#and at least one more. i think a dragonfly on the back of his neck?

[trannydean-moved]

okay i need to mention jaime's tats in 1x20 bc i didn't for 1x19 and i want him talking abt which tats he's got so far

[guiltycorp]

Do you think there's a chance of Suguru Geto regaining control of his body?

Oh personally I think yes (but unlikely)!

This has been discussed in the fandom a lot, main argument against it is the QA author answer to 'how much of Geto is left inside' which was that basically none, his movements being like a dragonfly's spasming after its neck gets broken. And main argument for it is what Kenjaku said to Mahito right after their arm moved on its own -

This was more about their ongoing philosophical debate with Mahito over the true essence of one's soul and whether it's a separate entity or not, but like still, if Geto's soul and body are one and Kenjaku is suppressing the soul with their own then why wouldn't Geto be able to break through that technique somehow, especially if there's outside help. But more than that I just think that jjk's lore is inconsistent enough that basically anything can happen. I do think there's less of a chance of that if Gojo dies without coming back in any way, especially since Gojo had that hallucination/purgatorial plane reunion with him, but well that's not 100% certain for now either... I think with Gojo, Nanako and Mimiko dead it wouldn't make much narrative sense for Geto to return since he doesn't really have close ties to anyone else and he hadn't changed his genocidal views before dying either, buuut it could still be possible as a sort of last blow to Kenjaku whenever it's their time to be the final boss. I do think that Geto's personal character arc isn't completely over as long as there's a question of what form the sorcerer society will take in the future, but it doesn't really have to involve him at all ether. Also to be honest I think Gege's answer in the fanbook is pretty cut and dry and I fully believe that Geto is one of those characters he planned ahead and thought about the most, so I doubt he'd change his mind about it. I'd love to be wrong though! At least there's always hope for more flaaashbacks hehe.

[barncat-therapy]

Damn Dragonflies

TIMING: About a week ago PARTIES:@barncat-therapy & @declinlalune SUMMARY: Andy's keys go missing, and she and Luis struggle to catch up to them.

“Where the hell did I put them?” Andy cursed under her breath as she dug into her tote bag again. Inside were a few scraps of paper (useless) and napkins (usable), but no keys. “Fuck.” Andy took a step forward, cupping her hands around her eyes so that she could peer into the window of her jeep. The passenger seat was empty aside from the empty bag of bugles, and both the backseat and driver’s seat were empty, too. Andy angled herself awkwardly to get a better look at the ignition, but no dice. As she pulled away, she felt the familiar tingle begin to creep up the back of her neck. It was happening a lot these days, and it had gotten easier to ignore, mostly due to the fact that she’d gotten good at ignoring the sense of dread that Alex had brought on in the earlier days. But Wicked’s Rest was different. 

Andy squatted, looking beneath the jeep. All she could see were rusted bits that should probably be replaced, and once again, no keys. As she got to her feet, she heard footsteps nearing behind her, and as she turned around, she was surprised to be met with a somewhat familiar face. “Luis, hey!” The skin-crawling feeling continued, but she pushed it back. Andy put on a pleasant smile as she dusted her hands off on her jeans. “You haven’t seen any keys laying around, have you?” 

The weather at least was getting nice enough by now to make the idea of wandering without a set destination appealing. And wander Luis did, expending a chunk of idle time to take a look around the neighborhood for anything that might catch his attention - there was almost always bound to be something new or odd going on around town, he knew that well enough.

One thing to catch his attention turned out to be something a lot more mundane, though. Someone familiar looking in through the car window. Had she locked her keys inside by accident?

By the time he got close, that proved obviously false, though, given that Andy was also looking under the car.

"Hey, Andy. Can't say I have... Where'd you last see them, I can help look?"

The offer was made without a thought, already looking around for some sign of the keys possibly being dropped on the pavement somewhere.

Instead, he caught what looked like maybe...a dragonfly from a distance, carrying something.

Of course it would be.

"I think I might've found them, actually."

His gaze, wide and fixed on the flittering little 'insect' in much the way a cat may watch prey before attacking, Luis didn't look to Andy to confirm she was picking up on what he was seeing, though he hoped she did.

Better than shooting off chasing a hunch and looking crazy doing it, surely.

“Uh, I think in my bag, but I checked there. Emptied it out on the hood earlier, too.” Andy bit her lower lip as she began to re-think every step she’d taken before getting back to her jeep. She didn’t think she’d dropped them on the way from work, but it was possible she had, and maybe somebody had picked them up. Maybe they’d be on the community board later in the day. 

As Andy turned to look at Luis, she noticed his expression looked distant, as if he was focusing on something else entirely. “Luis?” 

And then he spoke, and Andy was left to follow his gaze. In the distance, she could see something hovering a few feet in the air. The strawberry keychain she had attached to her keys dangled, too, and seemed to be getting further away. “What the fuck—“ Not really thinking it through, she tapped Luis’s shoulder, suggesting he follow her. 

It didn’t help that the closer they got, the further it seemed they were from the— what was that carrying her keys? Even though she squinted, she couldn’t quite make out what was buzzing around. “What the hell—“ Andy grimaced as she caught a better look. She’d heard about pixies, had never seen them except in picture books, but that was what was ahead of her. How to deal with them, she had no clue. But she knew it’d be annoying. 

For the moment, Luis felt almost entranced. With his eyes locked onto a target to chase down, he felt the electric buzz of anticipation urging him to move the longer he stayed and watched.

The tap on the shoulder snapped him quickly out of it, causing him to jolt and look to Andy automatically.

At least it wasn't too hard to lock on again once he was facing onward, at first matching Andy's pace and then quickening his own when the large insect, or whatever it was, showed no signs of being caught up to.

What did it an insect need with a set of keys anyway?

"Since when are dragonflies this fast?"

Speaking in part rhetorically to himself, he focused on following the thief first of all.

Made harder when it vanished off around a corner before he could see where it went from there.

Confused, the balam scanned the distance, and spun around in place with eyes narrowed in concentration.

There it is! No, no keys. Could have been dropped? Oh, there’s more than one.

While spinning around, he’d thought he saw briefly the same sort of insect, though lacking the coveted keys with it. Another spin around revealed yet another practically right behind him and getting away quickly.

“Leave it to Wicked’s Rest to have bugs with a passion for collecting shiny things, huh? I lost the thief.”

“Merde!” She hated how the word slipped out of her mouth. Who was she, Kaden? Andy easily stepped over the curb and pointed it out to Luis so that he wouldn’t trip. “It’s getting away, let’s go!” There might have been a spare key somewhere beneath the hood, but this keyring had the keys to the cabin on it, and she didn’t feel like paying to make another copy. 

The keys disappeared from sight and Andy stopped just short of the next street corner. She looked at Luis who was spinning in a comical circle. She was annoyed, but extremely amused by her company’s antics. 

“Okay, um..” Andy knew that listening for them was pointless. With all of the noise on the street, it’d be hard to discern what was what. Frustrated, she ran both hands through her hair, yanking slightly at the ends before letting her arms drop down to her side. 

“Yeah, no kidding.” Whether or not she’d find her keys was up to whether or not the pixies decided to make a reappearance. Andy didn’t know much at all about them, but she remembered a few of the wardens at the camps they had discussed in an abundance of annoyance. She could now understand why. “I could probably break in and hotwire my jeep. Break into the window at my place. You know, normal things people do when they lose their keys.” 

Logically, the chase was off. But it still didn't feel right to just give up. Andy certainly seemed fully willing to, but the alternative just sounded like a lot of trouble and damage.

Luis didn't have a good solution to suggest. That was the problem here. And keeping an eye out was clearly not doing him any good here either. Great.

Just great.

"If they're dragonflies - are they dragonflies? - those mostly spend time 'round water, right? What's the nearest water source?"

Maybe that was a stretch. Well, it was probably a stretch. But it was something.

Turning to Andy was, in a way, giving up. 

"Anything else I can do to help? Sorry about the keys."

Despite his disappointment at himself, however, outwardly he'd still look as unbothered and calm as ever.

That feeling sunk in already, as if on cue the sharp little sound of metal clashing with cement and against itself came. 

Andy had no idea where dragonflies spent their time, but she was almost positive that what had her keys were not dragonflies. It wasn’t surprising to her that even being a shifter, Luis might not know what else was out there. Maybe his community stayed within its own and didn’t branch out much. 

“No, it’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.” Luis even stopping to help was enough for her to deem him competent in high stress situations. Not that it was her job to do that, but still. 

She could probably ask one of the neighboring shops for a hanger so that she could get into her jeep. She wouldn’t have to break the window if she didn’t need to. Andy was lost in thought, mapping out how she’s get into her vehicle and how she’d get home. 

Until the sound of something clattering against glass made her look up. Andy noticed the shine of her keys on the ground, and the pathetic wings of the pixie flutter helplessly. “Hey!” Andy didn’t wait for Luis to follow. Instead, she jogged over and picked her keys up off of the ground, holding them to her chest as if she’d just been told something upsetting. Her eyes widened in surprise as the key-stealer was confirmed to be a pixie. “Luis, I’ve got them.” 

"Yayy." The celebratory cry was muted in tone, sounding almost sarcastic for it despite the intention behind it as Luis caught up. Where Andy's focus was understandably on the keys, he instead stared down at the little humanoid… something on the ground.

That did make sense. Certainly more than insects.

"Do you know what this thing is? I don't know if I've seen one before."

Despite what one might consider to be good judgement, Luis opted to pick up the pixie before it could recover enough to escape.

"It's like a fairy, isn't it?"

