#also if this like. ends up leaving my circle of followers please nobody add pictures of dogs i have got a phobia. thanks

[spidermanifested]

alright im doing it

[fan-girling-101]

Switched

Request by Anonymous: Hello can I please request a imagine where the ready has a twin sister and they decided to switch and see how long it takes everyone to notice. The reader is also dating JJ!! Thank you!!

JJ Maybank X Reader

Summary: Request^

Warnings: Swearing, underage drinking, slight rape just a little bit sorta

Word count: 2880

The twin Sadie, her nickname by Rafe is Die I hope someone gets the reference. Also thank you so so so much for my first request I was so happy. Please continue sending them in. And I’m very slow at updating so sorry in advance if I take a long time to respond. 

Part two

Not edited sorry for mistakes 

When me and my twin sister Sadie where younger we’d switch places all the time. I was amusing being someone else for the short time we’d do it. As we got older it stopped happening as much until the last time we did it was grade 6. The two of us have lived on the rich side of the Outerbanks our whole life The rich people were never my scene though, so I made friends with the pogues. I was closest to JJ out of everyone in the group and slowly I found myself falling for the blond headed idiot. And somehow that’s how I ended up here, two months into dating JJ but scheming with my sister.

“Come on Sadie just for a little bit.” I pleaded with her, between the two of us Sadie was always the level headed and calm sister. It was my idea in the first place to switch places back in kindergarten.

“I am NOT kissing JJ.” Was the main argument to why she didn’t want to do it.

“I don’t want you to kiss him. He’s my boyfriend, it’s not like I’m going to kiss Rafe the lo-” I got cut off with a hand over my mouth. The love of your life was the ending to that sentence. Sadie doesn’t like talking about it but she’s in love with Rafe Cameron.

“If we do this you need ground rules.” She states looking around my room for the notebook we would write the rules in everytime. She finds the dark read notebook on the bottom of my bookshelf and grabs a random pen from my desk. “1. No kissing anyone. I won’t kiss JJ and you don’t kiss you know who.” she says gesturing with her hand.

“I’m never going to kiss Voldemort.” I joke as she starts in her effortlessly perfect handwriting.

“Your so funny I might die of laughter.” Her bitch face on as she glares at me. “2. Don’t make and life altering decisions.” I nod along thinking of what else to add.

“4.” “What about 3 stupid.” “3 is a stupid number I don’t like it. 4. I pick what you wear and vice versa.” She starts writing it down writing three instead of four. “I think that’s it. There’s a bonfire tonight at John B’s tonight wanna start then?”

“Yea that’s good I’m supposed to go over to Sarah’s. And take a picture of it because if you do anything wrong I’m going to kill you and throw you in the marsh.”

“And remember no kissing ya know.”

Day one

Y/N’s Pov

Sadie dressed me in a white summer dress and I took her car over to the Camerons. When I park outside of the huge house I text Sarah to let me in. I pull down the sun visor and open the mirror looking at my appearance with the light make up and my Y/H/C slightly curled. 

“Your name is Sadie Y/L/N, your 16 and in love with Rafe Cameron.” I take a breath getting in the mindset of my twin. “I can totally do this.” I hop out the car making it to the first step when Sarah opens the door. “Hey.”

“Hi you know you don’t have to tell me you’re here. You just walk in.” She opens the door wider so I can slip through. I awkwardly laugh nodding my head unsure what to do. “Go up to my room I’ll get snacks.” 

I walk up the stairs trying to remember where her room is. I’ve only been here a few times before Midsummers so we could all get ready together. I look both ways before deciding on going right. I get to the door I think is Sarah’s opening it praying to God I was right. But God decided on taking a vacation, instead of the light purple walls I was hoping for I got grey ones instead. 

“Fuck!” I hear, the person in the room faces me calming down once he sees who opened the door. “God Die what the hell. Next time knock, and what are you even doing here.” 

“Umm.... I’m lost. I think my brain stopped working I thought this was Sarah’s room.” I say looking around the room my eyes landing on a white substance on the desk he stood up from. “What’s that.” I ask hoping it’s not what I think it is and Sadie’s crush is a druggie.

“Nothing, two four doors down.” I slowly nob. closing the door trying to forget what I ‘didn’t’ just see. “And Die you didn’t see anything ok.” I nod again opening the right door this time sitting waiting for Sarah.

Sadie’s POV

“Hey princess.” JJ greats me as I get out of Putt Putt Y/N’s car. His hand finds its way to my denim clad hip from the shorts Y/N put me in. I really just want to push his hand off me, this is my sister boyfriend for God sake. He leans down to press him lips to mine but i turn my head his lips landing on my cheek instead. 

“Hi.” I wave to the rest of them pulling away from JJ. I try to ignore the stare coming from the blond as I sit in one of the lawn chairs. The sun was going down as I got here Y/N telling me what time to leave and what to wear before heading out way earlier to the Camerons. 

“Late as always Y/N/N.” John B shakes his head sipping the beer in his hand. Never once has my sister been early for anything and it stresses me out so much I don’t know how she does it. 

“It’s called being fashionably late Booker. But you wouldn’t get that would you?” I laugh knowing that was something she would say to her best friends. JJ sits beside me still staring so I turn to face him giving him a smile, he relaxes a little bit wrapping an arm around my shoulders. My or Y/N’s phone rings in her backpack I grab it out seeing the text from ‘My Person’, it was what we agreed on for our contact names after we repeatedly binged Grey’s.

                                                   My person

Bro what do you and S talk about????

                                                                       The latest drama at school

Sooo....                                                                                                        What is the latest drama

                                                  God do we even go to the same school                                                                           Immanuel P. kissed Madison B.

Seriously!! 

In a few hours it hits midnight and I was freezing. The cropped AC/DC shirt and shorts doing nothing against the cold autumn air. The night of Autumn in the Outerbanks were always so cold for a place that’s supposed to be hot. The fire was helping but I wanted something more. I got up to check Putt Putt for one of Y/N’s hoodies but I was pulled back landing on JJ’s lap a small shriek leaving my lips. 

“Were you going Princess.” His arms tightly around my waist while my arms go around his neck. His eyes staring into mine with nothing but adoration. I was happy that Y/N had someone in her life that loved her, but the way he looked at me thinking I was my sister makes me want to tell them a little . But I have to admit this is so fun.

“I’m cold and just going to find a hoodie.” He still doesn’t let go, instead one hand moves off my waist to grab something beside him. In his hand is know a black hoodie that would be way too big for me but as he hands it to me I slip it over my head. “Thanks.”

“You ok, you seem, I don’t know... off.” 

“I’m fine.” I give him a reassuring smile but I can she he doesn’t buy it.

“Are you sure you know you can tell anything right.” His thumb starts rubbing circles on the exposed skin under my shirt. I am so taking a long bath when I get home. I like JJ, it’s not like I hate Pogues or anything it just weird though.

“I 100 percent fine J, if something was wrong I’d tell you, you know that”

“Yea I do.”

Day 2

Sadie’s POV

Nothing was happening with the pogues today so I got an off day, but then I had to go and say something I wish I didn’t. 

                                              🥰My Surfer Boy🥺

You doing anything                                                                                      Can I come over 

                                                    Sadie is dragging me to a kook party

Well then I’ll just have to score an invite

Now JJ wasn’t going to stop till he could come which wouldn’t be hard as Sarah was inviting John B.

Y/N POV 

We pick out each others clothes before going to the party at Topper’s. I go to find Sarah lookinaroundud for the blonde. But instead of finding that blond I see Sade and JJ, his arm wrapped around my sister making me jealous. 

“Hey Die.” A voice says right behind me making me jump not at all expecting Rafe. He chuckles at me reaction before handing me a drink.

“What’s in it.” I ask, Sadie doesn't normally drink so I don’t know if I should take a sip of the dark liquor. “Trust me.” Is all he says back. I take whiff smelling how strong it is. Me personally would never trust Rafe, but this is Sadie not Y/N. I take a cautious sip. The second I take a sip I almost gag at how strong it is. I could handle alcohol but that is to much. Rafe starts laughing so I grab the front of his shirt and pour the rest down his chest.

“Hey Hey.” he pushes me back but it’s to late his shirt now had a dark stain on the front. “Okay maybe I deserved that.” He shakes his head at mumbling something about changing his shirt. There was a tug on my arm and I was faced with myself, well my sister. JJ behind her laughing putting his hand up for me to high five. Which I did.

“What are you doing. I would never do that.” She scolds me in a whisper so JJ won’t hear. When we switched Sadie was very serious about staying discreet. 

“Well I can’t kiss him as you what do you want me to do?” I laugh as she scoffs walking away JJ following behind her still laughing.

Day 4

Sadie’s POV

Four days nobody really suspected anything, well other than JJ he keeps asking if I ok. And I’ve had to dodge every kiss he tried to give me, and when I tell you JJ loves kiss Y/N it’s an understatement. It was the night of a boneyard kegger hosted by the pogues. 

I was chatting with Kie about turtles when a very drunk Kelce came over. He slung his arm around my shoulder, his drink spilling out of his cup and onto Y/N’s favorite shirt. I never really liked Kelce he just made me uncomfortable. Any time I saw Rafe, Topper and him out I’d always say hi, bothe Rafe and Topper would respond with a hi while Kelce would look me up and down before saying anything.

“Hey babygirl. God you don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of fucking you are you sister, to have the two of you under me screaming my name. Why don’t we make it reality.” He drops his mostly full cup silling it on the converse I was wearing. His hand going to my waist and his lips attaching to my neck.

“Get off me! Stop!” Suddenly he was ripped off me. JJ’s fist colliding with his face. Kie grabs my hand asking if I was okay. I nod hopping into the van. Soon enough John B, Pope and JJ came to the van, JJ sitting right beside me wrapping me in his arms hugging me as no one said anything. 

“I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to punch him in the face for him to stop.” JJ said as we park at John B’s. I grab my phone leaving the van before it’s fully stopped I ran inside Dialing my number. 

“Yo Sade how’s life on the cut.”

“Were you ever going to tell me about Kelce.” I ask angrly pacing around the small bathroom.

“About that.” She nervously laughs not continuing. “Maybe should've warned you Kelce is in love with us before you went to the party.”

In Love with us! Y/N he tried to have sex with me!.”

“I know.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

Day 5

Y/N’s POV

I was at a small party just some friends over and some games at Sarah’s. We were all sitting in the living room talking about all the drama at school which I knew nothing about. A hour in Rafe and some of his guys friends walked in. Just as Sarah was going to tell them to leave Carmella asked them to stay, while practically eye fucking the kook king himself. Instead of walking over to the girl begging for his attention he sat beside me on the couch. I put Sadie’s phone I was currently texting her on so she could keep up with everything down.

“Nice to see you here Die.” 

“Hi Rafey.” I replied back using the nickname I usually call him. He rolls his eye as Carmella sits basically on top of him and starts a conversation about some boring kook thing. I felt bad for Sadie if this is what she has to deal with. “Come on. We’re out of snacks.” I grab his hand pulling him with me to the kitchen.

“Why do I have to come.” He whines like a baby as we get into the hallway, but follows even when I let go of his hand.

“Because I need help getting snacks.” JJ please forgive me for what I’m about to do. I grab the front of his expensive polo shirt putting my lips to his. He starts to kiss back but I pull away grabbing Oreos and walking back to the living room. Soon Rafe walks in clearly shocked of what just happened in the kitchen. Rule one and two broken. Oops.

Sadie’s POV

After hours of sitting in the sun on the boat I’m practically dying. I mean sure living in Obx you get used to the heat but someone turn the heat down. JJ has been asking me nonstop questions about things which I find weird but I answer.

What star sign are you? Virgo

Who’s the president? Trump

How many states are there? 50

9x7? 63

Our favorite thing to do together? Surf

What does www mean? World wide web

What university are you going to? UNC

Dream job? Not sure

I was confused what was happening the Pogues all asked what JJ was doing but he just said nothing.

“Sadie.”

“Yea-shit.”

“HA I knew it.” JJ jumped up startling everyone. I sighed, everytime it was always me that messes up if people find out. 

“How did you find out. Was it that I knew was www meant?” I question texting Y/N to get to John B’s. As we pulled up to the dock Kie got out laughing that I should be an actress. 

“No it’s that you answered 9x7 so fast. Also next time dream job is opening a surf shop together.”

Y/N’s POV

When I show up I knock on the door fiddling with my fingers. The door opens with the blond headed, blue eyed boy kissing me. He wraps his arms tightly around my back like he hasn’t kissed my in forever. I giggled kissing his nose wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Took you long enough. Five days surfer boy, gotta do better next time.” I push past him into the Chateau. “Hey guys miss me.” They shake the heads at me calling us crazy.

“I just thought it was that time of the month or something.” JJ said wrapping his arms around my torso resting his head on my head. I hit the back of his head causing him to playfully bite my ear. “Don’t ever do that again I was worried you were mad at me.” He looks between me and Sadie and I turn to face him giving his a salute.

I sit beside Sadie whispering in her ear that I kissed Rafe earlier tonight. “WHAT!” She jumps up. “You broke rule one and two!!! I have to go fix what you messes up now!”

“I didn’t break rule four though.”

“I hate you!” She runs out of the house starting up her car and driving off to the Camerons.

Later that night I’m curled into JJ on the bed in the room he claimed as our. The shirt he was wearing now over my shoulders enclosing me in the smell and heat that is JJ Maybank. My head on his chest listening to the rhythmic heartbeat. In the five days without JJ this is one of the things I missed most. His smell was just intoxicating and his arms tightly around me felt safe.

“Oh JJ I may have kissed Rafe.”

______________________________________________________________

Part two

[until-we-fall-in-love]

la volpe

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader, slight Marta Cabrera x Reader

Summary: You and Ransom have a complicated relationship.

Warnings: Smut, slightly dub-con because Ransom is an asshole, slightly unhealthy relationship, mild bdsm, rough sex.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello everyone!! no one asked for this and yet here it is!! i hate ransom!! but alas, now i have this smutty fic of him so lmao enjoy?? also i’m physically incapable of writing ana de armas and not making it somehow romantic im so sorry i just have too big of a crush on her and marta

let me know what you thought of this!!!

***

The musical clinking of glasses and cutlery is soft against the piano twinkling in the background. The lights are low and glowing, candles and sparkling, dim-lit chandeliers overhead. The restaurant is dark and lavish, velvet and smelling rich and spiced and enticing. Wine is placed before you, plum and bitter berry tasting. It’s fine and expensive and you swirl it delicately in your sparkling glass. 

Your eyes flicker up to the man across from you, seated casually, leaning back in his chair with broad shoulders covered in a black, finely knit sweater. It’s expensive, you can tell simply by looking at it. Designer, you’re sure. You know his shoes have blood red bottoms. He drips wealth still, smug as ever, handsome as ever. 

“You look good.” He says with a smile curling at his lips. 

You take a sip of wine. Your back is straight, the black, cashmere turtle-neck clinging to your figure. The delicate, ruby earrings glint under the low light, your hair pulled back elegantly. 

Of course you look good.

“What do you want, Ransom?” You ask, setting the glass down carefully. You study him with cutting eyes, skeptical, but composed. 

“Can’t I take my girl out to a nice dinner?” He asks, his eyes glimmering. 

“Haven’t been your girl in months.” You counter, drum your crimson colored nails against your glass. You grow impatient, sigh lightly and glance away from him.  

“C’mon, don’t be like that, princess.” He croons all low and soft, leaning forward onto the table. You like when his eyes flash like that, sincere for you. Just on the right side of desperate. He deserves it, since it’s been months since you’d last heard from him. 

