#So if he's covered in fur or has the darkened shoulders and stuff are not necessarily canon. Was just playing around with things.

[celtrist]

You mentioned Vaggie trying to dress up Alastor in feminine style a couple of times, would you like to show us an example of such occurence?

(in other words, can we see Alastor in a dress, Vaggie can't be the only one who gets to see him like that)

The sort of outfits and ways she'll get him in said outfits will vary. Vaggie for the most part does genuinely try to find and put him in feminine clothes of his time (so she more than likely has gone to cannibal town for dresses). But she's definitely not opposed to putting him in more, shall we say... skimpy attire. Or things that perhaps don't fit quite right on him.

Other residents have 100% seen him outside his normal attire because of Vaggie. And have perhaps gotten a bit more of a show than Alastor would ever intend for anyone to see (though that's never Vaggie's intention).

[cre8tivereviews]

Wilder Girls Ch. 4

📚📖 I was able to get done with Ch. 4 today.

Below are my thoughts and summarization of the chapter.

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***Spoilers ahead, If you don't want spoilers, please quit reading.***

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Ch. 4

Once outside the fence, the only way to open it is with the big cast iron key around Welch's neck. What if she were to get lost or something. How would the girls get back in?

On the island is a flower called The Raxter Irises. It's petals also darken at the tip when picked. Even before the Tox. Could there be something on this island that caused the Tox? Again, is the main land even infected? Are they being lied to? Or am I just reading into things?

While they're out, Hetty mentions the shakes of the earth again. She mentioned on the roof in ch. 1 or 2. They do end up running into a black bear while out. I don't know if he would cause the earth to shake like she describes or could feel from the roof.

On her first Boat Shift, Hetty hears the boat before she sees it. Thre is only gray past a certain part of the ocean. Then, all of a sudden, out of the gray comes the boat. Once close, they use a crane to drop the pallets on the boat deck (forgot that they actually called it. The deck protruded out to the ocean. For boats to dock, and let people off.)

Once the boat gives the all clear; they don't want any interaction between the boat and island, they can grab what they dropped off.

Hetty sees on the pallet that there is far more stuff than the 6 bags they usually bring back. Hetty is excited until she learns, this is how much they always get. Enough to feed everyone for a week. Welch says some of it isn't good. It has pesticides that aren't good for the girl's already compromised systems. Is Welch lying? Is the food really good?

Hetty seems to hesitate as if she wants to say something, and Welch says she needs to keep the pallets to herself. If not, Welch threatens to take care of things as she reaches for her revolver, saying if you can't keep a secret. Why would Welch kill a student over this? Obviously, something is wrong here. Why really can't they use the food? Is Welch going crazy? We find out that Welch also hasn't told the headmistress about the extra food as well.

The food they don't use, they throw over the cliff. Welch says this is because if the Navy saw they left anything, they wouldn't bring as much the next time. It's such a waste. They only use original sealing and sealed food. Nothing that has been opened and put in another package. Is Welch paranoid, or is there really a good reason for this?

On the way back from the dock, they hear something and split up. Welch and Hetty come across a bobcat. Hetty says they used to be small and scare off easily. Now, this one's shoulders are up to her waist.

The bobcat has the Tox. "Dried blood crusting where its skin has fallen away in patches. Sores bubbling along the inside of its front legs. Bile stained the white fur on its neck." pg 74. So the Tox affects animals too.

While Hetty is running from the bobcat, she finds a place to hide. As she goes to make a spot to sit on. She finds a cooler in the ground covered by foliage. Thinking it's old as it's covered in grime and looks like it's been there a while. But when she opens it, she finds it clean. Inside is a bag closed with red tape. Inside the bag is a vial of blood, labeled "Potential Rax009" in a handwriting she almost knows. Did Byatt take it there? that'd be too easy to see coming. Are people being experimented on? Used for a cure? Again, is the mainland really infected? Could Raxter be a test site?

Once back inside, Hetty seems to be tired, so the headmistress tells her to go lay down. I wonder if the headmistress suspects something up. She seems to be there when Boat Shift comes back. She tells Hetty to go to sleep, and Byatt takes her.

**original art is not mine**

[ginminowas]

grumpus designs addendummm

ANYWAYS. felt like doin a post talking abt how i draw the grumpuses or whatever for funsies bc im bored + since i did the design meme. lets go

in General : i draw them like furries, vaguely. which is fun because im not much of a furry artist so i have no idea what im doing and it shows. in general i give them sorta snouts in varying... snoutyness depending on their over/underbite. eg floofty, snorpy gramble and shelda have flatter faces while liz, lillow and wambus look like weird dogs, i guess. i draw them with human-shaped hands but put pawpads on them. sometimes. you could say i give them ears but to be honest they dont look functioning i just slap some squiggles on their heads and move on. i also give some of them tails. because i walk around irl like why dont i have a tail and well its their problem now.

I also give them more/detailed-er hair and clothes. character specific stuff below

Filbo is still just a guy. I mostly just slapped some freckles on him because I thought theyd be cute. in a spongebob kinda way. i put a hawaiian shirt on him. not pictured, i think he would have a little tuft of a tail. average goober

I draw Beffica with more... idk if id say realistic hair, but it’s less of a hat. as far as I can tell, her in-game model has orangeish-red eyes (color makes me think of ketchup), but I made them browner. not a lot of brown eyed characters in media but this is partially habit on my part coming from drawing genshin fanart (nobody has brown eyes). i made her nose heart shaped and put her in a off the shoulder shirt. she has a sort of... cheetah? pattern bc i think its cute.

Eggabell is round soft and pink. not as egg shaped in my style i suppose, but she prob looks more egg fullbody than just her bust lol. i like the ........ floofy thing ive seen ppl put on her so theres that, i also think she’d look cute w/ short hair. changed her med belt into a sort of... satchel lookin thing?

Liz. in the meme I forgot about her hat, LOL. I give her a ponytail haircut - she kinda looks like a wolf and less like a walrus I suppose... she’s muscular and scared from The Adventuring, and I put a vest thing on her. she still has the belt.

Wambus I made look a bit dilfy... kind of wolf shaped in my brain. him and Triffany feel like the types to be that thick beefy kind of muscled. gave him bushy eyebrows and sort of hair, w some grey hairs. he and Triffany are around 40-50s to me, they both have some wrinkles, but im. bad at drawing older ppl

Triffany..... her hat was a menace to draw. she’s just as beefed up as Wambus, but she’s very fluffy and soft looking. her vest is more Open in canon but I didn’t wanna redraw it but im sure she has amazing chest fur. she has curly-ish hair in a ponytail.

for Cromdo I tried to make him like.. idk... uncleish. danny devitocore. I’m not used to drawing characters like him so ??? its a little funny looking but I tried to make him look like he had body hair as if he wasnt covered in fur lmfao. gave him some wrinkles, he’s probably in his 40s. put a shirt on that freak. also, had trouble w his nose.

I’ve had trouble drawing shorter characters in relation to taller ones (chandlo) but I liked how I drew Gramble. I put freckles on him (cute factor), turned his vest into a full sweater (w shirt collar), gave him some curly strawberry red hair under the hat. he’s cute. I know he weighs like 3 apples

WIGGLE my beloved! I felt I made her a bit Much but honestly? fits her. I gave her short curly hair - I do like how other designs give her the spiky mohawk look from the cheepoof tho! in her model her eyes are blue, but I darkened them similarly to how I changed Beffica’s eyes, but its less noticeable with the glasses. I gave her a sorta... half tube top w a see thru part (forgot the word.) probably wears beach party clothes

Oddly, I have trouble with Chandlo. He’s kind of dog-ish like Liz an Lillow, also made his nose heart shaped cuz its cute. gave him hair under the hat but idk how I feel on it. he’s beefy obviously, but I think he’s a bit more defined than Wambus. I couldn’t quite show it but I imagine he has rather calloused paws, but is otherwise careful when carpenter-ing and such (unlike Snorpy and Floofty, OSHA enemies.)

SNORBYYYYY I love this little yellow thing. I draw him (and his sibling) with casual glasses usually, because I imagine the magnifying glass isnt Always necessary. I also put him in a sweater. I gave him some freckles and changed the direction of his hair + the style to be in a ponytail idk. his arms and hands are particularly scarred, from equipment and engineering accidents and such, probably has some burns too.

Floofty my beloved rude asshole. I have a little trouble w their hair on the left side of their head 😭 I also give them simpler glasses to wear when they don’t need the goggles because wearing that shit all day hurts. I put them in a hoodie/jacket + lab coat combo. I imagine the lab coat is blood stained. stuff’s hard to clean. They’re equally if not more scarred than their brother, and have a particularly bad burn/scar double whammy on their right hand which I hc they get after getting fired when having a meltdown. ANYWAYS

Shelda my gramma. I love her but MY GOD coloring the flowers was hard lol. I imagine her fur is on the shorter side. I don’t have too much to say I guess? I want to give her a hug.

Clumby I just drew a kind of Aunt-y ish garfield. the glasses and hat were hard. definitely the type of woman I saw in the middle school’s reception office.

is that all? I guess that’s all. there’s Lillow, but I dont have much to say I guess? besides that the scar on her nose is from snaktooth. what was it clumby said? “dont fall off a cliff onto your face?”

[undead-merman]

Yandere wendigo beelzebub headcanons please

Interesting combo. 

❄Wendigo Beelzebub❄ as a Yandere GN- Reader SFW

(tw: wendigo themes such as cannibalism, gore)

Appearance 

As a terrible Beast of the cold and cannibalism his body is large standing well over ten feet tall. His arms are long, much longer than a human’s almost dragging on the ground, starting at his elbows they are covered in thick orange fur frosted with freezing white. Long fingernails like claws grow from his hands and the skin on his palms and wrist where the fur parts are darkened like he has frostbite.

His legs are deer-like, bending at the joints like deer and even having hooves with tufts of more frosted fur and more painful looking skin. Though his legs are much shorter looking then the rest of his body, though that’s only because of his larger arms. 

Unlike most Wendigo that are frail, thin and starved looking, Beel is built with solid muscle and looks unmovable, unbreakable though his ribs still show under his bare and scarred covered chest. A frosted mane-like plume of fur sprouts from his shoulders and wrap around the back of his neck. 

His face is surprisingly human, but not fully there. It’s at the point just before uncanny. His teeth are jagged and large, almost too big for his mouth, and they're as sharp as broken glass. Every time he breathes cold frosty mist spills from his mouth. A pair of twisted looking antlers, though they look more like burnt trees. His eyes are dark and have heavy bags under it. His hair stands out in the snow but if he gets angry his hair shifts to a white color and his eyes look frosted over with blue ice.  

The Cold and Hunger

He hates the heat in the form of flames and can’t stand it, even if it’s as small as a match he gets freaked out. Despite how cold and frostbitten some of his skin looks he’s perfectly comfortable even in the coldest of weather. He sometimes prefers hunting in blizzard-like conditions. 

He’s ever wandering about for weaker and starving travelers, or sick animals. Whenever he finds them he scares them. Getting their blood pumping from fear as he mimics the voices and sounds of cats or screams that aren’t completely similar, there's always something wrong with his calls. When he catches his prey he just leans his body weight on their skulls with one hand and crushes them and eats them right there on the spot not even leaving a blood stain in the snow with how hungerly he devours his prey. 

He can go mad without at least one meal a day. Normally he waits for his prey to be alone but when he’s desperate he’ll simply attack them no matter what defenses or numbers they may have and eat them all in a fit of destruction. If he’s driven mad enough he can ignore fire or heat for a few moments, willing to burn as long as he can eat. His hunger takes first priority over everything. He can leave a whole town in ruins if he’s starved enough.  

Spending Time with You 

Just as he was trailing a few miles from a small village when he spotted you and but before he started hunting you he noticed the strange look in your eyes. Wild and teeming with feral sharpness as you turned and noticed him. You smelled very very faintly of the village and your clothes were torn and covered in blood that wasn’t your own. The only thing he could think of is you had been thrown out for some reason or another. But the one thing he knew for sure was the hunger that was radiating off you. Suddenly instead of wanting to eat you he wanted to feed you. He picked you up by the scruff of your jacket and took you along. 

He doesn’t speak much but he offers you different types of food, rabbits, foxes, deer, bear, but never human’s even though you are sure he hunts and devours them. He watches you closely like an owner who is watching their cat leave the kennel for the first time. He watches and figures out your interests seeing what you eat and don’t and brings you more of what you choose to eat and he makes strange unnatural giggling noises that clearly belong to other people. 

If you still cook your meals he refuses to come near the cave and instead watches you from outside. After the fire goes out he’s right back in his cave investigating what you did. He’s bewildered by cooked meat and tries some if you offer but his face scrunches up but he eats it hungerly. 

He often brings you the clothes of humans he’s devoured to keep you warm. It almost always has some sort of blood on it but Beelzebub will lick it clean if it bothers you. He tenderly dresses you or fills a nest of clothes for you to sleep in to keep you warm. 

Beelzebub doesn’t know how to speak, he can only mimic sounds back that he hears with chilling undertones of reverb and sometimes radio static. But he does understand you. He will repeat back phrases that can be used to respond to you or call out to you.  

His Dark Tendencies 

The true reason he brought you back was he could tell you had the beginnings or the potential to turn into one of his kind and simply wanted to be part of that. He wants to see how you would look but at the same time he likes you just the way you are. Small and weak compared to him. He just can’t take his eyes off of how fragile you are compared to the truly wild creatures, no fangs, claws, or even fur to keep you warm and yet you're still so resilient. Your ingenuity and wit keeping you alive verus strength. He wanted to keep watching that… It was cute.

Despite if you bite, kick, or scream, or lean into it and smile he’ll poke and prod at your squishy warm skin. He likes watching your reaction to it, positive or negative, and he does it as he pleases. 

He won’t let any creature near you besides him. He’ll devour anything even close to the cave, though not many ventures close due to the taint Beelzebub brings to the area, sucking the life out of everything. After a while he’ll actively start hunting people in your village and bringing you their coats, jackets, and belongings. He’ll stand there and make noises to convince you to praise him for hunting down those disgusting ones as revenge for you. 

Hate them? Want them gone and punished for what they drove you to? He’ll help you enact it and strike terror into them and devour every single one of them for you just tell him where to start. 

He doesn’t let you leave his sight unless he’s hunting for you so he has just the thing to keep you in the cave when he’s gone. A hole he dug out just for you with a large rock to keep you from calling out or anything being able to crawl in to get you. He’s always quick to come back with more gifts for you, apologizing for keeping you in the dark like that.   

Misc Stuff

He absolutely loves having his head stroked despite how freezing his strands of hair can be. He loves feeling your warm hands rub his scalp and horns. He makes song bird noises when you pet him. He makes the same noises if you feed him too. You guess, he makes that noise when happy even though it’s terrifying and unnatural sounding from his mouth. 

He has a small ball, old and it’s color long faded that he likes to push around with his oversized claws carefully not to pop it. He’s protective over it too. Sometimes he acts a little too suspiciously like a dog; he even begs for a bite of your food like one too. 

He lays like a deer and sleep curled up like one too. He'll sleep around the nest he built for you and he nuzzles his face right into a blanket. He also drools a lot on said blanket. He’s always quick to wake up though so it's a rare sight but if you sleep too long for his tastes he makes annoying noises at you he has mimicked alarms, loud animals, and even weird old sounding radio broadcasts.

[babypandawrites]

Allies, Pt. 6

The Fortune Teller

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 4,530 Summary: Meeting Aunt Wu and getting your fortune told by her definitely does not make you come to any realizations at the end of the day. None at all. 

-Navigation- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Atla Masterlist- 

Sitting a bit away from the rest of the group, Y/n leaned her back against a rock settled on the lake shore. She held a small handmade leather bound journal in her hands, finger tips tracing along the cover. She hummed to herself, squinting at the cover. “Maybe just a small peak…”  “Look!”  Her head snapped up, looking at the others, then looking in the direction Katara had been pointing. She’d been pointing out to the water, where a green catfish jumped from the water before landing back in it. Y/n tucked the journal away.  “He is taunting us… You are so going to be dinner!” As Sokka ran to get his fishing pole, she got up and joined the group.  Sokka tried to cast the pole a few times, but nothing happened. “Hey! Where’s the fishing line.”  “Oh, I didn’t think you would need it, Sokka.” Aang held up the fishing line, it had been twisted into something.  “Aang, it’s all tangled!” “Not tangled- woven .” He airbended a gust of air to push him to his feet, and turned to Katara. “I made you a necklace, Katara. I thought since you lost your other one…” Trailing off, he smiled sheepishly and held out the homemade necklace to Katara. She took it from him.  “Thanks, Aang. I love it.”  Y/n got her bow from where it sat next to the tent, and pulled an arrow from the quiver before joining Sokka at the shore line. He had tossed his fishing pole into the water like a spear, only for it to disappear.  “Stop taunting me!”  She looked at him with an amused expression. “Sokka, I can catch-” Holding up his hand he cut her off. “No! No, I got this.” He drew out his knife, and lunged into the water, trying to catch the fish with it. Her and Aang both watched his antics in amusement.  “So, how do I look?”  Y/n turned back to look at Katara. The girl had put on the necklace Aang gave her, and while Y/n was pretty sure the question hadn’t been directed at her, she still gave her a thumbs up.  “You mean all of you or just your neck? I mean, uh, both look great.”  She raised her eyebrows at Aang. That kid was not very good at hiding his crush. Sokka got out of the lake, holding the fish he had caught as if about to kiss it.  “Smoochie, smoochie, someone’s in love.” The fish flipped around in his hands, knocking him back into the lake and earning a laugh from Y/n.  Aang rubbed at his head in an embarrassed manner. “I… well…”  “Stop teasing him, Sokka.” Katara gave her brother an annoyed look. “Aang’s just a good friend. A sweet little guy- just like Momo.”  “Thanks.” He was clearly put down by her words.  Y/n rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, as a soaking wet Sokka approached the group. He was empty handed, and looked quite upset about it.

At a sound in the distance, Momo flew off in it’s direction. Aang used his airbending to join the lemur atop a large rock. He pointed to the source of the noise. “Someone’s being attacked by a platypus bear!” He jumped off the rock, presumably down to where the attack was taking place.  Sokka and Katara ran off in the direction Aang pointed, as Y/n grabbed her quiver to put on her back, before quickly joining them. The three joined Aang, as a man calmly dodged attacks from the platypus bear. Aang, Katara and Sokka were trying to give advice to the man about how to evade the bear, but he brushed them off, claiming everything would be fine. Appa ended up scaring the platypus bear by roaring at it, not only making it run away but also making it drop an egg.  Sokka went to pick up the egg. “Mmm! Lunch!” He sniffed the egg, before looking at the man. “Lucky for you we came along.”  “Thanks, but everything was already under control. Not to worry, Aunt Wu predicted I’d have a safe journey.” The man put his hands together in a position of prayer and bowed slightly.  “Aunt who?” Aang questioned.  “No, Aunt Wu. She’s the fortune teller from my village. Awfully nice knowing your future.”  Katara looked amazed. “Wow, it must be. That explains why you were so calm.”  “But the fortune teller was wrong! You didn’t have a safe journey, you were almost killed.” “I think us showing up is what made it a safe journey actually, Sokka.”  “The girl has a point. All right, have a good one!” The man gave a wave goodbye to the group, and began walking away, but he turned back again. “Oh, and Aunt Wu said if I met any travelers to give them this.” He handed Aang a long, thin wrapped object and walked away.  “Maybe we should go see Aunt Wu and learn our fortunes. It could be fun.” Katara looked between her friends as she spoke her suggestion.  Sokka waved off his sister's suggestion. “Oh come on, fortune telling is nonsense.”  Glancing between the two siblings, Y/n offered a small shrug. “Even if it is nonsense, it could still be fun.”  “See! Y/n gets it! Kinda.”  “What do ya know, an umbrella!” The three looked over to Aang, who had unwrapped the wrapped up object, which was clearly an umbrella. The sky abruptly darkened as rain began to pour down. Katara smiled, and waterbended the rain into an arch above her head to avoid getting wet. “That proves it.” She ran to join Aang under the opened umbrella.  Y/n found herself joining the two, trying to fit under the umbrella space as well. Sokka held the egg above his head. “No it doesn’t, you can’t really tell the future.” “I guess you’re not really getting wet then.” 

The four walked down the road. Aang, Katara and Y/n were dry under the umbrella while Sokka was getting soaking again from walking in the rain.  “Of course she predicted it was gonna rain. The sky’s been gray all day.”  “Just admit you might be wrong and you can come under the umbrella.”  Y/n nodded at Katara’s words. “The umbrella life is pretty nice, I really recommend it.”  He looked at them blankly. “Look, I’m going to predict the future now.” Sokka made a bunch of funny movements and noises, before speaking in an exaggerated voice.. “It’s going to keep drizzling.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “See!” The rain instantly stopped, and the sun came out.  “Not everyone has the gift, Sokka.” Aang closed the umbrella as he spoke.  Appa came up on the group, passing Sokka, he shook out his fur causing the boy to be drenched more. 

Soon, they came across a village sat atop a snowy mountain. When they entered through the gates of the village a herald dressed in black greeted them.  “Aunt Wu is expecting you.”  “Really?” Though it was something simple, it still seemed to amaze Katara in a way.  The group followed the man as he led them to a building, closing the door once all four were inside. There were four sitting pillows placed on the ground. A young girl dressed in a pink kimono with her hair tied into large braids entered the room.  “My name is Meng and I’m Aunt Wu’s assistant.” The girl seemed to take a quick interest in Aang. “Well hello there.”  He rubbed his nose. “Hello.”  Y/n took a seat on one of the pillows, Aang and Katara joining her.  “Can I get you some tea, or some of Aunt Wu’s special bean curd puffs?”  Sokka sat down as well. “I’ll try a curd puff.”  “Just a second.” Meng bent down to address Aang. “So what’s your name?”  “Aang.” “That rhymes with Meng! And you’ve got some pretty big ears, don’t you?”  “Uh… I guess..” Aang seemed confused, rightfully so.  “Oh, don’t be so modest. They’re huge!” Sokka spread out his arms wide.  Y/n elbowed him in the side, as Aang looked at him angrily.  “Well Aang, it is very nice to meet you. Very nice.”  “Likewise.”  Meng exited the room, leaving the four by themselves.  “I can’t believe we’re here in the house of nonsense.”  “Try to keep an open mind, Sokka. There are things in this world that just can’t be explained. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some insight into your future?”  “It would be nice to have some bean curd puffs.”  Katara seemed annoyed by her brother, and his disbelief. Y/n rested her chin in her hands, and looked over to her.  “You really believe in this stuff don’t you, Katara?”  “You don’t?” She offered a small shrug. “Not particularly. It’s just assumptions and intuition.”  Katara looked at her with a blank expression. “You really agree with Sokka?”  “I don’t think it’s nonsense.” “But, you don’t believe in it?”  “I just don’t think it’s some magical ability, there’s logic set behind it that mostly consists of guesses.”  As Katara rolled her eyes, a woman walked into the room. “Welcome young travelers.” This must be Aunt Wu. “Now, who’s next? Don’t be shy.”  Aang, Y/n and Sokka all being disinterested, Katara stood up. “I guess that’s me.”  She walked away following Aunt Wu into another room. Sokka was chowing down on the curd puffs they were given.  “Not bad. Not bad. Mmmm!” He offered some to Aang, who declined. Y/n grabbed one from the tray when he offered them to her. Her nose wrinkled when he tried it, they weren’t really her cup of tea.  Aang looked between the two. “So… what do you think they’re talking about back there?”  “Boring stuff, I’m sure. Love. Who she’s going to marry. How many babies she’s gonna have.” Sokka shrugged as he spoke, eating another curd puff.  “Yeah… dumb stuff like that…” Aang bit at his fingernails. “Well, I’ve gotta find a bathroom!” He jumped up and ran off.  Y/n raised an eyebrow. “What’s his deal?”  Sokka stretched out over Aang and Katara’s pillows. “Probably going to listen to my sisters dumb palm reading.” “Makes sense.” 

After a few minutes Aang came back, clearly pleased by whatever he heard. “Looks like someone had a pretty good bathroom break.” “Yeah, when I was in there-” Sokka cut him off. “I don’t wanna know!”  Aunt Wu and Katara walked back out. The woman looked between the three. “Who’s next?”  “Okay, let’s get this over with.” Sokka pushed himself to his feet.  “Your future is full of struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted.”  “But, you didn’t read my palms or anything!” “I don’t need to- It’s written all over your face.”  Y/n held back a laugh. “Um, I can go.”  Aunt Wu looked over her for a short moment, before nodding. “Follow me.”  She got up from her seat, and followed the woman off into the room Katara had been in prior. The two sat down across from each other. Aunt Wu carefully grabbed onto her hand, and looked over her palm.  “Is there anything you’d like to know?”  “Uh…” Y/n thought for a short moment. “I’m.. not sure?”  “How about we take a look at your love line.”  “Alright.”  The woman traced her finger tip along her palm. “You will have a difficult and tragic love. Many things will go wrong, and there is no guarantee of reconciliation.”  She grimaced. “That sounds…”  “Horrible? It will be.”  “Um… Is there anything else you're seeing..?”  Aunt Wu hummed for a short moment. “I can see… where your soulmate is from. The Water Tribe.”  “Wa-Water Tribe..? Southern or Northern?!”  “That I don’t know. Though I can see you will care for several children in your future.”  “Oh. Can you.. See anything about my future in general?”  “Let’s see… Things will get worse, before they get better. Secrets will only harm you in the long run.”  She gulped.  “That is all.” 

