his heart sink and his head swim as he gazed at the picture of Dave, bloody and bruised a gag stuck in his mouth and a blindfold around his eyes. Underneath the photo a sentence written in pink ink read

"I always come back"

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

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUN

So first of all thank you to affogare and Pkkooo for the kind words of support on the Ao3 version of this story, you do not know how much i needed to hear that

Second of all the Henry/Ennard hybrid thing was inspired by the Fnaf fanfiction "The difference between staying alive and living" on Fanfiction.net but that's a little bit of a spoiler so i won't elaborate (but do check that story out! it is really good)

Third of all as you have probably noticed this chapter is a two parter, i've been a bit busy with school and what not so i have not had much time or motivation to write but i was suddenly hit with inspiration and determination to write so the next chapter will be up sometime soon

Love you all! See you on the flipside.

[4thd1str1ct]

"no way to know other than try. i've never had it before either." aphrodite said simply. without second thought, she cracked the cake the best she could down it's middle and handed the girl from 12, "for you." without warning, she popped the dessert into her mouth. she even went as far to look the resdue off her fingers and lips. "oh, wow." she remarked, popping her thumb in her mouth as she eyed the other girl-- willie, she was fairly sure. "it's a shame that just one place gets all the best stuff." she sighed wryly, "lucky us, finally here in the capitol." aphrodite refrained from going as far to roll her eyes and looked willie up and down, "what's been your favorite part of this evening? any fun secrets i missed?"

Willie hadn't decided her fate yet. Deep in her, she wanted to fight. To try to survive. She had made it nineteen years without being a child bride or dead so she guessed she had done the survival thing well enough. The games were different. She could fight to survive when it meant building a fire or finding safe crops to eat. She had never killed and she had never thrown a punch. Maybe she should have taken Caspian's offer years ago to learn how to defend herself. So, she feared that she didn't have much fight in her to begin with.

She didn't think she had charisma, either. Willie didn't know how to woo anything more than a boy in 12 and really, all she had to do was exist to be paid attention to. She was far from special and she didn't fancy pretending like she was either. The table of food entranced her, fully aware of the hunger in her stomach. She just didn't know where to start. It all looked plastic. Like it wasn't meant to be consumed. Beautiful, like the girl next to her said.

The eye contact was alarming, but Willie didn't pull her gaze away. Instead, she stared deeply, as if she were being pulled into the girl's soul. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than mama had been in her prime. The kind of girl that even when done up, would look like a million bucks. "What is it?" She asked. "I know it's a cake, but... what does it taste like?" She had no idea if the other would even know the answer for her, but she felt it was worth it to inquire.

[jakesdeviatedseptum]

hi hi! i’d like to request, if that’s okay!

i’d love one where jake & reader are play wrestling—i hope that makes sense—and jake accidentally actually hurts reader, and from there, it’s just fluff of him being worried?

<3

Honesty I had so much fun writing this! Thank you for requesting love! I hope you like it 🥺🤍

T.K.O

Jake x Reader

- in which a normal movie night turns into something a little more ~hectic~

Warnings : a little blood

Word count - 1.5k

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Some may think that casual movie nights are tranquil, peaceful, quiet, and relaxing. But not when it’s a movie night with the Kiszka’s. It’s not all of the Kiszka’s per say, Sam had his rowdy moments but for the most part he was collected. He would shout out the occasional “what the fuck was he thinking?!” Or “No, don’t tell me she's gonna go in there, and now she's dead” when it was a horror night. If we were watching a romance movie he’d say “ew, this sappy shit is not real” or “I wish I had a love like that”. Comedy movies would have him in straight up hysterics, laughing and giggling all throughout, because honestly, it doesn't take much to make Sam laugh. But sad heartfelt movies left Sam in silence, simply because he was too busy trying to wipe his tears without anyone noticing, or discreetly blowing his nose and playing it off as “allergies”.

Essentially Sam was the commentator that would let his thoughts travel from his mind out through his mouth, you could handle that easily.

When Veronica would join in on movie nights, her mannerisms mirrored your own. You two would share the popcorn in synchronized motions, laugh at Sam’s comments and poke fun at him when he sniffled. She would usually only stay for a movie or two, or when the first bowl of popcorn was done. She knew to leave before the twins started their antics, sadly you couldn’t escape.

Josh, well Josh is the filmmaker of the family, he prides himself on his knowledge and makes sure everyone in the room is aware of it too. As soon as the suspenseful music starts to play his mouth shoots open “Her uncle is going to be around the corner, butcher knife in hand, with the missing girl on the table. I just know it, it was building up the entire movie! Filmmaking 101” a smile dances across his face as the movie plays out exactly as he described. “See I told you guys, it’s just basic film reading” everyone stares at him, brows frowned and eyes narrowed to show annoyance. He raises his hands in surrender and promises to keep quiet during the next movie, but everyone knows that those promises are ones he will always break.