You’re actually certain he has a new girl on his arm now. 

And you want to make him squirm a little. 

You roll your eyes at him, at the way he tries to butter up to you with the nice dinner and a few compliments. You know he wants something. He always wants something and the gleam in his eyes is too sharp and pretty. Greedy, greedy man that would gorge himself on you, on this life, if you’d let him. 

You bite your lip, watch as his eyes track the movement like a predator. 

He at least needs to work for it.

“I could be doing a thousand other things right now, Ransom. Why am I out to dinner with you?” You ask instead, your lashes fluttering prettily as your eyes land on him once more. Your features are aloof and cold and haughty. It makes his blood boil, you can see it in the curl of his lips. 

He huffs lightly, “Oh, yeah, busy Harvard graduate student, isn’t that right?” His voice is just shy of a sneer when he asks, “How’s the dissertation going, kitten?” 

“Well, thank you.” 

You look down your nose at him as his own eyes settle into a glare. The blue of his eyes burns and smolders, bright and sparking on you. Your gazes are as sharp as knives, gleaming and ready to gut each other. 

You wait until he relents, takes this loss to hopefully get a win. He lowers his eyes with another breath, concedes. 

He’ll give you another compliment, maybe reach across the table to touch you. Then he’ll ask you for what he needs. 

“I am glad to hear that.” He says smoothly, “I know how much it means to you. I’m sure it’s incredible.” And he offers you an earnest look, the one you’re sure he’s used to get into plenty of girl’s panties. 

And like clockwork, he reaches over to brush his fingers against yours, which are gently resting on the stem of your wine glass. 

He gives you a smile like that’s supposed to work.

You roll your eyes, pull your hand from his.

You watch the heat and anger rush over his features and wonder if he’s going to make a scene. Now that would be fun. You wonder if you’ll get to toss your wine all over that expensive sweater, storm out only for him to follow hot on your trails. And he’ll drag you to the car and you’ll scream at each other until you’re kissing and your nails are biting into his skin and he’s trying to teach you a lesson in manners—

If your cheeks flush, he doesn’t notice, because he snaps, “Are you always such a brat?” 

You smile for the first time that evening. 

“No, you just bring out the worst in me.” You quip back before taking another slow, savored sip of wine.

He scoffs, “I could say the same of you.” 

“Then why am I here?” 

Now he does soften a little, “I want you to come home with me for my grandfather’s birthday party.” 

Your brows furrow and you settle back into your chair, skeptical. “Don’t you have a girlfriend right now? Why not just bring her?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to your own question.

“You know you’re the only one I bring home to my psychotic family.” He says and now he captures your hand with his, brushes his thumb over your knuckles, leans close and in your space. His cologne is familiar and washes over you, spiced and warm and musky. Expensive.

“You’re psychotic, too.” You respond, but allow your fingers to slip into his. His hand is warm against yours and it slides against your palm, open and large. His fingers brush over the pulse in your wrist, move along the sensitive skin there. 

“That’s why you fit in there, princess.” He says and gives you a shark’s smile, so hooked and gutting. He lowers his voice for you, “And,” His eyes roll up to catch yours, “I’ve missed you.” 

The hint of vulnerability in his face makes you hum lightly, amused or pleased or warmed by it. You’ve missed him, too, in truth. Nobody is like Ransom.

There’s something about him and you that always keeps you two returning to one another. He’s inevitable, you think. You’ve never known anyone to get under your skin in such a way, to burrow their way into you and refuse to leave. 

He’s a disease. 

One you can’t cure yourself from. He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

But you think you’ve ruined him, too. 

It’s been months since your last fling with him. Years since you officially dated but you’re both always circling back to one another. He doesn’t bring any other girls home besides you. He was only ever serious about you. You’re both fated in some way, your stars entwined, looped and crashing into one another again and again. A dance that never ends, that you never want to end.

“Yeah?” You ask, soft and breathy, leaning towards him now, too. “Whad’ya miss about me, Ransom?” 

His eyes flicker lower, over your form and they roam slow and savoring. He licks his lips fleetingly. “Well,” He begins, “I miss fucking you.” 

The vulgarity shouldn’t shock you, it shouldn’t make you flush, but it does. You blame the little wine you’ve had. You pull from his touch once more, continue your game of cat and mouse and try to keep your thoughts from sliding into memories of him on top of you. At your neck with teeth. Parting your legs.

“Pig.” You scoff, shaking your head and pulling your hand from his. “You have a girlfriend.” 

“Yeah, but she’s not you.” He muses, “No one’s you.” He adds, tilting his head slightly. “So c’mon. Come home with me, baby.” He then almost purrs and smiles again, slow and charming this time. He means it now and it’s the kind of smile that gets him out of trouble if he ever tried to wear it. It could be boyish, if it wasn’t so hungry. 

You pick up your wine glass once more, glare over the rim before taking another sip. A bigger one this time, let it burn down your throat and warm your chest. You think your heart is beating faster than it should as he looks at you as if he wants to lay you out on this very table. 

“Get me a diamond bracelet and I will.” You tell him, your bottom lip sticking out a little as you gaze back at him. 

His eyes spark, dance with the flame of the candle. He looks a little crazed now, like he’s lost a few screws and hasn’t bothered to find them again. He looks a little wild-eyed and it’s enticing, the uncertainty in him. The promise of pain and pleasure and the fast pace life of the wealthy. All beautiful and dirty and filthy fucking rich.

He takes your hand and kisses it, slides his lips to your palm. To your wrist where your pulse flutters underneath his mouth, beneath the touch of his tongue. The threat of teeth. He murmurs then, his voice smooth and low and so lovely it makes you shiver;

“Anything for you, princess.” 

***

The Cartier white-gold, diamond bracelet catches in the sun proudly and flashes brilliant light as your hand slides into Ransom’s while he helps you out of his car. You step out onto the gravel driveway and smooth out the tight, leather black skirt hugging your hips and thighs. You inch it down as you ready to see the Thrombey’s once more after nearly a year. You adjust your cream, turtleneck sweater, too. The knitting chunky and loose, oversized on you but chic and soft to the touch.

You have to be sure the wine dark bruise on your neck is covered, the red marked rings around your wrist are drowned in the sleeves of your sweater. Can’t have his family realizing his tastes in bondage, not that you think he would care, but you certainly do. 

In fact, the mere memory of it makes you flush with heat in the crisp autumn air. 

You’d barely gotten into Ransom’s apartment in the city before he’d shoved you hard against the door. A picture rattles, swings precariously. He kisses you with a brutalness you haven’t felt in months, the quick cut of his teeth at your bottom lip. His hands on your body, hungry, greedy hands that want to take and take and take. 

You’d shoved him back, tried to get him off you as you glared up at him with fever dark eyes. Your chest was already heaving, rising and falling in quick bursts, your face flushed with color. 

You’d already look frazzled, hair slipping from the updo it’d been in. His little hell cat, little brat that’s gotta try and fight him on everything. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You’d gasped, your lips already raw and spit-slick and he’d wanted to absolutely fucking ruin you--

He had smirked lazily, as if the whole world was his to take. But there was a restless bite to him, a deep seated and painful desire. A desperate hunger that was raw and open on his face as he looked at you like you were his for the taking.  

 “C’mon, baby,” He purrs, nearing you again, despite your palm going to his chest. As if that’d keep him back for long. You could tell by the look in his eyes, the dark, sharp gleam that he was going to get what he wanted. “I just wanna show you how bad I missed you.” 

And you could feel how bad he’d missed you, the hard line of him now pressing back into your hip as he crowds you again. Your back hits the wall again, his hands already dragging under your clothes to find sensitive, bare skin.

He groans slightly, maybe at how soft you are, maybe because he does just fucking miss you. 

But you’re not done protesting, even if your stomach is twisting in excitement. Even if there’s heat building on the inside of you, making you grip at his broad shoulders slightly. 

“Get off me, Ransom.” You try to snap, but your voice is getting all high and breathy like he loves. You squirm, try to push him off once more. 

He laughs slightly as you manage to wriggle out from beneath him. You dart for the bedroom and if you’d truly not wanted him, you would’ve slammed the door in his face. But you leave it, let him follow after you. 

He shuts the door behind him, then. Strolls in leisurely. 

“You think after months of not speaking, you just get to take what you want?” You ask in the haughty little way that makes his blood sing. It’s more to taunt him, more to test is control. 

You could tell he didn’t have much left. 

“Yes,” He drawls, arrogant, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get on the bed for me?” 

You inhale sharp and quietly, your wide eyes staring at him as he wanders closer. The bedroom, though large and luxurious, now feels too small. Like there’s no more oxygen and a single spark would send it up in flames. 

“Make me.” You say, just to watch it all burn.

Within seconds, he’s on you, pushing you back onto the bed where the air leaves your lungs in a taken, guttering breath. His knee comes right up between your legs, his hands back on you and roughing you up. 

You wrestle with him and he laughs again, excited, dark and knowing. “Oh, you wanna fight, huh?” He rumbles, grappling with your wrists. His strength shouldn’t make you all hot-blooded for him, shouldn’t make you want to sink into the silk sheets and let him do whatever he pleases but it does. 

You ache already, in the core of your body. 

He gets your hands down on the bed, pins you with his weight and his strength and his large hands. You arch your back, pull at your wrists to try and free yourself. Cry out when he squeezes harder. 

“Am I gonna have to tie you up?” He says through his teeth, manhandling you, keeping you down with his weight. He releases your hands, but he’s on you, and it’s only so he can loosen his belt and slip it off. 

You’re like a little doll, so easily possessed by him. So easily detained. You squirm and kick uselessly beneath him. The belt is slipped around your wrists, the cool leather tightening as he loops it in such a way that binds your hands together and above your head. 

You’re about to snipe something about how the hell he’s supposed to get your clothes off now, but suddenly he grips the front of your t-shirt and just rips. 

You gasp, mouth popping open in surprise for a moment. 

“Fuck you,” You curse then as he starts pushing the shirt to the side, baring your chest to him, which is clad in a lacy, creme bra. His hands immediately glide over the skin exposed, the soft skin of your chest. 

“Yeah, that’s what I want you to do.” Ransom snarks, fingers sliding over the soft fabric of your bra, digging in like he might—

“Don’t you dare!” You hiss, “This was expensive!” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He tries to wager, pulling at the fabric a little, forcing you to arch up for him. And what a pretty picture you make for him, already all disheveled and roughed up, eyes shining, hands bound on his bed.

“No!” You try not to whine too much but your voice pitches upward as he palms a breast roughly through your bra, watches you with dark, hooded eyes. And thankfully, for whatever reason, he takes mercy on you and only pulls it downward, so your breasts spill from the top.

His fingers are gentler than you thought they’d be as he rolls your nipple slowly. He leans down to consume you in another bruising kiss, mouth hot and demanding, a little slick and open-mouthed. Messy in its roughness. 

His fingers turn into a sudden, stinging pinch and you mewl lightly into his mouth. He swallows it down hungrily. 

And then his lips drag to your neck, leaving you gasping and squirming, his teeth setting to fragile skin, mouth against your pulse. He sucks hard, until it turns into a blooming bruise of pain and heat. 

“Ransom!” You yelp when it becomes too much, but the damage is done and you know there will be dark marks where he wants. You know there will be evidence of him all over your body by the end of this. 

The rest of your clothes are removed in a hurry, tossed aside, thankfully intact. 

He always gets what he wants, it seems. 

It’d make you livid if it also didn’t make you so--

“Oh, princess, you’re so fucking wet.” He nearly purrs, fingers sliding through where you’re silken and petal-soft, velvety and flooded with heat. 

He gets over excited, too desperate for you, only loosens his trousers, pulls himself out. You feel overexposed with his clothes still on, your bare skin littered with evidence of him, open and vulnerable to him. 

He strokes himself, slow, with your slick before positioning himself. You can tell he’s painfully aroused, too impatient, because the smooth head of him glides along where you’re weeping and sensitive. You mewl, try to twist away from him but he grabs your waist with one, strong hand and holds you still for him.

“Do you have a condom?” You ask, breathless, watching as he makes another slow pass through your folds. 

He snorts slightly, too fascinated with the feel of you, the way you glisten on him to even look up at your face. “No,” And then, “Aren’t you still on the pill?” 

“Well, yes, but--” 

He presses in a little too easily, just the head, and you gasp sharply at the stretch of him already. But! Your mind frets, but you should still be cautious! But it hasn’t been a full week of your new pack! But, but, but!

“Ransom,” You warn, wishing you could push at his thighs, straining slightly with the belt still holding you together. “Don’t-- unless you have a condom.” You get out. 

“I’ll be careful,” He says flippantly, sliding out slowly and back through your aching folds.

He teases you more, makes you ache something awful. Makes your hips buck up and a whine be pulled from your chest. Gets you all desperate until he glides all the way in, bare, and fitting far too snug inside of you. 

“Ransom!” 

He groans, which falls off into a dark, rumbling laugh at the way you keen and squeeze achingly tight around him despite all your protests. A little velvet vice, and he’s delirious and heady with you, struck breathless at the sensation. 

“But you just feel so fucking good like this,” He gets out, drops his head onto your chest, wraps his arms around you tight. You shouldn’t, but you give in to him, let your head drop back and moan, broken and soft, as he fills you.

He likes to fuck close and intimate like this, deep and dirty and with this violent sort of tenderness for you. He likes to make you lose yourself in the slow, rough push and pull of him, so you can’t do anything but take him and cry doing so. 

Your memory is abruptly cut off when Ransom’s hand comes down on the back of your neck, the heated flashes of images you’d been thinking about burning through you. As if he can sense where your mind has gone, (and maybe he can, maybe he can see it in the way your eyes glow and get all wide-- the same way they do when he says something dirty that you shouldn’t like, but do, the slight soft desperation in them), because he smirks slightly. Hooked and curved and too sharp.   

He quirks a brow, “Let’s make this quick.” He says, “So we can leave and I can push that skirt of yours up and--”

“Behave,” You hush, even if your cheeks are still burning, and you pinch his side for good measure anyways. 

He hisses and swats your hand away before you tip your chin up and stride forward, only for the dogs to come rushing out towards the pair of you. Ransom grows upset, jolting back at their jumping and barking. He hates these dogs, whereas you’re able to press onward, allow Ransom to wallow for a moment. 

He shouts at them, before hurrying after you and into the safety of the arching, dark doorway. 

The party is already in full swing; you’re both late, of course. Ransom wanted to spend as little time as possible here tonight. But upon entering, you’re quickly and eagerly greeted by his mother, who has a drink in hand. 

“Oh! Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise!” She says, perhaps too loudly, but rushes forward to wrap you in a hug. You’re well-liked by most of his family surprisingly, who usually let loose scathing remarks about Ransom not deserving you. 

And you put on a good face for them, try to put on the air of the Harvard princess; you know wealthy people well, even if you haven’t always been the richest. Mundanely middle class for most of your life, but you worked hard to go to Harvard, to play in the big leagues. You know what they like to hear from you and see from you; so you play rich. 

“It’s been far too long!” She continues, pulling away to look at you, and then, “Didn’t think you would’ve stayed with him!” She snarks then, squeezing your arm and you force out a laugh.

You know not to mention you haven’t been with her son. 

“Well, you know Ransom,” You shrug lightly, a dainty, graceful lift of your shoulders,  “He doesn’t like to come around much.” 

“No, the little shit.” She shakes her head, but her smile reappears after a moment, “C’mon, let me get you a drink!” 