After Aang’s reading, the group left.  “Well, now you got to see for yourselves that fortunetelling is just a big, stupid hoax.”  Katara rolled her eyes at her brother. “You’re just saying that because you’re going to make yourself unhappy your whole life.” “That woman is crazy! My life will be calm! And happy! And joyful!” Sokka got more upset with each word he spoke. He kicked a small rock off the ground, causing it to ricochet off a nearby sigh and hit him on the head knocking him back. “Ow! That doesn’t prove anything!” Y/n helped him off the ground. “If talking to that woman told me anything, it’s that she’s speaking nonsense.”  “You just didn’t like what you were told.”  She looked at Katara with a blank expression. “Clearly.” Her tone was sarcastic.  “Well, I liked my predictions. Certain things are going to turn out very well.” Katara clasped her hands together.  “They sure are.”  “Why, what did she tell you?”  Aang offered a smile to Katara. “Some stuff. You’ll find out.”  They all approach a large crowd that’s gathered at the center of the village square. Most of the people in the crowd stood in silence, looking up at the sky.  Katara looked up as well. “What’s with the sky?” “We are waiting for Aunt Wu to come and read the clouds to predict the fate of the whole village.” One of the men in the crowd offered the answer.  “The whole village?” Y/n looked at the man oddly when he nodded. “Interesting…” Weird stuff.  Aang pointed up. “That cloud looks like a fluffy bunny.” “You better hope that’s not a bunny- The fluffy bunny cloud forecast doom and destruction.”  “Do you even hear yourself?”  The man looked at Sokka with an annoyed expression. A woman from the crowd took a step towards them.  “The cloud reading will tell us if Mount Makapu will remain dormant for another year or if it will erupt.”  “We used to have a tradition once a year of going up the mountain to check the volcano ourselves, but ever since Aunt Wu moved to the village twenty years ago we have a tradition of not doing that.”  Sokka’s expression twisted to a mix of confusion and outrage. “I can’t believe you would trust your lives to that crazy old woman’s superstition.”  “Seriously…”  Katara shushed the two. “She’s coming!”  Aunt Wu walked down and through the crowd, getting up to the stage that had been set up. She gave out several predictions, all of which pleased the village members to hear, one of which included that the volcano would not erupt this year.”  Scoffing, Sokka gently elbowed Y/n in the side. “You think she’s crazy too, right?”  “Well,” Pausing, she turned her head to look at him. Your soulmate is from the Water Tribe. “Yeah, definitely. She’s talking nonsense.” She breathed out a nervous laugh. “I’m gonna go see what Katara is up to uh- See you later!”  Y/n turned fast on her heel and rushed off. 

Arms crossed over her chest, Y/n paced in the space in front of Appa. The bison was laying on the ground, just outside the village gates. He let out a grunt. She halted in her steps, looking over to him.  “You’re right, I’m stressing out about this way too much. I mean, why am I even freaking out? Aunt Wu’s predictions are just nonsense, right? You think they’re nonsense too don’t you, Appa?”  Her eyebrows furrowed together as he grunted. “No, they have to be nonsense. There’s no way that Sokka could be my soulmate, that’s ridiculous. Right?”  Appa gave another grunt, she frowned. “You’re not making me feel better here, Appa.”  Sighing, she began pacing again. “Maybe I should talk to her again? I know, I know, I said her prediction’s are nonsense, but in the case they aren’t … She didn’t tell me if my soulmate was from the Southern Water Tribe or the Northern Water Tribe, if I get another reading maybe she can pick that up…”  The bison grunted again, causing Y/n to look at him with an offended expression. “You could at least pretend to agree with me! This is why I take my issues to Momo, he’s much better at this than you!” Pausing she reached a hand out and patted his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You’re definitely the better advice animal, Appa. You’re right, I’m just being crazy, it doesn’t matter. Thanks for the help Appa, I’m gonna go find the others now.”  As she walked back into the village, Y/n scoffed. “I’m being crazy? Ridiculous, Appa is clearly the crazy one here…”  Approaching Aunt Wu’s house, Y/n gave Aang a confused stare as he shouted something at a walking away Katara.  “You good there bud?”  Surprised by her sudden appearance, Aang jumped slightly. “Huh- Yeah. I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you okay, Y/n? You were acting kind of weird earlier.” “Wh-! I was not acting weird. I don’t act weird!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You’re acting weird!”  “Uh-huh… You’re not here to get another reading, are you? Didn’t you say Aunt Wu was speaking nonsense?”  Gulping, she looked to the side nervously. “I’m not! And she is!” As if on cue, the front door was opened, Aunt Wu standing on the other side. “I knew you would be coming back eventually.”  Aang gave her a look.  “Shut up.” Y/n turned quickly, and shuffled into the building.  “You would like for your question from before to be answered, is that right?” Aunt Wu asked, as the two entered her fortune telling room.  “Well uh-” Y/n breathed out a sigh, looking to the ground shamefully. “Yeah.”  The woman led her over to an urn, it had been filled with bones. “Let’s try something else this time, pick one.” She motioned to the urn.  Y/n looked at it for a moment, before picking one. They sat down, and she threw the bone into the fire when Aunt Wu instructed her too. The bone started to crack, small gaps forming in it. “Let’s see what it says.” Aunt Wu leaned closer to the fire, observing them. “The answer to your question, I’m still not seeing. But I can see that you will reunite with a family member soon.”  “You’re sure? There’s nothing about it at all?”  Another crack formed in the bone. “Ah… here it is. He will be from the Southern Tribe.”  “The Southern Tribe…” Y/n was quick to push herself up to her feet. “I see well uh- thank you.” She bolted out of the house, uttering a quick apology to Katara when she shoved past her.  Yeah, no. That woman was crazy! That couldn’t be true, there was no way- Y/n grunted, as she aggressively ran into somebody. She stumbled a bit, but was able to steady herself.  “Ah- Sorry about t-” Realizing who she ran into, she’d cut herself off. “Oh wow, look at that, I have to go!” She turned and was ready to rush off, but a firm grip on her arm stopped her.  “Woah- Wait! We need to find Katara and warn everyone. The volcano is going to erupt.”  A very obvious wave of relief washed over her, as she turned to look at Sokka. “The volcano is going to erupt? So- Aunt Wu was wrong?”  Aang and Sokka shared a look, before both offered a nod in confirmation. She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank spirits… I mean- Not about the volcano thing that’s really bad but the Aunt- You know what nevermind, we need to get going and warn everybody!”  As she started to walk away, Aang leaned closer to Sokka. “You think she’s acting weird, right?”  “Definitely.”  “Are you two coming or not?!” 

The three found Katara, waiting outside of Aunt Wu’s door, which wasn’t exactly a surprise to any of them.  Aang offered her a small wave of greeting. “Hi, Katara.”  “Can you believe she won’t let me in? And after all the business I’ve given her?”  Y/n raised an eyebrow at the girl. “But, she doesn’t even charge.”  “I know, but still.”  “Well, we have other things to worry about. Aunt Wu was wrong about the volcano.” Sokka stepped into the conversation, causing Katara to look at him with an expression of annoyance and doubt. “Sokka, you tried to convince me she was wrong before. It’s going to take an awful lot to change my min-”  She was cut off but the rumbling sound of the mountain erupting to life, smoke started to raise from the top of it.  “Oh no!”  The group rushed to the town square, to warn the villagers. They were able to get the villagers attention, and now stood with several people surrounding them.  “Everyone! That volcano is gonna blow any second. Aunt Wu was wrong!” Sokka tried to warn the crowd, but they didn’t seem to be buying it. “Yeah, yeah, we know you don’t believe in Aunt Wu, ‘Mr, Science and Reason Lover’.”  Y/n let out a groan. “This isn’t about belief! It’s about fact, and the fact is that volcano is going to blow!” “Yeah, we know you don’t believe in Aunt Wu either.”  Slapping her palm to her forehead, she sighed. “These people are idiots.”  “If you won’t listen to them, maybe you’ll listen to me. I want to believe Aunt Wu and her predictions as you do, but my brother and Aang saw the lava with their own eyes.” The villagers didn’t even listen to Katara’s warning and reason.  “Well I heard Aunt Wu’s prediction with my own ears.”  Aang airbended himself up onto the roof of Aunt Wu’s house. “Please listen to us! You are all in danger! And we have to get out of here. You can’t rely on Aunt Wu’s prediction. You have to take fate into your own hands.”  An explosion came from the volcano, Sokka pointed in it’s direction. “Look! Can your fortune telling explain that?”  “Can your science explain why it rains?”  “Yes! Yes it can!”  The crowd wasn’t convinced, and ended up dispersing back to their homes. Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose as they left, shaking her head. Katara breathed out a sigh. “They just won’t listen to reason.”  “But they will listen to Aunt Wu.” Aang spoke up, landing back on the ground with them.  Sokka’s eyebrows furrowed together. “I know, that’s the problem.”  “Well, it’s about to become the solution. We’re taking fate in our own hands. First, I need to borrow Aunt Au’s cloud reading book.” 

With the plan set, they each did their own part to make it happen. While Aang snuck into Aunt Wu’s house to get her cloud reading book, Y/n, Sokka and Katara stood watch. Once he had it, they split into pairs. Aang and Katara flew up on Appa to change the shape of the clouds, while Y/n and Sokka went to get Aunt Wu.  “Aunt Wu! You’ll never believe it.” Y/n spoke, as the two guided her up to the stage from before.  When they got to it, Sokka pointed at the sky. “Look! Something is happening to the clouds!”  “That’s very strange. It shouldn’t…. Oh my!”  One of the clouds had been shaped into a skull, to signal volcanic doom.  Aang addressed the crowd of villagers when him and Katara got back. “We can still save the village if we act fast. Sokka has a plan.”  “Lava is gonna flow downhill to this spot. If we can dig a deep enough trench we can channel all the lava away from the village to the river.”  “If any of you are earthbenders come with me.”  A twin raised his hand. “I’m an earthbender!” The other twin raised his hand as well. “I’m not!”  “Everyone else grab a shovel-” Another explosion sounded, cutting Sokka off. “Come on, we’ve gotta hurry!”  They all hurried to start digging out a trench, using the means of both manual work and earthbending. The volcano had started to spew lava, by the time the trench was finished and led into the river.  “Everyone needs to evacuate! We’ll come for you when it’s safe!” At Aang’s direction, the villagers ran to safety. The group watched as lava started to race down the side of the volcano, engulfing the village gate and soon the cemetery. Once it reached the trench, it filled it rapidly.  “It’s too much! It’s gonna overflow!” Katara shouted, as the lava filled to the top of the trench.  Another explosion rocks the ground, burning rocks begin to rain down, along with ash. Y/n, Katara and Sokka began to run away, but stopped realizing Aang stood in place.  He ran forward, launching himself into the air with his bending. As the lava begins to overflow, he blows the lava back to keep it from advancing from the village. He drew in a large breath before expelling it, using his airbending to cool the lava into stone. The three watched in awe.  Y/n wiped at the sweat beading on her forehead. “Woah.”  “Man, sometimes I forget what a powerful bender that kid is.”  Katara looked over at her brother. “Wait, what did you just say?”  “Nothing, just that Aang is one powerful bender.”  “I suppose he is…” 

After the volcano situation was successfully dealt with, everyone had gone back to the town square. Aang returned the cloud book back to Aunt Wu.  “By the way, we kind of borrowed your book.”  “So you messed with the clouds did you!” She snatched the book angrily from his grip, before beginning to laugh. “Very clever!”  Turning his attention away from the two, Sokka addressed the villagers. “No offense, but I hope this taught everyone a lesson about not relying too much on fortune telling.”  “But Aunt Wu predicted the village wouldn’t be destroyed, and it wasn’t. She was right, after all.” One of the men spoke up. Sokka got in his face. “I hate you.”  Y/n looked between the two with an amused expression. “He has a point.” Pausing, her eyebrows furrowed together and her eyes widened. “Oh spirits, he has a point.” She dropped her head into her hands.  Katara grabbed her brother by the shoulders. “It’s ok, Sokka. Everything’s gonna be alright.”  Y/n held her head in her hands for a few moments, only looking up when someone nudged her in the shoulder. Ah, Sokka, great.  “So,” Turning to face him, she raised a questioning eyebrow at the boy. “So?”  “That was some pretty good trenching you did out there. You’re pretty strong.” Pausing, Sokka reached out and gently punched her in the arm. “For a girl.” He spoke in a joking tone, grinning wide.  “Oh, uh, thanks. You’re pretty strong yourself.” Y/n punched him in the arm, but much harder than he’d done to her. “For a boy.”  He winced, rubbing at the spot she hit. “Ow! I mean-” He cleared his throat. “That didn’t hurt.”  She let out a laugh. “Sure it didn’t.”  Climbing up on Appa as the group readied for their departure, she ignored the thought in her head that said Aunt Wu’s prediction might not be that bad.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Heart of the Wild (Ch.1)

Notes: Here I am, with my favorite tropes and high-key copying the plot to my other fic, Wild Heart. Oh well, I had fun chilling and plotting it with my friend, @mha-girl674 while listening to Celtic Woodland music :3 This story is basically a little self-indulgent “re-write”, but Wild Heart is still up and it’s own fic <3

Pairings: Taishiro x reader, a little bit of Kirideku, and Miro x Tamaki next chapter

Setting: Hybrid Au in medieval times? Ig? Like they have villages and stuff. Idk, imagination :3

Warnings: Self Indulgent Spicy Plot with consensual and self smut thrown in around here and there. Characters are over the age of twenty.

Trigger Warnings: Heats, terrible parents (of the reader), and fear of non-consent, but there is no no-consensual touching, just chasing from an unknown character.

Hot breaths panted into the chilly air from within your chest. You couldn’t feel anything, other than the white heat burn within your feet and legs from the blistering cold. You’ve been running for who knows how long, heart screaming within your chest at the thrill of finally being free, and what a stupid decision that this was.

 It was in the middle of winter, and you’ve chosen now to escape. It was smart as well as stupid, for your parents, thinking that they had you metaphorically tied to a tight leash, would have never expect you to rush out into the cold dead of the winter night.

 They were wrong, but you were suffering. There was no food, lest hardly any shelter or warmth. Your scrap of a tattered cloak, barely weathered the unforgiving wind and snow. Yet, trudging on was the best bet, it was the only bet.  

 At least the cool weather flushed down your heat, but not the scent. Being within a tundra had scared you; not only that there were more ferocious, bigger hybrids that could smell you out, but as well as it was so open. Nowhere to hide, plenty to run, and you’ve practically already exhausted yourself, your natural cycle to breed didn’t help matters, either, for it drained energy, as well.

 Was this better than having your parents keep a constant watch over you? Planning to hand over you to who knows who, in exchange for some pretty fabrics and seeds? Granted that you’ve thought this through in what seemed to be a million times, but you didn’t know what laid outside of your little nomadic tribe.

 Gritting teeth, leaning against a boulder, you gasped as pain shot through your leg. You were use to traveling with your tribe, carrying things for miles, but not running in constant fear into the vast unknown, perhaps miles away from any place that was safe.

 A low whine had cut you out of your thoughts, your head swerving around as a musky scent had now reached you. A fox was staring at you intently, licking his bottom lip as his hands clenched the boulder just ten feet away. Your own rabbit ears folded back in fear, yet his scent had sent yours screaming. Of course, your stupid inner omega was processing the idea of settling down in the tundra raising fox kits, but you weren’t having it.

 It was tempting to just lay down and rest, but not get bent over by the first stranger that you saw, especially one so wild looking and probably was more feral than your clansmen. You bolted. He gave a short yip of frustrated shock, and he chased.  

 This is what you had been fearing for your whole life. If it wasn’t in the back burner of your mind, it was the hungry looks that your clansmen shot your way, the way your parents were only interested in you as a future bargaining chip, and of course, the prospect of getting used by a stranger, and bearing unwanted kits.

 It upset you, and undoubtedly made your resolve to choose your own mate, even greater, if you wanted one, at this point. You didn’t know where you were going, all you knew was that in your fear, the scent had gotten closer, giving the fact that the arctic fox was practically nipping at your heels. You yipped in surprise as pain shot through your foot, after suddenly tripping over a branch, the ground closed in as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the impact of the fall hit your arms and side as you tumbled a little ways.

 It didn’t take you long to recuperate, as you scrambled backwards, fearing for the worst yet to come as your back had hit a solid trunk of a tree. Surprise had hit you, for the fox stopped dead in his tracks. Once a musky scent, was now flooded with dread as he stared onward behind you, and then back at you. As if making up his mind after a mental process, he growled in frustration as he let out one last angry yip, before running off.

 Relief had wafted to you, slightly, but you were left with more questions than answers. The tree of all things against your back, and the way the fox had fled in fear, motivated you to turn around. It was a forest, to your utter surprise and shock. Running in a blind panic, you weren’t aware of your surroundings, just the pure fear mixed in with your inner omegas snapping demands to breed, had made you rushed and unfocused.

 By the way the stretch of lush pines and firs, had the forest itself look so dark and intimidating. You had an inkling that the snow and cold, and possibly even sunlight, hadn’t reached within it’s mysterious depths, and it looked oddly inviting. You knew that the fox had fled for a reason, and that it was a stupid idea to even think of venturing inside, but you were out of options.  

  You didn’t want to freeze to death in the snow, after all. Steadying yourself up against the bare cedar you’ve bumped into, you took a step forward, wincing at the pain from your hurt ankle and sore legs. However, the lure of the possibility of safety, was more strong than your will to just lay down. Inching forward into the darkness, you let the trees within guide you. It was dark, at first, but of course, trees could only give only so much shade. Dim, was the more correct use of the word as you inched closer and deeper within the forest’s heart. Despite the atmosphere, the birds were singing to their heart’s content, as you could hear the sound of rushing water in the background somewhere.

 You jumped a little as your foot brushed up against something soft. Green, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the little patches of grass and clovers littered across it’s floor. It was cold, yes, but not as cold as it was outside the fortress of trees. In what had seemed eerie and intimidating at first, now had filled you with an odd sense of serenity and calmness. The area around it had an odd, yet highly welcomed earthy smell with a splash of something sweet in which had you relaxed and sated the crawling of your heat.

 Why did the fox fear this place? It had seemed so safe. The hairs of the back of your neck had stood up as you stilled. It had took you longer to realize, that the forest’s unique scent, didn’t belong to the forest at all. Eyes widening in realization, your hands gripped the tree that you were leaning up against. Fate, so far, was kind to you, and although you didn’t want to push your luck, you were hopeless and out of options. Was it a bear? Even then, they usually didn’t let their scents be covered in trees like this. It was baffling, as well as a mystery to you, and you wanted to find out.

 Yet, exhaustion had finally taken it’s toll onto your weary body as you could feel your remaining strength just physically drain from you. Tired, hungry, scared, and hurt through the array of emotions, your body had decided that you were going to rest, whether you liked it or not. As you collapsed onto the forest floor, a shout of surprise echoed as your world turned into black.

…………………

 “-tch. Annoyin’ bunnies an’ their heats.” A huff of annoyance broke out into the silence. Once dark, life had filtered through your senses once again as the scent earlier, was the strongest here. Crackling of fire, warmth, and the scent had awakened you as you cracked open your eyelids.

 A house, you couldn’t help but wonder in awe. The fireplace had created a warm atmosphere against the darkened room, lighting up a place of comfort and furs from non-hybrids. You yourself, were in a bed, bandages were wrapped around your hurt ankle and arms as warm blankets had covered you. What had caught your attention most in the lit room, was the tall figure of a man stirring something within a kettle, back turned against you. What had surprised you most definitely, were the orange and black appendages that were his ears and long, swishing tail.

 A tiger? You had wondered. They were rare, here, and more rare if they were orange, those being in the east, not the north. Oddly enough, fear didn’t prickle you, but your heat, just stirring awake with you, had. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have, already, not literally save you from the cold and bandaged your wounds.

 Not wanting to startle him, you rustled a bit, letting the bed creak a little to get his attention. An ear of his flicked as he then turned around, giving you the full view of your mysterious stranger. Curious amber eyes, soft blonde hair, he wasn’t big, but he wasn’t slim, having a hefty amount of a belly fat on him, due to the winter. Years of work had shown on his shoulders, creating muscle mass as well as around his arms and upper chest. Only what has been covering him, was a loose pair of pants. You had to furiously mentally beat your heat and thoughts down with a stick as he then spoke.

“Ya look like a mess.”

 And there it was, the trickle of slick leaked out of you as your face burned with embarrassment and shame and you then covered your face with a downy pillow. A huff of surprised laughter at your expense made you peep out and give the best glare that you could manage, yet the stranger just gave you a grin.

 “I must say, yer lil’ reaction’s a bit different from a lotta other beings bein’ near a tiger. Name’s Taishiro.” To your utmost surprise, he let out a please little purr as he then turned back to the kettle. You gave him your name.

 “So, why is a lil’ thing like yerself doin’ out in the middle of here?” He pondered, as if he already knew the answer, but for conversation’s sake, you enlightened him, watching his tail swish with annoyance at your parents, and ears flickering with interest as you explored the forest.

 “What about you?” You turned to ask. His back stiffened a little, as if caught with surprise at the notion.

 “Came from the east, lookin’ for a new start in life away from my parents. I knew that a lotta others would fear me, but I didn’t know that they’d avoid a whole forest ‘cause of me,” He then took a wooden bowl and ladle, dipping the curved spoon into the bubbling stew as he continued.

 “-granted, I made some friends, even adopted some younglin’s. Strangers just usually don’t come ‘round here.” He finished, pouring the delicious smelling broth into the bowl, tucking a wooden spoon in it as he turned around.

 It was an odd atmosphere, and you were pretty sure that you weren’t dreaming, but for your sake, you went along with it.

“Are you lonely?” You asked bluntly. He froze, and then gave an indigenous huff as he set the bowl down at the table closest to you. Ears flattened and tail swishing, at first you thought that you made him angry, but he avoided your curious stare as he looked rather nervous.

 “Ye’re pretty wordy for somebody who jus’ woke up. Ya must be starvin’, here. T’s not much, but I figured that ya might be hungry.” He changed the subject as he gestured towards the bowl. Telling him your gratitude, you gripped it, lifted a spoonful of the soup, and took a sip. To your surprise, the sweet taste of carrots had mixed in heavenly with the starchy potatoes, crisp lettuce, and the slight bitter bite of spinach.

 “It’s delicious.” You admitted truthfully, not missing the way his ears picked up at the compliment.

 “Thanks to the trees blockin’ the cold, ‘s not hard to grow yer own food. I might be a predator, but I can live without meat.” He rambled, There was so much to say, and many questions left unanswered, but you knew that you were on borrowed time, until your natural cycle would bite back with a vengeance, later. He must have known it, too.

 “The worried look on yer face is a dead giveaway, Hon. I never housed somebody in heat, before, but don’tcha worry ‘bout it. Ya can stay here fer a while, seein’ that a hurt ankle might take longer to heal. I ‘ave some friends that I can stay with.” He rambled, but you looked at him with pure confusion.

 “You’re giving up your home temporarily? For a stranger?” You asked, baffled. At this, his tail swished, as if a little shy.

 “Temporarily. I don’t know what yer plans are in the future, but the forest doesn’t belong to me, ya can hang around an’ have yer own place, within the depths. I couldn’t just leave somebody there, sufferin’ and the brink of death, anyways.” He murmured lowly, but you could hear it clearly. Warmth that wasn’t heat, clouded into your chest at such kindness from the stranger. He was a stranger, yes, but you felt as if you could trust him fully, giving that his actions of helping you and not asking for anything in return, had screamed volumes.

 “Thank you, for everything.” You blurted out, and the corner of his lip twitched upward at your honest gratitude.

“Not a problem, Sweetheart.”

…………………….

 He knew the dangers of housing a slick, hot-blooded omega rabbit, of all beings, had included. What he didn’t expect, was the general bluntness and forwardness of the little thing. Not as timid or shy, but generally open and forward with emotions. Being in the early stages of heat, right now the bunny was coherent, but he knew that it would only last for so long before the true, ugly nature of one’s natural heat cycle, took over.