Jake, now Jake usually starts the night with you under his arm, resting his head atop yours, attention shifting between looking at the screen to scanning over your face. The occasional kiss will be placed on the side of your head, and he’ll run his hand through your hair occasionally. This position usually switches when you get up to refill the popcorn bowl. Going from the little spoon to the big spoon. Once you hand the refilled bowl to Sam you sit on the couch, legs tucked beneath you as you wrap your arms around jake. He leans into your body until his head is in your lap. Your hands find their way into his hair, brushing through any tangles and sometimes entertaining a braid. This position is usually held until jakes not so quiet snores are heard by everyone in the room. Sam simply glances towards Jake, and then back to the screen. But Josh, being Jake's twin, physically can not let him be. Whether it be plugging his brother's nose, giving him a wet willy, or something that could be described as pest-like, Josh is determined to disturb his brother's slumber. This usually results in them wrestling around on the ground until something breaks, or one of the two throws in the towel and surrenders.

But tonight was not a ‘usual’ night.

Well tonight started off as a usual night, Sam was on his second pack of tissues, Veronica had been long gone, and Jake was peacefully snoring away on your lap. Josh sauntered into the kitchen and returned with a cold glass of water in his hand with a mischievous look on his face. He kneeled down in front of you, level eyed with a sleeping Jake. “Sorry if I get water on you, it's for a good cause” Josh says looking towards you before he slowly pours the ice cold water right on top of Jake's head. Jake shoots up as soon as the water meets his face. It takes him a minute to register his surroundings, but as soon as his eyes land on Josh he’s tackling him onto the ground. “You ass that was fucking cold!” You hear Jake grunt as they’re rolling around trying to pin each other down. “Oops my hand slipped” Josh giggled as he broke free from Jake's hold. Usually you would just shake your head and try to crank your neck around to continue watching the movie, but the little dance Josh decided to do, while sticking his tongue out and attaching his hands to his ears wiggling his fingers made a giggle escape from your lips.

Big mistake.

Jake narrows his eyes at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “oh you think that’s funny huh?” He taunts as his hands wrap around your ankle and pulls you off the couch. You land on the ground with a thump, and Sam’s eyes shoot open wide, an “oh shit” expression on his face. You look up to Jake who’s standing above you “oh you are so on lover boy” you exclaim as you crawl through his legs and lung onto his back. He stumbled slightly, then slammed you down onto the plush couch. You both laugh at each other as he hovers over you. You grab his shoulders and fling the both of you off the couch and back onto the floor. Giggles escape the both while rolling around on the floor. That is until Jake bumps into the side table and the vase sitting on top starts to wobble and falls crashing down, hitting your head and shattering. The room immediately goes silent. You feel a tiny trail of wetness meet your brow, you grace your fingers across your forehead and bring your hand into view, a small amount of blood lingers on your fingers. You look up to Jake and see him staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. His lip starts to quiver and you immediately feel bad. Before you can say anything, Jake rushes into the kitchen, and before you can even sit up he’s back in front of you with a wet rag, paper towels, and a box of band-aides. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I got ahead of myself, I was too rough, fuck are you okay?” His voice cracks and tears gloss over his eyes. He helps you up and sits you on the couch. You see Sam leave and return with a broom to sweep up the broken vase. Jake starts to clean the small cut on your forehead, first with the wet rag, then drying it with the paper towels. A tear rolls down his cheek as he lightly shakes his head, probably beating himself up in his head. You bring your hand up to his cheek, brushing away the trail of wetness the tear left behind, “Bubba, I’m fine, it was an accident, and honestly I can’t even feel the cut, I swear it doesn’t hurt.” Jake avoids your eyes as he opens the box of band-aides. “Still, it doesn’t matter. I caused this to happen to you.” You grab his hands, pausing his movements. He looks at you and you notice more trails of wet tears staining his cheeks. You reach your arms around him and pull him close, you place light kisses to the side of his head and rub your hands along his back. “Jake, I’m fine, it’s not even bleeding anymore, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He removes himself from your embrace and sits on the couch, pulling you into him. You lay your head on his chest and intertwine your hand with his. “Do you need anything? Water, snacks, a blanket?” You shake your head no, and before a word could be formed Jake starts up again, “wait shit, do you think you could have a concussion? get in the car, I'll take you to the hospital.” He starts to get up, and you start to protest before you're cut off again. “Actually no, don’t get up, I’ll carry you.” He starts to snake his hands under your knees and across you back, but before he could successfully pick you up you manage to get out your words. “Jake please, I’m fine seriously, not even a headache, the vase wasn’t big nor heavy, so just lay back down and hold me please.” He abides by your request and once again you are graced by his warm embrace. From the love seat, opposite of the room, Josh speaks up for the first time since the wrestling catastrophe occurred. “Talk about a T.K.O” he smirks towards Jake knowing he wouldn’t leave your side to try and rough him up.