And you are led deeper into the house, deeper into the Thrombey’s absurdity and vanity and spiraling greed. 

~ 

 Playing rich is fun for awhile; your diamond bracelet sparkles in the low light and the clothes are expensive and flattering but there’s only so much you can take. You grow tired of putting on your best fake, glittering smile and parading around the big house. 

A moment of reprieve when you speak with Ransom’s grandfather, the man of the hour, Harlan. 

He’s always liked you dearly. Not because you have expensive boots on or because you’re poised and can put on a mask of wealth for an evening, but because you study literature. As an author, he thinks it’s one of the most noble pursuits, one of knowledge found in digging through books, getting lost in the stories only to emerge with concrete ideas and arguments. Larger concepts and critiques of society, a bigger picture that so few seem to grasp and pay attention to. 

So Harlan asks, as he does when he sees you, “What are you reading right now, my dear?” 

And he doesn’t mean what you’re studying, but what you’re enjoying. 

“The Beautiful and Damned.” You tell him and a sudden laugh rumbles from him. 

“A good one to revisit while you’re with my family, surely.” He says, all good natured and warm. 

But the moment is fleeting with everyone vying for his attention, and the evening slinks onward. Petty squabbles are had, more drinks are poured, food taken and eaten and taken. 

While Ransom talks privately with his grandfather, you rest on the couch beside Marta, tucked away in an alcove, reclining leisurely beside the girl you’ve met the past few times at the Thrombey gatherings. She’s lovely and doe-eyed and she smiles very sweetly at you. It’s a little timid and soft and you wonder how her dark lashes might feel against your cheek. 

You offer her wine from your glass, which she declines with a shake of her head. Her smile is earnest and you manage to make her laugh somehow, soft and quiet sighs and giggles that fall from both of your lips. She is slow to open up but now she unfurls before you, petal soft and wonderful and glittering eyed in the softly lit room. 

“You’re my favorite part of the Thrombey’s,” You tell her with a slip of a smile, take another sip of your wine and you think her eyes are following your lips. You feel a flush crawl along your face. 

“Not Ransom?” She asks, because you think she’s wondering. Everyone wonders about you two, about him. No one knows your relationship, no one understands it. They don’t have to, but while you can hear Ransom faintly from the other room begin to raise his voice, you let out a huff of air. Almost a scoff at her question.

“Please,” You say, eyes flickering over to the closed door, where Ransom and Harlan hide behind. “I haven’t been Ransom’s girlfriend in years.” You admit and maybe it’s the wine that makes the words slip from you, drop like precious diamonds from the cave of your mouth. Maybe it’s the honesty of her face, the twinkling empathy in her eyes. She’d be soft, so soft and gentle and--

“I hadn’t even seen him in months until a few days ago, when he asked me to come.” You add, take the last sip of your wine bitterly; it’s turned sour and puckered and dry in your mouth. You set the glass down.

“That’s awful.” Marta says quietly and you don’t realize how close she’s gotten, your thighs touching, almost hip to hip. Your arm is leisurely thrown over the back of the sofa, behind her. 

“Yeah, well,” You say and it comes out breathier than you intend, “That’s Ransom.” 

“Why did you come?” She asks then, not rudely, but genuine. 

You hold up your wrist and your diamond bracelet sparkles in front of her eyes, catches in the darkness there to look like a star. “I got a diamond bracelet if I came.” You say and it’s meaner than you intend it to be, but maybe you’re a little more upset than you thought. Maybe you wanna throw a fit. Maybe you want Marta to comfort you with lips and soothing words. 

Maybe it’s just the wine. 

“That’s not the only reason you came, though.” Marta probes gently, “Is it?” 

Your jaw ticks and your lashes flutter as you turn to face her. “Why else would I?” 

“Because you love him.” She whispers. 

“Love’s a big word, Marta.” You respond, hushed and secretive, and your fingers slip into the hair at the back of her neck. A strand of it slides over your knuckles as you twirl the chocolate lock slowly, silky soft against your skin, “It’s so heavy.” 

She blinks slightly, a rush of pink spreading over her cheeks. “Sometimes.” She whispers, leaning into your touch. 

You wonder if she’d whimper if you pulled her hair, how she’d feel against your throat with teeth and tongue. If she’d cry out all pretty and soft, if she’d give what she gets. 

“It is with Ransom.” You say, but you don’t think it would be with her. It’d be as light as the sigh that escapes her, the little breath that comes from her chest. As light as feathers and silk, snowflakes that swirl in the night sky, petals on the wind. 

A door explodes open, rattles on the hinges, through the whole house. It makes you both jolt away from each other. 

Ransom barrels out. You huff, spring up quickly as you watch him grab his coat and wrench the front door open. 

“I’m sorry,” You tell Marta, “It was nice seeing you.” You say earnestly and then move to follow, to find your coat, and hurry out the door and into the chill of the night. 

“What the fuck?” You shout to Ransom as you slam the front door shut behind you. 

His eyes flash dangerously in the darkness, “Get in the fucking car.” He says, “We’re leaving.” And he slides into the front seat and slams the car door just as hard. 

He’s in a mood, then. 

You hustle over, slip into the passenger side and he peels out of the driveway and down the dirt path.

He’s eerily quiet. Uncharacteristically so. The growl of the car fills the silence with rumbling, with an unsettled sound that rattles through you.

You don’t dare break the quiet first. 

And the quiet stretches and stretches, stretches thin until it breaks--

“I forgot something.” He says suddenly, jerking the car to the right, pulling off the road. 

“What’d you forget?” You ask, browns furrowing. He doesn’t answer you, though, only stops the car, kills the engine. He stares in silence for a moment, as if he’s making a decision. You can feel your heart in your chest, the steady thrumming that skips when he raises his eyes in the darkness. The red light of his dash casts him in crimson, in unnatural white light. 

The whole world feels at a stand-still, on a teetering precipice.  

“I’ll be back.” He says and he leaves you, slides out of the car and into the night. Your stomach sinks for some reason, the plummet catching you off guard. 

So you wait for him, alone, as a decision that changes everything is made.

***

Ransom is quiet still, pensive, when you both return to his apartment. After all that anger, you thought maybe he’d take it out on you. You’d both yell and scream and then end up making up on the kitchen countertops, furiously trying to rip away clothes and egos and pain.

But he’s uncharacteristically gentle with you as he lays you out on his sheets. Silver light from the moon, the faint stars, cut across the bed like a knife. Slices over his face in a diagonal, one half eclipsed, and the other luminous and sterling silver. 

He gets rid of your clothes with reverence, looks over you with hunger and thinly veiled tenderness. A violent sort of need that makes him seem wolfish, even in his gentleness. He covers you, enfolds you in shadow and the curling strength of his arms. 

He slides down your body, parts your legs and rolls the warmth of his tongue against where you’re most vulnerable and soft. He flutters his eyes up to you, threads his fingers through yours so you have something to hold onto.

He doesn’t stop until you’re crying, arching off his sheets, twisting and turning and tormented. Until tears slide from the corners of your eyes and you’re aching and open and then he gathers you in his arms, nudges his waist into the crook of your own and fits himself in the depth of you.

You gasp, open mouthed, as he finds home. His own groan blooming from the pit of his chest and out against the hollow of your throat. His hands are bruising, gripped too tight, but you don’t even care, not as you toss your head back, let it fall against his pillow. 

The way he looks at you is somewhere between desperation and viciousness. He wants to possess you, he wants to make you delirious with him. Maybe because you’ve made him as mad with you. He wants to infect you the way you’ve infected him.

He wants to belong, he wants to keep you forever. He wants to give you everything, and you think maybe he says so. Maybe he gets it out into the crook of your neck, maybe he presses it into your skin besides all the marks he gave you. His, his, his. 

He curls around you afterward, slides his hands over your vulnerable belly, the skin soft beneath his broad palms. 

“Let’s leave and never return.” Ransom says and you blink, bleary and sleepy, glance at him with a flutter of your lashes. 

“Where would we go?” You murmur, carding your hands through his hair. 

“Paris, maybe.” He rumbles into your skin, fingers creating a strange, swirling pattern on your stomach. 

“You can read and study and write.” He says and for some reason, your heart squeezes painfully. For some reason, you’re still foolish to imagine it. Sitting pretty in a cafe, a worn book in your hands, glasses of wine between the two of you. He’d look stylish and handsome against a violet rose sunset. 

“And what would you do?” You ask softly, a whisper.  

“Anything I wanted.” 

Quietness falls upon you both again, slow and heavy. He fingers the skin of your stomach, slides over it in strange rhythms only he knows. You’re nearly on the brink of sleep when he turns his face up to you, totally shadowed now, and says;

“I have to tell you something, baby.” 

And you can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the beginning of the end.    

***

He’d said it was his hour of need and you’re smart so you listen and you absorb. You’re appalled and you’re a little shocked but you-- 

You keep your head on straight. Ransom starts to unravel. 

The moment it’s discovered that his grandfather apparently comitted suicide, he starts to slip into a dangerous edge. He starts ranting and raving and then he’ll go deadly silent and then he’ll become prickly and hot. You are cool and collected. 

You are waiting for your time to strike. 

A detective is hired by Ransom in an attempt to win it all; and you are careful, walk the tightrope slow and steady. You keep him sane and dull the sharp part of him. 

And then, the way a ribbon is pulled apart, Marta slips right into Ransom’s jaws. His plan didn’t work; Marta didn’t kill his grandfather. Ransom technically didn’t, either. 

You think, maybe, it could’ve been put to rest here. You think maybe he could've walked away. But Ransom never half does anything, doesn’t ever not finish the job. He spirals. 

You wait for a time to strike.    

***

Your time is quick and fleeting and you remember piece of a conversation, a snippet of information that could change everything. 

You speak with Fran on the outskirts of the family as they discuss heavier matters. She chatters a lot, on and on about just about anything. And you carefully weave the conversation, guide it slowly but surely towards this one factor;

“You have a friend that does toxicology, don’t you?” 

She nods enthusiastically, tells you about what he does, how interesting it is. How long she’s known him. You gaze at the family, at the way they try to be hush and talk and end up bickering. Fran’s voice comes in and out, the world turning slow. 

Another argument breaks out. Voices raising, cutting over each other. Ruthless. And poor Marta who has to deal with them all, whose only in this position because--

You glance at Ransom, watch his handsome face screw up into a mocking smile as he speaks with his relatives. Smug, greedy, too arrogant. You think about what he said; running away to Paris. To Rome or anywhere in the world. You wonder if you could’ve been happy with him-- dream about a life never lived. A path never taken. 

Because later, when Ransom tells you to keep watch so he can slip the antidote back in Marta’s bag, you step away. You hide in the bathroom, peak through the crack in the door, breathe slow and quiet as you watch Fran catch Ransom in the act.

Watch as it all comes crashing down; a domino effect that will slide into place now. You watch as you tip the first scale, as you set the life you could’ve had with Ransom up in flames. Fran disappears, obviously upset and reeling with what she’s discovered. 

You emerge once more, greet Ransom with a kiss on the cheek. 

A Judas kiss, betrayal placed softly upon his skin. 

You force yourself to look into his eyes, so he doesn’t suspect a thing. You smile at him, the kind of smile that makes him kiss you. Hard and quick and furious. He calls you his Bonnie, says so against your lips. 

You laugh and hope it doesn’t come out as tumbling and mad as it sounds to your ears. 

 ***

When all is said and done, Ransom ends up behind bars, just as you knew he would. Just as he should be. He thinks you had nothing to do with it, he thinks you’re gonna help him out of this one, too, somehow. 

So you visit him in prison, dressed in Chanel and fur and the Cartier white-gold bracelet that flashes so prettily. Your heels click against the cold, tile ground as your approach the stall to speak with him. He sits behind the glass in an orange jumpsuit, garring and horrible. It’s unzipped slightly, showing his broad, muscled chest, rolled up at the elbows. A far cry from his lavish coats and scarves and sweaters. 

His eyes glint when they see you, a tilting of his head that is arrogant and predatory. His smile is hooked when he sees you. 

With all of your grace, you glide to him, take a seat in front of him. In front of the glass. You both stare at each other a moment, his eyes always so hungry and wolfish. Heat flares slowly inside of you, an inkling of torment from hell, from the devil before you. 

Slowly, with measured ease, he picks up the phone to speak with you. 

You reach for it, too, your eyes still on him. 

“Hello, princess.” He rumbles into the phone. 

“Hello, Ransom.” You say almost hushed. 

“I miss you,” He says with his curling smile, a flash of sharp teeth. You think of them at your neck, on your pulse that beats rapidly. 

“When I get out of here, let’s leave.” He then says, soft and murmured, “Let’s leave and never look back. I’ll take you wherever you want.” 

You hum on that, look over him slowly, and you think that seeing him here, in the jumpsuit, behind the glaring glass, leaves your dreams of Paris dashed and destroyed. The idea of loving him, sitting on that balcony with a book in your hands and his hand on your thigh as you watch the city fall into dusk shatters right in front of you. You can put it to rest once and for all, dig a grave inside the pit of your chest and bury it. 

“I don’t think you’ll get out for a long time, I’m afraid.” You tell him finally. 

His eyes darken, brows furrowing, “What are you talking about? I’ll get the best lawyers, you’ll help me--”

“I won’t.” You say, finding his eyes, shaking your head the slightest amount. 

His eyebrows shoot up, his face becoming cold and hard and outraged, “You won’t?” He asks, and then, “Thought you were my Bonnie?” His jaw ticks in anger, in pain that bubbles up inside of him, “You know I could get you here on assisted murder. I protected you. You knew everything--” 

“Oh, Ransom,” You say, a slight sigh, pitying and soft. And now it’s your turn to be sharp-smiled, a slip of fox’s wit, “Who do you think led Fran to look into the toxicology reports?” You ask lightly. 

He blinks, his mouth suddenly falling open. 

“How do you think she caught you replacing the antidote to Marta’s bag?” You ask him, tilting your head, the look in your eyes cunning and quick and burning. 

He stares in disbelief. 

“I know I’m psycho,” You sigh, lift your finger to the glass, draw a swirling pattern as if you’re stroking his face. All that you feel is the cold, clear glass. “But you didn’t think I’d let you get away with this, did you?”

He sits back in shock, staring at you. And then a laugh bursts from him, rough and hard and he looks at you with awe, with a wild sort of amazement. 

“Backstabbing, rotten bitch.” He says, but it’s with fondness. Like he can’t believe someone bested him, like he can’t believe you could be so cutthroat or ruthless, “You really were made for me, weren’t you?” 

He looks at you like he wants to take you up against the glass in front of everyone, like he wants to punish you and praise you and love you so violently that you can’t see or feel anything but him. 

But there is no rough love making, there is nothing but the glass between you and the triumph and the ache inside your ribs. 

“It seems so.” You say and you let your hand fall away from the glass, your diamond bracelet clinking lightly. You take a last look at him, sear him into your memory like this, looking at you like you’re both the best and worst thing the world could ever give him.

“Goodbye, darling.” You purr, even if your heart is burning, even if your breath is tight. And then you hang up the phone and rise, graceful and elegant as ever. 

You can hear his laughter, feel the way his eyes try to keep you here, brand you and scorch you. 

You walk out with your head high, a too-clever grin touching the corner of your lips and a weight off of your shoulders, but a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You’ll miss him, you think, even if all the world knows you shouldn’t. 

[cold-hearted-mindset-story]

Cold Hearted Mindset - Chapter 5: Not So Friendly Foes

WARNING: This is a HORROR STORY that contains anxiety triggers, gore, psychological horror, panic attacks, hostage situation, blood, violence, injury, major injuries, permanent injuries, and more.