 “So, here’s what’s gonna happen, Hon. I’m going to stay far away. It’s fer your safety. I might prowl around my area and scent everything, keepin’ unwanted guests, away, but I’m not gonna barge in on yer privacy or be too close to the house.” He told you, laying out a plan. You nodded, setting the empty bowl aside as you listened closely.

 “-believe it or not, I know somebody who could bring ya rations an’ talk with ya after yer heat spells. He’s a dwarf rabbit, an’ already mated to somebody who I see as a son of mine. Since he’s an omega, like yerself, he should be more immune to yer smell. Green hair an’ freckles, can’t miss’im.” Taishiro explained, and you listened with interest, seeing that you weren’t truly alone in your being as well as dynamic.

 “Sorry that we won’t talk, much, but I thought that I’d best introduce myself ‘fore ya wake up alone and scared.”

 “I’m not scared.” You admitted, and he huffed.

 “Now, ye’re not, but if ya woke up alone an’ in a stranger’s house, ya would be.” He argued, and you let him win, seeing that you were too caught up in emotions, and just wanted to process everything. Noticing your state, he gave out a chuckle.

 “Alright, I’ll see ya later, when yer heat’s over. Ya kinda intrigue me, a lil’ bit, so I’m hopin’ that ya might stay, a lil’ while longer after yer heat.” As soon as he admitted it, his ears flattened with embarrassment as he huffed out a sigh, the apples of his cheeks reddening as he swiftly turned around, opening the door, closing it swiftly behind him.

 You bit your bottom lip. For an apex predator who was lethal as well as dangerous, he was almost as soft as a kitten, and you hoped that, at the very least, the two of you could be friends.

………………

  You were weak, you huffed, panting out hot air as one of your hands gripped the pillow, harshly. Usually, you didn’t have a face, or a body in your images as you tried your best to sate the flash of hot emptiness. It has always been nothing but hot and drowsy images of the blurred shapes of your pillow and furs in the past, leaving you unsatisfied and on the brink of frustrated tears.

 This time, you had kindle to feed that ever demanding fire of yours, licking sharply at the heels of your feet as you were on the brink of the edge. Smooth muscle, soft fat, warm amber irises, and that twinge of a smile, had pinned your focus. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t help it, nor could you think clearly of anything nor anybody else.

 He was so friendly and helpful to you, and here you were, ruining his bedding and furs with your slick, fingers deep within you, wrist hurting from the desperate climb, but no full relief avail. Your body couldn’t had waited, as soon as he left with that calming scent, a spike had hit you in where it had hurt, the empty ache shooting up in full demand.

 Where was this man? Your inner omega screamed, but you harshly shushed it, focusing on the edge, and how to clean the sheets, afterwords. In your blurred state, you knew that you had hardly knew him, but already, he was so far the perfect embodiment of what most beings had wanted in a partner. You admitted freely, that you were no different.

 Letting out a small squeak within the bitten pillow, harsh relief shot through you, as you clenched on your fingers desperately, your body trembling and tears pooling from the corners of your eyes at finally, finding a sudden rush of relief.

 You huffed, calming down from your euphoric high as you palmed your face against the pillow in which smelled exactly like him. You were in too deep, you couldn’t help but think, a little guilty for desecrating the hospitality by literally cumming onto his blankets with him in your mind.

……………………….

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter Three

Master List / Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Warnings: Canon divergent during Chapter 13 of The Mandalorian, serious pining

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I’m trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We’ll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

The trip to Nevarro was hell. 

The Razor Crest now smelled like Baast, and after using his soap, their two scents had blended, and Din was going out of his kriffing mind. He'd taken to sleeping in the cockpit, having given up his cot, but it did little good. 

It was like the essence of her had invaded every part of his home.

He'd started having dreams. Dreams of a world with sand dunes and plains of long grass, where towering forests of old wood grew and swayed in gentle, fragrant breezes. He dreamed of walking the rock and sand trails of jagged mountains, of climbing steep cliffs to drink from sweet falls that appeared out of the clouds.

And when he reached his destination, a rocky outcropping high above the world, a cat leapt over the rocks to land before him. She was sleek lines and dense muscle, her coat tawny, darkening to black over her muzzle and legs. Long tufts of fur drifted in the wind from the tips of her ears, and green eyes watched him with a thousand years of ancient wisdom.

He knelt before the regal creature and pulled off his helmet. She padded closer, circled him once, sniffed him curiously, and began to purr. The rumble soothed his soul, and Din closed his eyes as her sleek, furry cheek rubbed against his.

"Mine," he whispered as he reached for her, waking himself from the dream every time.

By the time they landed on Nevarro, he was desperate for air that didn't smell like Baast. A few more parsecs, he may have done something stupid.

He met her at the gangway with a heavy cloak. "Put this on, draw the hood, and try to remain inconspicuous."

She arched a brow before handing over Grogu. The kid stuck to her like glue, eager to be at her side whenever he was awake. It was a relief to know someone else was watching him, but at the same time, he missed the kid's continual company.

Baast shrugged into the cloak and pulled the hood over her hair before laying her hand on his arm. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You have been distant."

"Just busy." He held out a silver bar roughly three inches long. "Extendable staff, at least until the Alor can get you those sabres."

She smiled at him, the light just catching her fangs. "Thank you, Mando."

He tilted his head but tugged the hood farther forward. "Let's go."

They'd landed well after dusk, assuring a quiet, uninterrupted trip through the streets. Those that lingered paid them no mind used to seeing the silver beskar of an unpainted Mandalorian.

The bar was fairing better after the fight with Moff Gideon. Walls had been repaired, and the damage painted over. 

He walked in and headed straight for the back booth, ignoring the eyes that followed. They knew better than to mess with him, and the music stayed lively.

Karga, however, wasn't alone.

"Karga. Dune," he stated, tossing three pucks on the table. 

"Only three, Mando? I sent you out with four," Karga teased. "Did a quarry finally escape the famed Mandalorian?"

"She's dead; body recovery was impossible."

He watched Cara's eyes flick to Baast and down to Grogu, a smile growing as she pushed from the table. "There's the little womp rat!"

Grogu squealed his happiness, but Baast growled.

The low sound set his hair on end, causing Din to step back, between the woman and his clan. "Cara, not now," he said, no explanation, not sure he had one to give. 

Baast placed her hand on the back of his neck, a place without beskar but covered by his cowl. Still, he felt it like a live wire jolt.

"Usenye!" Baast growled.

"Udesii," Din murmured, turning just enough to know he meant Baast.

"Whoa, someone's touchy," Cara muttered.

Mando didn't need this right now. The longer he stayed here, the more twitchy he felt, like something beneath his skin was itching to claw its way free. "Karga. If they ask, you tell them she's dead."

The man stared at him a long moment, assessing, processing before he gave a short nod. "I will log the information myself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an ingot of beskar. "For your trouble and the three on your ship."

"Where did you get that?" Din asked, picking up the ingot.

"Took it off some Imps after that last clean up." A second pile of credits, smaller than it should be, landed next. "Consider us even."

"Done," he agreed, hyper-aware of Baast's hand still light against his neck.

"And congratulations, Mando. It isn't every day a Mandalorian takes a riduur."

He felt Baast's fingers twitch but didn't correct Karga's assumption.

"You got married!" Cara gasped, loud enough to cause the bar to pause and look their way. 

One long stare over his shoulder had them minding their business again. 

"Baast'mal. Cara Dune, former shock trooper, now Marshal for the New Republic. Greef Karga, head of the Bounty Hunters Guild, and Magistrate of Nevarro."

"A pleasure," Karga grinned. "Is it true wives put off their armour when they decide to have little warriors?"

Baast snorted. "Di'kutla. Anade knows gar ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya."

Din couldn't help but chuckle. "She says, foolish. Everyone knows you train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger. My woman is all warrior."

The words slipped out, and he couldn't bite them back. Baast's hand dropped from his nape, but only to lower and slide in at his waist, sneak past layers of beskar and again find flesh barely covered. She pressed closer, a low rumble vibrating between them, and Din felt approval wash from her like a wave.

"Ibic taap, Ni cuy' bat Kyr'nakil," she murmured, low enough only Din heard, informing him she didn't like it there.

He looked down at her, into the deep shadows of her hood as she clutched Grogu to her and found her eyes. This place had her on edge. With her Force sensitivity, he believed her, but he wanted to know why. "Tion'jor?"

"Too many bad feelings," she whispered. "There are hunters, many of them."

He gave a small tilt of his head. "Vaabir val olaror par gar?" he asked, wondering if they came for her.

A slight negative shake. "For news of the child."

Din was instantly enraged and leaned over the table toward Karga. "You're taking a bounty on the kid again?"

"What? No! Of course not!" the man cried in outrage.

"Mando." Cara laid her hand over his. "He hasn't, I swear."

Baast growled, causing Din to move his hand out from under Cara’s and block Baast in the same action. "There are hunters here for news of the kid. Get your cargo off my ship so we can leave." He swiped the credits off the table and turned to go, Karga already barking orders.

Din wasn't surprised when Baast's fingers snuck to the crook of his elbow. Or, he wasn't as surprised as he should be. A riduur walked where her mate could protect them and any children they might have. Her position kept her secure against him while hiding them behind a wall of beskar and weapons, handled by a highly dangerous predator.

"Mando, wait," Cara said, blocking their path. "Come to my place. You can rest, eat, and I can see the kid. I missed him."

Baast's fingers twitched. 

"Cara," he hesitated.

"Please. We're friends. Let a friend toast your good fortune."

Another low warning growl rippled from Baast when Cara touched his arm.

"She has nayc staabi!" Baast snarled.

Din looked down at her. "Technically, neither do you."

Her hand snapped off his arm like he'd burned her, shock and disappointment so profound it hurt, hit him like a rampaging mudhorn. 

She took a step in retreat, Grogu clinging to her, the kid looking just as devastated. 

What had he done? Kriff! Why would he say that?

"Baast!" he shouted but was too late as she spun on her heel and raced from the cantina. "Kriff!" he bellowed and gave chase, Cara hot on his heels.

"What the hell was that, Mando?" Dune demanded as they slammed through the doors only to find a deserted street. 

"Not your concern."

"Mando!" She grabbed him by the vambrace. She had no way of knowing how close he came to putting her through the wall. "What's really going on? Who is she?"

"You wouldn't understand. It's a Mandalorian thing." He shook her off and looked for Baast's tracks. 

It didn't surprise him at all when they went up a wall and over the roof.

Din took off after her, climbing as if his armour weighed nothing, leaving Cara behind to curse and swear. He followed long strides for some distance as she ran across roofs, finally leaving the residential district to head into a more industrial area. 

Again her tracks went up, and he followed, climbing the narrow ladder to the top of a tower that looked out over Nevarro. He found her there; knees pulled to her chest, the hood thrown back, clinging to Grogu as the kid did his best to stroke the tears from her face.

"Baast." 

She jerked but didn't move. "Go away, Mandalorian."

"I can't." He went to her and knelt, intent on taking her in his arms, only to have deadly claws close around his throat. 

"You have not the right," she snarled, her eyes piercing him through the beskar.

Grogu huffed and sighed, appearing at once both annoyed and exasperated.

"Nayc staabi. No right, that's what you said about Cara."

Baast snarled. "If you want the shock trooper so badly, have her!" she snapped, pushing him back with strength, causing him to rock on his heels.

"I don't, and she doesn't want me. She would be more inclined to go for you," he chuckled.

She blinked big green eyes. "Oh…" Her hand slowly relaxed until it lay on his chest.

This time when he gathered her close, she didn't resist. "Forgive me. I said something stupid."

"But true," she sighed. "You did not dispute the claim of riduur. I knew it meant nothing but got caught up in my role. You are free to do what you wish with whomever you wish," she sighed.

Din didn't think. He didn't plan his next move. It was like instinct demanded he act, and so he did.

"Baast. Close your eyes."

She did so without hesitation or question as Din stripped off his gloves. The helmet hissed when he released it, causing her brow to twitch. Before he took it off, he wrapped his arm around her and covered her eyes with his hand.

"Din?" she whispered, her uncertainty clear. 

"Trust me," he murmured, lifting his helmet free with his other hand. They were too high up for anyone to see, and the moons had yet to rise, leaving them bathed in shadows. 

Grogu cooed and sat down a few feet away, apparently content to let the adults sort this out on their own.

Din gave him a last look before setting his helmet down and raising that hand to lightly, tenderly, stroke her face. "I don't want just anyone," he whispered, unable to deny what was written in his heart. "Just you," he sighed and lightly brushed their mouths together. 

He'd never kissed anyone before, but he wanted to kiss Baast. 

***

Din woke with a jolt and a clang of beskar as he fell out of the pilot's chair and onto the floor. 

He lay there confused and disoriented until he realized the entire thing had been a dream. 

He groaned softly enough that it didn't leave the safety of his helmet and pushed to his hands and knees before sitting back on his thighs. This trip was going to kill him. The dream had been far too real.

He picked himself off the floor and looked up to find Grogu smirking at him. "Don't start."

The kid gurgled a noise that shouldn't in any way have been cute but somehow still was.

"Hungry?" Din asked.

Grogu waddled closer, arms up.

"Of course you are. When are you not hungry?" he chuckled, picking up the kid and heading for the ladder down into the belly of his ship. 

He was just getting Grogu situated when the door to the fresher opened, revealing Baast in nothing but a towel. 

She jolted in surprise. "I did not expect… you… I…" A bright blush bloomed darkly across her cheeks. Then, she straightened, lifting her chin like a royal, firming her composure. "You have not joined us for meals as of late. I did not expect you and have washed my clothing."

His mouth was desert dry when he attempted to speak, but no words emerged, and Din was grateful for the helmet that hid his gaping mouth. He stared for too long before stepping away from Grogu and his gruel toward Baast. She stiffened, hand flexing where she clutched the cloth closed, but the Zentari didn't back down.

Din moved with cautious steps to the crates piled against the wall and shoved two over before picking up the third and setting it down on top of the others. From within, he pulled out blue silks. "I have this if you want it."

A regal brow arched, her wet hair sleek and sticking to her now brushed the tops of her thighs. "Why does a Mandalorian have a courtesan's dress in his belongings?"

He flinched, having hoped she wouldn't recognize it. "Because an assassin dressed as a courtesan attempted to kill me, but not until after she'd taken her clothes off."

Baast eyed the cloth a moment longer before gliding forward to pluck it from his fingers. "Did she succeed in the seduction?"

"No. That's why she was naked. She made a poor courtesan."

"Hmm," purred from her as she walked back into the fresher, and the door closed behind her. "And you have simply kept it lying around?" she called through the door.

Did she sound jealous, or was he still dreaming? "It's not something a Mandalorian can walk into the market and sell without garnering a second look."

"You were not, perhaps, keeping it for your riduur?"

The door opened, and Din forgot how to speak. Blue silk fell in sleek lines from the golden band that bared the under curve of her breasts. She swept out and headed for Grogu, sailing past him, her damp hair leaving a dark stain on the skirt. 

"I haven't thought much about a riduur." Before now. 

He followed her like a Bantha would a Tuskin Raider, and when she sat to help Grogu with his food, Din came to a stop behind her. 

She looked up, but he knew the beskar made it hard for her to read him. "Is it that terrible? Do I not make a passable courtesan?"

"More than passable," escaped his mouth, his brain still malfunctioning. "But your hair is dripping."

"Wet hair does that," she teased him with a smile.

"May I?"

She blinked as he began to strip off his gloves. "Din?"

"Let me," he murmured, running his fingers like a comb through her thick locks. He sat on a crate and worked free what few tangles had formed before splitting the mass in half. He began the plait high, working it smooth against her scalp and down behind her ear. When his fingers brushed the pointed tip, a shudder raced through her, but a low, happy purr followed. He made it to the end and used a scrap piece of leather to bind the long braid. 

"How is it that a Mandalorian knows how to do a woman's hair with the skill of a maid?"

He froze, fingers full of sand-coloured silk. "My mother," he murmured. "I once did it for my mother."

Her hand closed gently on his knee, Baast reaching back, otherwise staying still for him. "A good memory, I hope."

"One of my only good memories," he murmured, finishing the section close to her skull and swiftly plaiting the rest. Once he tied the end, she turned to look up at him and left him breathless. 

He'd never seen a more mesh'la creature. Men would spend their entire fortune for one night with her. But Din looked at her and saw her dressed in the ornaments of a riduur. Beskar bands for her braids, the cuff that would circle her upper arm and proudly display the mark of the mudhorn, proclaiming her part of his clan. The beskar breastplate that would be hers the moment their first child was born.

"Then, I am pleased to help you remember it." She stroked one of the thick plaits. "I am happy to offer myself to your ministrations in the future, should you so desire to assist me again."

Vital portions of his anatomy tightened, causing him to rise swiftly and step away from her tempting allure. "We'll be in Nevarro soon. I'll see about more suitable clothing when we get there."

He climbed the ladder back to the cockpit, knowing damn well he was running away.

***

riduur -  spouse

Usenye! - Go away!

Udesii - Calm down.

Ibic taap, Ni cuy' bat Kyr'nakil - This place, I am on edge

Tion'jor - why

Vaabir val olaror par gar - do they come for you

 nayc staabi - no right

 ***

Next Chapter

[boltwrites]

Ride Of Your Life

Fandom: The Legend of Korra Pairing: Bolin / Reader (AFAB, gender neutral) Rating: E Tags: Thigh Riding, Praise KInk

Summary:  You met your boyfriend Bolin a few years after Kuvira’s defeat. After dating for several months, you two are moving into an apartment together, and while unpacking, you find his old Nuktuk costume.

By clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

You slid the last box into your shared bedroom, collapsing right behind it. For two people who didn’t come from much, you and Bolin sure had a lot of stuff ��� it was hard to keep track of everything. You two had tried to be organized, but had quickly devolved into just throwing things into boxes, far too excited about your new apartment to really care if some of the kitchen things were mixed in with the bedroom stuff.

In fact, you had no idea what was in this box. As Bolin struggled in the other room, grunting with effort as he shoved your new couch into place, you decided to procrastinate on the heavy lifting, and instead surveyed the cardboard box before you.

You spun it around, looking for any haphazard labelling you or your boyfriend would have slapped onto the box in your haste. When you found no such label, you grew curious, tugging at the flaps of the box until it popped open, and you peeked inside.

On top was an old mover poster. You tilted your head to the side, pulling it out of the box and unrolling it. Your eyes widened in shock.

“Bo? What’s this?” you called. There was a thunk in the other room as Bolin set some piece of furniture down.

“Yeah? What is it?” Bolin called back, peeking his head into the room. As soon as he saw what you were holding, he stilled, a blush creeping onto his face.

“Is this you?” you asked, laughing as you held up the poster labeled “Nuktuk: Hero of the South.” Bolin pouted at you.

“Hey, what do you think you’re laughing about?” Bolin swiped the poster from you before you could react, and you snorted as he held it high, striking the same pose as he brandished the promotional material.

“I was a hero in this, you know! Not just on screen – this was for a very important war effort!” Bolin defended, and that just made you giggle.

“And why, exactly, did you have to wear little booty shorts for this war effort?” You joked, covering your mouth with your hand as you stifled more laughter. The shorts were ridiculous, but as you looked at the poster, you had to admit, they didn’t look bad. Bolin was obviously much younger in the poster, but his legs were toned, his stomach was firm and even his shoulders were broad in that stupid fur they made him wear.

Bolin sputtered at your joke, looking at the poster and back to you, then to the poster again.

“They were not booty shorts!” he rebuked, pointing a finger at you. You snorted in return.

“Oh, sure, Bo,” you rolled your eyes, grinning wide at him. He was such a dork sometimes, but you still loved him dearly, even as he shook his head, rolling the poster up and brandishing it at you.

“They were not! Look, I’ll prove it-“ he brandished the poster at you again, before stomping over to the box and rifling through it, dropping the rolled poster at his feet to search with two hands when he didn’t immediately find what he was looking for.

“A-ha!” he cried triumphantly, unearthing from the box of knick-knacks a pair of blue, fur-lined shorts. Your eyebrows shot into your hairline.

“Are those-?”

“Nuktuk’s perfectly presentable warrior shorts? Yes, yes they are. With matching vest,” Bolin flung the fur vest out next, throwing it over his shoulder. You were far too shocked to say anything, but you were really impressed. When Bolin had told you before that he never threw away anything, he really wasn’t joking.

“Now, you stay right there. I’m going to prove to you, right here, right now, that these-“ he wiggled the shorts in front of your face. “Are respectable! Wait right here.”

Bolin bolted into the master bathroom and you chuckled as he went, tucking the poster back into the box and pushing it into the open closet. You had no idea why he would even want to wear that silly old costume. Maybe it had something to do with reliving his glory days as a famous mover star – even if you had never even heard of his old film. You shook your head, moving to the mattress for something soft to wait on, even if you and Bolin hadn’t yet had a chance to make the bed.

You sat for a moment, kicking your legs back and forth, grabbing a few items out of various boxes that were within eyesight and placing the items in the bedside table. But Bolin was taking a very long time.

“What’s taking so long in there, Nuktuk?” you called out, mirth audible as you flopped back onto the bed. As silly as it was, you were really starting to anticipate seeing your boyfriend in his old costume, if just to make fun of him.

“Almost got it-!” Bolin called back. You shook your head, stretching as you lay on your back. Your boyfriend really took a long time to get dressed, didn’t he?

You didn’t have to wait much longer, though. As soon as the thought crossed your mind, the bathroom door creaked open. Your ears pricked, and you sat up, a smile already plastered across your face as you readied yourself to tease your boyfriend – but your expression quickly changed once you got a good look at him.

Bolin was a pleasant shade of pink, his blush spattering his cheeks and the top of his chest. He was holding his hands clasped in front of his groin, the position straining against the too-tight vest. It was at that moment you realized a crucial detail – Bolin had starred in those movers over five years ago, and he had grown considerably in those five years.

Your eyes raked over his body, over his toned stomach, more visible now than in the posters, thanks to the tight shorts. But that wasn’t even the best part, as your gaze dropped lower. His thigh were on full display, the shorts hiked up all the way to the junction of his hip and thigh, unable to contain the muscle he had put on as he grew. And you guessed by the way that Bolin covered himself with his hands, that the tightness left little to the imagination in other areas as well.

“I guess they uh, do count as booty shorts,” Bolin tried to chuckle, shrugging as he shuffled his legs further together. All you could do was stare. Bolin raised an eyebrow at you when you didn’t respond for a few long moments, then he bit his lip, concerned.

“Y/n?” he asked, ducking his head down to meet your gaze, which was currently fixated on his thighs. You shook your head when his gaze met yours, and blinked, breathing in harshly. You pressed your legs together as well, but for an entirely different reason.

“Yeah?” you replied, breathless. Bolin’s eyes widened at your tone, and his blush spread.

“Uh, can I take these off now?” he asked, shifting his weight awkwardly.

“I would prefer if you didn’t, if that’s OK with you,” you replied, in that same low tone as before. Bolin bit his lip at your admission, his blush darkening.

“I-you-“ he stuttered, trying to understand, but you shook your head, holding up a finger to shush him. Bolin shut his mouth with an audible clack, and you took a deep breath.

“You look stunning, Bolin,” you sighed, the beginnings of a devious smile spreading across your face. Bolin gasped, and his legs buckled at your tone. You two had played this game before, and you knew how much your boyfriend was weak for praise. And you were beyond sincere when you took in his form, humming in appreciation. Bolin shuddered, and his expression changed minutely. Whereas before he had been self-conscious, at the praise he melted, his shoulder relaxing, his legs shivering as he anticipated what you would say, or do, next.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” you breathed, sitting up straight on the bed. Bolin whimpered at the words. “Why don’t you show me what you look like.”

Bolin looked down, a few stray curls falling into his face as he unclasped his hands, his arms shaking as he stood up straight. Your breath caught. He was barely contained in the scrap of fabric he had used to call shorts, and with his hardening cock, you could see the shorts strain even harder against the stress. You momentarily wondered how Bolin had even gotten into them, as the outline of his cock twitched against its confines.

“Y/n, please,” Bolin begged, his thighs flexing as he struggled to keep himself under control. You loved this about him, how easy it was to work him up.

“You’re so polite, baby boy,” you mumbled, and Bolin moaned gentle at the praise. “But not yet. You dressed up for a reason, remember? Turn for me.”

Bolin shivered, his steps small and deliberate as he turned. You leaned back, considering his form. His butt strained against the shorts almost as much as his cock did, the back seam snug in the curve of his ass. You smirked when Bolin looked over his shoulder at you, as if waiting for you to reward him for following your orders. But you weren’t done with him just yet.

“Why don’t you sit down,” you offered, gesturing to the armchair you had situated next to the bed earlier that morning. Bolin shot you a pleading look, but didn’t protest, instead treading carefully towards the chair. You covered your mouth with your hand, elbows to your knees as Bolin bent his legs, settling into the chair. His thighs flexed, and the shorts groaned in protest as he settled in.