Andy looked at Luis, then to the pixie that was on the ground in a dazed state. As much as she didn’t appreciate them stealing her keys, the last thing she wanted was for it to get crushed. She didn’t know the proper etiquette in moving pixies, so she opted for scooting to the side of the building where it could regain its composure and later fly away. 

“Ummm….” It wasn’t uncommon that other supernatural beings didn’t know everything about the other kinds of species that mingled in their communities. Whatever Luis was, maybe he’d never been exposed to fae. “Yeah, like a fairy.” There was no use in concealing it from him. It wasn’t her job, and besides, it was clear he had a vague idea. “Just a little bit of a trouble maker, nothing else really.” She knew that pixies could be mean, but this one was now down for the count. 

She got to her feet, pocketing her keys. “I think we can leave it here, I don’t want to piss it off too much.” The pixie stirred slightly, a high pitched squeal leaving it, before it dazedly fluttered its wings and smacked back into the door in its attempt to fly off quick. Instead, it fell back onto the ground and Andy winced. 

While watching the pixie take off, Luis pointedly ignored the faint instinct calling him to smack it back down to the ground. Why would he even want to do that to something both sentient and probably magical to begin with? Just because it looked a little bit like a large insect?

He looked away once it had downed itself.

"Are you sure it won't get caught by a stray cat like that or something?"

Though if Andy, someone who might've known more about these fairies than he did, seemed apprehensive about the idea of helping more, it probably was the better option.

"What even would happen to a cat if it ate a fairy? Bad luck for all nine lives?" 

[faetxlity]

Hey, it's Ledgea, 99 for Aiden/Coën/Lambert for your prompt game? Thanks!

Song 99 of my Wrap-up was....

Принцесса - Бабек Мамедрзаев Lambert/Aiden/Coen below the cut - rated T for suggestive content and Lambert typical cursing.

They were in the middle of no where, which was somewhere outside of Vizima, and Lambert was doing his best to not shout to the gods as Aiden’s clever fingers bright him to completion. Aiden was already sated, draped over Lambert’s chest and pressed flush along his side, and his pretty lips pressed over and over against the Wolf’s jaw and neck. Traces of their missing lover, who wasn’t missing at all but working in a role they couldn’t play, clung to them both in scent.

“Fuck, Princess.” He turned his head, satisfied very well, and took kisses from Aiden’s lips. “Aren’t you sweet?”

Aiden nipped him to prove contrary.

In the evening they would be attending a party, acting as security against bandits on the grounds, for no nobleman would allow a witcher inside such a prestigious event (except the one Witcher who was allowed inside and currently the only other thing on Lambert's mind), but it was a good gig nonetheless. Which meant that no one should have been bothering them for some hours and certainly not around their little hideaway.

“Someone’s been having fun.”

Lambert stiffened, tightened his hold around Aiden’s shoulders, and snatched up a dagger. He could throw it blind and hit a falcon, a man sized target would be nothing.

“Aiden~” The stranger sing-songed. Muffled against his neck Aiden cursed, exasperated and annoyed. Lambert didn’t let that relax him. “Come on, little brother, come introduce us.”

Aiden huffed, shoved his nose hard into Lambert’s pulse, and then tucked himself back into his pants.

“Why the fuck are you here?” He called out to the apparently-not-a-stranger.

“Working a contract! Lot less fun than whatever petty thing you’ve got.” Aiden frowned deeply and levered himself out of their makeshift nest.

“Stay here a minute?”

“Gaetan, what the hell.”

“Heard there were some others of us with pretty hair about and I thought - it’s either Aiden or Dragonfly so I’ll go say hi.”

“Look, good to see you but I’m busy.”

“I can smell.”

“Gaetan.”

“Come out and let me meet my brother’s lover!” Aiden seemed to like this one, whoever he was, so Lambert put the blade aside and smoothed his hair back before stepping into view. The Cat that had interrupted them was small, shorter than Lambert with a close shaved head and keen eyes like goldenrod. He whistled and appraised Lambert shamelessly.

“Not bad, Little Brother.” It was genuine praise but it had Lambert’s back up. “I’d shake your hand but I think I know where it’s been. I’m Gaetan.”

“Lambert.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure.”

They did not break bread or take supper together but they did share some ale before Gaetan took his leave and promised to see them that evening. It took only a few minutes for Aiden to start pacing.

“I can’t believe he caught us. He’s going to tell everyone. What if he finds Co too and -”

“Aiden, there’s no need to panic over it.”

“They’ll hunt you down just to say they did it! Or won’t let me hear the end of it in winter or- or tell me I can’t come back!”

“And?”

“I don’t exactly have a Keep to return to.”

He sighed and swept the other man up by the waist, holding him close with a sigh.

“No need to stress, Princess.” Lambert wasn’t very good at being gentle but he knew how to kiss Aiden’s neck and hold his hip to cradle him just right. “Your brothers think you make the sun rise, I’m not going to ruin that.”

“You don’t ruin anything.”

“And! If I’m not presentable enough you can take Coën.” He felt more than hard Aiden laugh. Their wayward Griffin fit perfectly with them but he’d be more out of place among the Cats than a bear at a dinner table. “So we’ll go to the party, get paid handsomely, and then we’ll get some uninterrupted fun.”

No one died at the party. Lambert half expected at least one body to drop given the company that he knew to be running around the grounds but Coën stood on the single balcony and waved at them every now and then. He’d dressed finely and Lambert wanted nothing more than to climb the trellis and ruin his perfectly combed hair. He didn’t: only because he was a professional.

Their contract was fulfilled at the stroke of midnight and they raced to the roof of the empty groundskeeper’s hut where it had been decided they would meet. Lambert scrambled up just in time to watch Coën start a sprint across the grounds to join them.

The music was dying down, more and more musicians growing tired and taking their leave until it was a single violinist playing for the straggling guests. From the folds of his cloak Aiden produced a bottle of wine with a flourish and twisted the cork out, letting it fall to the ground far below. They laid close, Lambert pressed in the middle, and passed the bottle back and forth.

Lambert pillowed his head on his own arm and turned to look at the Cat. “Hey Princess,” Pretty gold eyes, flecked through with green, settled on Lambert with anticipation. Lambert continued, “It’s all nonsense isn’t it?”

“Hm?” Atop Lambert’s stomach Coën and he linked hands.

“World‘s not ending, no one could give less of a shit about the three of us- no wait let me finish -“ he squeezed Coën’s wrist to head off any philosophical comments “-so why don’t we all go somewhere nice? If you want to go to the Caravan I’ll go with you, Co can swing by that friend in Novigrad, and then we go to the coast or something. How about it? Somewhere warm for winter.” If Aiden said no that was… well, that was fine really. He’d climb the mountain with Coën, spend the winter sharing comforts with one half of his heart, and they would meet in spring just as they had for years now. Three years as a unit, longer for each pair individually.

“Are you asking us on a date, Lam?” Aiden smiled crookedly, fang on display.

Coën rumbled, “I dare say he is.”

“Maybe I am.” He suddenly felt sheepish.

“My knight.” Aiden and Coën slid their joined hands higher, over his heart.

“Is that a yes, Princess?”

It was.

[luimagines]

Could you maybe do one where the reader is in their time and they take them on a date since everything is calm for a moment?

Masterlist

It's Reader's turn to treat their favorite hero!

Date Day! Part one will included Wild, Legend and Hyrule!

Content under the cut!

Wild

“Ok, bare with me for a minute?” You grin and put a finger to your lips to keep your boyfriend quiet. “I want to show you something.”

“And we’re sneaking out because?” Wild tilts his head but follows you regardless.

“They to the place is a little... challenging and I don’t my Grandma or Time... or Twilight for that matter getting on our case about it.” The face you wear is mischievous and Wild can feel his morph to match yours as you tip toe away from the main group.

When you get far enough away you look over your shoulder and giggle. In a flash, before Wild can figure out what’s happening, you grab his hand and sprint away into the forest growth behind your house.

Wild snorts at your excitement but follows you step for step as you lead him through the foliage.

You stop a quick breather by a rock cliff and before you point up. “That’s where we’re going.”

And then you start climbing.

Wild blinks and doesn’t hesitate to follow you. A small woop leaves his mouth as he takes a running start up the rock and catches up to you relatively quickly.

Your practiced movements and Wild innate ability to climb anything makes the trip as simple as walking up a hill.

You get to the top first, since you’ve made this trip countless time to your Grandmother’s chagrin, and wait for Wild to make it up, holding out your hand to help him with the final stretch and pull him to you. You jump a little in your spot as he gets himself situated and giggle a little at the way his jaw drops at the sight before him.

A meadow of those flowers Wild seems to like so much, the Silent Princess.

But in the middle?

A natural fountain, with water sprouting upwards to give the rocks below the chance to be rained upon even if they’ll never see the light of day beyond what the crevices would offer. It falls into a small pool just beyond the rocks where small lily pads grow ands frogs sing their songs. In the darker corners you can see fireflies take off and return and there’s multiple dragonflies to dart from flower to flower where they know the mosquitoes reside as they try to catch their own lunches.

You see Wild take it all in and stare.

“This is my favorite spot.” You admit in a whisper. “No one else knows it’s here. They can’t get up even if they tried. But I can, and I knew you could because you can do anything.”

“It’s...”

“It’s a bit small I know.” You say with gulp. “and I doubt it’s anything compared to what you’ve already seen in your own world but I wanted to share it with you.”

“It’s just like you.” Wild says and looks over to you with a large and and boyish smile on his face. “It’s perfect.”

The admission strikes you in your spot and you don’t deny the blush that follows. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No.” Wild takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. “Not at all. I think it’s a bit lacking actually, but there’s no other word to use to properly describe what I think about you.” 