This is a story that explores the true darkness of darker Sans clones/alt universe peeps. NOT for the faint of heart. Don’t read if you’re squeamish or get sick from graphic depictions. You’ve been warned.

Ao3 link

Beginning | Previous | Next: soon...

Chapter 5: Not So Friendly Foes

Summary: Any hope of friendship is dashed with a side of salt.

——

"NOOOOO NONONOnono, please no!!!" Your screams ring through the room and deafen your ears as you slide up against the wall behind you. Horror keeps a painful grip on your injured arm, sparking fiery pain in you stub alongside the electric pain shooting up and down your arm in waves from your elbow. An irony taste ghosts upon your tongue alongside the numbing sensation in your teeth, both sensations matching with the waves of pain from your arm like nails scraping directly on your bones. You gag and hiccup, and you register the feeling of snot cascading from your face with hot tears mixing into the mucus. It's a mere brief distraction from the phalanges piercing your skin and adding to the pain. Rivulets of blood seeping from beneath Horror's fingers adds to the idea that he really wants to steal the rest of your arm.

Dust sighs, "she's annoying, make her shut up." His eyelights shift to burn mirroring holes into your skull, and his smile hitches up to a tighter, excited look. "or i will."

Blood runs cold under your skin with his look and works, and suddenly you realize you have no possibility of friendly interaction in this place. Darkness coils at the edges of your vision, and your breathing starts to stutter. An attempt to breathe breaks into a hitching mess of short gasps and whimpers. "No, no, no, p-p-please, n-n-no..." Your eyes shut tight and you try to yank your arm away. The motion only jolts your brain with stabbing pain shooting through your arm as Horror's fingers only seem to dig deeper.

Horror grumbles in reply to Dust, completely ignoring you, "thought you'd be used to this sorta thing, bein' so heartless an' all."

Dust replies with a small edge to his otherwise emotionless tone, "doesn't make it any less annoying."

Horror straight up cackles at him, and you crack your blurry eyes open as look between them with fearful confusion. "you getting soft, dusty?" Horror squints at "Dusty" with a mocking smile.

Dust gives him a deadpan smiling look in return, and you find yourself left to whimper and hyperventilate without their direct attention. "it wouldn't much matter, now would it? i'm far from ending up like any kind of reiteration of the creampuff. stupid asshole doesn't have a clue how much worse it could be for him." Your free hand slowly inches up towards the phalanges pricking at your skin, but you flinch and have to pause when they suddenly dig further under your fleshy layers. You hiss at the pain, glancing up at Horror to see he looks genuinely angry as he stares at Dust, and his grip reflects that. Your eyesight trembles at that look and you move your hand the rest of the way to sneak up to his fingers. You swallow on your nerves, failing to calm them in any way as another sob wracks your body before your breathing continues to come in short gasps.

Horror scoffs, "that guy is so ignorant it makes me want to bash my skull against a wall." His face twists with hatred as he speaks.

"nobody would miss you if you did that," Dust replies, seemingly indifferent aside from a twitch at the edge of his empty smile.

Horror glares at him, "shut up you fuckin' hypocrite."

Dust huffs, "explain how exactly that makes me a hypocrite."

Horror growls and it makes you freeze mid-motion to rip his phalanges off, fingers paused only a mere inch away. Luckily, you haven't touched his hand yet. "you know what i fucking mean."

A shaky breath comes out of your mouth, barely holding steady before it's broken with more gasping breaths of panic. You pull your hand back slowly, leaving a couple inches between your hand and the skeleton vice grip. "don't lie and say ya don't find me less annoying than the others. plus, i still have..." Horror trails off, and you freeze again with a shaky sob cut short to look at him. He seems to have cut himself off with a frown as he looks at Dust, who has a dark look on his face with a hollow smile.

After a moment of silence with your quieted sobs filling the room, Dust finally speaks, giving the distraction more fuel. "you should be glad you didn't finish that sentence." Then he smirks, his eye sockets widening to their full size. "the joke's on you though, you're the one without your brother around, not me."

Horror's eyelight sparks and shrinks slightly, and his tone dips to a slight growl, "you really are a soulless asshole, aren't you?" His head tips to the side slightly as he stares at Dust with murder on his skull. A charged, dangerous feeling chokes the atmosphere between the three of you, and suddenly your brain screams to run, run as fast as you can, up the steps, get the fuck away from them. Your legs clench as the muscles bunch up, but second thoughts barely manages to stop you from bolting. They could easily catch you. All the same, you wish you could have left.

A startled yelp escapes you as Horror suddenly yanks your arm and pulls you towards him. You catapult forward from the force and slam your face into his leg. Constricting pain on your chest suffocates your breathing and you suddenly feel like you're about to die. The colors around you blur and your throat starts to close up. You try to open your mouth wider but nothing seems to give you more air. Your fingers claw at your throat against the feeling that something has latched itself around your neck, fearing one of the skeletons has finally decided to kill you.

Something breaks onto your cheek and is swiftly followed by a harsh crack that explodes in your head. Even more explosive dizziness and blinding pain breaks your mind into a shattered mess of confusion and screaming panic. Your mind swirls and jerks around itself as the pain rules over everything. You can't feel anything but the agony and panic ripping apart what's left of the insides of your skull.

The first thing that sweeps past the shards of your mind is the sound of ragged and hoarse breathing. The raw feeling in your throat comes directly after it, feeling as if you'd swallowed razor blades. You cough out a sob and immediately regret it as you're briefly thrown back into the jagged world of blinding pain. You blink away the pain and find your eyes slightly shadowed; a solace from the blinding light a few feet away. You also notice you're now laying on your side, the shadowed concrete directly in your peripheral and stretching out to the other wall through shadows and light. The world calms into a clearer picture, and your eyes crack open further as you listen to your wheezing, raw breaths. You notice your arms are pulled around your head and your body is trembling. You also register that there's been a gruff mumbling in the background this whole time. Blurry eyes blink into a slightly fuzzy picture. You look up and down from your perspective and finally register the two bone legs with slippered feet standing directly in front of you, positioned above and below your sight. Terror seizes you, and for a moment you can't fathom why. Then the person crouches, and on reflex your eyes swiftly look up from the ground at their face. The skull with a bloody eyelight hovers a few inches above your head and you find you can't breathe.

"finally calmed down have ya?" He smirks at you in a condescending manner. How does a skeleton even do that? What the FUCK are these things anyway?!

Your breathing stutters before starting up again with a new panic. Your eyes start to water and hopelessness weighs upon you, translating into a slow wailing of a sob.

Horror sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose bone. "yer so fuckin' annoying..."

Dust pipes in, "now you get it."

"shut up," Horror replies, sounding very much over and done with this. Your breath hitches with fear at this. Is he going to do it finally? Is he going to kill you?! His bloody eyelight looks down at you, the upper half lowered into a half circle as he stares down at you. It doesn't last long before it returns to that full, engorged red moon as it locks onto the side of your head. Your eyes follow his gaze to your bloody arm, and you gasp before trying to cover it with your free arm. Maybe this time you can-

He moves so fast you don't even register the pain until you see your underarm gushing blood from beneath his phalanges. A scream rakes through your burning throat and shatters the air, but it quickly cuts off as the pain causes your throat to constrict again. Horror laughs at you and waves your arm nub around lazily, causing his knife-like phalanges to wiggle around under your flesh. You hiss and give a weak, warbling sob that breaks off into silence. Eyes shut as silent sobs wrack your body for a moment.

The idea of reasoning crosses your mind, so you decide to try despite your voice being nearly inaudible, "pl....ease, not....again..."

Horror only chuckles at you and places a cold hand-sized thing onto the skin above the phalanges covered in your blood. "heh, ya wanna know why i want this arm, morsel?" Your heart stutters at his words. Oh no, God no not this, you don't want this. Your eyes open from a darkness you can't remember asking for. You see him leaning in closer, and closer, and your body trembles in utter terror as an image flashes through your mind of his razor sharp teeth tearing out your throat. He stills when his mouth hovers a mere single centimeter from your ear, his coppery stale breath flooding your nose. "i want it 'cause your hand wasn't meaty enough to get a good taste."

An involuntary, quite sobbing whimper warbles from behind your lips and you shut your eyes, not wanting to see this murderer in your face any longer. His breath puffs across your face with each soft chuckle he gives, the sound overpowering the silence outside of your sobs. You tremble harder and tense up into a tighter ball on the floor, wishing you could sink down into the dirt below or be abducted from this situation.

Horror suddenly pulls back and throws your arm down. This gains a started and pained yelp from you as the bloody nub hits the hard cement. Rough, manic laughter strikes the walls and echoes harsh in the small room. You cringe at the sound and cradle your shredded arm to your chest before looking up. It's Horror that's laughing so psychotically and loudly.

Horror manages to speak through his manic guffaws, "hahah, heheh! that was too good, heheh, hahah!!"

Uncertainty about this sudden change has you shifting back further against the wall behind you. A glance at Dust shows his typical indifferent expression. He's watching Horror, but you notice a slight difference in the typical expression you've been accustomed to seeing. There's a small crease to his brow and the slightest downturn to the corners of his mouth. Is he….cringing?

Dust's eyelights suddenly snap to you, making you jolt in surprise before nervousness catches onto you. You want to look away immediately, but...you find yourself too scared of missing a possible attack. His smile grows slightly wider upon locking eyes with you, and your head tips down slightly to hide while still keeping eye contact.

The sudden absence of explosive crazy laughter has your eyes snapping back to Horror. He's looking down at you with a disturbing smile, too wide to not have something sinister planned for you. You feel yourself tense further and tremble in fear.

"heh, that was hilarious," Horror's rough voice fills your ears, a softer contrast from the loud laugher and the utter silence.

Horror wipes a non-existent tear from his lit socket and then digs hooked phalanges into his empty socket and yanks on the bottom of the hole. The sudden movement from him has you tensing in anticipation for something, but he remains standing above you and digging in sharp phalanges into his socket. In the silence, you can hear a soft scraping sound synching up with the back and forth motion his phalanges are doing on the inner side of his eyesocket. Your stomach twists with disturbance at the idea of scratching at the inner side of your eyesocket and you shudder. Swiftly, your eyes jerk away from Horror to look down far enough to block out the sight. Unfortunately, as you hold your eyes to his slippers, you find that you're left with the fleshy scraping noise.

Teeth gritting from the disturbance, your arms move to cover your ears. The sharp pain from your injured arm suddenly brings awareness to the searing pain you'd been distanced from. It crashes down on you and ou whimper, cradling the mutilated arm against your abdomen with your remaining good arm. You stare at the space between Horror's slippered feet and your trembling legs. Clenched teeth and trembles help distract from the pain ever so slightly, but the more you're left with the feeling, the worse it seems to get. Sobs shaking out of your chest become more and more loud and sporatic as you sit there, thoughts of yourself being broken further and further feeding into your panic.

There's sudden talking above you, but you've been too wrapped in your head that you don't register what's been said at first.

"alright, morsel, let's do this for real this time," Horror's words finally break through the haze. Your eyes widen with terror and your breath hitches as you gasp. Eyes shoot up to meet Horror's face to find him looking down at you with a strange glaring smile.

Panic seizes you, and suddenly you find your voice. "No, no! You can't! Not again!!!"

Horror replies, "it's gonna be useless anyway," with a condescending smile.

The horror of losing the rest of your arm reignites and you start sobbing. Your weakened hand pushes at Horror's grip to get him off of your arm without hurting yourself too much. It winds up hurting regardless, and Horror rolls his eyelight at you. This sparks pain in your heart from being subjected to such a careless act. Filled with anger towards their carelessness about life, words suddenly spit from your mouth with venom, "how can you be so...heartless?!"

Horror pauses a slightly slackened expression, as if stunned by these words. Then his smile starts to curl higher and higher, his eyelight swelling bigger and bigger. You start to tremble and sink down into the floor, eyes wide with fear as your mind wildly whip about in chaos wondering if he's planning to torture you.

"Heh," he starts, "y'know…" he yanks on your arm and you howl in pain, "skeletons don't exactly have hearts, sweetmeat, much less organs to begin with. Hell, we don't even have this fleshy… fragile..." his words trail off as his hand gripping your arm scrapes the thumb against your skin, "...cover, that you have." Tears are streaming from your face and pure fear rattles your body and pounds at your heart and ribcage. Your teeth begin to chatter as a helpless sob escapes your lips. Horror seems to get a distant look on his face as his eyelight flicks to your face.  "Pap used to make the best spaghetti with fallen humans…" Drool begins to slide down his chin as he stares down at your with hunger.

Your mind breaks with panic and your lungs explode with shrieking sobs. Your limbs flail against his hold and shove at anything you can get your hands on to try to get away. Screams rip against your throat and ring aggressively against the walls as you find yourself about to be eaten, probably torn apart alive. Your body is spiking with searing pain in your joints and bruises coagulate wherever your skin hits the boney skeleton.

Suddenly your stomach drops as gravity yanks on your body, but then you feel yourself go airborne before your injured arm explodes with pain. Your vision goes white and your ears scream with overwhelming ringing. Then your hearing comes back and you register guttural shrieking berating your brain. Your throat feels like it's on fire, and then you realize it's contracting and feels like it's being rubbed raw. When you realizes this, your throat closes off for a second and with it the shrieking stops. Your mind swirls and rips back and forth with confusion and panic, but you can't place why. All too soon, you're coughing and sobbing hysterically, and then a burning and electrifying sensation in your arm sparks your awareness into blinking sharpness. you gasps raggedly and your head snaps forward.

A bloody eyelight in a glascow smiling skull completely fills your vision. Danger alarms go off in your head and you swiftly jerks your head back, hitting it against the concrete. A deep, raspy chuckle surrounds your head and vibrates through your brain. You cringe and sobs as your eyes meet that same grinning skull.

"you're too helpless. it's kinda sad, honestly. almost makes me not wanna kill ya, even if i needed to…" You tremble violently, your mind flipping shit over itself screaming to figure out what the fuck that's supposed to mean.

Suddenly, you're dropped to the cement floor on your ass, and the impact travels right up your spine. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and an uncomfortable pressure in your skull. You whimper and hug yourself, but then gasp when your injured arm spikes with renewed pain from the motions. You look down, the sudden memories filling you with trepidation. However, instead of a mangled arm, you find a large purple hand bruise halfway up your lower arm with the puncture points seeping small amounts of blood. Everything below the punctures is saturated in the blood that managed to flee. Your sobbing slows to tearful whimpers as you stare at your arm in confusion while a light-headedness starts to overcome you. Horror speaks, "it wasn't worth the effort. too much bone and not enough meat."

Thoughts scramble over themselves in a somewhat sluggish manner as you frown in confusion at Horror. "Wh...wha…?"

Horror gives you slightly annoyed and deadpan look as he speaks, "i don't wanna waste anymore supplies than i have to on a body that's still alive." This fails to clear up anything for you, and you must have looked even more confused to Horror based on his reaction. He scoffs and stands up before taking a step back. He glances and Dust and glares at him before your eyes begin to slide closed. You hear Horror sigh and he grumbles something to Dust before his slippers give off that distinct shuffling sound as he moves away from you.

Another sigh, directly above your head, fills your ears and ruffles your hair. "you're more trouble than your worth." It takes you a minute before you recognize this as Dust speaking. "creampuff wouldn't know any different if…" Something cold ghosts upon the skin on your throat. A confused hum slips from your throat and you frown at the uncomfortable sensation. Something tells you to be scared, but you aren't sure why. You decide that the darkness calling you to drift away is more important than this irritation.