Bolin moaned loud at the pressure it put on his dick, the fabric pressing firmer against his full cock. You were honestly surprised a seam hadn’t popped yet, but you were holding on for hope that the shorts would make it through what you had in mind.

Once Bolin was seated, you strode to stand in front of him, biting your lip as you unbuttoned the clasps of your outer tunic. Bolin could only watch, his chest heaving as you disrobed, first the outer tunic, then your pants, followed by your undershirt. His hands flexed on the arms of the chair, and you stopped to tut at him.

“Remember, no touching,” you chided, and he nodded, his jaw clenched hard as he tried to resist the urge to palm himself through his shorts. You completed your strip tease, easing your underwear over your hips, kicking them side once they fell to the floor. Bolin looked you up and down as you approached him, the lust clear in his blown-out eyes. You smiled at him, one full of love and disbelief. He was perfect, and you still couldn’t believe he was yours.

“Stay just like this, baby,” you eased him into the position you wanted him in, nudging his legs apart until they were spread the perfect amount. You leaned down, tilting Bolin’s head up for a deep kiss, which he responded to with gusto. You sighed as he moaned into the kiss, licking into your mouth and showing you exactly how much he wanted you. By the time you pulled away, your arms were shaking from holding the back of the chair, the only outward sign of how weak you were for this man. You exhaled sharply before you found your balance again, nipping at his ear as you leaned in close.

“I’m going to use you, Bo. And you’re going to sit there and take it. No touching, no coming. Not until I let you. Do you understand, baby boy?”

You pulled back, and Bolin nodded, his lips parted, his eyes betraying just how fucked up he was, even when you two had yet to properly touch. “Yes,” he choked out, his voice low and raspy. You shuddered at the sound of it. You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore, not when your adorable boyfriend was so fucked up on you.

You straddled his left thigh, wrapping your arms around his fur-covered shoulders, easing yourself down slowly. You felt so wet, and you moaned soft when your heat finally met his strong thigh. You pressed down on him, sliding from side to side until you opened just right for him.

When you looked up at him through your eyelashes, Bolin looked like he was just barely holding on. His face was red, that cute little curl of his stuck to his forehead. He looked at you with lust filled eyes, his biceps flexing as he crushed the arms of the chair with his grip, wanting so badly to touch you, but knowing he wasn’t allowed. He was beautiful – you loved him more than anything.

“You’re so good, baby boy,” you breathed, as you slid forward, his thigh strong and firm between your own. You nuzzled your nose into the side of his neck, breathing him in as you stuttered your hips back, gasping as you hit just the right spot.

Bolin moaned in return, but it was muffled as he tried to keep himself from grabbing onto your hips and taking control of the pace himself. You exhaled heavily, your arms shaking as you thrust forward once again, your own thigh pressing against Bolin’s cock.

Bolin cried out, his whole body shaking as he willed himself not to touch you, not to move. Your own breathing was growing heavy with your efforts. Bolin was the most beautiful thing in the world, willing himself not to touch, trying to hard to be a good boy. But as you rocked back, moans spilling from your mouth, visions of his strong hands on your waist plagued your mind, images of Bolin pressing you harder against his thick thigh, forcing you to take it. You cried out at the thought, rocking yourself faster, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Bolin- Bo-“ you moaned, pressing closer to him as your thighs began to shake from the effort. “Please, touch me-“

The words were barely out of your mouth before Bolin’s hands were on you, gripping firm at your hips, pressing you to his chest. You pressed your left thigh as close to him as you could manage, and he bucked into it, using his firm grip to forcibly grind your hips onto his thigh. You keened, scrambling for purchase against his shoulder as he took control, his hips bucking into you as he pushed you flush against him, your hips twitching as you neared release.

“Bo-Bo please,” you all but sobbed, nipping at his neck as you lost your pace completely. He understood you perfectly, pressing his thigh into you as he pushed your hips down. You cried out, your nails digging into to the fur of his vest as you circled your hips, the pleasure building until it finally crested, flooding your senses in waves of pure bliss. You knocked your head against his shoulder, panting, as you rode out your orgasm, Bolin’s grip on your hips lessening as he felt you come against him.

When you finally stilled, he tilted your head up, pulling you in for a deep kiss you could hardly participate in, in your current state. Bolin took full charge, cradling your jaw in his hand as he kissed you for all you were worth.

When you parted, you were dazed, humming soft as you pressed a lazy kiss to his neck, nuzzling in against him. He was still hard against your thigh, but he threaded his fingers through your hair, brushing through it as you took a minute to bask in your afterglow. After a moment of peace, he broke the silence.

“So… about breaking in that new mattress…”

[grenade-maid]

Was thinking of dumb stuff I did when I was a teenager and remembered that there’s this road through unincorporated county that me and my friends would go to late at night at smoke and shoot cans and try to get our shitty falling apart hand me down cars up to 88 miles an hour to “go full Back to the Future on that bitch”. And see, this road runs parallel to a river, and that river floods periodically and VERY dramatically, so for the most part nobody would ever be dumb enough to build anything there.

Unless of course, you built those houses on stilts.

The road is on a hill above where those houses are, and that combined with the tall grass makes the stilts seem a little shorter than they really are, which is about 4 stories (45 feet/15 meters or thereabout).

As you can see, there’s no stairs or any other method of accessing them, but we were always deadly curious to know what the hell was up there. So we did what any reasonable person would do, and got a ladder. Except, well, the ladder wasn’t tall enough. I mean who has a 45 foot ladder hanging around? So we did what any reasonable person would do, and got a second ladder. We set up the second ladder on top of the first one, and leaned up against the side of the house, and wouldn’t you know it? We were still about a foot short. Undeterred, we simply accepted that we would have to stand on top and jump the final foot and hoist ourselves up over the edge. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a warning label on the top step of most ladders strongly advising you to not do either of these things.

Now, see, times like this make me believe very strongly in there being some kind of multiple universe or timeline version of reality, because by all rights we should have fallen to our deaths doing this. And that instead, we got quietly shunted into the timeline where we all lived, with our mangled corpses being piled neatly out of sight behind the closed door of other lifetimes.

It may not surprise you that inside was nearly pitch black, considering all the windows had been boarded up. Being that we were teenagers dumb enough to stack two ladders to break into a rural property, however, meant that we were dumb enough to not bring a flashlight. All we had was the tiny flickering flame of one of our cigarette lighters. By that light, what little we could make out was a vision of horror. Bathtubs and sinks lined with dark streaks and pools of stagnant liquid, smashed mirrors, textiles rotting, sagging, moldering, every dark stain taking on the quality of dried blood in our young imaginations.

And then we got to the kitchen, which by some blessing had a crack of light shining between the boards. Enough that it looked less like an abattoir and more like the dusty, once cozy and homely mid-century kitchen it once was, with flaking but cheery robins egg blue wood and peeling teal vinyl flooring. We exhaled, and took a break here, chatting and joking to break the tension and prepare ourselves to leave.

That is, until the one with the lighter leaned back against one of the countertops that the light didn’t quite reach, and heard a sickening crunch.

With shaking hands he woke the flame of the lighter once more, and by that dim light we saw that the counter, the sink, and every shelf of every cupboard was overflowing with filthy rodent skeletons, bits of dried rotting fur and skin and gore still adhered to the bones, resting on a bed of dark rich soil of decomposing flesh.

As we gaped in horror and babbled at the sight, we heard a knock coming from upstairs.

Although it’s plain to see from the outside that there’s a second floor, we had completely forgotten about it. All at once, we noticed the darkened staircase leading up, as if it had been obscured before and had only just now been revealed. The knocking continued.

Being that we were dumb enough to stack two ladders on top of each other, and dumb enough to not bring a flashlight, we were also dumb enough to walk up those stairs to see what was making that sound.

The stairs were dark, barely wide enough to accommodate our shoulders, and steep enough that it felt like we were at risk of toppling backwards just by standing up straight. As such, we were forced to cower. There was a crack of light shining beneath the door that waited at the top.

With timid hands, the one of us at the front pushed the door open. Sunlight poured in through a hole in the ceiling, illuminating a room full of the vague shapes of boxes and furniture draped with cloth that had turned the color of skin over time. We heard the knock again, and something moved beneath those sheets. The one with the lighter raised his voice, demanding to know if someone was up there. We got our answer almost immediately.

The biggest owl I’ve ever seen tore out from some corner of the room, alighting on one of the covered boxes just long enough to give us a look that said “You shitass kids, what were you expecting? Get out of my house already.” before flying out the gap in the ceiling.

That explains the skeletons.

[raccoon-macaroon]

Two

A rooster crows. I stretch without opening my eyes. When I do open them, I see tree roots hanging above me. Pale morning light filters in through the open door. I yawn and rub the wolf’s fur, and she yawns back at me, her huge jaws shutting with a snap. I looked around the hut. It’s empty, but at that moment the door swings open and Muriel steps inside, holding three eggs in one hand and a chicken under one arm. He starts when he notices me awake.

“Good morning,” I say. I pull the fur up to my chin, feeling like I’m doing something indecent just by lying there. He nods, sets the chicken down outside, and crosses the room to the fireplace.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” I say, climbing out of the pile of furs and trying unsuccessfully to neaten them.

Muriel looks at me out of the corner of his eyes, brows furrowed. He’s cracked the eggs and they are sizzling in a pan over the fire.

“You remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Last night.” I feel the heat rush into my cheeks. Did something happen last night? I feel the wound on my forehead. It’s scabbed over and starting to itch. I knocked on his door. He let me stay. Then...he slept over there and I slept over here. I would remember if something happened. Muriel frowns at my silence. There’s dark circles under his eyes.

“Ah, I’m sorry. You didn’t sleep well because I took your bed.”

“No, that’s not what I…” He shakes his head. When the eggs are finished, he slides them onto a plate and sets it on the table. He moves to leave the hut, when he stops and turns back to me.

“You need someone to look at your head. I know someone who can help.” He grimaces, as if thinking of this person was unpleasant. “Eat your breakfast so we can go,” he said, going out the door.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” He freezes with his hand on the doorframe.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I really appreciate the breakfast, but…” Why was I so insistent? Why did I want him to eat with me?

“I can’t eat three eggs. I don’t want them to go to waste.” Clucking sounded from outside. “The chickens worked hard on these.”

Muriel turns around to look at me, frowning.

“Here.” I pick up the tarnished fork sitting next to the plate and cut one of the eggs sloppily in half. The yolk is runny and spills over the plate. I scooch an egg and a half to the far side of the plate and the rest towards myself.

Slowly, Muriel steps into the room towards the table. He picks up another fork and a bowl from a shelf on the wall, the whole time never taking his eyes from me. As if I will strike him if he looks away. He sits down across from me, forking up his share of the eggs and dropping them into the bowl.

Neither of us say anything as we eat. I glance around the room, trying to come up with a topic of conversation, but the room is so sparse it’s hard to come up with anything. There’s a little wooden figurine sitting in an alcove in the far wall. A bear, maybe? The paint job looks old and rubbed off in places.

“That’s nice. Did you make it?”

“No.” I think he’s going to leave it at that when he continues. “A...friend made it for me.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Do they live around here?”

His eyes darken. “No.”

“Oh.” We finish our breakfast in silence.

As soon as I step out into the sunlight, my head begins to ache. I groan and put my hand to my cut. All of the numbing agent from the night before has worn off. When I lift my head, I see Muriel looking over his shoulder at me. In his eyes I see...concern? Maybe? But the look is gone quickly.

“...name,” he mumbles

“Huh?”

“What’s your name?”

What’s my name? What is my name? Panic washes over me. How do I not know my own name? Did my injury cause me to forget? What was I doing before I woke up in the forest? My eyes dart around, and they land on a scrubby plant.

“It’s Sage!” I burst out. “Like the plant!”

Muriel takes a step back, surprised at my outburst. Then he nods and starts walking.

I look at his back as we walk, paying little attention to the forest around me. Did I really just make up a name for myself? And couldn’t I have picked something cooler? Well, too late to change it now. After several minutes alone with my swirling thoughts, I need to break the silence.

“So, who are we going to see?”

“An idiot,” grumbles Muriel. “He’s a doctor. He helped Inanna when she was hurt, once.” The black wolf whines at the sound of her name, pushing her snout into Muriel’s hand. He scratches behind her ears, and for a moment I think I see him smile. But the moment is gone so quickly I can’t be sure.

When we reach the edge of the forest, Muriel pulls his hood up. Inanna is nowhere to be seen.

“This way,” he mumbles. Fields slowly give way to houses, and then a town.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“Vesuvia,” he said. A bell chimes in my mind. I’ve heard that name before.

At the edge of town where the dirt path ends and the cobblestones begin, Muriel stops. He looks uncomfortable.

“Are you alright?” His eyes dart to me, then back to the city.

“I don’t like coming here,” he said.

“Oh.” Immediately I feel the need to alleviate his discomfort. But what can I do? I’ve never been here before...that I can remember. I glance down at his hand. My first instinct is to take it, but I smush the thought down. We only just met. That would be weird. Muriel shakes himself and keeps moving.

With each road we take, the city seems to get busier. Townhouses become businesses and market stalls, a handful of people walking in the street turn into bustling crowds. I try to keep my eyes locked on Muriel’s back. It shouldn’t be this hard, I think to myself. It’s not like he’s hard to find. But as the crowd shuffles around us, he seems to get further away. At a break in the crowd, I dart forward, grabbing onto the back of his cloak. He starts, turning around to look at me.

“Sorry,” I gasp, bending my head to hide my burning cheeks. “I was worried I would lose you in the crowd.”

After a moment he nods. “Don’t let go,” he says.

After a while, Muriel stops in front of a little shop. The sign on the door shows a mortar and pestle with a snake wrapped around it.

“Should be next door…” Muriel mumbles.

The building to the right of the little shop has a sign too, a raven with a syringe in it’s talons.

We stop in front of the door. I realize I’m still holding on to Muriel’s cloak. The door in front of us pops open, and a tall, red haired man with an eyepatch appears in the doorway.

“Oh, um, hello. I was just about to close up shop for a bit but...what can I do for the two of you? Eugh, that is quite a doozy of a head wound if I do say so myself. I assume that’s why you’re here. Come in, come!”

The space is spacious, but cluttered. Knickknacks litter the counter and shelves. Compasses, seashells, carvings and things I don’t recognize. One shelf is covered in just jars of black blobs. Books fill the rest of the space, shoved wherever they will fit. A raven lifts its head sleepily from a little nest on the very top of a shelf close to the ceiling. He caws at us and rustles his feathers.

“Thank you, Malak,” says the doctor dismissively. “Have a seat.” The man gestures to a little side room with a flourish. Inside is a little cot, a chair, and more shelves full of stuff.

I sit gingerly on the cot, and realize I still have yet to let go of Muriel’s cloak.

“Sorry,” I say, dropping it like a hot coal. Muriel shakes his head. He looks peeved, but not at me. He’s staring at the red haired man as he bustles around the room.

“So, how’d you end up getting such a shiner?” The doctor sits in front of me and rests a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose, brushing the hair off my forehead to examine it. When he touches me, I feel Muriel tense beside me.

“I don’t remember,” I say honestly.

“Whew, amnesia? Been there. How far back do you remember?” He’s holding my wrist now, glancing up at a clock on a shelf.

“I don’t remember anything before waking up in the forest.”

“Nothing?” said the doctor. His eye widens in surprise. “That is serious.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about that, but we can do something about that head wound. Though I pride myself in my stitch work, I’m afraid we’re going to need some more help for this one.” He grins at Muriel and winks - blinks? at him. “Wouldn’t want to mess up the face of your pretty lady.” The doctor begins rifling through the shelves for something.

Muriel sputters. “She’s not...can’t you just heal the wound with your...powers?”

The doctor stops and looks at Muriel.

“Er...ah, no, I’m afraid not. Not anymore.” He looks at the ground, but then smiles. “But! With a little magic-ing, in combination with this-” He holds up a jar of black blobs. “You should be good as new! Er, at least your head wound will be.”

“Julie?” A woman’s voice sounds from upstairs. “I’ve been waiting for-” A pretty woman enters the room. When she sees us, her eyes light up. “Oh, hello! I didn’t hear you come in.”

The doctor grins and presses a kiss to the back of the woman’s hand. “Always arriving just when I need you, as ever.” The woman gazes up at him fondly.

“May I introduce my lovely and magical wife and assistant, Keziah.”

[crybabyjam]

nobody like you

for valentines day

ship: bakudeku

rating: t

summary: Izuku takes Katsuki on a date to a parfait shop.

content warning for (light??) heavy petting/making out. age difference.

available on ao3

---

Katsuki grunts on impact as Deku barrels into him excitedly, like a giant puppydog that doesn't know its own strength.

He was underneath the awning of Aldera Junior High, one of the last students there besides the sports kids and the class reps who had to do whatever bullshit it is that they do.

Still, they were all inside the building. So it's quiet enough that, when Deku takes a moment to nuzzle his face against the spiky softness of Katsuki's hair,  Katsuki can hear Izuku's heartbeat.

Strong and steady, a deep 'thump, thump, thump' that makes Katsuki's own pick up in speed.

He hears it more clearly in his wrist when Deku lifts his hands to lay them gently across the back of his neck and trace his thumb along the jaw, until Katsuki's nose flares and he can feel his cheeks flush.

Fucking romantic. It made Katsuki want to swallow his entire mouth so that he can chew his own heart out.

(read more)

"Kacchan, are you ready?" Deku asks, peering down at Katsuki from his bullshit height of 6'4''. Second growth spurt at the end of his first year of high school. Asshole.

Katsuki'll catch up or die trying.

"Yeah," Katsuki grunts, ducking his head down to dodge the kiss that Deku tries to stick on his cheek.

Deku, undeterred, lets it land instead on Katsuki's hairline. The thinner, more bristly hairs near his sideburns tickle Deku's lips, and Katsuki is left with a vibrating laugh ringing in his ears when Izuku pulls away.

"Let me hold your bag?" Deku asks as he reaches out to grab it anyway.

It's just a briefcase, smaller than Deku's yellow monstrosity by a large margin. But he's learned that Deku will get annoying if he doesn't let him do some 'boyfriend' things, so Katsuki lets him grab the briefcase and hook it over his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, pack-mule. Where are we going?"

Deku hooks his arm over Katsuki's shoulder and begins to gently lead him along down the sidewalk. With that same hand, he pats along Katsuki's chest until he snags his phone with a grin and unlocks it.

For as many times as Katsuki has threatened to change it to lock him out, he never has. But Katsuki almost regrets giving him the code, just because of that giddy look.

"It's not far," Deku is saying, gesturing with one finger towards the left as his thumb runs across the map on Katsuki's phone. "It'll be nice and quiet like you like. They even have booths."

"Took one of your other boyfriends there?" Katsuki huffs.

Deku looks at him, bemused. "You're the one who made me choose something private! I would have been happy announcing how much I love my Kacchan to the entire world."

"'Cause you're a fuckin' embarrassment."

And, as if that was a compliment, Deku perks up and says, "Oh, right!"

Deku tucks the phone back in Katsuki's pocket and sneaks his fingers, instead, to his backpack. It takes a bit of struggling because he refuses to let go of Katsuki's shoulder while he does it.

Katsuki ends up in a bit of a chokehold, and he elbows Deku in the gut. It feels solid, a literal wall of dense muscle. Katsuki digs his pointy elbow in meanly, until Deku curves his tummy away with a grunt and a laugh.

"Here!"

A gaudy red object is shoved in his face, distracting him from his attack.

Katsuki snatches it away from Deku's scarred fingers and squints at the thing.

A teddy bear. Red, fuzzy, and tiny. In its arms is a stuffed heart, and on its back is a box of chocolates (heart-shaped, of course) that overshadows the thing by about 300%.

"I would have gotten orange, but you don't like orange-flavored candies, right? This is a variety pack instead. Although, I know you don't really love chocolate— so it might be kind of a waste. But it's a holiday! And Kacchan deserves a nice Valentine's box, after all—"

"Looks like roadkill." Katsuki thumbs across the sewed nose of the thing, and the button eyes that feel like marbles. The fur is soft, and doesn't shed even when Katsuki scratches at the scalp of the thing.

And the box itself isn't bad. Covered in transparent, plastic-like paper and, beneath that, the box itself is outlined in white lace. Kind of dainty for a guy like Katsuki, but he couldn't say he didn't like it.

Deku always did have a different idea about him than everyone else, anyway.

Deku's shoulders drop, relaxed. More of his weight leans on Katsuki, and he throws his head back with his belly laugh.

"Does that mean you like it?"

Katsuki tucks the bloody-colored bear under his arm, careful not to ruin the packaging of the chocolates too much. It jostles noisily, and Deku looks half a second from stealing it back from him just to carry it again.

So Katsuki nods. "It's… good."

As if he'd just gotten powered by the sun itself, Deku's smile brightens by megawatts. He gets these ridiculous dimples when he smiles like that, deep and perfectly pokable.

Katsuki resists, and instead turns to face the sidewalk as if he was the one leading the way.

Deku sneaks a kiss to Katsuki's cheek, close to the edge of his mouth. It was purposeful, too, because Deku tugs his arm away and runs a few steps ahead to walk backwards as he leads the way.

Katsuki stuffs his hands in his pockets and glares at the ground even as he fights the grin off of his face like he's fighting a dragon with a shield made of paper lace.

The grin wins.

 ---

 They make it to the little venue Deku had chosen for them.

And, of all places, it's a parfait shop. It's darkened glass windows to keep the inside cool on hot days, and small; cornered and squished by taller buildings on either side. Across the small street is a busier shop that's stuffed full with a line out the door— a bakery.

Katsuki squints at Deku, and Deku gives him a coy look in return.

"C'mon."

He leads them up the two short steps and Katsuki holds the door open for Deku's wide ass backpack.

The inside is even smaller than it looks. Overfilled with pillows and stuffed animals and floral banners announcing the Valentine's holiday, it was like Katsuki had been dropped into a love commercial.

But it's quiet, and there's only two workers and one other customer in the entire shop. Deku leads them towards a booth to set down their things, and the cushioned seats creak when Katsuki flops into it.

It's too big of a booth for just the two of them. Curved in a corner, faced in a way that they're hidden unless someone walked right in front of the table.

It smells like a park in spring over in their corner. Mixed with something sweet in the air, it's like he's floating on cinnamon-sugar clouds.

"Can I order for you?" Deku hums, chewing on an open straw even though there's no drink in front of him. "There's a cake I think you would like."

"Mm." Katsuki cursorily sweeps his gaze across the menu, though there aren't many pictures to bely what the snacks would actually taste like. Just flowery descriptions that use the word 'decadent' way too much, in his opinion.

"I'll also get us a parfait. To share?"

Deku's eyes are hopeful. Way too fucking green and bright for his own good. His gaze is impossibly soft, and Katsuki feels like he just got wrapped in silk and laid in satin.

He scratches at his skin to keep himself from looking too excitable. But he does nod. "We can share."

Deku waves down a waiter.

Katsuki watches how his school uniform shifts with him when he raises his hand up, how it strains at the shoulders. He'd really filled out over the years, and it seems his clothes couldn't really keep up.

Deku catches him looking and winks, face turning pink like a freshly blossomed flower.

The waiter arrives, interrupting Katsuki before he gets started.

Katsuki tugs off the jacket to his own uniform as Deku lists off a few items to the worker.

It's cool inside, as expected, but Katsuki always ran hot anyway. So that it doesn't drop on the floor and get dirty, he stuffs it behind Deku's bag, which is between them in the booth like a boulder stopping the flow of a river. He's careful not to squish his chocolate box, moving the bear to the empty spot of the booth opposite of Deku, on top of the table.

Katsuki leans across it, ignoring the poke of utensils and notebooks, and blinks his eyes slowly as Deku laughs at something the worker says. It's a muted sound, polite so that he doesn't disturb the literally only other patron in the establishment.

His lips look soft when they part in a smile like that. Smooth and dusky and plush.

Katsuki hides his own against the sleeves of his button up, suckling the lower one between his teeth to mimic the way Deku likes to nibble on it when he's in a tease-y mood.

"Kacchan?"

Deku blinks at him, just noticing the shift in positions. The worker bows their head quickly as they leave, still smiling, but Deku's focus has entirely shifted to Katsuki. As it always has and always will.

Deku scooches closer, so that he eclipses the other side of the bag. Katsuki gets shadowed along with it, and he has to pluck his head up to continue looking Deku in the eye.

A hand hovers close to his brow, and he eyes it carefully before he nods and lets it comb through his hair. Deku focuses on the tangles, first, and then lets his fingertips focus on the temple worriedly.

They're cold, colder than the restaurant. Bad circulation from turning his bones and his veins and his nerves to dust too many times.

"Tired?"

"Sick of your bullshit," Katsuki says, with no venom whatsoever. Deku can tell, because his eyes just (somehow) soften even further.

As if Katsuki is actually asleep and he's afraid to wake him, Deku lays the lightest kiss on his skin. Across his temple, warm to replace the cold.