“What am I going to do with you?” You snicker and take your hand away to cup his face.

“Tell me about this place.” He answers. “How did you find it?”

“Oh that’s easy! You see, Link...uh, my brother, was just born and I was left unsupervised as mom and dad had to take care of the baby so-”

Legend

“Legend!” You cry and drape yourself across his back. “Come with me! I wanna take you somewhere!”

The boy in question falters in his step from your added weight and looked over his shoulder to see you better. “Now?”

You grin and nod. You’re fairly certain that you look crazy but you’re too excited to care.

“Should I be concerned?” Legend gets a small smirk on his face.

“Of little ol’ me?” You tilt your head, your smile never leaving your face. “Maybe. But right now? No. Come on, let’s go! I got Wild and Warrior to watch over Link and Zelda and Time and Twilight are busy humoring my grandma. It’ll just be you and me!”

Legend pauses before he seems to mellow out, and he reaches for your hand behind him. “Ok.” His voice is soft, the kind he saves only for you and when you’re alone. “Lead the way.”

You barely suppress the giggle that passes your lips before you pulled him closer to your side. You take off a brisk pace in case some of the others who are unattended decided to follow you.

You drag him through the streets of your home, your footsteps a mere after thought to the idea of Link’s reaction to what you plan on showing him.

He doesn’t say anything as you travel and keeps a tight grip on your hand, less he get left behind and lose you.

You stop in front of a flower shop and tilt your head in its direction. Legend nods, at your unspoken question and beams when you brighten even more so than you already were.

You both enter and you b-line for the some of the smaller flowers they have near the back and begin to seemingly pick a few at random.

You don’t even notice you lose Legend sometime in the middle of your choosing.

You’re so focused on your selection that you go to pay and head out, already working on your project.

You weave and bend and keep the flowers in place as you begin your journey out of the store.

Legend watches you leave in the middle of the your concentration and quickly pays the needed amount before following you out. He walks next to you at you pace and keeps one hand on your shoulder at all times to guide you back through the streets and make sure you don’t crash into anyone or anything.

He smiles at you, a soft and secret look he knows he should give you more often but he can’t seem to handle the idea when you’re in public.

Within moments he can see what you’ve been making.

A flower crown, braided with such intensity that the flowers covered every inch of the band, there’s not a spec of stem green in the mass that’s been created by your fingers and Legend has to admit that he’s impressed.

You beam and glance at him, as if he’s never left your side the entire time and rip off his hat.

He jumps to take it back but you throw it over your shoulder and spin him around. It’s a dance you both do often and there’s a laugh on your breaths as you anticipate the other’s reaction. But what Legend doesn’t expect is for you to trap him in your arm as you spin and to put the crown over his head from behind.

He’s stunned and when you kiss the tip of his nose, he’s inclined to not move a muscle until you say he’s free to do so.

You spin around while he freezes and bend down to pick up his hat, placing it on your own head with a cheeky wink.

Oh, Legend thinks, he likes that.

Legend blushes crimson and take takes his hand and places the single flower he bought up to your ear and between your hair. “There.” He says. “Perfect.”

You giggle and adjust the hat to keep the stem in place and grab Legend’s hand to lace your fingers together.

“Thanks for coming with me.” You grin and swing your hands together as you begin to walk around with no destination in mind.

Legend smiles back just as bursting with joy as you are. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Hyrule

“If I were to say we should leave, what would you do?” You ask your boyfriend, as you watch the group meander around your house. No on is paying attention to you, too focused on the game your cousin and little brother have made up as your grandma watches from her rocking chair, knitting something that will no doubt be gifted to one of the boys before you have to leave again.

It was nice.

A bit loud.

But that your everyday anyway, whether in your home or with the group, so it wasn’t all that unfamiliar.

Hyrule looks over to you with a raised eyebrow and and grin on his lips. “I’d follow you anywhere anytime.”

You smile and place your cheek on your hand as you rest your elbow on the table. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Did it have to?” Hyrule snorts. “You already know my answer.”

You hum and tap your fingers on your face before you smile. “Come with me.”

Wordlessly, he follows you and you lead him out of the house and into your garden. It was something your mother started before she left.

You took it upon yourself to try to keep it alive but you never had the same green thumb that she processed. Still, it wasn’t too shabby if you had to say so yourself.

Hyrule took a deep breath through his nose and grinned. “There’s magic in the air.”

You pause and turn to look at him. “You can smell that?”

“Nooo...” Hyrule laughs. “But I can feel like. It’s nice. It’s warm and sweet.”

You smile and hold your hand out to him, waiting until he seems to get a ahold of himself and pull him from behind you. 

You walk together in silence before the old and beaten path opens up to reveal a small clover covered clearing, with a two seater swing hidden by the tree branches. “Come on, let’s sit there Link.”

Hyrule smiles and sits down first, pulling you unexpectantly onto his lap. “And here I thought we were going to go on those adventure you like so much.”

“No.” You blush at the close proximity but lean yourself against him, placing your head by his and poking his neck with your nose. “Grandma would still need me close by incase the kids get too rowdy. At least I’m within yelling distance.”

Hyrule nods and begins to play with your hair as he pushes off the ground somewhat to get the swing in motion. “I like this. I want one.”

“I’ll build one just for you.” You snort and snuggle closer. “Anything for you.”

“Only if you’ll join me.”

“Obviously. Who else you plan on swinging with?”

“I didn’t think I’d be here at all, let alone have someone other than you.” 

You hum and play his hair even if you can’t see it. Hyrule shifts the both of you around so that you’re both lying on the swing instead of being precariously placed on the edge. “Well, I’m glad I’m with you.”

“Me too.”

Part 2 

[anthemxix]

There is something that I noticed while watching a game play of Hyrule warriors. Once You get the great fairy in the game but the way she fights is what got my angst side tickling. The way she fights is that she puts Link in a bottle and fights while he’s in the bottle, and once there’s a victory. The great fairy lets him out and you can clearly see his discomfort when she spins around him and such. Just something i noticed that i thought might be important for yah. :3

thank you so much for sending me this! it makes me so happy that you thought to share this with me. thank you ;w;

the whole getting-stuck-in-a-bottle thing is perfect for angst, and i was going to write something angsty, but then...this happened?? tl;dr for this fic is as follows~

hyrule: i don't like trapping fairies in bottles. warriors: yeah, getting trapped in a bottle sucks. hyrule: wait, what? warriors: what?

like that's it, that's the fic. also, wind is the problem child here because the fairies in WW look so sad after you catch them XD

Deep in the woods, the heroes find a sanctuary.

The densely-packed, straight-backed trees open up into a sunlit pocket, a secret glade undisturbed for centuries, where the air holds still like bated breath. Playing among the sunbeams, fluttering on filmy dragonfly wings, are dozens upon dozens of fairies.

Hyrule smiles fondly as he steps into the clearing, stretching out an arm in invitation. Several fairies, awash in a pastel pink glow, drift towards him and perch there like birds on a branch. A few more land on his shoulders; a couple snuggle into his nest of unruly hair.

“Oh, this is great!” Wind chirps. His voice seems unnaturally loud in the quiet, sacred space, and a handful of the fairies on Hyrule’s arm startle and flit away. The Traveler turns, prepared to admonish the Sailor for his volume, but he pales as he sees Wind, and several of the other heroes, fishing empty bottles from their bags.

Fairies’ healing magic is more potent than any potion, so Hyrule understands why the other heroes want it at their disposal; yet the idea of trapping one of these magnificent little creatures for days or weeks on end merely to exploit her generosity makes Hyrule uneasy. He knows what it’s like to be so small and helpless, and he can only imagine the horror of being imprisoned in a cramped bottle with nothing to do but breathe increasingly stale air and wait for freedom.

Hyrule holds out his other arm to offer refuge to more fairies; several more pink orbs alight on him without hesitation. Dismayed, he watches Wind ready his bottle and make a wild swing for a fairy. She bleats in alarm before zipping away.

His next target is not so lucky. Wind catches this fairy between his hand and the bottle, effectively jamming her inside.

“Sailor—,” Hyrule begins, but he cuts himself off as, to his surprise, Warriors clamps a firm hand on Wind’s shoulder and spins him around. He’s wearing the irritated scowl that’s usually reserved for Legend.

“What do you think you're doing?” the Captain snaps.

The triumph over a successful catch swiftly drains from Wind’s face. “What do you mean?”

“You have to be more careful,” Warriors chastises. “If you insist on detaining them, at least don't hurt them.”

“What? I would never—!” Pausing, Wind gives the cross-armed Captain a once-over, defensiveness dissipating in favor of curious realization. “Wait, why aren’t you grabbing any fairies…?”

Huh. Now that Hyrule considers it, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Warriors with a bottled fairy of his own. He hadn’t realized the Captain, too, is sensitive to the plight of these little winged creatures.

Blatantly discounting the question, Warriors says, “Look, why don’t you let Time give you pointers on how to do this properly.”

Wind’s imminent protests visibly shrivel as his gaze follows to where Warriors points. Time stands peacefully in the middle of the glade, open bottle passively upheld; a fairy willingly flies inside and allows herself to be stowed in Time’s bag. Attention captured, Wind bounces over to Time without another word to Warriors.

Eyebrows raised in amusement, Hyrule relaxes. Wind hadn’t intended to mistreat the fairies, and his youthful vigor is disarming. He glances at Warriors, expecting to see a similarly amused expression on him, given the massive soft spot Warriors has for the kid, but Warriors isn’t looking at Wind or Time at all. Instead, he’s watching the others collect fairies with an expression Hyrule has never seen on him.