------

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Broken But Still Good

Hello @gothelixar tis I your Secret Sanders! I wrote you two soft/cutesy Moxiety fics because I have no self control. I would of written you more but the holidays got me busy and my family is driving me crazy. Read them in which ever order you like and I hope you enjoy them!!!

He hadn’t meant for it to be a secrete it’s just there was never an opportunity to bring it up in passing conversation so Patton just didn’t say anything. Although, out of all the sides he had been worried about telling Virgil the most about his…hobby. It was very unusual and maybe a little bit creepy, especially for someone like Patton who was so happy, peppy, and rainbows. Virgil and the others saw him in a certain way and he didn’t want their opinions to change just because he had a weird fascination with creepy dolls.

Movies like Chuckie and Annabel didn’t really scare him so much as make him think that, maybe, if the dolls had been loved a little more, they wouldn’t be so mean. Not that he went out of his way to look for haunted dolls but dolls that were broken, torn, or a little worse for wear always had a sort of soft spot in his heart. Sometimes Thomas would go to thrift stores and flea markets with his friends and see a few ruined dolls just dying for a home. Subconsciously, he’d go over and observe them for a bit before casually moving on to something else. But on the inside, the memory of the doll still lingered and Patton was able to manifest it into his reality and add it to his collection. He’d clean them up a bit, make them some decent clothes to wear but he’d never fix their chipped paint or broken arms or balding head. Flaws were part of who we are and Patton though everyone’s flaws, be it physical or internal, were amazing and beautiful. Especially his dolls.

He had been fine to keep his weird little hobby to himself, it wasn’t something important that needed to be discussed with others. Just a fun little side project that Patton like to do in his spare time. But then he and Virgil started dating and Virgil was so nice and understanding and kind of sort of reminded him of his dolls in the sense that he needed a little more love and care and acceptance of his flaws. But Virgil was a very anxious boy who was kind of intimidated by major changes and to Patton this was kind of a big deal. It was a part of himself that nobody knew and that was just so different from what he usually sticks to.

So, he didn’t tell Virgil or the others for a long, long while. Until one day they had a Talk™, Not that they were having major problems it’s just that there were issues that needed to be addressed. Like Patton’s need to bottle up his feelings just to appease others and Virgil’s self-doubt in everything he does, especially in their relationship. It was a very difficult Talk™ but it was also a very good Talk™ that was necessary in moving forward with their relationship. It was also the necessary step forward that Patton needed to finally reveal his secret….to Virgil. Baby steps, first he’ll see how Virgil reacts and if it’s good he’ll show the others but if it’s bad…he’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

“So, what’s this big surprise you wanted to show me?” Virgil asked timidly as Patton lead him up the stairs by the hand.

“Uh, it’s not that big,” Patton assured nervously “just a little surprise, no big deal or anything.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow in suspicion, it was unusual for Patton to be nervous unless he did something wrong, like eat dessert before breakfast. But this was different, much more jittery less guilty, more…anxious.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.” Virgil soothed, pressing up close to his boyfriend as they walked down the hall towards Patton’s room.

“No, no, it’s nothing bad per-say,” Patton quickly said.

“I didn’t think it was bad,” Virgil said calmly, rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of Patton’s hand “it’s just you seem really nervous and if it’s uncomfortable for you, you don’t have to show me now. Or ever if you want to. I just want you to feel safe.”

Patton paused in front of his door, looking straight into Virgil’s eyes with a sort of fiery determination, “No, this is something important to me and…I want to share it with the people I love the most. It’s just…I’m scared that you may see me differently or think I’m weird.”

“Hey,” Virgil said gently, cupping Patton’s cheek “if any one knows a thing or two about being weird it’s me. So, I have no right to judge especially since you’ve been so open minded about my weird quirks.”

Patton sighed a breath of semi-relief, a little calmer now, “Okay, okay.”

“Can I at least have a hint?” Virgil smirked playfully.

“Well, let’s just say it’ll be a doll-ightful surprise.” Patton winked as he opened his room.

Virgil gave him a confused look, even more lost then before but still followed Patton in. The room was the same as always, pictures covering every inch of the room from photos to paintings, boxes and boxes of mementos, and tons of stuffed animals piled high on the bed. It was organized chaos, as Virgil called it, because even if it seemed messy you could always find what you were looking for. More cluttered then anything else.

At first Virgil thought the thing Patton was going to show him was in the room, maybe a quirky new stuffed animal he bought. But then Patton started leading him to the back of the room and then Virgil thought maybe he had a risqué new outfit. Something a bit outside of the “gender norm” that he was a bit too nervous to wear. But instead of leading him to the closet Patton lead them behind a wall of boxes that took them even further back into the room.

Virgil knew that their rooms in the mindscape were infinite but it still surprised him whenever he entered one of the other’s rooms that wasn’t Roman. Roman was creativity and NEEDED the space to create worlds and ideas to help Thomas in his job while the others didn’t really need something so grand. So, most times they tended to stay towards the front of the room, very rarely venturing any further back unless it was necessary. What ever this secret was, was buried deep in Thomas is subconscious, meaning Patton really didn’t want anyone to find out about it.

Finally, they reached a small door that reminded Virgil of the cupboard door from Harry Potter except it was covered in happy stickers and seemed to blend into the background. Virgil hadn’t noticed it until Patton had them stopped in front of it and nervously fiddle with the ends of his shirt.

“You sure about this?” Virgil asked once more “I won’t be upset if you ducked out now.”

“Quack,” Patton chuckled nervously before clearing his throat “but, uh, no, it’s fine. I really do want to share this part me with you Virgil.”

“What ever you want.” Virgil said sincerely.

With a deep breath Patton placed a hand on the door nob but didn’t turn it, instead he said, “Please don’t think I’m a freak.”

“Never gunna happen babe.” Virgil smiled, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze.

Another deep breath, the door swung open and…wall to wall in a large square room lined with shelves sat broken, chipped, and torn dolls. Baby dolls, porcelain dolls, rag dolls, and more were lovingly cleaned and dressed in cozy little sweaters, t-shirts and ribbons. It was surprising to say the least.

“Sooo,” Patton said after a pregnant pause “I collect dolls and obviously not the normal kind. And I know you said you wouldn’t think it was creepy but I knew it was a bit of a farfetched idea so I totally understand if you do think it’s creepy because obviously any normal person would be creeped out by…” He gestures wildly around the room “This! But it’s just whenever I see one, I just think they look so sad and in need of a good home where someone can love them. So, I clean them up and fix them to a degree where they won’t fall apart anymore but I just think they have so much more personality with scars and chipped edges. So, I leave them like that and give them a home with others that they can get along with and understand how they feel and I know they’re inanimate objects that aren’t alive but to me they are! And I know it’s weird and creepy and-”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” Virgil cuts in, the understanding and sincerity in his voice caused the tension in Patton’s shoulders to disappear.

Patton tilted his head to the side in confusion, “You…what?”

Virgil shrugged, “I mean, the dolls are kind of creepy yeah and it wasn’t something I would expect of you but I don’t think you or your hobby are creepy. It’s actually…kind of fitting.”

“How so?” Patton asked curiously.

“Well,” Virgil stepped forward taking both of Patton’s hands in his own “these dolls are broken, sad little things that everyone else in the world thinks belongs in the trash. To them they’re useless and broken and can’t every be loved but you…you see them for them. You see their scars and you adore them because of it, because they’re different.” Virgil looked up at his boyfriend with such admiration and love in his eyes that Patton’s breath caught in his throat. “I love you Patton and I love the fact that you love these dolls despite their outward appearance and have given them a home where they will continue to receive that love forever.”

Patton laughed, tears pricking the edges of his eyes as he leaped forward to engulf Virgil and a giant bear hug. Virgil chuckled in turn as he hugged him back before pulling back and kissing Patton’s forehead.

“So, you’re really okay with this?” Patton asked bashfully.

“So long as you’re happy and it isn’t hurting you or anyone around you, I’m all for it.” Virgil smiled.

“Good, because I would have thought it be a bit of a chip on your shoulder.” Patton winked.

Virgil snorted, “Nah, I thought it was doll-ightfully appealing.”

They laughed and the room seemed much lighter despite the dozens of creepy broken dolls surrounding them. But even then, they didn’t seem all that creepy, maybe Patton was right and all they really needed was a little love and care. Or maybe it was the effect Patton had on him to make everything he does adorable and innocent. Either way the dolls were starting to grow on Virgil.

“So, mind introducing me to everyone?” Virgil asked shyly.

Patton beamed one of his famous light up a room smiles before once again dragging Virgil around to meet all his doll friends. Because of course each one had a name and a personality and something that was just so endearingly Patton.

[uncheckedtomfoolery]

Any thoughts on Shou? (Please no lost Pagoda jokes)

I would like to begin this post with an apology to @rabbiteclair, who has probably been waiting for a prompt like this for several years. Anything about Shou necessarily has some overlap with Nazrin and Bishamonten. This post about Nazrin here touches on their relationship a fair amount, and also on Bishamonten, so it may be useful (having said that, I might repeat myself a bit).

Rest is below the cut, per usual.

There are a lot of stories about how an ordinary tiger became a guardian youkai, and avatar of Bishamonten. No wonder, really; it’s not the sort of thing that happens every day. Most of them conflict, so it’s really best to go to the source, right?

Except that Shou would probably just shrug, look a bit sheepish and/or awkward, and steer the topic elsewhere. It’s been a very long time, and before all this, she was an animal. All of that combines into not… actually knowing exactly what happened. She might ask Bishamonten if she thought it was actually important. She’s mildly curious but a kind of ideological “I am who I am now, looking back would be Wrong” hangup has kicked away what little temptation there is. 

What she does know, though, is that she knew Nazrin from before all this, and they stayed together. I read it as Shou getting caught up in all this, and Nazrin deciding she’s not going alone, but that’s mostly because I consider Shou to be significantly more into this whole Bishamonten business than Nazrin is. 

Since we’re talking about origins anyway, I might as well note that I believe them to both be from India for fairly obvious reasons. The exact road trip that brought them to Japan and whether it’s pre- or post-Byakuren is one of the flexible blank patches in their history. I’ve made some posts about the idiosyncrasies that come out of this, half-jokingly. Some examples follow, if you like: (1, 2, oh dear I thought I had more of these).

Shou is basically the leader of the Byakuren fanclub. Her adoration and admiration for She Of The Crazy Hair knows no bounds (though I would say this is not necessarily, and is indeed wildly unlikely to be romantic or anything; this can take other forms, after all). When Byakuren got captured, she took it very hard, It’s a personal failing (or so she’s chosen to believe, at least) that she carries to this day, long after everyone else has stopped holding it against her - they never did anyway - and it affects a lot of things. She led the UFO rescue party, for one. She’s probably fairly overprotective and trying too hard to compensate for something that’s not even her fault, to this day.

More on that in a bit, though. I talked about Nazrin before, and briefly about Byakuren now. Let’s touch on the other major figure in her life: Bishamonten.

It’s not hard to see how Bishamonten is a big deal to Shou. Uplifted her from a regular animal or youkai to an avatar, for one. Two, he’s a generally virtuous and heroic sort, it would appear. Three, she’s an avatar, she’s kind of contractually obligated to approve of him even without the other stuff. Suffice to say it’s no real surprise she has a glowing opinion of him. 

Let’s look at him a bit, though. If any Buddhists in the audience feel I am in need of a correction or possibly a swift kick in the shins, please let me know; I’ve done research but that’s never really the same.

With that preamble out of the way: Bishamonten always struck me as someone who doesn’t… quite fit in with the general Buddhist picture. He’s big and loud and fiery-tempered, he’s a god of war and (often material) fortune, he’s known for a great deal of smiting, he’s usually depicted with a world-class scowl (no, seriously) and a big fiery halo, et cetra. On countless levels, he does not come off as a lotus kind of guy. Not bad - he’s a god of justice and protecting the weak as well, after all - but just kind of wandered into the wrong group.

You can characterise him as just different, or necessary, or failing to follow Buddha’s doctrine, but in any of the above cases, I think anyone who idolises both Bishamonten and Byakuren might experience some clashes in how to act. My impression of him is someone who’s probably a great friend, stand-up guy, always there for people, et cetra, but you really wish he picked up an indoor voice and stopped getting into bar fights every day. 

Shou’s picked up a bit of all of the above. Again, avatar, can’t be helped. More on that later, though.

Your impression of Shou is largely a matter of whose eyes you see her through. To the average person, she is probably utterly awe-inspiring, a picture of charisma, effortless grace and an imposing, almost regal air all at once. If you want someone who impresses people into signing on just from seeing her, congratulations! You found her.

She’s aware of that, though, and she tries her best to take the edge off it by being friendly and amiable wherever possible. The effect is rather like a golden angel coming from the sky to a booming choir, only to ask how you’re doing and if you need any help carrying those radishes. And yet, she makes it work: Again, charisma and people skills are kind of her thing. She’s also built up a reputation as someone you can always go to if you need anything, whether it’s a thief caught, or a blessing of good fortune to last the winter, or just advice (though she’ll always try to direct you to Byakuren or Nazrin for that last one, unless you insist). Shou is happy to help, no strings attached, and everyone knows it. It’s the Meiling factor: A combination of a guard and a friendly face. Even people who dislike the entire Myouren temple will probably vouch for Shou. Byakuren is definitely up to something, but Shou? Not a chance, pillar of the community, don’t know what she’s even doing in a place like this.

To other youkai, she’s a touch more open, and uses a different tack. She’s Byakuren-lite: Just as nice and caring, but a little more in touch with the thoughts and concerns of youkai, and somewhat less uptight, easier to talk to, that kind of thing. Whether Byakuren is particularly unapproachable or whatever is beside the point: It’s how people see Shou by comparison.

In private and around non-Byakuren friends, Shou is loud, cheerful and boisterous, quite a contrast to her usual self: The sort of person that some might call ‘a handful’ if anyone actually minded. They don’t. Everyone within this small circle has stories to tell about Shou, all of them good. They’re usually told to people who were actually there, though. Shou’s got an image to keep up and everyone knows it. 

Shou herself has no particularly glowing opinion of herself. Have you ever heard that “nobody’s perfect”? Well, she hasn’t. Or at least, she heard, and then quickly dismissed this as an excuse (though only when applied to her; she’s fairly laid back about others). She does not give herself a break, and never has.

Part of this is kind of a… lack of perspective. She always has to do better, to measure up to Byakuren and Bishamonten. She, however, refuses to see either as anything less than utterly perfect, despite “we’re decent people, but boy have we taken some wrong turns in life” basically being the Myouren temple slogan, and Bishamonten being- well, see above. Not only are these contradictory, but a hopelessly idealised vision of another person is, in fact, not actually feasible as a goal. 

Essentially, Shou is already good enough to leave most people somewhat awestruck. She’s entirely unaware of this, and is instead bitterly disappointed that she’s not somehow perfect,  or reaching a set of contradictory, unattainable standards of people who are basically imaginary.

I imagine Nazrin tries to talk her out of it now and then, with middling and temporary success. It doesn’t help that, yeah, Shou does miss the mark occasionally (see: being a bit of a heavy drinker etc.) In practice this isn’t something you’d find out about, because Shou can still project  confidence very well. She’s good at this stuff, remember.

A couple odds and ends to close this out. One thing I’ve always liked from… some book or other (I can never remember the titles anyway) is that Shou is pretty much complete rubbish with a spear. It’s entirely ceremonial. I’ve seen people read this as “she’s basically helpless without the pagoda”, though, and I don’t think that’s quite true. A tiger is scary. A youkai is scary. A tiger youkai demigoddess is probably a whole lot scarier when she puts the spear down. 