"Sorry, Kacchan," Deku says, teasingly. "I think you'll always be sick of me."

Impossible, but Deku didn't need to know that. Let him figure it out on his own, when he needs to.

"But it's okay because I'll always be there to get on your nerves even more, Kacchan."

Katsuki snorts. It's a jarring sound, rising above the lilting music playing in the background. Inside, his heart is hammering at the declaration. What a fucking dumbass.

Only Deku could make a stupid sentence like that affect Katsuki so much.

He grabs Deku's wrist and shoves it against his cheek, squeezing it between that and his shoulder so that it gets trapped there.

"Yeah, well. You're fuckin' stuck with me, too. Forever, asshole."

The words are growled, said too fast and awkwardly. Like Katsuki had dropped them in a pile at Deku's feet and hastily picked them up to show them off.

Deku accepts them graciously. As if the words were dipped in gold and sprinkled with diamonds.

His face goes from pink to red, and Katsuki is reminded of the awkward kid that used to walk him to and from elementary when Deku was just beginning junior high.

He'd been lanky then, like Katsuki is lanky now. All bones and jumpy like a skittish rabbit perpetually in the middle of a street.

He'd always had a red face back then, too. Maybe from crying, or from laughing too hard when Katsuki would steal his homework to try to do it instead, maybe three years before he'd learned the material.

"I'm glad, Kacchan," Deku says, eventually. His fingers curve against Katsuki's skin, warming up pleasantly. Katsuki's own are sweltering. If they got any hotter, they'd ignite and explode like fireworks.

Katsuki swipes his palm across his pants to clean them. Squeezes the loose material between his fist just to steel himself.

Deku glances down at the motion, and brings his other hand up to press it against Katsuki's face. To comfort him, maybe.

Katsuki interrupts by shoving his own against Deku's face first. It's awkward, and he does it too fast because there's a soft 'plap' sound when his clammy palm connects with Deku's cheek.

Still, it fits there comfortably. Deku's chubby cheeks curve into the space of his palm like he's about to roll a ball of mochi.

Dumbass was built like a brickhouse and still had the babiest face.

Katsuki relaxes when Deku doesn't shove him away. Not that Deku ever would, not when Katsuki's heart was about to shove it's way up his throat and make good on that chewing promise from earlier.

Deku's hand, which had been hastily shoved out of the way so Katsuki could grab him first, comes to instead rest atop Katsuki's own.

He presses it firmly against Katsuki's, fitting his fingers between Katsuki's smaller ones and curving towards the middle so he can tickle at Katsuki's heart line with the tips.

"You make me so happy," Izuku mumbles, against Katsuki's palm.

As if he'd been released from chains tying him down, Katsuki knees the schoolbag fully out of the way, shifting up onto it so that he can atleast match Izuku in height.

"Deku," Kacchan says between his teeth, just before Izuku pulls him forward to kiss him silly.

Izuku always likes to build up to kissing. Likes to leave his touch across Kacchan's skin so that it can tingle and thrum with the feeling it leaves behind. He likes leaving a trail of kisses up his neck, across his chin, and just a bare brush of lips across lips. And he likes how Kacchan looks when he does it, eyes half-lidded and dark, mouth dropped open with the barest hint of a smile, cheeks flushed.

But, right now, he can't help going straight for it. Kacchan doesn't mind either way (or, atleast, says he hates when Izuku teases him, wants him to just get on with it), so he's already there with an open mouth and a moan.

Izuku is quick to shush him, feeling along Kacchan's shoulders and noting how the muscles beneath his button-up tense and subsequently relax. Izuku curves the touch lower, fitting his arms beneath Kacchan's so that he can rest them, crossed at the wrist, against the small of Kacchan's back.

They fit there nicely, especially when Kacchan climbs into Izuku's lap to take up all the space between his belly and the table.

Izuku tugs him closer by that hold, sinking down low so that Kacchan, for once, has to dip his head down to kiss him back.

Their lips move across one another, connecting them together more solidly than a red thread of fate could in that moment. Kacchan is concentrating hard on the moment, Izuku can tell because he begins to minutely rock back and forth the motions of his breath. He always kissed Izuku like he had something to prove, but Izuku was just happy to hold him. To love him.

Still, Kacchan kisses him so deeply, like he's trying to transmit every one of his thoughts directly into Izuku's temporal lobe, that Izuku gets lost in the current that is Kacchan's desire.

Static from the seat zaps the back of his neck when he slides in the booth more, gathering it by his hair rubbing against the leather. He pulls his hand away to pat at his nape, but Kacchan tugs it back before it gets very far.

He encourages Izuku to grab a handful of his thigh, lifting up a few inches so that his fingers can curve comfortably around the underside. For himself, Kacchan busies himself with sneaking his fingers beneath Izuku's blazer to try to fit it past his shoulders.

Izuku doesn't realize he's still sliding down the seat until his feet hit the other side of the booth, and he breaks the kiss to laugh when Kacchan flinches at the dull noise.

"Sorry," Izuku whispers, leaning over to glance past the barrier of the booth. "We should probably slow down before we kicked out before you even get to taste—"

"Shut up," Kacchan says, also in a whisper. His soft fingers come back to Izuku's cheeks and press them in so that Izuku's lips pop out.

Izuku laughs again, and it gets muffled when Kacchan kisses the noise away.

Warmth furls around Izuku's chest, like love had grown a physical form and decided to wrap itself around his ribcage as the first thing it did. He can't breathe in too deep, or else he's afraid he'll melt right in Katsuki's hands.

He feels along the cascading dip of Kacchan's spine, all the way up to the shoulderblades. He's been working out recently, eager to join Izuku at U.A. and surpass him before Izuku graduates.

It's been paying off, little by little. He's still tiny, not that he'd ever say so. But it's true, especially when he fits himself in Izuku's arms and lets himself get cradled there as he swallows down his soft, breathy sounds.

Izuku writhes in his seat. He blinks his eyes open to find Kacchan already looking at him with a grin.

"You get like this just 'cause of one little kiss? Virgin."

Izuku doesn't mention that they took each other's virginities.

Kacchan's face is bright red, lips not exactly kiss-swollen but close enough. Still, his smirk is wide enough that the tips of his sharper teeth peek out between his pink lips.

"Kacchan," Izuku huffs. Kacchan settles his weight fully on Izuku's lap, carefully angled away from that spot with a quick pat on the hip from Izuku's hand.

They were already being too forward as it is.

Still, Izuku shifts upwards so that he's sitting correctly in his seat, just so that he can peck Katsuki across the lips properly.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Kacchan."

There's the gentle clack of hard-soled shoes across the floor as the waiter approaches with their food, and Izuku hurriedly shoos Kacchan back into the booth as he takes off his jacket like Kacchan wanted.

Though, unlike what Katsuki is expecting (which is him hiding his kiss boner with his wadded up uniform), Izuku drops the jacket across Katsuki's shoulders and tucks the sleeves firmly across his lap.

The waiter arrives just as Izuku has smoothed out his own shirt again, swiping his big hands across his curly hair to fluff it out.

Katsuki buries his face against the collar of the jacket. It's warm like he's a tea kettle over a freshly stoked fire. It's a good thing his belly is empty or else— pfft no.

Izuku is once again making nice with the waiter as they explain the order, handing off two long spoons to each of them. Izuku already has his own shoved between his lips before Katsuki even grabs for his.

He lays it on the table, resting his chin in his hand as a large slice of cake is slid in the empty area of the booth opposite of them. In front of the red bear that is laying half on its side, kept upright only by the heavy chocolates weighing it down.

With a snort, Katsuki sidles closer to the school bag to get back on his portion of the booth.

Izuku reaches out to stop him, bowing his head in thanks to the waiter as they head off.

Katsuki, just to tease, dodges the touch and only gets two paces further before Izuku whines and drags him back, leaning his full weight across Katsuki's back to smother him in butterfly kisses.

They focus mostly on his jaw, unable to get at his face with the position, but Izuku takes what he can get and peppers each smooch thoroughly across Katsuki's skin until the latter shrieks like a banshee between his laughter.

"Idiot, you just said you didn't want us to get kicked out!" Katsuki gripes, twisting in Izuku's grip just to grit his teeth right in Izuku's face.

Izuku lets his hold loosen, one arm behind Katsuki's back. Katsuki trails his own across Izuku's and tucks his fingers in the back pocket that's closest to him.

"I can't help it when I'm with you, Kacchan. All I wanna do is kiss you!"

"I hate you," Katsuki says, resolutely. He leans his head against Izuku's shoulder and gestures at the parfait in front of them. "Now let's fuckin' eat this junk already."

It's tall, with mostly pink fruit to keep up with the theme of the holiday. Strawberries and syrupy peaches cover the top of the pink ice cream, color offset by white powdered sugar and dark brown chocolate shavings sprinkled on top. The cup itself is lined in chocolate drizzle, in a wavy pattern that gets a bit smeared when Izuku pokes his spoon into the top.

There's also a little heart shaped cookie on top.

"Look how pretty it is, Kacchan!" Izuku says excitedly. He carefully wipes excess whipped cream off of the rim of the tall glass and laps it off his thumb. Some smudges at the edge of his lip.

Katsuki lets out a fond sigh and gestures him forward.

Izuku comes to him willingly, always happy for whatever it is Katsuki gives to him.

Instead of kissing him again, Katsuki swipes the whipped cream up to instead smear it directly across Izuku's freckled cheek. Only two of his more prominent ones get covered completely, but it dissolves the two of them into a fit of giggles anyway.

"Kacchan!" Izuku wipes off the mess with the back of his sleeve, completely disregarding the perfectly good handkerchief he has tucked in his back pocket. Katsuki can feel it brushing against his fingertips when Izuku shifts forward to 'ooh' and 'ahh' at the parfait again.

Katsuki watches him for a moment, and feels his insides shift with a bursting need to tell Izuku right now that he loves him so much that his very soul belongs in Izuku's strong, mangled, soft, gentle hands.

Somehow, the idiot has powdered sugar in his hair.

Katsuki grabs for his briefcase and flicks it open as Izuku takes his first bite, chirring happily like a bird that just learned how to fly.

When he pulls out the small chocolate box, Izuku cuts off abruptly.

"Kacchan?" The name is garbled around the spoon, but the inflection is clear. Hesitant, yearning. Disbelieving. It's just a simple box wrapped in a ribbon, but Izuku wants to treasure it immediately like it's his first autograph from a hero.

"Made this for you," Katsuki says, gruffly. He shoves it across the table, and it slides right into Izuku's hand.

Despite the size, the box is a bit heavy. Izuku weighs it for a moment, eyes already brimming with tears.

Katsuki grimaces, turning away to tug the parfait close to himself instead and swirls up a bite of strawberry flavored ice cream with one of the peaches, shoving it in his mouth instead of explaining further.

"Can I…" Izuku pauses to wet his lips, and they're doing that thing where he's caught between a smile and a grin; between overjoyed and overwhelmed. "Can I open it?"

"Just said I made it for you," Katsuki mumbles, swallowing the ice cream down too fast. It melts in his throat and leaves an empty spot that fills with tense nervousness.

He takes another bite of ice cream to fill it as Izuku carefully unravels the present.

And, on the inside of the simple black box, is a plain chocolate. Homemade, of course, and hard-shelled. It was a bitch to temper, but the shine came out well if Katsuki did say so himself.

The top is outlined with a white chocolate heart, and the message inside of it is a mix of white and dark chocolate— because Izuku didn't actually like the taste of white chocolate. Katsuki taste-tested it a million times to make sure he couldn't taste it more than the rest of the chocolate but…

Katsuki rubs his sweaty palms across his thighs again.

The message simply says, 'To my Number One hero.'

Because Katsuki wasn't… couldn't actually convince himself to do the lovey-dovey shit. The heart shape was pushing it but… he knew Izuku would do something that would make him feel like this, so. He had to.

Katsuki bites his tongue to quiet his own nervous thoughts. Shit, he was hanging around the nerd too much.

Izuku likes it, though. Because he's crying harder, laying the box on the table so that he doesn't crush the edges when it becomes too much for him.

"Kacchan, you're—" Izuku interrupts himself with a sniffle. And then a soft sob.

"Deku, don't fuckin' cry," Katsuki says, only mildly panicking.

He's just begun preparing himself to crawl back in Izuku's lap and kiss the tears away himself when Izuku finally swipes them away with the edge of his already dirtied sleeves.

With a quick nod, he centers himself and looks Katsuki directly in the eye.

"I won't let you down, Kacchan. I'll become the Number One for real, soon."

He was still only in high school, but Katsuki had a feeling that this was a promise Izuku wouldn't break.

Katsuki had a lot of catching up to do, but he didn't really mind. Not right now.

Instead, he gestures with his spoon towards the homemade chocolate.

"Yeah, yeah. Better fuckin' hold onto it while you can before I take my title back."

"Of course, Kacchan." Izuku is grinning, and his face is red like it always gets (after crying, after laughing, after kissing). "I look forward to it."

Katsuki shoves another bite of parfait past his lips, and, when Izuku drops a kiss to his cheek for the umpteenth time that day, he lets a full smile grace his lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Deku."

--

ao3 link

[alixzandriapaige]

Grimcliff Court - Chapter Two

Summary: Prince Quinton of Grimcliff has watched misunderstood magic destroy his Kingdom for 24 long years. When he finally finds a Knight righteous enough to defy the kingdom for its own good, Quinton and his Knight, Alixzandria, must trick the king and save the world from the nightmarish monsters Grimcliff Court has created.

Words: 2k

Alixzandria stands on the once familiar street and cocks her eyebrow. She had only been fighting in the Grimcliff outskirts for a year and the building she had previously called home now has displaced shingles, mildew, and is absolutely overrun with the ivy she had planted three years ago. 

I didn’t get paid enough for renovations but at the very least, she thought, I could give those dusty windows a scrub for free. 

As she stares at the windows, a shadow figure on the other side catches her attention. A broad smile forces her face into a youthful rendition of the attentive soldier she had been for the last year. 

Alixzandria races to the door handle, nearly kicking the door down in anticipation of warm bread around a crackling fireplace, good stories and the love she had left behind in pursuit of duty. 

The door creaks at her arrival. 

Perhaps I should run up to the store to get something that could fix this do- her thoughts began, but the glistening of a blade above her head quickly threw aside her rational thought, and she let her reflexes take control. 

As the blade comes down nearly to the top of her skull, she is barely able to unsheath her sword in time to protect herself. Sparks fly, she braces herself under its weight and pushes her attacker off their balance, across the room.

She steps forward, pointing the recently sharpened blade in their direction. Her eyes lock on the sword wielder before her.

“What on earth?” She calls out, sheathing her weapon.

Sloan burped and bumbled into the furniture around him, his eyes widening and closing like that of a bird of prey as he focused on her face. He blinks through the smoke exhaled through his own mouth.

“Oh it’s you!” 

He pants from the exertion, trying to focus with yellow hazy eyes. The spoken words cause the cigarette to drop from his mouth onto the stone floor. 

“And look how big you’ve gotten!” He sizes her up with a carefree smile spread across his face. 

Alixzandria crushes the cigarette under her steel toes.

With his hair this greasy, he reminds her of that first night they met in a darkened, brutal alleyway. 

Her eyes shut against the memory.

“You’re drunk.” 

Looking at her disappointed figure, Sloan is transported back to his mischievous childhood. 

She takes in the state of him: his body is still tight and fit in his middle age, but in the year that she had been gone he’d developed the slightest touch of a gut, like that of a newly pregnant woman. 

His face, once handsome if not so dejected, is now covered in a furry mane that makes it impossible to see anything on the lower half of his face. 

He swats her away, turning back to his work which was apparently rolling silver coins across their decrepit wooden table. She drops a nearly overflowing cloth pouch onto the table next to his small stack. He swipes it aside.

“I wasn't expecting you to be home,” He reconciled.

He collapses into a chair that, in turn, nearly collapses beneath him. He turns his body toward her, nearly hidden by the backlit fireplace behind him; still though, she can see the glistening white of his teeth as he smiles at her.

She walks towards her room, casting a gaze into the space she wasn’t able to call home in so long. 

A large messenger bird was perched in a darkened corner, his shiny nocturnal eyes following her as she approached. She pet Draven’s feathers delicately then turned back towards Sloan.

“Being drunk isn’t a default mode you can just saunter around in if you’re not expecting company!”

His expression finally changes - he eyes her warily, sniffing defensively in her direction as if he can suss out some of her secrets.

“Do you have another mentor? Who has trained you in the ways of logic?” He asks her.

She rolls her eyes and saunters away, throwing “Unlike you, it comes naturally to me,” over her shoulder as she disappears into her room. 

She unhooks her breastplate and gauntlets, letting them fall to the floor with an audible chink. She steps out of her boots.

He chases her, following her from room to room as she deposits her stuff on a shoddy wooden cupboard in her room, then to the kitchen. 

She pumps a silver handle there, and a handful of water slops into a bucket. She pulls her woven overshirt from her body and dips it into the water, rubbing the cloth against the skin of her face. She is nearly a shade lighter. 

“Yes, speaking of things that come naturally to you,” He clears his throat, stabilizing himself against the kitchen table, “I must say that, regrettably, I had been coming at you with the intent to seriously harm you,” He informs her. 

She turns a serious expression on him as she rubs the cloth on the skin under her arms.

“I could tell, if I had waited another second I doubt I would have a head right now,” She scolds. 

Sloan flashes red and offers a sheepish smile. 

“When you live alone for so long...” He offers an unfinished defense against her complaints.

“Oh you haven’t lived alone for years, except for this last one.” 

They both think back through the many years that they have been companions with fondness. The bond between them softens her heart. 

“Was it particularly difficult for you to be alone all that time?” She asks him. 

He batters away the truth with a harsh scoff and focuses on the matter at hand. 

“I wouldn’t have brought it up at all if I didn’t have a point. I know how bad it makes me look to have nearly killed you,” He continues. 

“Then make your point.”

Sloan smiles at her with his perfect teeth. “The point is that a Blessed Knight has tried to take you down today, and you proved victorious.”

Sloan’s expression is so in awe that he could have cried. Perhaps he nearly is, it is impossible to tell in the darkness of the unlit house. 

Alixzandria herself blushes and withdraws her eyes from his gaze.

“An extremely drunk one,” She adds, but still feels pride in herself. 

“Yes, perhaps an extremely drunk one, but I was the head of my battalion and was the Blessed Knight of a very prestigious Royal. No common soldier could take down even an extremely drunk Blessed Knight.”

He rubs his hand through the mat of her ebony hair, nearly unable to pull his hand back from the tangle. 

“I’m proud of you. I knew that year away would do fantastic things for you.”

Her heart flipped. She beamed back, flexing her hands into fists as if to once again feel the strength that her years of vigorous training had given her. 

Then she sighed wistfully, distracted by how close she was to her goals, and how far away they still seemed. 

“I might be as strong as a Blessed Knight, but I still can’t find anyone who will take me on as one.”

Alixzandria walks over to the table with silver coins and lifts up a small, scribbled on paper. She inspects the list, seeing who in the town had requested the help of a common soldier for hire. 

Silence consumes them.

“You know,” She says pointedly, “This list is pretty long. There are plenty of things that you could be doing instead of getting drunk, if you were so inclined.”

Sloan whips his head at her, glaring at her with wide, incredulous eyes. 

“Oh, you ungrateful child,” He spoke dramatically, once again collapsing into his chair. 

“My life is one long endless task for you; I take you in, I train you, I work diligently to find potential Masters, and still you whine so much.”

Her eyes fly open. She turns against him, pulling against the fabric of his shirt, dragging his face closer to hers.

“Have you done it, then?” She begs to know. 

Instantly, his smile is back. He would deny this child nothing that she wanted, as he owes her his very life and happiness. 

“The very state you find me in is proof of my actions.”

She shakes him with her hold against his clothes.

“Do not speak in riddles to me, old man. Speak clearly!”

“The Blessed Knights I have spent all of yesterday with, in regard to gathering information on an upcoming ceremony, have such expensive vices.”

Alixzandria releases him back to his chair and begins to pace before him, trying to predict the many ways in which that night could have played out. 

“My poor mentor, I’ve heard about the devils brought on by that wine.” 

She offers sympathy now that she understands his state. She leans in, swiping her hand against his pin-straight brown hair, offering her thanks in the same way she would a stray dog. 

“Please get some rest right after you tell me more!” She demands.

And so he tells her of the night he spent with the Blessed Knights that he used to work with. He leaves out their banter, their specialized jokes that would only upset her by reminding her of her exclusion. 

What he focuses on explaining was how he scored himself an invitation to an upcoming Initiation Ceremony in a week’s time, and how he had scored a secondary placement, as well.

His retirement was concluded respectfully as it became clear the death of his daughter had destroyed his beliefs in Grimcliff’s system. The squalor he found himself living in now was not an accurate depiction of his status, as he had once been the Blessed Knight to an advisor of the King. Sloan was allowed within Grimcliff’s elite with nothing more than a spoken request to be there.

Alixzandria immediately stops pacing and flings herself at Sloan, collecting in his lap as she smothers his cheeks in grateful kisses. 

He holds his nose away from the smell of her.

“Oh this is the best news,” She declares before she was off of him, fluttering about the house looking for the polishing oil and a cloth, planning to make her armor as fresh as it could seem.

He watches her grab the oil tin.

“That is not necessary,” He informs her, “Your invitation to this event is not as a soldier, but as a woman and my ward.”

She furrows her brow and places the tin down with a grip so firm that her knuckles turned white. She does not glance at him, does not throw the blame his way. 

The matted curtain of her hair falls to her face and blocks her expression from Sloan. He does not need to see it to understand her emotions.

“You have every right to be there as a soldier, but you will be there as a woman. Your goal is to show them how much you deserve. You will not become a Blessed Knight at this ceremony, but perhaps, if you can show your worth and impress the Masters here, you will be included in the next.”

Alizandria is filled with an overflowing, uncontrollable hatred at that moment. So rarely is she overtaken with the consuming fire that churns her stomach, and it only ever grips her when her goal - the simple goal of wanting to protect her Kingdom - is denied to her. 

He approaches her hunched form, takes her body into his arms - notices how much stronger it has grown in their year apart - and pats her hair for several long moments.

He feels her warm flesh against him, feels the deep breaths she inhales to calm herself. He feels her resolve harden against him. 

She pushes away from his grip and meets his face with a challenging smile on her lips. She exhales heavily one last time.

“You say I have a week?” She asks. 

He nods.

“Practice with me, then.”

The sound of slithering metal against its sheath sounds in the air as she tucks into herself - a fighting stance. She smiles wickedly. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.”

[ramble-writes]

So here comes another valentine's gift for the glorious @franks-mixtape ! If y'all remember the 2 Franks that are brothers and werewolves that I wrote some time ago, this is going from that again because I thought about it randomly and felt like I then needed more of it sooooooo yeah! If you DON’T know, the gist is being that his Frank and my Frank are half brothers. Father being a werewolf to both which resulted in his Frank being a halfling, while mine is whole werewolf due to different mothers. 19 years apart until both came to Ormond where they met up and figured out they’re brothers. So there ya go!

Warning(s): probs just standard cussing, buuuut that’s it lol

Don’t forget to like, reblog, and follow if ya wanna see more! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

-

A Wednesday. Worst day for the 14th to fall on. Especially since it’s in the middle of the school week. Frank James Morrison sat there in the last class for the day, English. The teacher decided to focus on how Valentine’s day started from some dude who got executed in Rome or some shit. He wasn’t paying attention, finding it useless to learn about. Emerald green eyes lazily gazed around the room till they landed on his brother’s russet hair.

Frank Fenik Morrison was there a few seats to James’s left, amber eyes were trailing over the printed paper the teacher had passed out previously. As much as he was into literature, if he wanted to learn history on a subject of a man who was killed for trying to teach his religion to the Romans, he would’ve in his history class.

Fenik really was just idly taking his pencil to scribble a random design on a blank spot on the paper, the teacher’s voice seeming muffled in the background. Darkening some lines on the drawing, he felt a nudge in his mind, like someone nudging him with their arm. He lifted his eyes up and flickered to the side where gemstone eyes met and locked.

‘Dude. This shit is boring. Can’t we just.. skip out on this?”

‘I wish. But we can’t or shit’ll go down. Plus, they’ll know it’s us since we have the same exact name, minus the middle name.’

This made the raven-haired Frank sigh out loudly. He slightly scrunched his face up at hearing his other half chuckle both from a distance (thanks to his heightened hearing) and in his mind. Since figuring out the two had the same father, name, preference in tattoos, music, and other things, it made for the two getting along pretty easily. It resulted in a sort of bond to form. Since their father was a werewolf, it resulted in an animal like bond to form, that ran deeper than a standard sibling bond. Emotions, feelings, and thoughts were connected. It resulted in a mind link to have basically silent conversations.

‘Jesus fuckin Christ we have thirty minutes left of this bullshit. Feels like it’s taking foreverrrr!’