His irritation, it seems, was a knee-jerk reaction, a symptom masking the real problem, which apparently is…discomfort?

Hyrule watches as now, in the quiet, some fairies drift towards the Captain, languidly orbiting him or touching down on his shoulders. If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge them, continuing to watch the other heroes with crossed arms and pursed lips, like he’s tasted something sour.

Stepping closer, Hyrule says, “Uh, h-hey. Captain?”

As if he’s forgotten Hyrule was standing nearby, Warriors startles, but he quickly composes himself, seamlessly transitioning to an air of detached, smoothed-over neutrality. “Yes?”

“You okay? You look a little, uh…spooked.”

“Of course.” He buries one hand in the folds of scarf around his neck. The lie is painfully obvious, though Hyrule isn’t certain if that’s a cue to keep pushing or to let this go.

Fortunately, he doesn’t need to decide. Warriors drops the hand from his scarf and instead hooks his thumbs onto his belt. He’s in his observational tactician mode, his posture and expression shuttered so that he gives nothing away, only takes in. “You know, I'm not as in-tune with magic as you or Legend, but I’ve always been able to sense the residue of fairy magic on you, Traveler. Why is that?”

The deflection is unexpected, Hyrule thinks, but he supposes he can’t call it unfair. Secrets are like anything else: earned, not free. So he barters.

“Yeah, it’s, um. It’s from…a spell I can cast.”

“What does it do?”

“Uh, well, it’s…” He swallows. Maybe he isn’t ready to divulge this particular secret in full. “It sort of…replicates fairy magic, you could say.”

Warriors looks like he wants to ask more; Hyrule jumps in before he can. “So you don’t like catching fairies, huh?”

He can almost see the same thought process flicker across Warriors’ face: get a secret, give a secret.

One hand trails up to his scarf—a nervous habit, Hyrule figures—but then drops to his side again. “I don’t like the idea of trapping them.”

“Neither do I,” Hyrule agrees.

Warriors’ gaze is fixed on the others again, on the bottles in their hands. His hand returns to his scarf, and this time he absently toys with it, mind preoccupied. “...I know what it’s like.”

“What…what’s like?”

“Being trapped like that.” His voice has gotten quieter, his gaze more faraway. “And no matter what you do, you can’t get out.”

“Oh...I...I'm sorry,” Hyrule fumbles, not sure what to say.

“No one took it seriously,” Warriors continues. He untangles his hand from his scarf, holds out a finger so one of the fairies on his shoulder can perch there instead. “I felt so small and helpless...but it was just a joke to everyone else.”

Hyrule shuffles uncomfortably, scrutinizing the somber way Warriors is looking at the fairy on his finger. “So, um...what...where were you...trapped, exactly?”

Warriors frowns, and for one hopeful moment, Hyrule thinks he’s going to get an answer. But then Wind is bounding over, chattering excitedly, earlier tensions seemingly forgotten. The fairies around Warriors flutter away in a cloud, and Time is gathering everyone up so they can keep moving.

Well. A half-truth exchanged for a half-truth. It’s a start, Hyrule supposes. At least it’s a start.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

come fly with me

[hermes x reader]

author’s note: every time i see his name i pronounce it like the brand out of  habit even if there’s no accent grave lol

word count: 2,572

You sense the bright light of morning through your closed lids and it prompts you to wake. But even as your eyes slide open, you still feel as though you’re dreaming.

A man is kneeling down next to you. You don’t know who he is but perceive he means no harm, for his gaze as he observes you is concerned, no doubt wondering what you’re doing out here. You don’t remember falling asleep outside, but the weather has been so nice as of late, you wouldn’t put it past yourself to have drifted off after laying beneath the stars, simply appreciating their magnificence.

As your vision comes more into focus, and the blurred edges merge into finer lines, you note that the sun shines behind this stranger’s head, and it appears remarkably like a halo. Your focus slides lower, drifts over brown hair pulled back into a neat braid to avoid obscuring his face, the highlight of which are his eyes—brilliantly blue, like crystals, and putting the backdrop behind him to shame. He’s beautiful.

Suddenly you’re nervous to be the center of his attention, so rapt it’s like he can see right through you. You must look a disheveled mess in contrast, your own hair tousled, your eyes bleary with the last bits of sleep. But as if he can hear your thoughts, he smiles gently, a gesture to put you at ease.

“Hello,” he greets you. His voice is hushed, taking care not to disturb the peace of these early hours, and it’s warm, washing over your skin and fighting away the chill of the cool evening.

You open your mouth, poised to speak, but at first nothing comes out, though from nervousness or from the fact your vocal chords are still waking up after hours of not being used, you don’t know.

“I… I must have fallen asleep out here,” you state rather dumbly, because what else could it have been? It’s not as if anyone had carried you out here in the middle of the night. Your cheeks redden from embarrassment but the man’s smile widens, amused and—if you aren’t imagining things, owed to the idea that maybe you really are dreaming—charmed. Though for what reason, you haven’t the slightest clue.  You struggle to call yourself a picture of grace at any other point in a day, least of all fresh from sleep.

“It seems you have,” he responds. “I imagine it was comfortable?”

Not wanting to continue this conversation while still laying down, since it’s a little awkward, you sit up, and he backs away slightly to give you space. The notion of sleeping on the ground certainly doesn’t sound comfortable, and so you assume he asks this in light jest, but oddly enough, you don’t feel any stiffness or aches. Your body is relaxed, pliant. You feel well-rested.

“It was, yes…” you trail off, absentmindedly pondering on this anomaly.

The man nods, satisfied with your answer, and stands. You have to crane your neck to look at him, and as he turns his head to look out at the rolling hills, lush green and divided in the middle by a dirt path, you see a string around his neck which is attached to a golden helmet. The brim swoops and lifts in the back, colored silver to resemble a pair of wings.

Then he turns to you again, now offering you his hand. “Well the day is too nice to waste staying here. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

You’ve been aware this entire time that you don’t know who he is, and logic would dictate you turn down his invitation. No matter how nice he may be, it would be unreasonable as well as  unsafe. But even for all that, you find yourself not tied down by any semblance of reason, and perhaps it’s against your better judgment that you accept.

You take his hand and he pulls you up easily. Maybe it’s his smile that does well to quell any apprehension, for you think you would follow him anywhere. Maybe you were incorrect and to go with him now was the better judgment on your part, because you don’t feel that this is wrong or dangerous. And he’s right: the day is splendid and it would make no sense to stay on the ground alone. It’s better enjoyed with companions.

The two of you follow the trail for a while, pausing whenever small creatures cross from one side to the other: mostly bunnies and deer, but at one point when passing by a lake there’s a duck and her ducklings plodding single-file behind her. As the world around you wakes and you walk in comfortable silence, your anxiety melts away and you instigate a conversation.

“Were you just passing by and happened to see me?” you inquire.

The man glances down at you briefly before looking ahead once more. “I was.” He nods. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He’s sincere as he says it, and it makes you grin. “Well I’m glad it was you who found me.”

The smile on his lips mirrors yours. “I am too.”

Flowers line the path, leaning inward as if to welcome any who walk past. They grab your attention, and you skip ahead to pick some of them. They only require a gentle tug for the stems to snap and you gather them until you’re holding a small bunch of the white flower in one hand. You bring them closer to your face so you can smell them: the scent is subtle and fresh, like the air after it rains. The man finally catches up to you and you twist around. There’s that expression in his eyes again, one of amusement, and again you blush, attempting to hide it by the flowers as you duck your head, but you don’t think you’re successful.

He peers over your shoulder. “Let’s go this way now. There’s bound to be more flowers in that direction.”

You turn and follow his line of sight. The trail has led to a forest, and veering off here would lead you into the thick of it. The man takes the last few steps to close the distance and stand next to you, and you look up at him. “Okay.”

Sunlight pierces the gaps in the foliage, the rays which light the ground soothing to behold and to walk through. It’s like a painting, calm and peaceful, displayed on the finest marble and you’re honored to be in the midst of it, maybe not as the subject, for you think the birds who cast shadows as they soar above you are more worthy of the privilege, but you’re content to be there at all, even just off to the side.

The woods lead to a meadow and the man was correct: there are more flowers here. Their colors vary, from white to lavender to yellow, and the sun envelopes them all in its heat, unhindered in this clearing. The tall grass shifts with your every footstep and brushes your calves, light as a feather, and you giggle. It tickles.

Your eyes rove over the expanse before you. There are more trees, another portion of forest,  on the other side, but this place is so peaceful, and the sun is in the perfect position, centered in the sky, that you would hate to leave so soon.

“I’d like to lay among these flowers…” you murmur. It’s an aside you mean to mutter only to yourself, but given your proximity to the stranger—no, not a stranger anymore, but more of a friend—he hears you fine despite the low volume with which you said it.

“Why don’t we?”

At this, you blink and glance up at him. He’s already watching you with a twinkle in his gaze and he’s smiling. You can’t help smiling too and you feel so warm to be in his presence.

So in the middle of the clearing you find a suitable spot and settle down, lying on your back with the bunch of white flowers still clutched in one hand. You have to squint and use your free hand to shield your eyes from the glare of the sun, but then you close them and the furrow of your brow relaxes, and you can fully enjoy the nature which surrounds you.

Dragonflies buzz and you can hear them flittering along, the beating of their wings louder as they approach, then becoming quieter as they pass. The grass shifts as your friend comes to join you now. He sits, and you hear a brief shuffling before he follows suit and lays down. Together you bask in the sunlight, but for how long, you aren’t sure. Not that you’re interested in tracking the time.