As for blessings of fortune, I’ve always seen it as coming in two varieties, broadly. There’s good luck of the “huh, everything seems to be working out for me lately” kind. Then there’s the unsubtle kind where a sack of jewels just shows up in your living room one day. She can do both, and… yeah, sure, ideally you should cut off material attachment, but in practice people need things just to get by, and she considers helping with this to be an important part of her work at the temple.

That’s about it for my big rambly mess re: Shou, so I’m just gonna add a really silly idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Shou once earned a single wish from Bishamonten in recognition of her services. She requested an arm-wrestling match with him, lost badly, and has been delighted about the whole thing ever since. Still kind of sore, though.

[pendragonfics]

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: female reader, superpowers, angst and a happy ending.

Summary: Reader has an ability which makes everyone transparent with their wills and wishes for good and bad. It's quite the bane of her existence when she meets the God of Lies...

Word Count: 1,647

Posting Date:  2016-09-11

Current Date: 2017-05-23

Before you wake, you notice there are voices all around you. Their words run onto each other, into circles in a cycle that confuses you. You're not sure why you are asleep in the first place, the last thing you can remember was your desk at work, waiting for more jobs to complete from your boss -

"Should we tell her?" you catch onto these words, and frowning, you force your eyes ajar. He has curly hair, and glasses. He stands beside your bed, flanked by many other people you also do not know. "It's a miracle she's alive."

A taller man coughs. "Uh, if it happened to me, I'd sure as hell want it."

"No, you would not," your mouth opens, words tumbling out. "You would rather find out on your own, in a controlled environment."

The room is still. Your eyes finally see the room, and gauge the numbers that surround you. There are familiar faces, a few people you've seen on TV - wait, they're not D-List celebrities hosting the after midnight shopping channel. These are the Avengers.

"Holy crap, what just happened?" you cover your mouth.

There's the beeping of a heart rate monitor nearby, but you're not focusing on the steadily increasing pace of the annoying beeps. You're watching the faces of these people you know by their public superhero alias watch you like you're E.T. or something straight out of American Horror Story. Not the standard, run-of-the-mill personal assistant civilian you really are. Were?

"You're currently under the influence of something a bad, bad man made to do bad things with," a man with white hair speaks up. He wears a plaid blue shirt, and eyes you with his dark eyes. "Nothing to worry about."

"Pietro," a shorter brunette hisses.

You shake your head. "That's...that's not quite true, is it?" you wonder.

The man with curly hair...Dr. Bruce Banner! shakes his head. "You're most certainly right, Miss __________ ________. We aren't sure you remember the accident, but enemies of your boss, Mr. Richards approached your place of work quite late last Thursday evening, and tried to initiate a fight. Quite unfortunately, instead of attacking your boss, he targeted you."

You nod. "That sounds better, Dr. Banner. So, this...thing I have, this knack..."

The taller man - Tony Stark! Why hadn't you recognised him sooner, his face and facial hair was plastered to every billboard, newspaper, subway poster in town, heck, there was a huge flashing picture of him outside your apartment! - he gave you a sad smile. "It's now officially your superpowers, Miss ________. You, as you've shown to us, have the ability to tell the truth, and find it."

 ---

It isn't until a week later when you make it back to work. Johnny is standing by the doorman, and before you know it, he's confessed that he's supposed to break it to you lightly that you've been given some time off from work to recover from your accident, about six to eight weeks, please don't tell his sister that he blurted it all out before you made it up the stairs. You understand. Johnny, despite his habit as being a famed womanising king (send to Tony Stark), really gets you, and promises to call you up to check on you while you're away.

You can tell he means it.

You can tell your landlord means it when he kicks you out of your apartment for missing the rent - it wasn't like you had a streak of it, but he had a new born baby and a sick wife to care for, let alone the rest of the tenants. You pack your things, and call the first number you can remember.

"Hello, this is _______...I need a place to stay for a while, I - are you sure? I can be there - you don't have to - thank you, I'll see you then."

A car comes to pick you up promptly. And thus, you came to stay at the Avengers Tower. It isn't until Phil Coulson, a suited man with shades on inside notices your newfound abilities and recruits you to train alongside everyone for combat. Luckily for you, though, while everyone is doing cardio, you're paired with the Nat Romanov, learning the basics of spying and intelligence. It's a wonderful run you have, but four weeks into your stay, there arrived a new member.

You were reading in the library when he appeared. His eyes found you as soon as he swept into the room, piercing and green, but it was what you read within them that made your mind spin. Before your incident, there had been plenty of migraines experienced and brain-splitting headaches which rocked you into a brutal oblivion. But this -- it was killing you.

"Mortal-,"

"I have to go," you excuse. Your book is left to close itself, Loki left standing in the entrance of the library.

Incidents like this happen to you since your accident, but never like this. You'd get a pang in your hand when someone tried to steal a cookie or a twitch in your eye when someone told a lie. But never a migraine which forced you out of your comfort, your happy place.

Nobody approaches you upon the subject of you leaving a room when the green Asgardian prince arrives, or flat out ignoring him. It's the same thing they're doing, except, you're quite blatant.

The telltale feeling of another terrible headache ring in your skull, but before you can evacuate, you're surprised to hear him speak to you. "What is it about me which disgusts you?"

You frown, and turn to him. You've never had a proper look at him, but now you have no choice. His hair is to his shoulders, straight, dark, and he wears a button down shirt and denim slacks like he isn't a thousand year old alien from somewhere out of space.

"I - you've got it wrong. I'm not disgusted by you." You stutter. "I have something wrong with me. It's - ever since it happened, I sense the truth in people. When people lie, I -," you close your eyes. The pain from being near him increases with every second, and before you know it, a tear escapes your eye. "It can cause immense pain to me."

Loki cocks his head, crossing his arms like his brother does. "I do suppose I shall let you go on and leave my presence, mortal. It wouldn't do well to hurt you by being near you."

But the thing is, your feet don't move away. They stay planted, and your eyes stay open. "My name is ________, and I'm staying here with you until you explain why you're - you're -,"

"I'm the God of Lies, darling," he drawls. "The Trickster God, the bane of every living thing's existence. I live to wreck havoc."

You shake your head. "N-no, you don't." You deny. "It's a defence for you, isn't it? Something drove you to become this way. You're not some damned man you claim to be."

He narrows his eyes. "And you read that with your abilities? My, what a great skill, psychology."

You shake your head. "I don't - I don't know a lick of psychology. All I have is this thing inside me which tells me what you're saying is not the truth." You take a deep breath, and placing your hands upon your hips akimbo, you add, "If anything, your actions reflect a small boy trying to impress someone."

"Liar!" Loki shouts.

Your headache worsens. "Whatever you say, the truth still stands. I'm not under the influence of anything but something which makes me the most honest person on the planet, princeling. So, you're the liar," your voice rises, and you spit out, "Liar liar, pants - on fire!"

He doesn't compute you're gone until your footsteps echo in his ears.

---

You wake the next morning with your voicemail machine's tone telling you of new mail, and still half-asleep, you play the message. It's from your boss, Mr. Richards, saying he expects you to be back any day to resume your job, and that his fiancé-soon-to-be-wife misses you so much, hugs and kisses from Sue.

You're wide awake by the time the message ends. Your fingers twitch, unsure to press the replay or delete. But instead, they curl into a fist, and slowly release.

Dressing for the day, you remember that the night before you had that awful argument with Loki. It had been in the back of your mind, haunting your dreams all night. How had you run away from a disagreement, an argument in such a childish way?

You had to set it right.

But as you went to go on your way, there's a figure darkening your doorway. A tall, dark-haired Asgardian. Loki.

"I came to apologise," he prefaced. "You are right. I have done things in my life which reflect the ways of a child, in simplistic, petty ways which harm people. I know this thing you've acquired must be new and intimidating and my nature does nothing to aid you. I'm sorry."

You feel your cheeks darkening.

"Did I say something wrong?" Loki wonders.

You shake your head. "You're - you just spoke the truth to me, Loki. I can stand here without pain! You're - you're -," you gush.

His lip pulls up at the side. "I'm honest."

You nod so fiercely that your head hurts a little with the exaggerated movement. "You are!" You beam. "You have no idea how amazing it is to not be in pain around you!"

Loki chuckles. "I could only imagine so. I was also thinking we could go out sometime, like Midgardians do for fun. If you wish."

You beam. "You mean it?" But you know the answer already.

Loki nods. "Of course. There's something about women running away from me constantly that makes me want to follow in pursuit.”

[thefairywrites]

Near or Far, Together at Heart - Chapter Two

This is a collaborative piece between myself and @miss-zei there is MUCH more to come following this first chapter, so please look forward to it! 

Chapter 1/Chapter 2

Summary:  Natsu would scour the entirety of Magnolia, Fiore, and the world to find Lucy; but what happens when he’s forced to search through multiple universes? Is his love and determination strong enough to push him through the obstacles that stand between him and Lucy?

Rated: T for language and possible future situations

Pairing: NaLu

Word Count: 3138 

Chapter Two - Read Between the Lines

-

Why is everything so dark? So…quiet?

I need to get to Lucy…

Lucy…

LU—

“—CY!!”, Natsu’s eyes shot open and he promptly sat up with a gasp.

“Shhh”, an unknown individual chastised from somewhere in the vicinity.

He eyed his surroundings, the rows and rows of shelves of books towered above him like skyscrapers in a big city. The floor itself was covered in shaggy green carpeting and several books scattered about, piled in the corners and on top of chairs and tables. Gross. He had to be in a nightmare right now. There was no way in hell he’d willingly waltz into a place that would require him to read. Where the hell was he exactly?

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips at the sight. This must be some sort of joke. Nevertheless, he needed answers, and he certainly wasn’t going to get them by staring at those giant paperweights. He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair as he stood, using the bookshelf next to him for support—his body was still rather sore from the battle with the dark guild prior.

A golden glint from one of the books caught his attention in the corner of his eye, and he thought about reaching out to grab it, when he remembered his initial mission. Right—Find Lucy.

“LUCY!!!!”, he called out with his hands cupped around his mouth to add extra volume.

“Shhhhh”, there was that noise again.

Natsu frowned. He’d been searching for roughly twenty minutes to find the source of the shushing, yet he’d had zero luck. He just needed to ask them a few questions, maybe interrogate them a bit—beat the shit out of them for bringing him here. Why the hell would his kidnapper bring him to a library of all places? There were only two people he could think of that would do such a thing, and he was currently looking for one of them.

He continued walking through the library for another ten minutes, his frustration growing steadily with each second that passed. He was no closer to finding the other person than he was when he had woken up in this damned place. He’d walked through every single aisle, and it seemed no one else was there, but that still didn’t explain the mysterious hushing he’d heard earlier. He sighed, kicking a stray book to the side, its pages fluttering slightly at the force.

The same familiar golden glint from earlier caught his attention once more, of course that would mean he’d have to be—

Back right where he started.

He groaned loudly and grabbed the nearest book, throwing it at the wall at the end of the aisle, “DAMN IT! DOES NOBODY ELSE EXIST IN THIS STUPID PLACE!?”

Of course, he’d been walking in circles, he should have known he wouldn’t be able to make it anywhere in this maze of a library. He closed his eyes with a sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. He just wanted to find Lucy and get the hell out of there, was that too much to ask? He felt something whizz quickly past his head, the breeze brushed against his right cheek. “Hm?”, he opened an eye to find out what it was, only to find a large object hurtling right towards his forehead.

Lucky for the dragonslayer, he was agile enough to be able duck in time. He turned to watch what had turned out to be a large textbook slam against the wall, its corner somehow managing to jab itself through the drywall—a large, gaping hole left in its wake. His eyes widened in panic, and he turned back around to face the possible foe, lowering himself into a defensive stance. A small figure stood before him, though petite, the ominous shadow that stretched from the person seemed to increase their terrifying aura tenfold. He watched as the individual reached out a hand for another large book, their hand clenching tightly around the big binding.

He narrowed his eyes at the person, a frown stretching on his face. The figure began to move slowly towards him, the book still in hand. “Do you not know what it means to be quiet?” the person whispered harshly, their grip on the book tightening as they continued moving closer towards him. Though the voice seemed almost too sweet for the individual in question, it didn’t fit their alarming disposition.

The light above him flickered slightly as the mysterious person finally reached him, the shadows disappeared from their face, revealing a pair of innocent brown eyes. Though the anger was very apparent in their knitted eyebrows and the frown etched across their features. Natsu gasped at the person, clapping a hand over his mouth before shouting, “IT WAS YOU WHO KIDNAPPED ME, LEVY!?”

The petite woman raised an eyebrow, and her fingers twitched slightly at the mention of her name from the stranger. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop shouting!? I’m about ready to smack you across the head with this if you don’t quiet down”, she chastised, raising the book to support her threat.

The male frowned and crossed his arms before speaking, “And why the hell should I do that after you kidnapped me? Afraid I’ll get you caught?”

“You know, I’m shocked. I guess I was wrong about you, Lev. If I had known you were capable of this sort of thing I would have said you and Metal Mouth were perfect for eachother from the start.”

The blue-haired woman’s eyebrows knitted together at his babbling and she brought her empty hand up to rub her temple to soothe the headache that was forming. “What in the world are you droning on about, sir? You’re the one who decided to walk in here and take a nap in the middle of the aisle”, she said, letting out a huff.

“Wha—“

“Listen, I’m not sure how you know my name, but I just work here. I’m not some sort of criminal that’d take you. If you could just quietly leave before you start anything else that’d be great”, Levy lectured, setting the textbook she was still holding back onto the shelf, closing her eyes and leaning against it as she waited for him to leave.

Natsu remained silent and unmoving, his shoulders slumped as he stared at his feet, “I’m confused about where I am…”

“Obviously”, she murmured under her breath with a sigh.

“Listen, Do you think—“, he hesitated, “—Do you think you could help me out?”

The woman opened her eyes and crossed her arms, “Was all that wandering around you were doing to find a book or something? That is my job—“

“No”, he interrupted, “I’m trying to find my friend.”

“Your friend? But sir you walked in here alone”, she eyed him with confusion.

“I, uh…lost her?” he shrugged.

“Uh huh… okay… so what does your ‘friend’ look like?” she asked, using her fingers to create quotation marks.

“Well, she’s got super long blonde-ish hair, and she always wears it up like this with a bow”, he pointed up to the side of his head and pretended to tie a bow.

“I see. That sounds rather familiar”, the librarian nodded her head, “What’s her name perchance?”

“Lucy.”

The woman’s emotions seemed to flip like a switch and she was suddenly rather delighted. “I didn’t know you knew, Lucy!? She works here. She’s also my best friend”, she stated with a large grin.

“Is she here now?” Natsu asked hopefully with a smile.

The frown returned to Levy’s face as if she wanted the woman in question to be there as well. “Nope. She doesn’t work until later today, but if you’d like, Mr. Cap can take your name and let her know you were here”, she stated as she turned to walk back down the aisle, motioning behind with her hand to follow, “I’ll take you to him.”

Levy led Natsu around the corner and through the rest of the messy aisles, eventually making it to a hallway with a series of doors along both sides down the entire length. At the very end of the corridor one door remained partially open, the opaque glass window denoted its importance among the other plain wooden doors. Light filtered out through the crack and underneath, indicating that someone was currently occupying it.