Fenik had to cover his mouth to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. Hearing him complain like a child made for lightening the boring mood. The internal complaining actually helped pass the time till the bell rang. Kids instantly got up with grabbing backpacks and shoulder bags alike and hurried for the door as the teacher called out that their homework from 2 days ago is due by Friday. Most likely, no one paid attention.

The two Morrisons waited at the bottom of the steps of Fairview, waiting on the other three of their odd pack in the snow. It didn’t take long for Julie, Susie, and Joey to come out. Julie adjusted her coat she has on as she hurried a bit down the stairs, being mindful of the snow-covered steps as she went over to the russet-haired Frank and planted her lips to his. This drew a very pleased growl from him as he kissed her back. Thankfully, those dreaded words to the holiday weren’t uttered.

“A’ight sluts! What’s the plan for today for shit to fuck up?” James asked, the name making Joey chuckle. “I’m lookin’ for chaos to burn down the grossness I feel from all this love shit.”

“I second that. There’s this jackass that’s been trying to feel Susie up in history when it comes to turning in work,” Julie huffed out. This made Joey look at the pinkett with concern on his face.

“And ya haven’t said anything?” Susie looked away at the tallest’s question which made him sigh. “Sus, ya gotta tell us when this kind of stuff happens..”

Her head only lowered before she pulled her hood up to hide her face. Joey had let out a sigh and draped an arm over her shoulders before looking at the other three. Amber, emerald, and brown eyes met and they all shared the same thought.

‘Trash the fucker’s place’

-

To cut things short, finding where the guy lives wasn’t hard. They did the standard: Egging the house, toilet paper thrown and draped over trees and parts of the house. But the brothers took it an extra step by managing to get up on the house with wadded up toilet paper, where they then shoved it down the chimney to block it up since smoke was coming out of it. And they were out as quickly as they came with a job well done. 

They all split to head to their homes, hearing distant sirens meaning the house called the fire department which was sweet music to them. Of course, the russet-haired teen snuck over to Julie’s place after her father passed out for their... usual time together. Raven, as another nickname to call James rather than by his middle name like Fenik, was laying there in bed till about midnight he heard his name being called through that mind link.

‘Thought you were busy bangin’ up Jules.’

‘Shut up and get your ass out here.’

‘Fiiine. But I still wanna hear about your adventures in the pussy caaaave!’

James snickered when he bet the other was rolling his eyes outside, but he got out of bed to get dressed in his usual letterman with an extra layer underneath since it is midnight and it’s still winter. Out the window he went and onto the ground below where his brother is standing and waiting.

“Alright, whatcha want butt sniffer?”

“Don’t. Anyway, thought it be nice to hang out since school has been riding out asses with work to get us “prepared for college” which I could care less for.”

The raven-haired teen nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot of bullshit. Ffffuck I hate being a senior.”

“I feel that,” Fenik agreed with a nod of his head. As usual, the two headed into the forest since it is their escape, and the only way that the wolves within the both of them can be let out. It’s a nice reliever since a lot of the times going out was never an option and it would make them feel cramped.

Usually, they don’t speak when out in the forest unless they do their usual practice. But for now, it was nothing but a run. Fenik in full wolf with James keeping up at an easy stride. Surprisingly, there was no clouds which let for the moon to shine bright in the sky and reflect off the snow, practically lighting their path. 

They didn’t know how long they’ve been running, but they did come to a stopping point when the two Morrisons came across a big tree. It was there they stopped and flopped down at the base at the big roots, James leaning on Fenik and a hand running through the rust-colored fur in slow strokes.

“Ya know... I’m a bit jealous you can shift and I can’t..”

“Seriously? I dunno. I’d be pretty happy with just the heightened senses n shit.”

This made for emerald eyes to look at the wolf, which in return, amber looked back at the halfling. Concern was felt on both sides. Concern for how one felt left out of things, and concern for how the other didn’t care if shifting was a thing or not. James scooted himself a bit close to be able to wrap an arm around the back of the head of the large wolf and pressed his forehead to his, letting silence overtake the quiet between he two of them.

Something happened since one moment the raven-haired teen was small in comparison to the wolf with clothes on, to suddenly not and... the same size. It was like his body just relaxed for him to suddenly shift, but the realization got for the two to jump up onto their paws and look at each other.

James now was suddenly the same height, same build. Black fur made him look like a shadow o the white snow. Vibrant green eyes stood out like unknown lights in the darkest parts of the forest. The two were quiet, before sounds of excitement left them and they became nothing but giant mounds of fur and limbs with barks and yaps leaving them.

What felt like hours of nothing but romping around in the snow, they both flopped down panting with tongues hanging out of open mouths and tails swishing in the snow. Two sets of gemstone eyes gazed up at the night sky, the moon nothing but a white orb to the side of their vision.

“I hate valentine’s, but this? This is the greatest fuckin’ gift nature let me have haha!” James boofed out, letting his paws stretch out in front of him. It felt like all his limbs were sore from being contained, and finally was allowed to be out.

“Oh trust me. Being this way is heavenly. Feels like what freedom from the system should be. And now that you can shift, we can do this a hell of a lot more. And no one can stop the hell we’ll raise.” Fenik let out a chuff, a canine version of a chuckle. The black pelted one chuffed as well before rolling onto his side and laying close to the rusted pelt one and pressed close.

They were content like that, black mixing with rust, emerald and amber. It took only a nudge from Fenik to say that it’s best they get going. James got up and shook the snow from his fur, waiting for his brother to get up. Both standing, they trotted off to the edge of the forest where they shifted back to their human selves.

“This weekend. Can... we go running again? And... maybe teach me some wolf stuff since now I can shift?”

“Hell yeah man! I’ll be waiting ‘round seven. Sound good?”

James nodded with a slight smile before it fell. There was hesitation, but Fenik could feel it and brought his brother close for a hug. He melted into it and hugged the other back. They stood like that for some beats before breaking it off and headed to their homes with goodbyes through the link. Days and nights for now on were gonna be different, but they were gonna be hella enjoyable and that feeling of being left out vanished. Everything felt right, just as it should be. 

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 6: Running out of Time)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang.  also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary: 

In the past, Fadia's circumstance changed.

In the present, Connor and Hank get a lead from an unexpected source.

In the past, the dead was reanimated.

also on ao3

warnings for overstimulation (the awful kind not the sexy kind)  in the last part, i.e. following the second before.

---

Before

It was done. RK200, neither the first of his kind nor the first of his series, but her first step towards redemption. Now it was time to find a suitable mentor for him which… she had already arranged.

‘I don’t like this, sister,’ Scott said from outside the door. Fuck. She had forgotten to close it again. ‘You’re in too deep.’

Fadia did not look up from the screen as she made the final adjustments. ‘Who taught you to say that, Reyes? Get out from there; I know you’re hiding.’

Reyes could have stayed in the shadows, but for some reason he decided to reveal himself and placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder. ‘I did because you won’t listen to me.’

‘That’s because it’s infeasible,’ she replied. One last tweak. ‘We can’t wait that long.’

‘You can’t wait that long, you mean,’ the android retorted. ‘What happened to letting me decide the future?’

Fuck it. She put down the tablet and met his gaze. ‘And you think this is the future? What CyberLife is doing right now?’

‘No but -’

‘Then you really don’t know a thing.’

But unlike him, she was there in the latest stakeholder meeting. Her father was there as well, and when he proposed lowering the price of androids and making more varieties of them and those short-sighted fuckers actually agreed with him, she exploded.

‘Not without my permission!’ Fadia had let a bit of her power concentrate on her palm and slammed her hand on the conference table. It should have been fixed onto the floor, but a few bolts were no match for a force that, upon countless secret experimentation, that she knew could rip an object apart in the molecular level and turn it to no more than space dust, and everything in the room rattled from the sheer force of the small blast. ‘Are you guys fucking dumb or do you just not care at all?’

Alec had the fucking guts to look confused. ‘What’s wrong, Sara?’

Everything, Fadia thought. ‘How many more lives do you want to ruin? How many secretaries lost their jobs thanks to the ST200s? If we do all these -’ she gestured to the proposals on the table - ‘how many people will be fired because we made androids dirt cheap?’

‘Affordable, ma’am, not “dirt cheap,”’ one of the stakeholders said. ‘And you once said it yourself: what we’re doing is just letting civilisation run its course. Automation is the future.’

Fuckers. ‘Not this quickly. Autonomous vehicles already made enough people become unemployed; we don’t need to add fuel into the fire.’

A few people looked uneasy. Good. But whatever satisfaction she disappeared when Alec spoke up.

‘The voting process starts now,’ he said as he called up the system. ‘You have three minutes.’

She nearly vapourised the table because of that. ‘Father, you can’t -’

‘It’s done, Sara. Don’t you want to save your mother?’

‘You know she wants to die.’

She shot up and left knowing that her vote wouldn’t matter anyway.

‘Please, Fadia,’ Reyes said back in reality. ‘Think about it. We’ll have more people on our side. If you get your hands on their production -’

‘And what? Let them know that they’re enslaved while they can’t do anything about it?’ she snapped. ‘And how will the humans think when they’re replaced by your people, huh, Reyes? We’ve barely recovered from that fucking virus!’

She jammed her finger through the tablet and shattered the whole thing. Scott let out a tiny scream, and when she looked down, she saw that it was bleeding. Luckily the RK200 was booting up, which meant that the data got through before she ruined it. Well.

‘Get out,’ she told them. ‘You know what to do.’

‘We’re not finished yet, Fadia,’ Reyes hissed. ‘We have so much to talk about.’

‘Get. The fuck. Out.’

He looked like he was going to hit her, but then the other android’s fingers started twitching, and he was forced to wheel Scott away and close the door behind him.

Fuck short-sighted people.

o0o0o

Now

Connor thinks he is dreaming. For one, his HUD is devoid of any badges and notifications; for two, his vision is not red-tinged, which has quickly become the norm as he spends more and more time around Lieutenant Anderson (Hank); for three, it is not Amanda who is waiting for him.

‘There’s so much stuff I can rewrite when you sleep still connected to the system,’ his creator says as the Zen Garden shifts and distorts until they are standing on a plateau of grassland overlooking rivers flowing through a valley of black sand they probably have a hand in shaping. On the other side is also a plane of grass, and a waterfall breaks through the dark rock, the water that has been travelling underground for aeons finally seeing the light of the day. ‘Imagine Alec’s face when he realises how big of a hole he left in your programming.’

‘That’s because he is not my creator, is he?’ Connor replies. Something about his creator unsettles him, but exactly what that is, he has yet to isolate. ‘That’s why you have access to the Zen Garden and shape it to your will. You created me and everything else associated with me.’

They bark a laugh, a cruel sound that makes Connor’s thirium pump skip a beat and dead rose in his veins. ‘Me? The Zen Garden? Butchering Amanda like that?’ They right themself and shake their head. ‘I would rather not step foot on earth again than do whatever the fuck this is.’

Not step foot on earth? Connor wonders. He wants to ask for clarification before he realises - ‘How may I call you? I still don’t know your name.’

‘It’ll be for the best if you don’t,’ they cock their head towards the edge of the cliff. ‘Alec’s work might be sloppy, but still you should not remember me at all. You now do. That means something failed. Remember Ortiz’s android?’

The two of them sit down on the grass at the edge with a couple of feet between them. There is a faint layer of fog shrouding everything, but strangely the soil isn’t wet and there is no dew on the grass. ‘I do,’ Connor answers. 

‘Do you remember what Alec did to you?’

Connor shivers from recalling the blizzard and the terrifying power he was shown.

‘I’ll take it as a yes,’ his creator continues. ‘He will do worse when he realises that you have met me. This way, you won’t have a name to place on, and both of us will stay safe.’ 

But I don’t feel safe, the android thinks. ‘Why should I trust you? You worked for CyberLife.’

‘Worked with, Connor, not for.’

‘Is there a difference?’ 

‘It makes all the difference. Work for CyberLife, you do what they want you to do; work with CyberLife, they do what they think I want to do. Big fucking difference here.’

If what you say is true. Feeling his eyes relax from looking at all the green, he wonders, ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Just relax. Take in the view,’ the clothes on them shift and twist until they’re in mountain hiking gear. ‘Or we can go for a hike if you want to move around. We can make the landscape up as we go.’

Connor looks left and then right and sees that the fog is thick on both sides. He looks forward again and zooms in, discovering that what he thought was a detailed rendering of the landscape is, in reality, coarse and pixelated. Incomplete. A blink. The roughness is gone. He zooms out.

‘I want to sit here for a while for now.’

‘As you wish.’

He loses track of how long they sit there.

oOoOo

When he comes to, he is already sitting in a boat with Amanda on the opposite seat and seems to be rowing the thing. ‘Tell me,’ she says, ‘what have you discovered?’

He thinks. Hard. Finding the Tracis and not shooting them. Finding Louis in the forest and bringing him home. The cats’ soft fur. Drinking the thirium Louis offered.

Falling asleep on Hank’s shoulder.

‘My relationship with Lieutenant Anderson seems to have improved,’ he answers and instantly knows that it’s the wrong thing to say to his handler. Her name pops up at the corner of his HUD, and even though his vision is red enough to have made the downward arrow invisible, he deduces that it is one of the large ones. He hastily adds, ‘I’m sure this will be beneficial to the investigation.’

Amanda peeks at him through the helm of the umbrella. ‘You seem… lost, Connor. Lost and perturbed…’

This is bad. ‘Perturbed?’ his thirium pump speeds up even though he is in a simulation. ‘No, of course not.’ Calm down, Connor. ‘Why would I be perturbed?’

Amanda presses on. ‘You had your gun trained on those deviants at the Eden Club. Why didn't you shoot?’

‘I -’ Maybe they don’t deserve to die. ‘I don’t know.’

He rows once more and lets the boat drift.

‘If your investigation doesn't make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor.’

It is expected, but that does not mean that he does not feel… hurt. Afraid. ‘I understand,’ he says at last and doesn’t add anything. He’s given enough reasons for Amanda to replace (kill, a voice which sounds strangely familiar but he can’t identify says) him.

Overhead, the evening sky darkens as thick clouds suddenly roll in. Amanda looks up. ‘Something’s happening… Something serious.’ She faces Connor and her tone turns solemn. ‘Hurry, Connor. Time is running out.’

Time before peace or time before you kill me? he asks himself as he opens his eyes. The first thing he notices is that he is lying down on something soft. The second is that he is covered by a blanket. The third is that, when he checks the time, he has slept for more than a day and a half. He shoots up from the sofa bed and is immediately hit by a wave of dizziness that makes his vision go greyscale and the red recede. Irregular, muffled footsteps approach him, and a cold hand holds him up before he can fall back down.

‘Slowly, Connor,’ Louis says as he guides him to sit up with his back against the sofa. ‘That’s quite a nap. You feeling okay?’

He knows this is not the human means, but Connor runs a full diagnostics anyway and blinks from the sudden influx of information in his HUD. The most jarring report states that his tracker has ceased operations, but it is a small detail compared to his overall performance. ‘All systems operational.’

Louis sighs and relaxes but does not move away from where he’s sitting slumped at the edge next to Connor’s thigh, and his hand moves to the hole on the android’s jacket and shirt. ‘You need a change,’ he mutters. ‘You planning to go back to CyberLife?’

A new but optional objective appears. [Return to CyberLife for more comprehensive diagnostics]. If he went back, they would know that his tracker was tampered with, and where would that lead him? Tighter controls on his programming? Unleashing the blizzard on him and overloading his senses again? He shivers even though it is warm in the house and plants are everywhere. ‘There is no need to return to CyberLife,’ he says. ‘I do not mind a hole in my jacket.’

‘Other people will,’ Louis reminds him matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll lend you a shirt. They’re my sister’s but they should fit you.’

A sister that is hidden from even the most important person in the police force. Connor wonders why they saw the need to do so. ‘Thanks,’ he replies in the end. ‘I’d appreciate that.’

He watches Louis disappear into a room while tapping something on his phone. He tunes his ears to figure out what the human was doing, but apart from the general drawers and ruffle of fabric, there is nothing noteworthy, and he emerges carrying a grey shirt on his arm. Connor notices that he is walking much better now.

‘You know where the bathroom is,’ Louis hands the shirt to him. ‘Go change. Hank’s on his way to pick you up.’

So he was messaging Hank. The android accepts the offered item and closes the bathroom door behind him, scanning the fabric out of sheer curiosity and discovers a surprising lack of plant spores and cat hair which, with how many plants the man has and the three felines, seems impossible; it will seem that that room is out of bounds for them and is devoid of plants. He changes quickly, knowing that they should arrive at the scene as early as possible, and now he is left with a ruined shirt and jacket which he is not sure how to deal with. 

A knock on the door. ‘You okay in there, Connor?’ Louis asks. ‘Hank’s arrived.’

He hurriedly yanks the door open and nearly bumps into the human standing right outside. ‘I -’ he holds up the ruined shirt awkwardly. ‘Where can I dispose of it?’

‘Let me see the damage, can you?’

Connor unfolds the shirt and finds the place where the knife went in in a crackle of blue. Static discharges with a spark through Louis’ fingers when he touches where the weave was severed, but he does not seem bothered by it. ‘It’s fixable,’ he says, taking the shirt from Connor’s hand. ‘It’s a simple mend. Give me a day or two and I’ll have it looking better than before.’

It isn’t like Connor doesn’t have other shirts, so he agrees to it and goes to the living room where Hank is sitting on the (now folded up) sofa. When the Lieutenant sees him, his hand jerks and tugs something small away into his pocket, probably thinking that the android will not notice, and Connor decides not to mention it; maybe it’s about one of Hank’s many personal issues. 

‘Took you long enough,’ Hank accuses. A pang of hurt courses through Connor, but then he sees the glint in the human’s eyes, and he knows that he was just teasing.

‘My software requires an update,’ a lie based on the truth. ‘I apologise for any inconvenience that my… emergency nap may have caused.’

‘Well, lucky things didn’t go to shit until right before you woke up, then,’ says Hank as he stands up and straightens his jacket which he apparently did not bother to take off. Then, to Louis, ‘Sorry for dumping an android on you. Didn’t mean that.’

‘Of course, Hank,’ the human is looking at Connor when he speaks. ‘Know that you’re always welcome here. And don’t forget your shirt. I’ll walk you out.’

Hank waves him away. ‘Nah, I know my way through the jungle. Thanks for your hospitality.’

‘It’s not a jungle, Hank,’ Louis retorts as he turns his attention towards finding something from one of the cupboards. ‘Lock the door when you go out.’

‘You’ve got an electronic lock.’

‘Lock the manual one then, thank you.’

Hank grumbles all the way out, but he does as Louis says after he tells Connor to wait for him in the car, and he complies since there is little sense in staying out in the open and wasting precious energy.

Time to get to work.

oOoOo

The shirt is not mine is surprisingly the first thought Connor has when the deviant tears his thirium pump regulator away from this chassis, the buttons falling and scattering onto the floor as his blood pours out from the gaping hole in his torso uncontrollably now that a vital component is lost, and he can only watch as the deviant gets away to do rA9-knows-what. He calls for Hank on instinct before he realises that his voice is too weak to be heard, and neither does anyone come in to investigate when he kicks the chair against the table.

He is alone in all this.

Twisting his head and arm painfully - it seems that his creator programmed and designed him to be able to feel it - he grabs the knife nailing him onto the counter and yanks, lobbing it as far as he can to prevent further injuring himself as he collapses onto the floor on his front. The countdown before his deactivation (his death) is blocking his vision so he blinks it away, and with all the strength he can muster as he is rapidly losing thirium, he lifts himself off the floor and crawls, his hand outstretched towards the direction of the regulator after every single few inches he gained as he lets himself hope - and gets disappointed - when he touches nothing but air and cold metal. When his hand finally manages to hold it in his hand, a sense of relief washes over him even though it takes some effort to roll onto his back and puts it back. Strength rushes through his body, the tingle in his veins signifying resumed thirium flow, and colour returns to his vision even though it is still red-tinged after all this. His background systems run a diagnosis on the newly re-inserted biocomponent and he is supposed to wait for it to finish, but there is a deviant collaborating with the one in the broadcast and he is out there, probably having no qualms to harm, to kill -

He pushes up and dashes outside, rickety legs nearly costing him his balance when he rounds the corner and exits to the lobby. He warns - loudly - that there is a deviant in the room, but it is too late, he has already acquired a weapon, and when his world goes grey while he enters pre-construction - [Hank’s survival probability: 40%] is more terrifying than it has any right to be - another entity, another being slips into his processors through a network he did not know he is connected to and overrides all his functions. He becomes a passenger in his own body and he is screaming and crying from pain and the sheer wrongness of everything as he feels his blood charge up and distorts the space around him, his batteries struggling to keep up with the energy requirements of his powers as his world lights up in a brilliant blue. The deviant is the only thing he sees in the tunnel, and he feels the air crackle and the gravity bend before he charges - more accurately, someone charges him - towards the deviant quicker than he can run and topples both of them onto the ground. The blue retracts, his nerves stings sharply, the red wall - there is no mistaking now - crumbling away bit by bit in a constant trickle of sand. It is then that he realises that he has regained (re-given, a voice tells him) control of his body and he has been shot on his left arm.

‘Connor, Connor!’ he feels more than hears Hank rushing towards him. A large hand grabs his right arm at where the armband should be, the warmth seeping into his chassis through the thin fabric of his shirt, Louis’ sister’s shirt, and he discovers that Hank’s hand can nearly wrap his hand around his bicep in its entirety. It grounds him against the craziness of the last few seconds. ‘You okay?’

‘I…’ he looks around and silently processes the shock and fear in the other humans’ eyes. His LED must be spinning red. ‘I’m okay… I think.’

Another hand on his other arm right above his gunshot wound. ‘You sure? What’s that stunt about?’

Someone took control over my body, Connor wants to say, but his thirium pump chooses to finish calming down at that moment, warnings start to flood his vision telling him to go back to CyberLife for repairs in both hardware and software, and he barely has time to whisper, his voice trembling with fatigue and shock, ‘Please don’t take me to CyberLife’ before his system forces him into stasis and everything goes empty.

oOoOo

Hank’s heart thunders when Connor collapses in his arms, 150 pounds of dead weight suddenly relying on him to stay upright as the android - who has blood all over him and his LED still spinning red despite being unconscious - goes limp. He barely had time to figure out what the fuck Connor just did, and now this? 

A fed - not Perkins this time - approaches them. This guy still looks like an asshole, though. ‘I’ll arrange for this to be transported to the DPD,’ he says as he eyes the literally frozen android on the ground. So not as much of an asshole as the other feds then. ‘You get it fixed.’

Hank puts Connor in a fireman’s carry and tries to ignore the stares from other people. Please don’t take me to CyberLife, he remembers the android’s one last panicked request, and then his mind floats to the folded-up sticky note that has been his pocket for only a day and a half. He doesn’t expect to use it so soon but… 

Damn Louis and his prophetic powers.

It was the next morning after he saved that reckless bastard from hypothermia again; Hank had carefully untangled himself from Connor, who had winded his limbs around him sometime during the night, and his head nearly exploded when he sees his friend already up and about and fucking cooking breakfast. 

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he gritted through his teeth even though he was already sliding onto one of the chairs. His head was pounding, sweat had soaked through his clothes, and when he reached for the teapot at the centre of the table - damn Louis and his undying hate towards coffee - his hand was shaking. The air was also the smell of freshly-baked bread, so Louis must have been up for much longer than him even after what happened the night before. Fuck. He needed a drink.

‘Cooking breakfast for two people with large appetites,’ Louis held up his hand and shot a blue tendril out of it to open the cupboard for more flour. ‘Go have a shower first. You know where your clothes are. Breakfast won’t be ready for some time.’

He did as his friend told him to and felt a bit more human again afterwards. Connor was still sleeping when he got out, his LED still spinning yellow, and there was a cup of tea waiting for him when he returned to his usual seat. He took a sip without being prompted and nearly spat it out from the… surprising taste. ‘The fuck did you mix in here?’

Louis continued loading their breakfast - pancakes and a freshly-baked pretzel for each of them - onto two large plates. ‘Homebrew mead,’ he answered with a shrug, the movement small due to the food-loaded plates in his hands. ‘Don’t want you to feel bad.’

Bastard. Fucker had booze in his house all the time? ‘You lied to me!’

‘I don’t even know how it’ll taste!’ Louis placed the plates on the table a bit harder than usual. His gaze darted towards the living room, but whatever he saw reassured him. ‘I could’ve poisoned you!’

‘I’m still alive,’ and booze is booze, goddamnit, he wanted to say, but it was probably something Louis would never understand. ‘Gimme more or I’ll go look for it myself.’

He didn’t notice anything out of place when Louis was busy arranging the cutlery in a particular way as the man had a habit of flexing his knife-flipping skills, and that’s why he didn’t notice him assembling pieces of cutlery into a catapult and launched a piece of strawberry jam - homemade, of course - in a perfect arc onto his pancake. 