“Your suggestion to tarry a while was a good one,” he compliments, breaking the silence. “It feels pleasant to rest here.”

His compliment makes you grin and your eyes open. You turn your head to look at him. He’d removed his helmet from where it was hanging around his neck and placed it next to him to allow him to lie back comfortably. “The sun makes you feel so refreshed, doesn’t it?”

He hums. “I think it has more to do with the company.” He opens his eyes and also turns to look at you, and the blueness of them is incredibly soft. Your smile grows.

And though you’re confident you could pass the rest of the day in that meadow, the two of you move on. It’s done with a bit of reluctance on your part, but it fades quickly because you agree with him: it’s the company which makes you feel refreshed. The colors of the sky are shifting as mid-afternoon turns into early evening and it occurs to you that you have been walking since the morning yet you aren’t tired, nor has it felt like many hours have transpired. You know it has to do with him. You think you could do this forever, walking with him.

When the sky is a blend of indigo and orange, you ask if anyone is expecting him. We’ve been together all day, you explain. No one might wonder where you are?

He chuckles. “That’s kind of you to be concerned.”

Your cheeks feel warm. He’s awfully good at getting that reaction out of you.

“No one’s expecting me,” he continues. “But even if someone were, they’d understand my lateness, given I’m with someone so sweet. I’m not keen to part ways too soon.”

Your chest feels tight, like your heart is wrenching and you’re scared it might break. “Me neither,” you state shyly.

Then gradually the indigos and oranges transition to black as the sun fully disappears below  the horizon and you are sad to see it leave. You’ve also long since left the meadow and the forest surrounding it behind. The land you walk through is wide, flat, empty. There aren’t any plants or animals and it feels foreign, adjusted as you had been to the lush scenery of this afternoon. The only feature worth noting are the mountains that come into view now, which, while you’d already assumed them to be tall, are taller than you first thought as you get closer, so high they seem to touch the clouds, perhaps even extending past them.

“This way.” The man’s voice pulls your attention away from staring up at the clouds. There’s a path that leads farther into the mountain. “Watch your step. It’s rather dark.”

What light of the moon reaches through small gaps in the mountain reflects off the helmet strung around his neck. He takes care to move slowly to ensure you don’t lose him but the glint of his helmet serves as a beacon. The more you venture in, you wonder where you’re going. Should you ask him? The idea of doing so hadn’t crossed your mind all day because you’d been happy just to be with him, no apprehension about the destination, or whether or not  there was one. But now…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, about to be voiced, but they die out once you turn a final corner and spot a river. The water is dark, almost black, and a haze settles above it that obscures what might possibly be on the opposite shore. Once you do speak, it’s still a question, but it’s no longer about where the two of you are headed. He doesn’t need to tell you that.

“Wanted to let me down gently, didn’t you?” The manner in which you ask this is quiet, lightly teasing but also laced with a sadness you do little to hide.

Hermes—for now you know confidently who he is—leads you right to the edge of the water and then stops, twisting around. “I chose to take the longer route with you.”

You meet his gaze. His eyes are sorrowful, yet for their melancholy they are still just as beautiful, and they’re tender as he looks at you. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath, momentarily glancing at the water then returning his focus to you. “You hadn’t realized what happened, and I didn’t want to tell you. I decided we would venture through the nature you love so much, taking breaks where you desired, to listen to the bugs and to feel the sun.”

Thinking back to this morning, you recall that when you’d woken up, you hadn’t checked behind you. If you had, you would’ve noticed your body there. You’d been too enamored by Hermes to do that. Though you suppose there are worse ways of being led to the Underworld, and you’d always be grateful to Hermes for choosing to take the long way.

“Through it I’ve grown very fond of you,” he confesses. He offers a small smile, and you surmise it’s a struggle, at odds with a frown because of where he has brought you, and what it implies. “A day with you was a lifetime, and it still didn’t feel long enough.”

You muster a smile of your own. “One day or an eternity, I don’t suppose any length of time ever would.”

A boat comes into view, appearing to materialize through the fog, and once it stops at the small dock, the front bumping gently and the water lapping against the support beams, Hermes gives the ferryman two coins. Treat her well, he instructs. And then he turns to you a final time, and when your heart squeezes, you really think it has broken.

Glancing down, your eyes settle on the flowers you’re gripping. You’d kept them with you the entire journey. But now you hold them out to Hermes, and the heaviness in your chest seems to lighten slightly as he takes them and the expression on his face becomes a little less crestfallen. You would hate to leave him in such a forlorn state.

“Thank you, Hermes.” You hope he can detect the sincerity, and when he smiles faintly, you know that he has.

He helps you onto the boat, clasping your much smaller hand in his to provide support, and he stands on the shore as the ferryman pushes away, watching you until the fog engulfs the boat once more. And though he’s alone, the flowers in his hand make him feel far from lonely.

[sylvie-writes]

Beautiful Just the Way You Are

word count: 1982

request: 

warnings: talks of negative self-image. please don’t read if this will upset you! 

a/n: this is part 5 of (undetermined) of me trying to finish requests that have been sent in ages ago. IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. it’s been hard to write but hopefully these will do. please ignore any mistakes, I typed this a bit fast and didn’t really check.

Chris 

You and Chris were getting ready to go to one of his closest friend’s wedding. 

This would be the first time you would meet each other so making a good first impression was a must.

Chris had gone to pick up his suit from the dry cleaners and you were currently scouring through the four dresses your sister-in-laws had lended you. 

The wedding was a summer wedding and it was gonna be held on the beach. 

As of recently, the heat had gotten worse each day meaning you didn’t want to be stuck in a dress that caused you to sweat like a runner after 12 miles. 

Both of Chris’s sisters had noted this and unfortunately all four dresses before you were above the knee, something that made you uneasy.

It seemed that when you were going to meet people or attend public events, your insecurities crept up even more than usual and your mind would shove negative thoughts down your throat. 

You were gorgeous, no doubt, but with such poisonous thoughts of yourself, you couldn't see any beauty as your reflection stared back from the mirror.

The first dress was a lacy yellow v-neck dress. It slightly flared out to the sides and it complimented your figure beautifully.

The second dress was a black bodycon, which made you want to scream. While to the average eye, your curves flourished under this dress, all you could see was a belly and hips that you wanted gone.

The third and fourth dresses were similar with thin spaghetti straps and flowy bottoms which reminded you of a bell.  

Unbeknownst to you, Chris had come back sometimes in between trying on the second and third dress. 

He peeked through the door, admiring how amazing you looked. 

Chris kept thinking how lucky he was to have such a woman until he heard yells of anger that shook him from his daydream. 

That was when you tried on the last dress and the final straw was gone. 

Your anger turned into tears as you collapsed onto the food feeling nothing but pain and worthlessness. 

In seconds, Chris was on the floor with you, wrapping his arms around your front where your arms were held up to your eyes. 

He rocked you back and forth, shushing you gently. 

“(y/n), honey, speak to me. Tell me what I can do to help you?”

Words were worthless at this point and all Chris could make out was “dress.”

He put two and two together and realized that you were upset with the way you looked. 

For some time now, Chris knew this had been a problem, but he didn’t realize it would bubble up this badly.

He knew words of his compliments wouldn’t help at all because you’d just say that he was lying. 

All he wanted was for you to see yourself through his point of view because you were like an angel.

“Hey, love, listen to me.”

Chris removed your hands from your eyes and looked at you in the mirror. 

“You are stunning, always and forever. Your body does amazing things for you and for me.” He chuckled at the end causing you to laugh a bit, a sad smile on your face. 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I would never lie to you. I made you that promise all those years ago and I will keep it forever, you understand me?”

You nodded just wanting to shrug this whole embarrassing experience off. You were never one to want people to see you like this because it felt like you were vying for attention when you weren’t.

“No, (y/n), I want you to say.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Yes, I know, Chris.” 

He smiled and kissed your temple, “There’s my girl. Now c’mon, let's keep this dress on and I’ll help you with your makeup.

Ransom

You and Ransom were at one of Harlan’s publishing parties.

The family was up to their usual shenanigans leaving you and Ransom to sip on one too many drinks to stay interested.

One Joni walked away after trying to sell you some of her face moisturizer that cost more than the largest bag of dog food, Ransom snuck up behind you and led you to the garden, away from the sight of any house guests.

“How about we sneak away and take a dip in the pool?” His eyebrows raised teasingly and it was hard to resist such an offer.

“But Ransom, I don’t have a swimsuit!” You motioned to your maxi dress that was too pretty to damage with chlorine. 

You set your drink down on the cement bench and went to sit beside it before Ransom grabbed your hand and smirked. 

“Fine by me, here, simple fix!” 

In seconds, Ransom slipped off your dress, not even with a tear which was shocking from his usual animalistic movements. 

This left you standing in your simple undergarments, yet feeling more naked than actually being so. 

Ransom placed a kiss on your head before jumping into the pool in his boxers and nothing more.

He seemed ever so happy, waving his arms for you to jump in as he shook his now mop-like hair, now looking like a wet dog. 

Instead, you were sitting quietly on the ledge of the pool, arms wrapped around your waist trying to cover every inch of your exposed body. 

You felt so terrible like the sight Ransom would see would be so repulsive because that was exactly what you were thinking. 

When Ransom noticed that you were frozen in your spot and zoned out on some dragonfly floating in the pool, he swam closer. 

Ransom placed his hands on your thighs and looked up to see tears running down your nose and cheeks, dropping onto your lap.

At his touch, you involuntarily pushed him away and Ransom respected your space, floating back a bit. 