As they drew closer, a male voice could be heard speaking quite loudly and a muffled female voice responding to the man’s words. “Yes, yes”, he paused, “I completely understand your concern, but I can assure you that this situation is under control.”

The woman he was currently in conversation with yelled something, yet even Natsu’s super sensitive hearing could barely pick it up. The man coughed and faltered for a moment before responding, “Yes ma’am. I am aware of the problems that could incur if this does not go as planned, but I promise that the young man has no id—“

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Something was slammed onto what Natsu presumed was some sort of tabletop, and a chair was pushed back, its legs squeaking against the hard floor. “—Hello?” the man called out at the interruption.

Levy hesitantly poked her head in through the door, “Sir?”

The man cleared his throat, “Oh- Yes, what is it, Levy?”

“We have a visitor. He’s, uh, he’s a friend of Lucy’s. I know you’re probably busy, but do you mind if we leave his name so we can let Lucy know he was here?” she quickly rattled out, trying her best not to waste any of the man’s time.

“Bring him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Levy pulled her head out of the doorway with a smile and turned back to face Natsu, tilting her head towards the office, “Come on in.”

Natsu remained stone-faced, still unsure of what to make of the situation he was in, but followed anyways. He stepped into the office, glancing around the room as he looked at the various pictures hanging on the walls—each more strange than the next. Though the weirdest one was nothing too extraordinary, but it was just a plain yellow background with the white silhouette of a goat’s head. He stared intently at the image, squinting his eyes in contemplation. “Do you like it?” A gruff voice spoke behind him, startling him out of his thoughts.

The dragonslayer spun around, coming face to face with a tall, burly man in a plain black suit with a bright green tie. Natsu studied the features of the man before him, taking note of the man’s thick beard and the long snow white hair tied behind him. His steely eyes seemed to hold as much strength as his muscles, the intimidating gaze held strong as Natsu tried his best to seem just as threatening. “Hm—“, the tall man considered and walked back towards his large wooden desk, “—Care to take a seat?”

“What? Why should I sit, old man? I just want to find Lucy, that’s all”, Natsu grumbled, crossing his arms.

“You know, it’s strange, I’ve never had someone deny taking a seat with such an attitude”, the man chuckled dryly, grabbing a pen and twisting it between his fingers, “Care to rethink that? I’m willing to help you out. You should really treat me with more respect.”

Natsu raised an eyebrow and glanced back over towards the doorway where Levy still stood silently with her hands clasped. She nodded her head and raised a finger to point to the seat in front of the desk. He mumbling something under his breath and nodded his head in return, walking over and taking a seat. “Levy, do you care to give us a few moments? The books in aisle H need to be reorganized, especially after that little scuffle you two had”, he jabbed, but his tone still remained rather light.

Levy gasped at the comment, a blush peppering her cheeks up to her ears. “Y-Yes, Mr. Cap! I-I mean, yes, sir!”, she squeaked nervously and bounded out of the room, leaving the two men alone.

Natsu stared at the now-empty doorway, and Mr. Cap cleared his throat to get his attention. “Care to tell me your name, son?” he said, a smile finally making its way to his face.

“Why do you need to know that?” the pink-haired male eyed the white-haired male, clenching his fists in his lap.

Mr. Cap remained silent for a few moments before setting the pen he still held back into its holder, making a point to maintain eye contact. “Isn’t that entire reason you’re here in my office at this moment?” the man chuckled and clasped his hands on top of the desk.

“So?” Natsu mumbled, sinking lower into his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and stuffing his nose into his scarf.

The tall man sighed, “You’re awfully defensive over something so simple. Is something on your mind?”

No response.

“You know, I often think about the weaknesses of other people, and how other individuals do drastic things despite how underprepared they may be. I feel I have a tendency to undervalue or misjudge others. It can make me seem rather condescending I suppose” Mr. Cap spoke carefully, and Natsu’s ears perked up at his words, “Tell me, have you ever underestimated someone else?”

The dragonslayer’s head snapped up at the question as flashbacks flew through his mind, the visions of Lucy running away with tears streaming down her face. Tears that he had caused. He nodded his head softly, his fists tightening as he recalled his mistakes. How could he have been so cruel.

“So you do respond to questions” the man responded sarcastically, but continued his little lesson, “The truth is, it’s human nature to judge others, whether we mean to or not. Of course, it is up to us to decide whether we voice that judgement, and if that is the correct path. We must consider how that might make the other individual feel.”

Natsu’s eyebrows knitted together and he found himself pushing his face even deeper into his scarf, drowning in his own guilt. Mr. Cap allowed his words to sink in for a few more moments before humming softly, “I need to ask a favor of you. Do you mind if I ask that of you?”

The salmon-haired male locked eyes with the other male, nodding slowly and sitting up straighter. “I need you to find me a book here in the library.”

Natsu raised an eyebrow in confusion, his voice muffled by the scarf over his mouth, “What? This is your library. Shouldn’t you be able to find it yourself?”

“Well, you see it’s a very important book, and I just haven’t been able to find it. As payment for taking up my time, I am requesting that you find it for me”, Mr. Cap grinned.

Natsu sighed and sat up straight with his arms still crossed, “How the hell am I supposed to find a book in this damn place!? There’s gotta be millions!”

“I’ll tell you what. I think I have an idea of the general area it might be in. First of all, our books are organized by title and author in alphabetical order; however, occasionally these things get mixed up with the book’s genre or may just have been set there randomly”, the tall man explained, “Strange how such things get mixed up, I know, but surprisingly it happens.”

“What is it called?”

“Ah, it’s a great book, I’ve been searching for it for a while now. It’s called DAYBREAK by Kemu Zaleon”, Natsu’s eyes widened at the familiar name, and it gained the attention of Mr. Cap, “Do you recognize it?”

“Ah- Well, sort of…”, the pink-haired man rubbed the back of his head, “I mean, I’ve seen it before.”

“I see. Then it should be fairly easy for you to find it after all”, the librarian smiled, “I would suggest checking in aisle H then. People tend to put the heartfelt books there.”

Natsu nodded, stood up, and walked towards the door. “Oh, and by the way,” Mr. Cap paused, “There’s another book I think you’d be interested, and I’m sure you’ve heard of it since it was written by your own friend. It’s called Fairy Tail. Written by the wonderful, Lucy Heartfilia. That will also be in the same section.”

The dragonslayer gasped at the name, before nodding and running out of the room and back towards the library—Mr. Cap’s voice could be heard in conversation with someone once again, “Yes ma’am, I think it worked out very well. I feel that things could be headed in the right direction.”

Row H.

Row H.

Row H.

Natsu bounded throughout the library and every single aisle for several minutes before he finally made it to a gold-plated plaque with a cursive H printed on it “FINALLY!”, he shouted, receiving a familiar shush in response.

He searched the titles on the shelves, now neatly organized because of Levy. It seemed to go on for hours as he passed by hundreds of books, each written by a different author, but he was determined. He needed to find Lucy’s book. After a few more moments he finally reached the authors that started with “Heart” and he scanned each book when a familiar symbol caught his eye. His guild mark right on the binding in bright red. He quickly pulled the book from the shelf and brought it to his face, eagerly opening it to the first page—Unknowingly pulling the book next to it down and right onto his foot.

He yelped in pain and managed to drop the book in his hands to inspect his now-bruised foot. Lying there, was the same book from earlier with the title DAYBREAK printed on the cover, the same strange glowing peeking through the pages. He bent down and picked it up, hesitantly opening it right to the middle where he suspected the glowing originated. Sure enough, an intricately carved golden key had been bookmarked there, the symbol of the zodiac Capricorn was printed on the top.

It seemed to glow brighter when he held it in his hands to bring it to eye level, and pretty soon his body felt lighter. It was almost as if he was being pulled away from reality. He glanced around in panic, looking for anyone around him when he noticed a blonde-haired woman’s head bobbing in the next aisle. “LUCY!!!”, he shouted, and he heard the woman hit her head on the shelf next to him and curse loudly. She peeked over to look at him, and for a second their gazes locked, but before either could even say a word—he was gone.

[fate-ad2021]

18(a). “Conspiracy Unveiled” (part 1 of 2)

Session 18, May 7, 2017

Word count: 4,698

In-Game Date:  Monday, June 14, 2021

In which the group meets Reines’s decrypters and begins to unravel the secrets behind the Grail War system.

I. Vol’s Arrival

At around 2 in the afternoon on Monday, as the group is sitting down to eat lunch, Caster senses a ping at the edge of the boundary field. It is a mild sensation – the magical equivalent of a visitor gently tapping at the door.  He stands to go look at the window, but Lancer blazes past him to perch at the window like a hunting dog.

“Well, Lancer, what do your elf eyes see?” Siobhan asks, drawing some laughs.

“I knew we were expecting visitors, but… Were we expecting a woman made of silver?”

“Vol!”  Jim and Val exclaim as they spring to the window to see.

Indeed, the liquid metal maid stands at the edge of the boundary field, accompanied by two men.  One of her companions is tall and thin and a little scruffy; the other is of average height and average weight, with an average face and hair color, the very picture of what a completely plain and nondescript person would look like.

Vol waves cheerily at Jim and Val, then loops her arms through her companions’ and drags them up the walkway to the front door.  She has barely knocked before Val has the door open and is inviting the group inside.

Vol pats Jim and Val both on the shoulders in greeting, then motions to her companions.  The taller one looks vaguely overwhelmed, and after a second of looking around the room, the shorter one expresses the reason:

“Hi, we – were definitely not expecting this number of people. Wow!  Reines was right; you guys are doing really well for yourselves.” He looks at the tall one. “They’re doing way better than we did.”

“Oh,” Val and Jim both reply, “more victims of the Grail War.”

“Yup, that’s us!” The shorter one motions to himself, “I’m Dimitri,” and to the taller, “He’s France.  I speak Russian; he speaks computer.  Reines sent us to work on the notes that you picked up.”

There is silence in the room for a moment, then Lancer nudges Val. “So, you know how you said that some people thought I was a vampire?”  When Val nods, she points at France.  “That is a vampire.”

France adopts a dour frown as the rest of the group turns to stare at him.

“Really?” Val asks.  France shrugs.  “So… How’s Rome treating you, with all the crosses and garlic?”

“I was wondering how he got out in the sunlight,” Jim adds.

France just shrugs again and absently touches something hidden beneath his shirt.  “Reines helped.  I never actually got the chance to complete the transformation.  There were… extenuating circumstances.  Anyway, it’s not as uncomfortable as it could be.”

“Besides,” Dimitri adds, “he’s a basement-dwelling nerd as it is.”

France rolls his eyes, but Caster and Val light up.  “We can definitely set you up with a basement! We made one just the other day!”

Dimitri looks confused, then delighted when Caster creates an illusion of a door with the wave of his hand.  “Illusionist?” he exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

The group confirms it with a resounding “Illusionist,” in various tones from amusement to annoyance.

Dimitri gives the group another appraising look, then stops on Val. “I think we’ve met, actually. We’re both Reines’s agents, after all, although I’m also with the Red Flower Society.  You wouldn’t remember me – I almost certainly looked different. I’m the society’s Man of Many Faces.”

“How do you guys plan on getting access to the notes?”  Siobhan asks, a valiant effort to keep the conversation on track.

Dimitri jerks a thumb at France.  “I wasn’t joking when I said he could talk to computers.”

“Technomancer?” Val guesses.  In response, France pulls off one of his gloves, revealing both a Command Seal scar and another oddity:  the tip of his index finger has been replaced by a USB plug.

Dimitri also shows off his Command Seal scar, and the group begins to pester the pair with questions about their War and their Servants. Dimitri says that he had both Archer and Assassin, and Jim seems pleased to meet someone else who had the same Servant combination that he did.  France reveals that he summoned Lancer, but grumps that he had also wanted Assassin.

Before they can fall to bickering, as it seems they might be inclined to, Siobhan pipes up again:  “Why did Reines send you two in particular to take care of these notes?  Besides your… talents.  What kind of investment do you have in them?”

Dimitri and France are quiet for a moment, then Dimitri answers, “I’ll level with you:  I lost a lot to this War system.  My parents are both dead because of it.”  Siobhan nods in sympathy as he continues, “So really, I’m just looking for some closure. I want to know how it works, and I want to know how to make it stop.”  He waves his hand toward France.  “And France is just a conspiracy theorist, so that’s what he’s got riding on it.”

“I am not just a conspiracy theorist!”  France objects.  “How can you dismiss me like that after all the threads we’ve seen?!”

“It’s not paranoia if there really is a giant conspiracy,” Jim pipes up.

“Thank you!”

“Before we give you this laptop,” Val tells them, “we need to be clear on one thing:  This information does not leave this house.  No notes, no copies, no emails, nothing, except for what we need to dismantle the Grail.  Nothing gets out; not even back to Reines.  Got it?”

Dimitri seems surprised.  “I hear you, but why?  Don’t you trust her to stop it?”

“Sure,” Val answers, “but we both work for her:  you know as well as I do that once somebody has something, there’s no guarantee that somebody else won’t be able to get it.  I say this as someone whose job is to get things that belong to other people; nothing that exists is truly safe from being stolen.”

“Why bother decrypting it at all, then?  Why not just destroy the laptop?”

The group looks around, uncomfortable and wary until Jim chimes in, “How much has Reines told you about the Grail this War?”

The answer is “very little,” so they catch the pair up on the disaster of the death seals and the impending meltdown while they get them set up in one of the mocked-up basements.  By the end of the explanation, both decrypters are in agreement with the group’s preferred course of action:  decipher the notes, learn what they can about how Vasilyevich set up the Grail, figure out how to defuse it, and then destroy the notes so no one else can use them.

II. Insight into the Death Seals

The group leaves the decrypters to their work, with Vol there to supervise. Barely half an hour later, delighted laughter and victory cheers sound from the room; the Masters and Servants rush back in to check on their guests.

France is where they left him:  slouched in one of the armchairs from the living room, with the laptop on a desk in front of him.  Dimitri stands beside him, projecting an illusion of what appears on the screen into the center of the room.  When the group enters, he is in the process of teasing apart layers of Vasilyevich’s Death Seal.

“Woah,” Val marvels.

Dimitri grins, obviously pleased at the appreciation of his skills.  “Well, we found his notes on how these Seals work. He’s got a lot of detail in here on how he built them and everything.”

“How did he connect them to the Grail?” Assassin asks.

Dimitri rotates the projection to show them the various layers – here, the parts that instruct it to pull life energy; there, the part that causes the fire; here, the Mastermind’s Command Seal, the conceptual connection to the Grail system.  He explains that Vasilyevich’s notes contain record of all the tests he performed, small scale activations to pull energy into other vessels.

“It looks like he tested it a lot,” Dimitri points out, “but when it came to connecting it to the Grail War, he was kind of just hoping that it would work.”

“That explains the fires in the empty warehouses before the War started,” Jim realizes.  “Those were the final tests before he unleashed it on occupied spaces.”

“Yikes,” Dimitri mutters.

“Is there any about how to deactivate them?”  Val asks.

Dimitri hums in thought as France scrolls through more pages of notes. “Not really… That wasn’t exactly his priority.  But I think…” He studies the notes for a few more minutes before raising his hands again. Before their eyes, he highlights elements of several layers and combines them into a single projected circle.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “I think I got it.  If you reverse this part here – and I don’t know how you would do that, but I imagine that it could be done – then it should form a mass deactivation spell specific to this seal.  You’d have to make kind of a big one,” he motions with the span of his arms, “and pour a bunch of magic into it, so it might be tough for anyone besides a Caster Class to pull off, but that should do the trick.”