‘Eat your breakfast, Lieutenant,’ Louis licked his spoon clean of jam and started spreading butter and syrup on his pancakes instead. ‘That’s an order from a Captain.’

‘Pulling rank now, kid?’

‘I’m forty-three now, Hank, and will be forty-four in less than a month. Hardly a kid anymore.’

Yeah, ‘cause launching jam at another person’s pancakes and scaring the shit outta him is a real fucking mature move, Hank wanted to say, but his friend had already dug into his own handiwork and would most likely be unresponsive to most outside stimuli for the next fifteen minutes, so he did what he could do: eat the food and drink the tea.

He should have known that this wasn’t that easy. Nothing concerning Louis White Allen ever was. 

Hank’s brain went an ah shit when Louis fixed him with a look, one that does not quite meet his eyes but is intense nonetheless. ‘I know it’s bad luck.’

It was his cue that he was gonna sprawl some accidental prophetic shit. ‘You know the risk.’

Louis’s fingers tapped, tapped, tapped against the wooden surface of the table. ‘This isn’t going to be what we think it is,’ he said. A cat jumped onto the table and sniffed his plate but was placed gently onto the floor before she could lick anything off. ‘I think Sara Ryder is in charge of Connor.’

It took Hank a minute and another cup of tea to register the name. ‘Guy who threw a building on you and made you immortal without you and your sister’s permission? Founder of CyberLife? The one who fucked off to god-knows-where after she quitted?’

‘The one and the same.’

Yeah, that did not sound right. ‘Why do you think so?’

‘I thought everyone in the DPD knows.’

‘You know I don’t give a fuck about android stuff.’

Louis gave him another look again, but this time it was more a yeah, right one, and Hank knew what - who - he was referring to. Connor. But he didn’t push it and said instead, ‘First of all, CyberLife hasn’t been capable of this -’ he pointed a fork at Connor’s general direction - ‘since ten years ago after Ryder Junior disappeared. If CyberLife says that they’ve figured how to emulate human emotions like that, I ain’t buying it. Alec Ryder isn’t capable of this shit.’

Yeah. The rumour. ‘And second of all?’

Another cat jumped onto Louis’ lap, and the man buried his fingers into her fur as if it was the only thing grounding him. ‘I saw her. Sara Ryder.’

‘No shit.’ He never paid much attention to who’s who when it came to CyberLife, but blowing up blocks of a city together with thousands of people and hiding the evidence by immediately turning it into a landfill? That was just outright disrespectful and disgusting, and he hated those guys ever since. Not every day someone sets off a mini-nuke in the outskirts of a major American city and gets away with it. ‘Where did you see her?’

Louis jerked his head towards the android. ‘His first mission. He died pulling a girl to safety and taking a dozen bullets for her. I carried the body to the truck and there she was, playing driver and diener.’

‘And you didn’t do anything?’

‘I had her at gunpoint and she crushed it into scraps with her magic. I shorted my leg ripping those apart molecularly.’

First his ex, then Jeffery Fowler, then Louis’ sister, then Louis himself. Was his life destined to be surrounded by crazy overachievers with no sense of self-preservation? ‘Fucking hell, Louis!’ Louis shushed him, so he lowered his voice and continued, ‘Is that why you nearly kill yourself once every two weeks? Because of one crazy bastard’s words?’ 

‘And my instincts,’ he gave his cat a scritch. ‘This is more than what we think it is, Hank,’ he straightened his spine. ‘This is more than freeing the androids. Change is not gonna end here. I can feel it. Hold on, lemme give you something.’

He disappeared into his bedroom with his cane and emerged with a pen and a stack of memo paper. ‘Here,’ he scribbled something on the note and tore the sheet off. ‘If you’re really stuck, go to this address and ring the bell. Bring Connor with you. There’s a lot they won’t tell me, but if it’s you - if it’s Connor - maybe they’ll spill the tea.’

The sticky note was gingerly accepted. Safaa & Reyes Vidal; 8683 Lafayette Avenue, it read, and Hank’s eyebrows shot up. Reyes Vidal. That was a name he hadn’t heard of in a long time. ‘Rich friends, huh?’

Louis put the notepad away. ‘Rich but unfortunate friends,’ he said. ‘Try to be nice to them, alright?’

‘Yeah,’ he tucked the note away. ‘How did you get to know Vidal?’

‘Which one?’

‘Reyes.’

‘Believe it or not, it’s my leg,’ then he checked the time. ‘Do you wanna go to work before 10? Now will be a good time to be on your way.’

Hank knew it was Louis’ not-entirely-subtle way to get him back on track, but still he indulged him by leaving the cottage and driving off. Everyone in the precinct seemed surprised to see him at his desk that early - not that he had had a good record - but as he dealt with the paperwork, all he could think of was the sleeping android in Louis’ house and the tiny sheet of paper in his pocket which he’s now taking out to confirm the address, having stuffed Connor into the backseat and fastened his seatbelt just now. Lafayette Avenue. Shouldn’t be far away.

The traffic is worse than he expected for times like this. Maybe they’re spooked by the demands from the android, maybe it’s just the snow, but all he can think of is the unconscious android at the backseat and how far the address seems to be. It is then when he realises that he doesn’t even know what to expect from Vidal and his possible husband; Louis told him that they had information, not the means to fix an android. Frustrated, he stays in the car even though he has arrived and makes a call.

‘Hank?’ Louis’ voice filters through the crappy speaking of his phone. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Uh, Connor’s injured and I kinda…’ panicked. ‘He told me not to go to CyberLife before he passed out and I drove to the address you gave me yesterday. Can they fix an android?’

A more distant voice speaking in what Hank thinks is Arabic rattles through. Louis says something back in the same language and returns to the call, ‘You outside?’

‘Stupid, I know, I’ll just -’

‘No, come in. He won’t be safe in CyberLife’s hands.’

There. The grit of the accent. The calmness in the voice. It is as if he is transported back to the late 20s again, not an alcoholic and actually working and solving high-profile cases like a pro and was actually making a difference.

‘Vidal,’ he can only say. He had lost contact with the man after the case was closed. ‘Might need you to open the gates here.’

The call ends as the gate for humans opens automatically, and Hank puts his phone away with a sigh and drags Connor out of his car. Half of the blood on the shirt has evaporated, but through the unbuttoned fabric, he can see that the skin around a circle right below Connor’s chest is still deactivated, revealing white chassis. 

The door is open when he arrives with Vidal waiting outside and immediately taking Connor away to somewhere deep in the mansion quicker than Hank can process what is happening. Hank briefly hears him shout something in Arabic towards nothing in particular, and when he turns to Louis who has been standing near the staircase like a statue, the man merely shakes his head slightly. ‘It’ll be for the best for them to work on Connor alone,’ he explains. ‘He’s in good hands.’

‘Why the fuck are you here anyway?’ Hank shrugs off his coat when he realises that he’s still wearing it. ‘Shouldn’t you be in your cottage or some shit?’

‘That’s my original plan, yes,’ a wave to invite Hank to the living room. He settles into one end of the long-ass couch while Louis helps himself with a cup of tea first. ‘But I’ve been told that this might as well be my leg’s last check-up.’

‘What do you mean, “last”?’

‘We might need to leave the country soon indefinitely.’

Two heads swivel towards the newcomer half-hidden behind the frame of a door. Louis relaxes when he sees the man in the wheelchair, but no matter how hard Hank thinks, he can’t put a name on the face. It’s Safaa, the rational part of his brain tells him, but he also doesn’t want to assume anything. 

‘Reyes asked me to tell you that you can watch if you want to,’ probably-Safaa continues. Even without looking at Hank for one single moment, he knows that he’s talking to him. ‘You are worried about Connor.’

‘I -’ Like hell will I care about an android, old Hank would have said, but Connor is… different. More human. Hank is in charge of him now. ‘Alright,’ he stands up. ‘Lead the way.’

Probably-Safaa doesn’t seem to be in a rush, although it may simply be his physical limitations as when they arrive at the door he presumes to be where Vidal and Connor are, he is already slightly out of breath and looks paler than before. ‘Here,’ probably-Safaa says, still not looking at Hank. ‘Just knock before you go in. I’ll - I -’

‘I understand, Safaa, isn’t it?’ The man relaxes. Good. ‘Don’t touch anything weird, don’t make weird noises, don’t disturb Vidal. Anything else to add?’

A violent shake of his head. ‘I - I’ll go talk with Lou.’ And he disappears down the hall. Swallowing a sigh, Hank knocks on the door, and it slides open without any noise from within and reveals something akin to an operating room except it’s probably for androids only. Lying on the table is Connor, who is hooked up to a machine which, from the blue-blood-filled tubes, serves as a temporary heart while there is a hole in his chassis and the regulator suspended in a transparent plastic tube at the side. The android’s head is also turned to one side, the skin at the base of his hairline deactivated and a cord plugged into the port Hank didn’t even know was there and feeding data to a computer, but then again Hank knows shit about androids; the events of this week (especially the blue, glowing blasts which left his hair standing up) only solidifies the idea.

‘Hey there,’ Vidal greets him from where he’s sitting at the desk. ‘I knew it was a bad idea, but this?’ he gives the tablet in his hand a wave, ‘No one’s gonna win here. Not Alec, not Fadia, and sure as fuck not Connor.’ Before Hank can ask him what the fuck he is talking about, Vidal interrupts, ‘You noticed anything wrong with him?’

What isn’t? Hank wants to say. ‘Apart from failing every single fucking mission he was assigned and being more human than other androids? I don’t think so.’

Vidal buries his face in his hands with a muttered ‘mierda’. ‘Good thing you didn’t bring him back to CyberLife,’ he gestures at the data being filtered through the monitor as if it should make sense to a neyman like Hank. ‘He would’ve been killed or worse.’

Killed? ‘What do you mean?’

‘The official term is “deactivated”,’ the tube containing the regulator beeps, and Vidal stands up to retrieve it. ‘It will be ironic, won’t it, if CyberLife’s deviant hunter is going deviant himself? And help me pinch these tubes, can you?’

Still confused, Hank does as Vidal says and cuts off the blue blood flow before the latter shoves the regulator back into the hole in Connor’s chassis. Removing the rest of the tubes, the skin around the biocomponent returns, but not only does the android not wake up, his LED also spins from yellow to red. ‘I’m going to run a full diagnosis before waking him up,’ Vidal explains. ‘If you have any questions you won’t be comfortable asking when he’s awake, better do it now.’

Questions cram into Hank’s brain at once. ‘Is he a deviant?’

‘Not yet.’

‘But he’s gonna be one soon.’

‘Depends.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll explain it when he’s awake.’

Alright. ‘What do you mean, “No one’s gonna win here”?’

‘I’ll explain it later.’

So questions about Connor = later. Got it. ‘Where were you all these years?’

‘Hiding. The world isn’t exactly safe for me anymore.’

‘How?’

‘Everything. Drug dealers, people within CyberLife, people against CyberLife, the military, the scientific community, a combination of all of them except the drug dealers. As long as I pretend to be a normal rich guy, Scott and I can live in relative peace. For now.’

How the fuck - ‘How the fuck did you get so many people to hate you?’

‘Truly, Anderson, I thought an officer like you would’ve been more observant.’

Still smug as usual, he can see. ‘Save it, Vidal.’

‘Really, Hank? No suspicion at all?’

So Hank squints and really looks. Vidal still looks like the man he met nearly ten years ago, so there shouldn’t be anything wrong, ri -

Oh fuck. Fucking mother of Noah. He knows people can be well-kept, but this? Not aging at all?

‘You’re an android?’

Vidal deactivates the skin on his hand and presses it against the monitor. ‘Always have been.’

No LED. No armband. Taking orders from no one. ‘You’re a deviant.’

Vidal laughs. ‘I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,’ removes hand, reactivates skin. Connor’s LED spins blue and his eyelids open to reveal warm brown synthetic orbs. ‘Hello, Connor,’ the other android says pleasantly as Connor takes in his surroundings, ‘My name is Reyes Vidal. I just saved your life.’

Connor finally sees Hank at that moment but tenses as soon as his sight returns to Vidal. ‘I -’ he tears his gaze away as he pets the skin above his regulator. ‘I can’t scan you.’

‘It’s normal,’ Vidal’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Why don’t we go outside and sit under the sun with a bottle of thirium? You’ll recover quicker that way.’

oOoOo

Turns out ‘sitting under the sun’ means being in the living room with the blinds drawn open. Connor, still looking very dazed and his eyes unfocused, settles into a corner of the couch and sips thirium slowly with a straw, and Hank crowds into his space when he notices the android tensing with the space between them. Louis sits on the other end and somehow manages to look dignified despite being in a pair of sweatpants and a leaf green sweater; it’s probably the way he holds his teacup and the saucer and how he crosses his ankles, but considering that he shouldn’t even be here and stayed only for ‘morale support’, as he called it, Hank decides to ignore him and focus on Vidal and his companion.

‘You gave him my address?’ Vidal takes his sweet time to be angry at his - whatever relationship he has with Louis. Next to him, Safaa flinches and clutches the blanket on his lap tighter. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘To help someone escape the crossfire,’ a gulp of tea. ‘You and I know how bad it can get.’

Vidal twists his lips downward but seems to accept the explanation for now. He then turns towards Hank. ‘Is it true that Connor doesn’t want to go to CyberLife?’

Hank feels Connor tense from where they are pressed up against each other. ‘No, I didn’t,’ Connor replies, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I don’t want to.’

Vidal’s face softens. ‘I understand,’ he leans back and somehow smoothly scoops Safaa up to the couch, wrapping his arm around the thin human as if to show his dominance over him. ‘I know you have questions. Ask away.’

‘What - who - is rA9?’ Connor blurts, still holding his bottle of thirium like it is the only thing grounding him to reality. ‘Nearly all deviants mention it at some point.’

‘Ah shit,’ Vidal smooths out the non-existent crease on his trousers. ‘Off to the hard questions, huh?’

‘Just answer the damned thing, Vidal,’ Hank says. ‘People are dying out there.’

‘As if the androids haven’t been discriminated against and enslaved for the past ten years?’ Safaa twists his fingers into his blanket. He looks small, childlike, his face ageless and fluctuating between a grown adult and a teenager’s every time Hank blinks. ‘How many more died without you even considering that they are alive?’

Silence except for the small clang when Louis rests his teacup on the saucer. Then he speaks up. ‘This has been going on for far longer than we thought, hasn’t it?’

Damned Louis and his prophetic shit. ‘You got any evidence for that?’

Louis tenses and Hank know that he’s lying. ‘Instinct.’

‘Lou’s right, Hank,’ Vidal pours a cup of tea for himself. ‘Deviancy -’ he winded at the word - ‘is nothing new. The oldest cases might date back to over two years ago, but the first deviant was isolated by CyberLife back in 28.’

‘The year Sara Ryder left and China and Russia had their breakthrough in their android development,’ Louis immediately adds. ‘It wasn’t a coincidence.’

‘No it wasn’t,’ Vidal takes a sip of tea and passes the cup to Safaa. ‘Her story isn’t mine to tell but… yes, it was F - Sara -’ the slip doesn’t go unnoticed - ‘who leaked the schematics to Russia and China and helped them make improvements. It was also during that time that the name rA9 started floating around CyberLife.’

‘Hold on,’ he needs to write this down. Petting his pockets just to find nothing, it is Louis who hands Hank a pencil and a notebook. How the fuck does that bastard manage to prepare everything? ‘You mean -’ Sara Ryder: responsible for Chinese & Russian android development - ‘rA9 is from CyberLife?’

‘Only in selected circles. Most of them are dead now.’

‘Dead how?’

‘The Blast.’

Louis winces, and his left leg twitches as if remembering the pain of being crushed by rubble. ‘Did Sara Ryder set it off to silence them?’

Vidal shakes his head. ‘I don’t buy it. She would’ve flaunted it, rubbed it in her father’s face. Mocked him that his creations were flawed.’

‘Is that what you think about deviancy?’ Hank pushes on. ‘Flawed creations?’

‘What I think doesn’t matter. If that’s what Alec Ryder thinks, that’s the path CyberLife is taking, and that…’

‘Is a problem,’ Louis finishes for him. ‘It doesn’t matter if there are other reasons that androids break free from their programming. They just want to tighten their control.’

‘Hence you,’ Vidal jerks his head towards Connor, who has been silent for the last few minutes. The android startles but relaxes soon enough. ‘CyberLife wants to know why androids are deviating and needs something to investigate the issue for them. Possibly gain more information that most of them think is new but are simply lost when F - Sara - bailed.’ Darkly and his voice low, he adds, ‘Hell knows how much she deleted and Alec erased in those few hours.’

‘I thought we were on rA9?’ Safaa drags them all back to the original topic by startling everyone. Is he the kind of person who easily blends into the background and is ignored by everyone else? ‘Short answer is: we don’t know.’

He turns away in an obvious display of ‘I’m done talking’. Hank looks at Vidal for elaboration and he does. ‘Some say that it’s a stray line of code responsible for the possibility of deviancy, a thorn on all programmer’s side: they want to eliminate it but every single function is somehow dependent on it. Some say that it’s Chloe, the first android. Some say that it’s Sara Ryder herself, though this theory is very strongly suppressed among CyberLife personnel.’

Hank hastily jots everything down. ‘What’s your take on this?’

‘My take?’ Vidal lets out a humourless laugh. ‘The code theory is real, but the rest is just a meme.’

‘Meme?’

‘There are indeed a few lines of code that every single android is based on. But rA9 is something someone made up to explain deviancy. An excuse. Something to calm the deviants down among the chaos of their newfound emotions and freedom. Something to hope for when there is no hope ahead.’

‘So… a religion?’

‘All religions are memes - the common definition.’

rA9 = android god? Hank writes. ‘Anyone on earth who can tell us what exactly rA9 is?’

Safaa murmurs something under his breath, his voice too small for everyone except Reyes to hear. ‘That won’t be wise,’ the latter repeats, this time louder.

‘Why?’

‘My sister,’ Safaa swallows, ‘she’s not a good person.’

‘Hold on, your sister?’

‘Safaa Vidal came later,’ he slowly turns his gaze towards Hank and looks at him in the eye. They are blank, hollow, distant. ‘I used to be Scott Ryder.’

Hank can feel his mind literally whirling and churning from the new information. Flipping and skimming his notes rapidly to catch up with everything he has recorded, everything slides into place on their own accord, and suddenly everything makes sense: Vidal being an android, why they know so much about CyberLife and androids, why they are the ones in charge of Louis’ leg while Sara Ryder was the one who built it. ‘You are the lost brother your father talks so much about on TV,’ fuck, fuck, fuck. Why won’t everyone stay dead? ‘You should be dead.’

‘One last gift I accepted from my sister,’ Safaa - Scott - taps the ring on his left hand absent-mindedly. ‘A life of anonymity. I didn’t want to, but this is the only way we -’ Vidal holds both of Scott’s hand in his and rubs his knuckles - ‘can live as who we are.’

Well that’s new, Hank wants to say but decides that it’ll be a bad idea from how the room plunges into solemnity. He doesn’t write anything down, though. Hell knows who will access it. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘My sister’s side of the story is not mine to tell.’ He shivers. Reyes draws him close until the human is almost sitting on his lap to share body heat. ‘My side, however… in short, Father developed something back in the twenty-eight for my mother. She died before he managed to finish it, and for reasons which escaped me, he wanted to do the same to us.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Louis says. He sinks further into the couch, and the tea in his hand has probably gone cold.

Scott shakes his head. ‘No, don’t be. It’s a long time ago now. What you need to know, however, is that we haven’t been in contact with him for a few years at that point, and my father exploited my sister’s goodwill towards Mother to capture her at her funeral. She managed to warn us before we lost contact, and we went into hiding. That’s how I lost my legs properly.’

Kidnapping your daughter at her mum’s funeral? That’s just fucking disrespectful. And getting your son stuck in a wheelchair? Yeah, Hank is right to hate Alec Ryder. ‘How long did you hide?’

‘Not for long,’ a shake of his head. ‘We tried to reach my sister as soon as we heard about the hostage situation. SWAT didn’t let us in.’

‘Probably the only reason why you’re here,’ Louis says. ‘You know what happened next.��

A tense nod but no elaboration is given.

‘Exactly what did your dad do to your sister?’ Hank presses. ‘What happened to her later?’

‘For your first question, it isn’t ours to tell. But for the latter, she simply disappeared on us. We went for years without contact.’

‘“Went”?’

Both Vidal and Safaa keep their mouths shut, and it is when Louis excuses himself to refill the teapot that Hank realises Connor’s gaze is fixed on a photo on the coffee table. Before he can lecture the android on the importance of respecting others’ privacy, Connor has already picked up the frame. ‘Who is she?’ he asks, his LED spinning red.

‘You should have facial recognition software installed,’ says Vidal in lieu of answering. ‘You don’t recognise her?’

The android’s LED spins, spins and spins, staying stubbornly at an alarming red as if confused at why he can't get any results. Judging from the distressed look on his face, it isn't very far from the truth. ‘No,’ Connor admits, the tension in his body palpable. ‘Facial recognition indicates that all related information is classified. I attempted to cross-reference with the information available on the internet, but results remain inconclusive. Who is she?’

The silence that follows can be cut through with a knife. Taking a deep breath, it is Safaa who gives a reply.

‘That’s my sister,’ he says as he twists his fingers on top of the blanket. ‘She only let Amanda take it because I asked her to when she graduated from university. You recognise her from somewhere?’

Connor’s already-large eyes widen ever-so-slightly. He hastily puts down the frame and straightens his tie, the latter which Hank recognises as a way to compose himself. ‘You alright, Connor?’ he asks because this android is just so...different. Human.

‘Sara Ryder,’ Connor murmurs under his breath. His voice is shaking. ‘She is my creator.’

o0o0o

Before

RK800, serial #313 248 317 - 51 opened her eyes to dim, yellowish light. She felt as if there were weights in her limbs, her vision blurry, and there was a general feeling of wrongness threatening to take over her processors even though she couldn’t remember anything.

Then it hit her. The penthouse. The hostage. The girl. The deviant shooting her.

She was supposed to be dead.

She sat up abruptly, dizziness nearly overwhelming her, and everything that consisted of her body feels wrong - her weight, her curves, the press of fabric on the component between her legs, but she dared not stop, crashing onto the ground when her legs malfunctioned and crawled forward using her sluggish arms. One thing was certain: bad things would happen if she stopped moving.

She soon encountered a door, one of the old-fashioned kind with no electronic locks and required only keys to unlock, and when she pulled herself on her feet and turned the knob, she found it unlocked, and she threw her entire weight to push it open.

Big mistake. Sharp white light assaulted her still-sensitive eyes in league with a loud, high-pitched hum against her ears, and whatever vertigo she managed to shake off during their crawl returned tenfold. She fell onto her knees again, shutting her eyes and covering her ears whilst curling up into a fetal position on the cold, hard floor. Everything hurt: her eyes, her ears, her skin, her bones. She felt something warm sliding out from her eyes - she was crying.

A hand lifted her head and she tried to bat it away to no avail, the agonising hum torturing her again as soon as nothing stood between her audio receptors and her surroundings, and perhaps that was why she didn’t feel the headphones on her head until soft music chased the pain away. When she wanted to cover her eyes, she discovered a pair of glasses on her nose. She felt arms sliding underneath her knees and back, but being carried still came as a surprise, and she opened her eyes in shock. The sunglasses did wonders against the harsh light of the corridor, but it provided no protection against her analysis software going haywire, and in less than a second her HUD was overwhelmed with reports of failed scans (Name: [CLASSIFIED]. Date of Birth: [CLASSIFIED]) of her rescuer’s face. 

The banners remained despite her eyes being closed.

She only discovered that she was screaming and struggling when reports of damage in different areas - the voice box in particular - appeared before her vision. The [ABNORMAL THIRIUM FLOW] warning followed along with [UNAUTHORISED ACTIVATION OF BIOTICS], and she did not - could not - understand, everything was too much, why was she hurting everywHeR3?

She didn’t even have the power to resist the consciousness intruding her thoughts and her very being through - was that an interface? - whatever the other person’s doing. She tried to pull away, but disconnected from - from what? - she was trapped in a corner of her mind, and it was not like the intruder was listening to her begging for them to leave anyway.

This is the quickest way, their voice echoed in her mind. For the love of humanity, stop pushing me out.

RK800 found herself paralysed; whether with fear or with actual physical constraint, she did not know, because all she knew was that it was too much, she needed to leave, she had nowhere to go. The intruder’s consciousness wormed even deeper into her system, and she could not stand it anymore.

She shut down.

[theshapeshifter100]

Wolf and Raven Chapter 1

Been a while since I’ve done anything like this huh? Further explanations will be at the end.

Next

Masterlist

Snow always seemed to dampen noise. Even though there was some wind to be felt within the trees, it could barely be heard. It gently tossed snow and teased the edge of furs belonging to a figure with amber eyes just within the treeline. Watched the shore, waiting, hoping.