“Angel, what’s wrong?” 

“Ransom, I don’t want to be out here like this!”

You were on the verge of yelling, but instead kept your voice at a harsh whisper.

“Are you afraid someone will see us because (y/n) I can assure you they won’t. Plus, they’ve seen worse happen in this pool, trust me.” Ransom laughed, but you didn’t and he picked up on this, deciding to remain serious for the rest of the conversation.

“No it’s not that. I don’t want YOU to see me like this!”

The man swimming in front of you was in shock at such negative words coming from your mouth. 

He looked at you as an absolute goddess and he often wondered why a beauty like you would stay with a mess like him.

Sure he was gorgeous on the outside, but you were both inside and out.

“You’re just saying that because you feel like you have to, Ransom.”

You huffed and looked the other way, not wanting to even glare at him. 

Ransom laid his head on your lap in defeat.

“What do you want me to do? Worship you? Because I will! Oh (y/n), have mercy on me with your beauty! You are just so-” 

At this point, Ransom was speaking as loud as possible and he knew he was getting on your nerves.

You playfully rolled your eyes, “OKAY OKAY.  I BELIEVE YOU. Will you just hush now!?” 

Ransom looked up with a devious glimmer in his eyes, before he pulled you into the pool and you squealed loudly. 

“I think you are the one who should hush now, missy!”

Andy 

Andy had just gotten off from work and you had just finished making a surprise dinner. 

He was delighted at the sight of homemade chicken pot pie along with two bottles of old fashioned soda, a small tradition between the two of you.

You both settled down to watch a movie with your plates of chicken pot pie.

Andy had picked a movie that you’d never seen before and within five minutes your happy mood had morphed into insecurity. 

Turning, you saw Andy intently watching the movie as the most perfect woman appeared on screen and the negativity sprawled from your mind, turning nothing into something. 

While Andy just innocently enjoyed the movie, your inner saboteur told you that he was more so enjoying the sight of the gorgeous woman on screen. 

After all he had been stuck with you, so you didn’t blame him. 

Well he wasn’t actually stuck with you, but that's what you told yourself. 

You told yourself that he just felt bad for you and that is why he stayed. 

Andy noticed that halfway through the movie, you were uncharacteristically quiet and a sour pout on your face. 

“Gosh, imagine looking like that! That would be a dream.” A bitter laugh ended your snide comment and Andy immediately shut off the tv.

“Why did you do that?!” 

Andy just shook his head, “Because of what you said! (y/n), is there something you’d like to tell me?” 

“All I said was that I wish I looked like her. What’s wrong with that?” You nonchalant shrugged and turned away from his hard stare. 

“Honey, I can read you very well and I can tell that wasn’t just a joke.” 

You were quiet and Andy continued to pry. He pulled you tight to his chest, murmuring whispers of praise causing you to break and cry quietly.

“See, even when you cry, you are pretty.” 

Steve

The funny thing about insecurities is that it can turn someone into an absolute mess or monster. 

In this instance it was both.

You and Steve were at a cafe, one that you had been visiting together for years now.

Today, it seemed that the cafe had hired new employees as at least four faces you didn’t recognize were waltzing around the kitchen. 

It didn’t bother you until a complete beauty who introduced herself as Cara waited at your table. 

At first it was like the green eyed monster had crawled out of you and you felt shameful all until gut intuition showed you that she was being a bit too friendly with Steve. 

Little glances from across the room with flirty waves. At one point you swore that she winked at him. 

Her tone would instantly change anytime she talked to you and that made your blood boil.

Steve noticed your change in attitude as a borderline scary scowl worked its way on your lips. 

You were burning holes into the back of her head as you thought about how perfect the two would be together. 

Steve tried to nudge your half of your sandwich to catch your attention as he was clueless to what was running through your head. 

“Hey, doll. Why don’t you eat your sandwich? The flies are crazy and I can’t keep them away for long!” He swatted at the nagging flies, laughing at how the tiny creatures were defeating him, Captain America. 

You didn’t hear any of what he said and instead mean words that never once came out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you go be with her. She’s so perfect for you anyway.”

You stood from the table and stormed out the door, the tiny bell above it mocking you.

Steve was utterly confused at this random outburst. 

All he had mentioned was the sandwich, nothing about a girl, especially the waitress, whatever her name was.

Thinking back, Steve realized that she was flirting with him, but he was just so used to being friendly that he didn’t notice that he had put up such an illusion.

Especially one that hurt you.

The only word he was able to get out was “what” before he rushed out behind you.

He grabbed your arm and spun you to face him, not angry as he knew exactly how being insecure felt. 

“(y/n), you are the only one who is perfect for me.” 

You just fell into his arms, remembering that you were truly the only one for Steve.

[bosspigeon]

i left a little something on the table for you

Saints and Sinners isn’t the only club in Vapolis, but most of them have the same or similar protocols, to varying degrees of diligence. Still, everyone should know the game by now, no matter where they go. It’s all the same general gist: check your ID, check you for weapons, get the cover charge, then send you in to get wasted and be stupid without the threat of a disembowelment on the dance floor.

Most people don’t want the trouble. They just obey the rules and leave their weapons at home or in their car, though plenty of others do try to conceal a piece regardless, and either let the bouncers confiscate it to give back when they leave, or kick up a fuss and get thrown right back out the door. If they do manage to slip under the radar, most people have the sense to keep quiet about it.

Coyote Knox isn’t most people.

The merc’s clothes are almost always pretty shredded, and Jax knows him well enough by now to know that, while he does wear them like the damage is all intentional, most of it isn’t. It means he’s rarely fully clothed, which makes it pretty easy to pat him down and send him on his way, with several shiny new knives for the trouble.

Well, some of them are new, anyway.

Some of them still have blood on them.

This time, it wasn’t Jax at the door. It should be his night off, and while he usually has better things to do with his free time than hang around the place, Orla wanted him to pop in for a brief consult for some job coming down the line.

He goes to the bar for a quick drink before he heads out, the crowd parting around him like water the second they see who he is, flags down a bartender, and waits.

And then he hears that loud fucking mouth.

“It’s not the size that matters, babe,” Knox is saying, his voice a rough purr. He never smells like tobacco, and Jax has never seen him smoke, so he’s not sure where that rasp could come from, but it’s there regardless, like vodka and broken glass. “It’s what you do with it.”

“Uh-huh,” the bartender laughs indulgently. Jax can’t remember their name, but clearly they know Knox well enough to be comfortable with him. Speaks to their mental state, he supposes. “I still think you’re compensating for something.”

He knows he��s going to regret it, but Jax turns his head to the left, and it’s easy enough to see Orla’s rabid pet merc even through the crush of people vying for the attention of the bartenders darting about like bright dragonflies in neon and mesh.

He’s sitting on the bar with his heavy boot propped up on a vacant stool that several people are eyeing with furious envy, but none are brave enough to try for, considering the little bastard is twirling around a bowie knife like a fucking baton.

“Compensating for what, doll?” the masked merc chuckles, leaning back on his elbow. He’s practically lying across the bar, head tilted back, choppy hair hanging down as he smiles winsomely at the orange-haired bartender who twists nimbly around him to top off glasses and gather orders like they’re used to his bullshit. “I know what I’ve got and how to use it, I just feel like it never hurts to have plenty of options at my disposal.”

“Let a bouncer catch you waving that thing around, and I’m sure Orla will remove a few of your options for you.” The bartender clears some empty glasses from the bar and drops them by a nearby sink, taking a clean shaker to begin mixing cocktails.

Jax is off the clock. It’s none of his goddamned business. He drums his fingers against the sticky bartop and immediately regrets it, scowling and wiping his hand on his jeans. They’re expensive, but at least they’re dark. He can have them cleaned later.

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Knox croons, sitting up and raking back his hair. Someone leaves their drink alone for a second, and he snatches it up and knocks half of it back in one go. Disgusting. “I know when to test my luck. I nicked the bouncer rotation from her office last time I was in. Jaxxie’s not on duty tonight, so I’m in the clear. The other muscleheads know not to fuck with me if they’d like to keep their own options intact.”

It’s a good thing Jax hasn’t gotten his drink yet, because he’s pretty sure he’d slam it down on the bar and shatter the glass.

“I’ll have to have a talk with them, then,” he snarls, loud enough to be heard over the noise, and to make the people around him clear the hell out.

The bartender yelps and nearly drops the shaker.

Knox just groans. “Speak of the devil.”

Jax pushes off the bar and stalks through the crowd, and saints and sinners alike practically throw themselves out of his path. Knox doesn’t move from his graceless sprawl across the bar, though he does sit up a bit to watch. His bright yellow eyes track the bouncer’s every move, his pierced lips kicking into a smirk.

The bartender, predictably, makes themself scarce.

“You must be stupider than you look,” Jax says, crossing his arms across his chest.

Yellow eyes flicker down to the open vee of Jax’s silk shirt, and that lazy smirk spreads wider. “Mama always told me smarts weren’t the way to catch a husband anyhow,” he drawls. He taps the tip of the blade against his temple like he’s imparted some deep wisdom and takes a pointed sip of his stolen drink.

Jax curls his lip and doesn’t deign that with a reply. “Hand over the knife, and I won’t throw you into traffic and tell Orla she’ll have to pick up a new poorly-trained housepet from the pound.”

The merc’s quick, Jax will give him that. In the blink of an eye he twists the knife away and arches off the bar, slipping it into some hidden sheath behind his back. He also manages to do so while slurping down the last of his stolen drink, and sliding the empty glass down the bar for the original owner to find. He wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, before he raises them both and wiggles his fingers so the rings on them click together. “You must be mistaken, Sir,” he simpers, fluttering his eyelashes, “I don’t have any knife. I’m an upstanding citizen, and I would never disobey the rules of this fine establishment!”