Val looks to Caster.  “Do you think you could do it?”

Caster shrugs.  “Why not just call Orsino?  He has a team on it.”

At Dimitri’s questioning look, Val explains, “Orsino is Rider’s Master. He’s an Executor.”

“He’s a… what?!” France looks horrified.

Val holds up his hands.  “Don’t worry! He’s on our side!  Besides with the Grail in the Vatican, Rider is the only one who can actually touch it.  Our Servants can’t enter, but Rider was summoned there.”

“What a mess!”  Dimitri and France groan.

Val goes on, “Caster’s right – Orsino has a team working on clearing the city of these seals so that nobody else can use them.  Do you think I could take a picture of that layer you made?”

“Go for it,” Dimitri invites.

Val does, and texts it to Orsino.  He follows the text with a call a moment later.  The priest is delighted to hear the good news about how to deactivate the seals, and shares good news of his own:  he has several bright Executors on his team who specialize in reverse-engineering magic seals like this; they should have no problem figuring it out.  It may take some time to check the work and complete the task, but he promises to call the group when the deed is done.

In the wake of this discovery, the guests gratefully accept Val’s offer of sushi, and continue to work.

III. History of Changes

Around 3:30, the decrypters call the group back in again.  They have found the section of the notes that chronicles the changes made to the Grail ritual, stretching all the way back to its inception in Fuyuki, Japan.

“This is two hundred years of history,” Dimitri marvels, “and it’s written in surprising detail!”

“Not so surprising,” Jim counters.  “The guy was a researcher, after all.”

“Well, thank you mister mastermind!  Let’s see what he’s got…”

With the amount of information contained in the notes, it takes a while to dig through them.  They contain a journey starting with Cartwright’s understanding of the original Grail Wars, documenting the changes that she made to make the American Grail Wars happen, and through to the study and alterations that Vasilyevich came up with for the current war.

The first few Fuyuki Wars involved a physical vessel to collect energy for the Grail.  Sadly for them, the cup they used was never strong enough to contain the energy, which shattered the vessel and dissipated before the completion of the Grail.  The notes mention that by the Third Fuyuki Grail War, the organizers had figured out how to create an eighth Servant Class, but this section does not seem to contain much information on that.  France promises to dig into it further later.

By the Fourth Fuyuki Grail War, the organizers had created a homunculus to store the energy.  Dimitri and France light up at this revelation – there was a homunculus in their Grail War as well, although he fought as a Master.  At the group’s general confusion, they explain:  a homunculus is a constructed person. Assassin and Caster exchange sheepish looks; Mordred could probably count as one, considering all the alterations the two of them made to the clone knight.  In this case, France explains, the homunculus made as the Grail Vessel was given autonomy so she could defend herself and artificial magic circuits to store the energy.

When Cartwright took the blueprints of the War, she tweaked a few things to change the internal workings of it.  Namely, Dimitri points out, it seems that she merged the “Eighth Servant class” template with the “constructed Grail Vessel” template.

“She made a vessel for our War, though, didn’t she?”  Dimitri asks France.

“Yeah,” France replies, “I guess in case Ruler never showed up.”

“Did it?”  Val inquires.

Dimitri nods.  “Yeah, but not under Cartwright’s control like she had hoped.  Ruler was actually summoned by Cartwright’s daughter, who had been incidentally involved in the first American War.  What a mess.”

Assassin leans over France’s shoulder.  “So she already had notes about how to merge and separate the eighth Servant and the Grail Vessel, and it looks like that is when she sent the notes to Vasilyevich?”

“Looks like it,” France confirms.  “From what we see here, he was able to finish teasing apart the two categories.  He also figured out how to set the target of the Grail Vessel category.”

“That must be how he wound up choosing the Cauldron of Rebirth!” Assassin exclaims, with Lancer nodding along.  “It must have already contained enough residual magic energy to tie it to the Grail War, and it was a potent enough artifact to serve as a vessel without shattering under the weight of the energy like the original attempts did.”

Dimitri gives a low whistle.  “He’s been planning this for five years, ever since Cartwright sent him the notes. He’s definitely had time to perfect the system.”

Val groans.  “Why don’t villains ever have lives?”

“Clearly, their lives are for making their plots happen,” Caster quips.

IV. Casting Suspicion

By around 5pm, the decrypters have found information on some of the people who Vasilyevich consulted and collaborated with to make the Grail War happen. Most of the names are not ones that the group recognizes, but some quick searching on the internet reveals that most of the collaborators are dead.  Further, most of the deaths are listed as “cause unknown” – plus one apparently legitimate car crash.

Siobhan breaks the group’s stunned silence:  “Gotta say, I’m disappointed, a little relieved, and not at all surprised.” When they all turn to stare at her, she shrugs.  “Look, this is the guy who magically strong-armed people into helping him! Chances are looking pretty good that he arranged for these.”

“Okay,” Dimitri agrees, “but disappointed and relieved?”

Siobhan explains, “On the one hand, we can’t exactly contact any of them to see if they have more information.  On the other hand, they’re not talking to anyone else any time soon either. Vasilyevich already took care of all the loose ends.”

“Not all of them,” Dimitri points out.  “We know this guy:  Rocco Belfaban?  He’s a professor at the Clock Tower.”

“And the person who was connected to transporting the Cauldron here!” Jim exclaims.

“Didn’t we establish that Vasilyevich was just assuming his identity for that?”  Assassin asks.

France points at something on the screen.  “Even if that was the case, it looks like Vasilyevich forwarded some of the notes to him.”

Val is already dialing Reines.  “Hey, Reines—”

“Valentin,” she interrupts, “are my decrypters there?”

“Yes, and—”

“Would you please hand the phone over to Dimitri?”

Everyone leans away as Val puts the phone on speaker and holds it up.

“Hi Reines…” Dimitri calls meekly.

“Dimitri Romanov, why didn’t you call me when you landed?!”

“Sorry, Reines…”

Val takes the phone back.  “I’m so glad I’m not the only one you full-name when there’s a problem.”

“Yes, well,” she huffs.  “Have you found anything yet?”

“Yeah,” Val chirps, “We found a way to disarm the Death Seals, a comprehensive history of the Grail ritual, and also Rocco Belfaban is probably dead. But if he’s not, then we definitely need to talk to him.”

“Alright,” Reines says slowly, taking the news in stride.  “Let me look some things up; while I’m doing that, do you want to start at the beginning?”

Jim takes over.  “We found a list of Vasilyevich’s sources and collaborators in the notes.  According to the internet, most of them are dead – probably a setup by him – and the only one we recognize but can’t track down is Belfaban.”

“Well, I’ve been tracking travel to and from the Clock Tower, and it looks like barring any interference, Belfaban should be back from his expedition to Russia tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”  Val asks, incredulous.  “Because going to the middle of Russia sounds like the time I was told my dog was going to a farm upstate.”

The morbid humor draws disbelieving laughter from the rest of the group, including Reines.  She assures them, “I’ll keep monitoring to make sure he gets here safely.  If he does… What do you recommend?”

“Arrest him,” Val and Jim chorus.  Val goes on, “According to this, he has some of the notes.  We need to know how much he knows, and if he was under the influence of a geis or not.”

“I agree,” Reines replies.  “I was going to send Vol, but she’s there with you… Oh!  I know.  I’ll send Lord El-Melloi the Second.  He just got back from a trip himself.”

“Yikes,” Val mutters, then adds, “Thanks for this!  Talk to you tomorrow!”

V. War Stories

The quiet in the wake of the phone call is broken by gurgling stomachs. Since it is around 6 in the evening, the group decides to call it a day and break for dinner.

“Besides,” Dimitri chirps, “I’d love to hear all about how this War has been going!”

And so part of the evening is passed trading stories.  The group learns that Dimitri and France summoned Archer and Lancer respectively, and that both were vying for Assassin’s contract by the time they took out her Master.

“Dimitri only got it because he cheated,” France insists.

“Oh, please!  You make it sound like I stole her or something!”

“You did!”

“Well, if I stole Assassin, then you stole my sister.”

“Don’t say it like that!” France wails.  “It makes me sound like a creep!”

“You’re a vampire!” Dimitri wails back.  “I have concerns!”

Val decides to butt in before they can get going again.  “Yeah, about that… France, how did you become a vampire?  I thought they were all… zombie-like or something.  The kind that you are isn’t…”

“Normal?” France asks with a wry grin.  “Yeah, I was a… unique case.  You know how I said I summoned Lancer?”  When the group nods, his grin broadens, showing off sharp fangs.  “You’ve heard of Vlad the Impaler?”

Val lets out a drawn out wail: “What?  No way!”

“But he was just a regular dude!” Jim protests.  “Like, we have record of him; he wasn’t a vampire!”

“The thing about Servants is that they’re only partially the people that they actually were in life,” France explains.  “The metaphysical mechanic that records people as Heroic Spirits also records what everyone thinks of them.  So while Vlad was just a regular guy – I mean, a regular guy who was a warlord with some weird taste in showing off his cruelty – a lot of the legends that sprung up around him included elements associated with the traditional literary vampire.  So now a lot of people think of him as a vampire, and when he got summoned? That’s what I got.”

“And then he turned you?” Val asks.

Dimitri snorts.  “Yeah, after he jumped out a window and broke a leg.  I still don’t know how none of us noticed that it healed so fast.  It scared the piss out of all of us when we found out.”

“The looks on your faces were priceless.”  France sounds completely unapologetic.

Dimitri’s phone buzzes.  “Aww, Chi-chi and Sasha sent me a picture.”

“Tell Sasha she should be studying,” France grumbles.

“Oh, hush.  They’re on vacation.”  Dimitri passes the phone around.  On the screen is a selfie of two young ladies – one Slavic and the other Japanese. Dimitri explains that the four of them were in New York City last night, and that Assassin and his sister had stayed behind when Reines called him and France.

When Jim asks about Dimitri’s Assassin, with a curious glance toward his own, the pair explains the situation further.  In their War, they had allied with each other and with Caster’s Master; when they learned that Ruler was another owner of Pair Dadeni, they became curious about using her power to incarnate their Servants.  Ruler could only use her power to incarnate one of the Servants, and no one was sure who should be given a second chance; Lancer was Vlad the Impaler, Caster was the pompous William Shakespeare, and Archer wanted nothing to do with reincarnation.  In the end, and it was collectively decided that the obvious choice was Assassin: Mochizuki Chiyome, a ninja whose only wish was to help impoverished young girls escape bad situations.

“So now,” Dimitri explains, “Chi-chi and Sasha have bonded like sisters, and Sasha is taking magic lessons from France, against everything that I had hoped for.”  He opens his mouth to say something else, but instead it turns into an enormous yawn. “Oh, my goodness.  We’ve been up for far too long.”

“We have some extra beds, if you’d like to stay here,” Jim offers.  “Caster turned one of the bedrooms into a barracks with multiple bunks.”  He catches Val’s eye as they escort the pair to the barracks; both of them manage to stifle their laughter.

Caster, Assassin, and the Masters form a tower of heads peeking through the open door to watch the shenanigans.  Dimitri carefully assesses each of the bunks behind France’s back, and casually directs his companion toward the prank one once he finds it. France does not appear to notice anything amiss, so he climbs up the ladder as Dimitri burrows into the blankets of his own bed several bunks away.

The group at the door collectively holds their breath as France reaches to crawl onto the top bunk… and promptly tumbles through it headfirst.  Only his reflexes save him from faceplanting onto the lower bed.  The group scuttles down the hall, desperately trying not to laugh, leaving a swearing France and a cackling Dimitri behind.

VI. Research into Sophia-Ri

Jim and Siobhan watch TV in the living room while Assassin does some more work on Saber’s arm.  She manages to get past his magic resistance to stimulate growth on it, but she estimates it will take another day or two to fully recover, and he might never regain the energy that he lost to the seal.

Meanwhile, Caster and Val set to doing some research in their own ways.

Holed up in his workshop, Caster throws his mind to the winds of the world again to try to locate Emil.

The Holy City, the place that houses it… A mansion somewhere out of the way.

An armchair in front of a fire… Shadows writhing on the floor.

A hand holding a glass of wine… On the hand, a Command Seal.

He is here, he is watching, he is Protecting His Investment…

And an overwhelming sense of dread lingers very close by.

Caster pulls himself back into the present.  He cannot be sure if he is seeing the past, the present, or the future, but he is certain of this:  Emil is in Rome, Emil has a Command Seal, and Emil has the power of a Servant’s protection at his disposal.  Caster shakes his head and sighs.  He will have to go over this with the group.

Meanwhile, Valentin is doing some digging of his own.  He knows that the Sophia-Ri family had a Sealing Designation – practically a lifetime arrest warrant – on Cartwright after commissioning her to get the Grail War blueprints from Japan, but he realizes that the group has yet to figure out why. So he grabs a cup of coffee, his laptop, and his band phone, and sits down to research.

And finally, after such a long time waiting, his contacts begin to get back to him.

The calls come in apologetic at first; no one had wanted to get involved in this mess.  But soon, Val is throwing together notes and doling out favors to his friends and monologues at the laptop, and he finally gets some solid information.  To his relief, it matches what Reines had started to tell them several days ago; at least he knows she was not just making it up.

Around 25 years ago, Reines’s cousin and predecessor – Kayneth Archibald, Lord El-Melloi the First – went to Fuyuki to fight in the Fourth Grail War there; he brought with him his fiancée, Sola-Ui Sophia-Ri, to provide mana for his Servant.  Both died. When the news broke, House Archibald fell into disgrace as House Sophia-Ri attempted to discredit them and seize their assets.  The family feud soon drew in the entire Clock Tower, and it was not until another veteran of the Fourth Fuyuki War joined Archibald as Lord El-Melloi the Second that the tide of the legal battle began to turn.

That seems to be when House Sophia-Ri hired researcher and spy Anastasia Cartwright to travel to Fuyuki and dig up the plans for the Grail system and ritual before Lord El-Melloi the Second could set to dismantling it.  What began as a desire for closure turned into a desire for revenge, Val’s contacts say.  The consensus of speculation is that Sophia-Ri wanted to prove that the ritual could be used for any purpose that required a massive amount of energy, and that the original plan was perhaps to level its power against House Archibald.

When Cartwright succeeded, Sophia-Ri brought out the Sealing Designation in an effort to preserve the secrecy of the task.  This effort backfired, though, as Cartwright fled to America and began to set up Grail Wars in her own campaign for revenge and recognition.  The rest, they say, is history.

After hanging up with the last contact, Val realizes that if Sophia-Ri is involved in this War, then they will still want the notes.  He swallows the last of his coffee and makes his way out to the common area to share his findings.

It is late evening when the Masters and their primary Servants reconvene in the living room.  Caster shares his news that Emil is most likely in town and in possession of a Command Seal and a Servant.  Everyone agrees that this Servant is likely the mystery Eighth, although this possibility is understandably an upsetting one.

“Plus,” Lancer points out, “he may be able to summon that Faery back.  If he was powerful enough to call her to him in the first place, and if he has need of her…”

Caster shakes his head.  “I don’t know.  The use of Rhongomyniad to destroy the prison and banish her might have killed her permanently, or at least might preclude her being summoned back so soon.  We can’t know until we see it.”

“Safer to assume he has more defenses,” Siobhan warns.  Everyone nods somberly.

“I found confirmation of Reines’s story about the Sophia-Ri family,” Val chimes in, “and some more information besides…”

He fills the group in on the history that he found, and by the end of it everyone is distinctly concerned:  if Emil figures out that they have the notes, there is a high likelihood that he will come after them sooner rather than later.