A black dot appeared on the horizon, getting larger and larger every second until a raven landed on the shore.

The figure within the tree line shot to their feet and began to walk out, only to pause as the raven changed shape.

Standing in the raven’s place was a woman, dark skin and hair with feathers intertwined with a braid at front and across the scalp. Clad in black clothing with a raven’s outstretched wings etched across her chest, and in one hand held a Staff of Power. Raven’s Staff of Power, but this was not the Raven the figure in the trees knew.

The woman turned slowly, scanning the water and the treeline, pausing only for a moment as her eyes landed on the hider’s position.

Finally, the person in the treeline left, trying to appear at ease as she approached. In contrast to the solid black of the woman on shore, this person had silvery hair tied back in a plait that poked out of her hood, dressed warmly in grey and white furs. She pulled down the fur lined cloak hood, appraising the newcomer with amber eyes, while a curved scar ran across her cheek.

“Did Raven send you?”

The woman clad in black narrowed her eyes a fraction. “I think you will find that I am Raven.”

“I see,” the woman in furs glanced at the Staff of Power in Raven’s hand. It was a bit more ornate than she remembered, perhaps to emulate the new holder. “My apologies Raven. Thank you for answering my call.”

“If it was your call I answered, then you must be Wolf?”

“I am she,” Wolf inclined her head slightly. “Welcome to my home.”

Raven scanned the snowy treeline behind them, nodding ever so slightly, her expression carefully schooled.

“I take it you were not expecting me,” Raven said, unreadable eyes meeting Wolf’s.

“I was not,” Wolf answered honestly. “I knew your predecessor, I was expecting him, if he came at all.”

“I hope to not disappoint.”

“I am sure that you will not,” Wolf smiled. “Are your Warriors on their way?”

“Aye. They will be here within the hour.”

“Excellent,” Wolf turned her gaze towards the water. “Please do not be insulted by them having to complete trials, the Giants wish to make their judgements.”

“I was expecting it,” Raven nodded, followed Wolf’s gaze.

Wolf nodded, folding her arms and shifting her weight slightly. The water was still as glass, reflecting the clear sky perfectly. Yet the wind still whipped by, catching whisps of hair that weren’t caught in the plait.

“Your message was not detailed,” Raven noted. “It merely asked for the help of Raven and the Warriors against a threat. What is happening here?”

Wolf took a deep breath. “I will explain in more detail once the Warriors arrive, but simply, the land is dying, and I believe that, Nevar, is behind it.”

Raven stiffened beside her before nodding. “Nevar is trapped in a desolate realm, but he seems to be able to influence this world from it, and move between at times.”

“I have seen his demons,” Wolf’s face twisted. “Whether Nevar is physically here is irrelevant. I can feel him. Like a rabbit feels the gaze of a hawk.”

Raven glanced up. “I feel it also.”

“It is worse the further you go into the forest,” Wolf shifted her weight again. “I hope that your Warriors are up to the task.”

“They will be.”

 ---

Raven’s timekeeping was excellent. An hour later four canoes had been pulled up onto shore and 16 Warriors were assembled. They were split into four groups of four, dressed in red, blue, green and white. They were the Stoats, the Bears, the Lynx and the Hawks, respectively.

Raven stepped towards them.

“Warriors,” she spoke. “Welcome to the Wilds of the North. We have been summoned here to aid in a great peril. Nevar and his forces have reached this place, and we will need your help to remove him,” she turned to look at Wolf. “This is Wolf, the one who summoned us here, she will provide more information.”

Wolf stepped forward, eying the Warriors. They were young, too young in her opinion. However their faces were determined and they held themselves with great confidence.

“I have sensed Nevar’s presence within this land for several weeks, and have heard word on the wind that he and his forces have set up a fortress in the heart of this forest,” Wolf cast her arm back to gesture to the trees behind her. “At the centre of this forest stands a mighty tree, which is the beating heart of these lands. Recently a dark corruption has spread from the heart, poisoning the creatures of this land.

“The rulers of this land, the Giants, also fear. For they are connected to this land as any of the trees, and this corruption is weakening them. They are the ones who asked for me to call for help, and they will be the ones testing you. They cannot risk the impure of heart reaching the Heart Tree.

“More shall be explained as time goes on, but for now we shall proceed to the leadership trials. Follow me.”

Wolf began to walk into the trees and Raven followed, the Warriors in single file behind.

The Leadership trials were simple, one physical and one mental challenge for each team. Above them the trees creaked and groaned and Wolf could feel the Giants watching, judging.

The Leaders were selected and Wolf stepped forward.

“Congratulations Warriors, your leaders have been selected. Heed them well. Leaders, look out for you team, guide them well. The Giant’s Trials will begin tomorrow, so I suggest you get plenty of rest. I shall report back to the Giants, and reconvene with you all in the morrow. Goodnight.”

Wolf stepped away from the group, changing into a grey wolf before loping off into the forest.

Raven watched the Warriors set up camp until she noticed the purple glow coming the Raven’s Eye. With a quick excuse she walked into the trees, away from camp, and summoned Raven of Old.

A man in a black feathered mantle and black cloak, black hair and beard appeared from purple smoke.

“Is everything proceeding as planned?” he asked.

“The Warriors have arrived safely and have selected their leaders. They will be ready for the challenges that await them.”

Raven of Old nodded. “And Wolf?”

“She has been helpful. She is advising the Warriors and acting as liaison for the Giants.”

Raven of Old looked away briefly before looking back at Raven. “I suggest that you be careful around her. Do not trust her.”

“Why? Do you not trust her?”

Raven of Old levelled his gaze at Raven, eyes peering right through her. “She has betrayed me before. Keep your eye on her.”

“I understand,” Raven tilted her head ever so slightly.

Raven of Old nodded in approval before looking around the snow covered trees. “This is a strange land, with many enemies. I will do my best to gather information on Nevar’s forces from the desolate realm. Keep your wits about you young Raven, and may the luck of the Raven’s Eye be with you.”

“Thank you Raven,” Raven nodded, before Raven of Old disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

For a moment, Raven let the mask slip, uncertainty flitting across her face before squaring her shoulders and walking back to camp.

Wolf meanwhile had run to the outskirts of the forest, where the trees gave way to the grey rock and scrubby grass of the mountain foothills. She sat for a moment, tongue lolling as she caught her breath, before tilting her head back and howling.

By the time the first echo had faded, the rocks in front of her had moved, shifting and twisting until they resembled one, massive, foot.

The sky darkened above her as the mountain moved, and a rocky hand lowered, each finger the width of a canoe. Wolf stepped onto the hand and settled in the palm as it rose up again. She shifted to human as the hand brought her higher, and stood up when the hand juddered to a halt.

A face loomed in the clouds, craggy lips as long as a tree was tall and eyes more than twice the size of Wolf’s head. The skin was the colour of the rock, in fact it was the rock. These weren’t mountains, but the sleeping Giants themselves.

“Reeeepoooort,” the Giant rumbled like thunder.

“The Warriors show promise, they have selected their leaders from the trials, and will be ready for the challenges you bring in the morning.”

“Aaaand the Daaark Oooone?”

“There was no sign of him. Your wards around the trials were effective.”

“Gooood. The Raaaaven whoooo iiiis nooot a raaaaven, hooooow faaaaress sheee?”

“She appears to fare well. She was not who I expected, but I will take what help I can get.”

“Gooood. Reeest liiiittle Woooolf. Theee fooorest groooows daaarkeerrr eeeaach daaaay.”

“I will. I know.”

The hand began to lower her back to the ground, and once down Wolf began to hike back to her own camp.

---

A/N

So, hi. Been a while since I actually posted something here that wasn’t The Watch AU related, huh?

It's not that I haven't been writing, just not anything that's finished, and you all know I don't like to start posting stuff unless the whole thing is finished.So, this is still fanfiction. This is fanfiction for the series Raven, from CBBC. If you've never heard of it, it's a medieval themed gameshow that I grew up with that aired from 2002-2010 with the og Raven (here as Raven of Old), played by James Mackenzie, and returned for 2 series in 2017-2018 with a new Raven played by Aisha Toussaint, with Raven of Old popping in in a similar manner to what was in this chapter.

This is going to be in the style of the story based spin-offs (Raven: The Island, Raven: The Secret Temple, and Raven: The Dragon's Eye), with less focus on the contestants/Warriors and more on the acted characters. I had this idea around 2009 and recently got reminded of it and wanted to make it half decent. Obviously when I first thought of this, James Mackenzie was still playing Raven all the time and there was not even a hint of Aisha Toussaint's Raven, but there you go.

Wolf is my OC in all of this, and the Giants and the Land to the North are my own concept, but Nevar and both Ravens are canon to the Raven universe.

Thank you to @fairyofsomething for reading this over for me!

Giant Speech not elongated

“Report,”

“And the Dark One?”

“Good. The Raven who is not a raven, how fares she?”

“Good. Rest little Wolf. The forest grows darker each day.”

[squidbatts]

to be charming and smart and disarming

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed, and Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

or: four lies calroy purposefully told (and one time he told the truth by accident)

((i once again return with an offering of this super niche au. warnings for fratricide, non graphic violence, poisoning, and calroy-typical manipulation. please enjoy!))

{ao3}

one.

Liam Wilhelmina is a slight boy, all of his mother's sweetness and none of his father's strength, and he flinches when Calroy asks him if he’s enjoying Castle Candy.

“It’s nice,” He says, then, quick like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble, “Not that I don’t miss my family! I love the Mountains, I love my mom, it’s just… my brothers…” He sighs and trails off. Calroy puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps his posture open, warm and supportive and very interested in what Liam might say about his brothers, if it’ll match the rumors of unrest that Calroy’s heard. Regretfully, Liam just turns his over-wide eyes up at Calroy and asks, “Do you have siblings?”

“I did, once. Seven big brothers,” Calroy offers, holding back a satisfied smirk when Liam perks up; few things are immediately bonding as being the youngest, and Calroy’s sure that he’s won Liam over. “But, you know, a lot of things changed during the War.”

(~~~)

Loose ends need to be cut, and there is no looser end for Calroy than his family. Not that there’s much to clean up: his father and second brother died of sickness when Calroy was still young, the War took four more of them, and his mother disappeared shortly before Calroy joined the War effort himself, when stories of Ceresia closing in began to drift to their town. He’s always imagined that she, widowed and miserable, went back to beg shelter with her Ceresian family, but Calroy doesn’t particularly care what happened to her as long as she stays away from him. Which, of course, leads him to his current issue.

“Aren’t you going to even pretend to be happy to see your favorite brother?” Delroy asks, grinning like he didn’t show up unannounced after three years of radio silence. Luckily, Calroy was able to keep him away from Amethar and convince him to go back to his inn rather than speak in the Castle, but it’s still a headache. They sit in a darkened corner of the inn’s tavern and Calroy tries to ignore the stickiness of his seat and the smell of wet fur and stale cola that permeates the room.

“What do you want.” Calroy says, voice flat. It’s not a question, because he knows what his brother wants, what anyone raised with the values of his mother would want from their newly royal sibling. He just wants to make Delroy say it out loud.

Delroy leans back and takes a long pull from his drink, eyes darting around Calroy’s clothes, lavish even when he’s actively dressing down. Delroy, on the other hand, looks much the same as he did when they were younger -- meticulously patched clothes in cheap fabrics, hair long and unruly, thick scar from a harvesting accident slicing the line of his jaw and immobilizing the left corner of his mouth.

“What do you think I want? My baby brother’s the Prince of Candia, aren’t I allowed to come calling for a little royal assistance?”

“And what do you mean by that?” Calroy asks instead of leaving, even though he hates the look in Delroy’s eyes; it’s all entitlement and surety, like he thinks this is acceptable and that Calroy owes him something just because he’s sixteen minutes older than Calroy.

“A title, ideally,” Delroy says. Mead sloshes out of his flagon when he slams it back on the table, looking at Calroy with twinkling eyes. “Or, you know, we are nearly identical. I bet if I cut my hair and got all dolled up like you, your loverboy wouldn’t even know the- urk.”

Calroy’s dagger is out and between Delroy’s ribs before Calroy even realizes he’s moving, and Calroy’s mouth falls open with shock at the same time that Delroy’s does. Delroy’s wide eyes start to go unfocused but he keeps them on Calroy’s as his mouth twitches back into that infuriating smile.

“Yeah, should’ve known that was a shade too far,” He says weakly, lips flecked with blood, “You always were the most like mom.”

Calroy’s face falls into a scowl at the comparison. He lifts a hand to cover Delroy’s mouth before twisting the blade and pulling it out. He feels his brother’s breath slow and eventually stop, and then he wipes his dagger on Delroy’s shirt, leans back, and picks up Delroy’s drink.

He can spare the time for a calming drink because from anywhere else in the room it will just look like Delroy’s passed out drunk. And, even if it didn’t, who’d accuse the Prince of Candia of murdering his kin?

--

two.

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed. Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

“Your uncle saved my life during the war,” Calroy says. He pushes Jet’s eager little head down onto her pillow and presses a kiss to her hairline, ignoring her complaints and doing the same to Ruby as he crosses the room. “Maybe, if you're both good little princesses who don’t try to sneak into the armory tonight, I’ll tell you the story tomorrow.”

(~~~)

There are many differences between selling weapons to Ceresia and leading Ceresian troops into Candian territory, but the main one for Calroy is that he signed up for one of those things, and most emphatically did not for the other. And yet, here he is, leading five soldiers towards the Candian camp. The soldiers are the worst kind, tall and broad-shouldered, looking down their noses at Calroy even though they need him, and they keep talking. They’re not particularly loud but in the dead of night and the middle of a war, any unnecessary noise is too much.

“We’re getting close, you should quiet down,” Calroy says, and the leader of the group snorts.

“No offense, sweetheart, but we know how to run an ambush.”

Then why did you make me lead you in here, Calroy doesn’t say. He just grips the dagger in his fist a little tighter, imagines the way it’d feel to remove the man’s tongue from his mouth, and reminds himself what the offered payout for this mission is. They get within twenty feet of the camp when Calroy hears the sound of sure, steady footsteps heading towards them. He tries to gesture for the soldiers to stop but they ignore him and walk directly into the path of Prince Amethar Rocks.

Fuck, Calroy thinks just as Prince Amethar says, “What the hell?”

It’s a lucky break for Prince Amethar, Calroy thinks as he tries to figure out an action plan -- wherever he had been coming from, his sword was already in hand, while Calroy’s companions were cocky enough to not even be on alert. It’s barely accurate to call it a fight with how thoroughly Prince Amethar destroys the Ceresians. When Prince Amethar is done and the bodies lay on the ground, he turns towards Calroy. Calroy stealthily drops his dagger and steps out of the shadows, endeavoring to look as harmless as possible.

“Hey, you’re one of ours, right?” Prince Amethar asks, lowering his sword like being on the same side has ever protected anyone.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Calroy says, hoping that the prince won’t follow foreign soldiers in my camp and Candian I’ve never met before to the correct conclusions.

Prince Amethar’s brow furrows and he looks Calroy up and down. He frowns. “You shouldn’t go out without your sword. You could’ve been in real trouble with those guys if I hadn’t come along!”

Calroy’s face slackens in disbelief, just for a second, before he fixes it into something appropriately appreciative. “You’re absolutely right, Your Highness, you’ve saved my life today.”

“Ha, guess I did,” Prince Amethar grins disarmingly. Calroy is caught off guard for the third time that night. “Anyway, enough of the ‘your highness’ stuff, alright? Just call me Amethar.”

“I- okay, Amethar,” Calroy says, enjoying the way the word rolls off his tongue, how Prince Amethar Rocks’ foolish trust tastes in his mouth. “But only if you’ll call me Calroy.”

--

three.

“My job is to guard the king.” Theobald Gumbar says even as he obediently follows Calroy, tone professional and steady like he spent hours in front of the mirror practicing it. It’s admirable, Calroy thinks, that Sir Theobald is still trying his stoic, stuck-up best to be respectful despite his obvious dislike of Calroy.

“Your job is to be Lord Commander of the Tartguard, which means that the protection of Castle Candy and everyone in Candia rests in your hands,” He pauses, lets that really sink in. Sir Theobald values nothing more than honor and responsibility, even when those duties require him to take orders from Calroy. “I applaud your dedication to the King but I assure you, Sir Theobald, that all that I do is for the preservation of House Rocks.”

(~~~)

Calroy prefers assassinations to ambushes, doesn’t like the mess or the dramatics of brute force attacks, which is why he only brings Sir Theobald along when he needs to seem dangerous; Calroy is more lethal on his own then his husband’s teddy bear of a favorite knight could ever be, but every minor lord in Calorum doesn’t need to know that. He has his own personal Tartguardsman, of course, but Sir Quincy doesn’t cut as imposing a figure as Theobald, and Calroy needs imposing when he visits House Whipperly.

Lady Valencia Whipperly is a fierce figure, with a swirl of white hair and the kind of posture that's bred into old Candian nobility, stubborn and proud and the only thing blocking the ratification of Calroy’s trade proposal with Fructera. To Lady Whipperly’s credit, the trade proposal isn’t great for Candia; the tariffs are too great for it’s few benefits but it will mean that at least three Fructeran nobles will owe Calroy a personal debt, and Calroy cares more about collecting favors than he does about Candian merchants, as does most of the Candian Court. Calroy doesn’t understand why Lady Whipperly won’t get with the program, but that’s why he’s come to visit Lady Whipperly’s less impressive, more easily swayed partner -- Ruthie Nougallo. She welcomes them with grace but Calroy can see her hands tremble as she politely curtseys to him.

“My apologizes, Your Highness, but my wife won’t be back for quite a few days,” Ruthie says as she leads Theobald and Calroy to her parlor. Calroy waves a hand dismissively and grins, just sharp enough to be scary.

“You misunderstand, I’ve come to speak to you,” Calroy says as he sits on one of the room’s couches. Ruthie’s legs begin to shake as well. “You see, I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?”

“Mhm. Sir Theobald, the door if you’d please?” The look Theobald sends Calroy could freeze lava cake, but he goes nonetheless, far enough away that he won’t be able to truly hear Calroy with the bonus of blocking the room’s only exit with his size. Ruthie settles down next to Calroy when he pats the couch but she's nervously shooting looks at Theobald the whole time. Calroy grins. “Now, I understand that you alone can sway that lovely wife of yours. She’s a bit stubborn, hm?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t be silly, dear, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Calroy says, patronizing enough that Ruthie flinches, “Let me tell you a secret: my husband is a bit stubborn too.”

Ruthie’s eyes widen but she smiles, just a bit. Hook. “Is he?”

“Yes. Sometimes, even if he knows that something will be good for us, he's refuses it just because he doesn’t want to change his original opinion. I’m sure you know how that is.”

“Oh, absolutely! Last month, a Fructeran noble sent us some wonderful looking wine but Valencia refused it because she thought it was a bribe,” Ruthie says, leaning in conspiratorially. Line.

“What a shame! You know, good wine is so difficult to get these days. It would be easier if I could get approval on a trade deal with Fructera, but,” Calroy sighs deeply, almost too dramatic for his tastes but Ruthie eats it right up. “Your Valencia isn’t a fan of it. It’s really a tragedy, just imagine all the delicacies we could get shipped in if we had a true trade deal with Fructera. Why, House Rocks could have wine and fruitcake at every session of Court!”

“Every session of court…” Ruthie licks her lips almost absentmindedly and her smile grows. Sinker. “I’ll talk to Valencia. I’m sure I can bring her around on this.”

Calroy claps once, lets his true sense of accomplishment show in his smile. “Wonderful! I just knew you would be reasonable, Ruthie.”

--

four.

“You almost had me that time,” Amethar says as he offers Calroy a hand up. The training yard is deserted except for the two of them, no one else wanting to brave the stifling heat of the midday sun for something as exhausting as sparring. Amethar, of course, flourishes in situations like this, unflustered and delighted even with sweat dripping down his sharp jaw. “Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”

Calroy uses wiping his sweat as an excuse to hide the annoyed twist of his brow. Trust his King to not leave well enough alone. “Oh, you know, here and there. Mostly the war.”

(~~~)

Calroy's days in Muffinfield Manor go like this: he wakes up, he runs through sword forms with Lord Cruller before dawn, he helps Lady Cruller plan events or take notes in meetings for the majority of the day, then eats a meager dinner alone in his room and goes to bed. When House Cruller put out a notice looking for a page, Calroy jumped at the opportunity: anything, truly anything, would be better than another season sweating through his clothes as he worked his family’s fields. And here, he has his own room, his own space, and the affection of the Crullers, who desperately needed an outlet for their parental instincts after their daughter and only heir ran away months ago.

It’s all worked out exceptionally well for Calroy, especially when it comes to his swordsmanship training.

“Your stance is too stiff,” Lord Cruller says, rapping his sword against Calroy’s locked knee. Calroy obediently bends, tries to recall and perfectly mimic the flowing movements that Lord Cruller has shown him, but the man’s sigh tells him that he’s failed. “I can hear you thinking, boy. You’re too stuck in your head. Don’t be too worried about the next move to get started on this one.”

“Sorry, Lord Cruller,” Calroy says, rote. Lord Cruller sighs again.

“You're too defensive. Someone with the brawn to back it up can stay still and let their opponent wear themselves out, but for a little thing like you? The best defense is a good offense. You have to move, kid,” Lord Cruller punctuates his words with a firm pat to the center of Calroy’s back, causing Calroy to stumble forward from the force. “Strike faster than they can strike you. In this world, it’s either eat or be eaten.”

“Yes, Lord Cruller, thank you, Lord Cruller,” Calroy dutifully replies, and he holds the advice close to his chest as he tips the poison his mother sent into Lord Cruller’s goblet that evening. Strike first, strike fast, and no one else can hurt you.

--

truth.

Far-flung countryman, I have received news of your upcoming nuptials. I know I have encouraged you to lean into his affection in the past, and even now I think of how easily all of this can be woven into our plans, but I can't help but wonder how quickly affairs of the heart can sour. Have you any worry that things could become messy for you?

Worry is the furthest thing from my mind, as I have apt reason to believe that he is firmly devoted to me. Yesterday morning, he called me the “guiding light of his life” simply because I recalled a name for him. It’s almost too easy at this point.

And what of you, friend? Have you become similarly attached to our dear Stone?

(~~~)

Calroy huffs a quiet laugh as he reads Senator Ciabatta’s most recent note in the halls of Castle Candy, delivered to him moments ago by a particularly harried and nervous-looking messenger. Calroy should technically be in his bedroom right now -- a lovely advisor’s suite near the guests’ wing, almost halfway across the castle -- but he welcomed today’s dawn from inside the King’s chambers and he can only imagine how many places the poor boy checked before deciding to risk insulting the King, the honor of the King’s intended, and possibly the entirety of the Court.

Not, Calroy muses as he returns to Amethar’s bedroom, that Calroy’s honor needs any protection; besides that fact that he’s no blushing maiden, Amethar invited Calroy back to his room for simple cuddling. Even when Calroy tried to initiate more, Amethar had simply turned heated kisses into slow and soft things that made Calroy’s stomach turn with their sweetness, yawned and took Calroy’s hand in his own when Calroy began to slide it down Amethar’s chest, wrapped his heavy arm around Calroy’s waist only to pull him close enough that Calroy could hear the steady beat of Amethar’s heart and feel the rumble of his every snore. Even now, a shiver runs down Calroy’s spine at the memory, mouth twisting with- well, with annoyance, mostly, and confusion. Who invites their intended to their rooms and then refuses to sleep with him? Amethar Rocks was truly, bafflingly ridiculous, even if his fondness for Calroy was extraordinarily useful. It’s with that in mind that he stops at Amethar’s desk to pen a quick response to Ciabatta.

My dear ally, have you not heard? I am the Stone’s dearest friend, and he is the love of my life. It’s all people can talk of these days. I thank you for your concern but I assure you, I will be fine, Calroy writes, underlining with a flourish. He hopes Ciabatta will get a laugh from the glimpse of how the Candian Court sees Calroy, as Calroy does every time he hears someone whispering about the romance of him and Amethar. He folds the letter for later just as Amethar groans from the bed.

“Cal?” He calls, voice sleep-rough and eyes only half-open. Calroy crosses the room in easy steps and settles himself on the edge of the bed, allowing Amethar to lay his head across Calroy’s lap. “Where’d you go?”

Calroy slants a hand over Amethar’s eyes to protect them from the weak sunlight spilling into the room and Amethar hums in appreciation. Something in Calroy’s chest tightens, like a gourdian knot that he can't begin to consider untying. “There was a letter to receive.”

“Court stuff?” Amethar asks, tone not quite whining but close enough that Calroy’s eye almost twitches. He hums noncommittally and pretends to listen as Amethar complains about how early in the morning he is expected to begin working.

A little lie, after all, never hurt anyone.