A frisson of something shoots down Jax’s spine, but he chalks it up to anger, because that’s generally what overwhelms him when he has to see this smug little fuck’s face. He can’t be that useful to Orla, the way she bitches about him.

But he’s still around being a thorn in Jax’s side, so he must be good for something.

It shouldn’t be his problem. He’s off the clock. But he knows Orla would find some way to blame him if Knox got out of hand while Jax was around to stop it. So he grabs the merc by one stout shoulder and starts carting him towards the doors.

Knox, to his credit, doesn’t struggle. What he does might be even more annoying, cackling like a madman and blowing a kiss up at Jax. “Baby, at least buy me dinner first!” he crows as they carve through the crowd, stumbling a bit to compensate for Jax’s much longer stride.

The two bouncers on duty leap out of the way when Jax shoves him through the doors, and the look he gives them both has them cringing away. They must be some of the new hires Orla mentioned. “We’re going to have a talk later,” he promises grimly.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on them, Jaxxie,” Knox coos. His mask is slipping off, and he fumbles to peel it away and toss it to the ground while being dragged along by the arm, “they don’t know any better.” He laughs again, grating and sharp, and he keeps laughing until Jax hauls him out the door and lets him go so suddenly he goes staggering into the hood of someone’s car. Thankfully, the car doesn't seem to have an alarm. Knox raps his knuckles against the dented hood and raises his eyebrows, apparently making the same observation. “Noted,” he says wickedly.

“Next time, I won’t be so gentle,” Jax snarls, the back of his neck still prickling at the nickname.

Coyote flicks his tongue out, wiggling the split prongs, the silver ball embedded in it catching the dull light of the dirty street lamp overhead. “Ooooh, do you promise?”

As far as Jax is concerned, the problem is handled. He gives the merc one last withering look, eyes narrowed and lip curled, before he stalks away to find his own car and get the hell out of dodge before he’s roped into more nonsense. Knox’s raspy cackle follows him the whole way.

He’s halfway home when a sudden, niggling suspicion tickles at the back of his mind. He waits until he’s at a red light to pat down his waist, which feels notably lighter than it should.

“Motherfucker!” he snaps when he realizes his gun isn’t there. He’s not the type to lose things, especially not important things.

Orla warned him on day one the merc had sticky fingers, and he didn’t listen, thinking nobody would be stupid enough to try him.

A part of him, though, is sort of… grudgingly impressed. How’d the crazy little bastard manage to take it? When?

Jax drags a hand over his mouth and grumbles to himself. He’d shake the truth, and his damned gun, out of the merc next time he saw him, no matter what.

A rough voice that sounds suspiciously like Knox croons in the back of his mind.

Sounds like a date.

[lizardkingeliot]

So, do those of you currently reading time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) remember that scene in chapter 4 where Quentin shows up for his tutoring session and Eliot says he wants to go to the edge of the campus and manipulate the magic of the wards so they can fly? You know... this one:

Only they never end up making it there because they start bickering the second they leave the library? Well, in the rough draft of this chapter I initially had this scene... ending very differently. And they also weren’t going to fly, they were going to... well. I think I’ll just let y’all read it for yourselves lmao. I think I talked about this a bit on twitter when I was working on the chapter so if it sounds familiar that’s probably why. ANYWAY. I have a ton of deleted scenes from this fic, most of which will never see the light of day, but I woke up this morning with the urge to share at least part of this one so... I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

This is super rough and unedited and honestly not up to my usual standards, but... you know. Rough drafts tend to be that way. It’s also all over the place in terms of tone and where they were at this point in the fic lmao. This might be bordering on crack honestly. Which is why I just scrapped the whole thing and went a different route in the final draft. Anyway. Shutting up now. This is about 2k words so I’m putting most of it under a cut...

—

Trudging across campus two paces behind Eliot, Quentin was stricken by the overwhelming feeling that he was trapped inside a dream. The eerie, quiet campus, lit only by the waning moon and a few dots of light spilling from the various student houses. He looked back over his shoulder, spotting the Cottage in the distance, the dim orange glow of the front bay window swimming in his vision like a boat lost at sea. 

As they approached the outer edge of the grounds, Quentin could feel the magic of the wards, buzzing on the air like insects. Bone-deep reverberations, strains of music swelling from within. He’d never been out this far before. The line where Brakebills ended and the real world began. Where there was nothing but the boat house and the wind. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He breathed in deep, the scent of the Hudson rushing nearby filling his senses as Eliot came to a sudden halt in the dark.

“Here,” Eliot said. Quentin could only just barely make out the shape of his elegant fingers pointing just ahead. “Can you feel the energy? I guess the Naturalists come out here sometimes and use it to light their bongs.” He laughed, a sound that warmed Quentin underneath his jacket at once. “And occasionally singe their own eyebrows off in the process.”

Quentin looked back. They’d come out to a place that the light from the Cottage couldn’t reach. Eliot formed an orb between his hands and pinned it overhead, a grapefruit sized pendant of magic swaying gently in the breeze. He stepped into Quentin’s personal space, giving him the once over. Head-to-toe and back again, settling at last on Quentin’s eyes.

“So,” he said with a smirk. “Cavaleri Animation. My memory of the First Year curriculum is a little hazy, but they’ve dazzled you all with that one already, yes? Turning your marbles into little glass animals, you know the one.”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, um… but Alice was the only one who could actually get hers to work.”

Swift and warm as a pulse, Eliot’s hand curled around the nape of Quentin’s neck. Heat spreading down the column of his spine like a flame catching a wick. Thumb teasing over burning flesh. Eliot’s lips ghosted over his ear, not quite touching. Still, Quentin swore he could feel his smile. “Well,” he said, soft and dark, “I’m here now. And you’re going to do it. And it’s going to work.”

Quentin’s hand was bunching up the back of Eliot’s cardigan. He didn’t know when that had happened. The hum of the magic was making him dizzy. For a moment, it was impossible to breathe. His body a tight line of tension and desire. Eliot pulled away and Quentin released his hold, staggering a little as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

“Um, okay…” Quentin ran a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at centering himself. “Why, uh—why do we have to do that here? We could have just done that spell in the library.”

“Because,” Eliot said with a tip of his head, “I have a theory.”

“A theory?” Quentin frowned. “You brought me out here for a theory?”

“More of a hypothesis really,” Eliot said with a wave of his hand. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Great,” Quentin said with an exasperated sigh. “Dicking around with unstable magic in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong.”

“Look, it’s going to be fun,” Eliot said with that casual little air of his. “And we probably won’t explode even if I’m wrong. So we really don’t have very much to lose.”

“Okay, I’m—” Quentin threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, El, can you just tell me what we’re actually doing out here?”

“We,” Eliot said very slowly, reaching inside his cardigan, pulling a sliver of magenta colored glass out of the pocket of his vest, and looking through it, “are going to tap into all that crazy energy and make your little glass marble friend into a very big animal friend and take it for a spin.” He passed the sliver of glass over to Quentin. “Take a look.”

Quentin stared at Eliot for a very long time before relenting. “You’re actually a crazy person, you know that?”

“I think you mean certified sorcerer genius, but I’ll take it.” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Go on. It’s balls to the wall out here. So much energy we could power a fucking nuclear reactor and I doubt Henry would notice.”

Quentin looked through the glass, moving it from one eye over to the other. At first, it was impossible to make sense of what he was actually seeing. A latticework of stars. Billions of them it seemed, all bumping up against one another in a wild, cosmic dance. A galaxy of intersecting lines and patchwork patterns shimmering like the wings of a dragonfly. And every now and then, a spark. Popping off into the dark like fingers desperate for the night. Quentin handed the glass back to Eliot with a shake of his head.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be boring, Quentin,” Eliot said. It made Quentin’s chest ache with its normalcy. Like their past couldn’t touch them out here. Like out here with their bad ideas and their wild magic, maybe they could have some hope to start again. “But maybe… maybe don’t make anything that wants to bite our heads off.”

“Okay, so…” Quentin sighed with his whole chest. “To recap: you want to steal unstable magic from the wards of the school where we’re both currently students to make a giant glass animal that hopefully doesn’t swallow us whole so we can… take it for a ride?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, like it was the most obviously brilliant thing in the world. “Don’t make that face with your face. Tell me you’ve never wanted to ride a rhinoceros.”

“We are not riding a rhinoceros, Eliot. Absolutely not.” 

“Well, okay…” Eliot’s hand on his nape again. Heat, fire, a five alarm blaze encircling his neck like a collar. “If you could ride on any animal, real or imaginary—”

“The Cozy Horse,” Quentin said without thinking, heart pounding like hoofbeats trapped inside his chest. “Um… it’s from the Fillory books, uh…”

Eliot laughed softly. “Okay.” His hand slid down to Quentin’s shoulder, gripping it possessively. “Tell me about... the Cozy Horse.”

“Um…” Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, shook his head. Eliot’s hand was stroking up and down the expanse of his upper arm and shoulder, making everything go all fuzzy in his brain. “It’s just, uh… it’s this horse that Jane rode on. It’s, uh… really tall. Like a hundred feet. Like a clydesdale on steroids.”

“You won’t ride a rhinoceros but you’re perfectly fine with a horse that’s a hundred feet tall?”

Quentin turned his face upward, trapping himself in Eliot’s gaze. Sinking, flying, falling. Close enough to kiss if he only went up on his toes a little. Tucked inside the safety of his warmth. Quentin wanted to burn, to melt into a puddle at Eliot’s feet and slosh around like muck. “I…” Quentin swallowed. “I don’t think the Cozy Horse would hurt us. It’s basically a giant stuffed animal.”

Eliot grinned, gazing down at Quentin for a long beat before pulling away. “Okay then,” he said, taking a few steps down the path under their feet. “Show me Cozy Horse.”

Quentin reached into his pocket, knelt down, set the marble on the path. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to… harness the magic of the wards.”

Eliot made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, peering through it with one eye. “Just leave that part to me,” he said absently. “Go on. Make your horse. And don’t say you can’t do it. We both know that you can.”

Quentin gazed up the long line of Eliot’s body. Eliot was fully focused on the wards. The sound of night, the crackle of magic. Quentin shivered under his jacket. His hands hovered over the marble, focusing his energy on prepping the glass for transformation with Dempsey's Silent Thermogenesis. Once molten, the marble could be manipulated into almost any shape he could imagine. For the Cozy Horse, Quentin didn’t have much to go on but the memory of a single illustration, and a few lines from The Wandering Dune, but he figured it would probably be simple enough. How hard could it be to imagine a draft horse the size of something straight out of the Cretaceous period?

Quentin twisted the glass under his fingers, so fully focused on his task he almost didn’t notice when Eliot began to move. When, suddenly, through the loop of Eliot’s fingers, a beam of sharp, frenzied magic began to focus on the animal he had half-formed with laser precision.

“You might wanna hurry,” Eliot said. “I don’t know how long I can hold this here.”

Quentin scowled in his direction, looping a bit of the molten glass into the shape of a tail. “You’re shit at communicating, you know that,” he spit, letting the gentle rage rising in his belly fuel his magic. “I thought cooperative magic was supposed to be, I don’t know… cooperative?”

Legs, hooves, the gentle slope of a hulking animal’s back. The wispy tendrils of a mane. Eliot was saying something that might have been a warning. Quentin was too focused on his creation to parse a single one of his words. The magic of the wards cracked like lightning. He could feel it in his hands. Quickly, almost as an afterthought, Quentin gave the beast that had come to life beneath his fingers a shimmering loop around the back of the neck that might have passed for reins if he squinted.

A single hoofbeat on the soft ground. The beam of magic stuttering through Eliot’s fingers died away, and he let out a tremendous sigh.

“Okay so... “ Quentin frowned, eyes flitting from the tiny glass horse up to Eliot’s face. “I don’t think this is going to—”

A flash, a pop, a tremendous wave of heat knocking the air from his lungs. Quentin shoved his body backward off the path and into the grass just as Eliot was running over. Kneeling down, using himself as a makeshift shield as he pushed Quentin further back away from the molten monstrosity shifting and morphing and doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size. A deep rumble, the tinkling of glass. Quentin peered over Eliot’s shoulder, his eyes moving up, up, up, trying to take in what it was he was actually seeing.

The glass horse shook out its mane, rearing up on its hind legs and down again with an earth-trembling thud. The distance from the ground to its shoulder must have been twenty feet. It had no eyes and no mouth, but Quentin swore he could feel its glassy stare boring into him. The light of the orb dangling overhead passed right through the center of its body. For a long moment, everything went perfectly still.

And then Eliot started to laugh. “Holy shit,” he said, his eyes wide as dinner plates when he turned his face to Quentin. “That is a big fucking horse.”

A laugh sputtered out from between Quentin’s lips. “Yeah, um… yeah. Fuck. It really is.”

Eliot’s body pressed right up against Quentin’s body when he turned, and leaned in, so close they were almost kissing. A pulse of heat passed between them. Quentin felt it in his chest like a second heart. “So,” Eliot said, a hand curling around Quentin’s cheek for a fleeting moment before pulling away. “You wanna take her for a spin?”

Quentin felt absolutely out of his mind. Hazy, his body a liminal space. “Yeah,” he said with a short, stuttering burst of laughter. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”

Unreality set in hard as they stood and cautiously approached. Up close, they might as well have been gazing upward at the hulking glass back of a dinosaur. The haphazard reins Quentin had created looped around the beast’s neck like a string of fairy lights. 

“Um…” Quentin laughed, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “How the fuck are we even going to get on this thing?”

Eliot took his hand suddenly, threading their blood-warm fingers together. “Oh, Q,” he said with a full-faced grin, “we’re gonna fucking fly.”

[whoslaurapalmer]

so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary 

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway 

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.)  -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room. 

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera.  haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god  white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions. 

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series  -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in.  -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged  -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel  -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE  -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult.  -but, angel of my a p p l e 

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry 

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.)  -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion. 

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho.  -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup  -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic.  -steal from your unused fic. 

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it. 

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style. 

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours.  -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy. 

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too  kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter. 

[multi-fandom-peep]

So you remember that wings AU I said I'd draw a million years ago? So uh

Here.

Except without the Kiddos because we all know how my last attempt at drawing people went.

Field notes because I didn't think it'd fit on the picture:

Happy He has dragonfly wings. They connect at his shoulders. They're super strong. He can lift literal tons with his wings alone. They're slightly transparent. The veins have liquid inside that can leak out when damaged. It's not blood though. Nobody actually has any idea what it is. Speaking of damage, if Happy's wings do get damaged, they take forever to heal, and they're basically useless when they are. Not that it really matters, since, you know, he can fly. His wings are kind of a hassle, as they're almost as tall as he is. Having them folded makes them tangle with his legs, but unfolding them leads to them getting caught on absolutely everything. There's a bit of magic here, as even though Happy never developed extra muscles (or whatever the robot equivalent is), he can still buzz them. They buzz. Loudly.

Sweet She has bird wings. They connect at her shoulders. Not angel, those have different anatomy. (I searched up types of wings for this) They're high-speed wings, a bit longer than average. Although they're pretty balanced, she's the fastest flyer and is constantly practicing maneuvers. (Because magic) Her wings are the most lifelike and behave pretty much like a bird's except they don't bleed. They are always shedding, and Sweet gets feathers everywhere. It's annoying, but she sometimes uses them for crafts because what else are you gonna do with them. Dust baths. It's a secret. She can feel her wings, and it's kinda painful to get a feather pulled out before it sheds.

Smart He has butterfly wings. They connect at the upper middle of his back. Predictably, he flaunts them like a peacock. They're pretty reflective, and if he get's the light just right, they can blind people. Nobody knows why there's a magnet on his wings. It's just there. They are the biggest hassle since he can't really collapse/fold them. They're not as strong as Happy's wings, and as a result, get damaged way more often. On the plus side, they heal faster than his. (I know butterfly wings don't really heal but shhhh magic.) A butterfly's natural flight pattern is all over the place, a tactic to avoid predators. Not very helpful to Smart. He can't do long distance flights without giving himself a concussion. They're a useful (and effective) tool in battle. They're normally used to distract, but he can also use bursts of flight to get out of difficult situations. He practices using magnetism to stabilize his flight, but it's kind of pointless because using the same power, he can fly. His name has never been more ironic. (The Chinese one, at least.)

Careless He has beetle wings. The cover connects at the base of his neck, the wings slightly lower. They do have veins, but don't "bleed" like Happy's do. His wings look like they have layers, but they don't. The protective cover is super strong. His wings are susceptible to tears and bends, but can also heal the fastest. Careless is the most stable flyer, but it somewhat the slowest. They buzz, but it's almost silent. The cover is literally a shield. They buzz when he's excited. It's cute, honestly. Has been known to accidentally hit people with the tips of his wings. I call them beetle wings, but I modeled them specifically after ladybugs.

Careful (This shade sucks, but it's the only purple one) He has dragon wings. They connect at his shoulders. They have the intimidation factor. Joints are mechanical (He is a robot after all). The yellow stripes are kind of like muscles and control the open/folding motion. Despite the mechanical aspects, they're pretty lifelike. Trades stability for maneuverability. He can still feel his wings and if something's touching them. Although strong, it only takes a solid hit to one of the joints to disable flight. They don't really heal and have to be mechanically fixed. They'll seal tears by themselves though. A big downgrade on stealth because wingbeats are loud (although not as loud as Happy's). They're super static when he's not using them.

I had an obsession with drawing wings for a bit and it hasn't really worn off yet.

[eternalstrigoii]

Protector of the Moors

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Tundra Healer Dark Fey Reader aka @vespertineoracle gets more Nyvi because these are Soft Hours(TM).

             It was a new day, the dawn of a new chapter for you all. The air was crisp and briny, and work on a magical bridge between the kingdoms was already underway.

Which meant it was all the more crucial for you to map the territory and identify places in need of preservation for their medicinal qualities, and to do so quickly.

The plan, or the rudimentary outline of one you’d sussed out the night before while gathered around a bonfire with your tired (and often wounded) kinsmen, involved taking your entire stock of pressed paper and making as detailed a map as possible while on foot. It would’ve been much easier from the skies, and much better for you to identify relative locations – and it wasn’t as though you were the only one with the same desire.

But you didn’t ask anyone to join you.

You were all tired. You were glad the battle passed quickly, because night had barely fallen when a great many of you took up residence in the trees. Now that you were liberated from your nest of origin, the collective of you hesitated to return, lest your freedom be fleeting.

A handful of you stayed awake well into the night. Ini fell asleep at the bonfire, watching the embers mingle with the stars. Borra listened to the night-sounds until one of the fledglings Udo returned for nodded off against his leg, and you ignored the fierce flutter in your heart when he gathered them to return to their nest-mother.

It was him you thought of while you gathered water from the white oaks – water that could be used for healing, as it broke fevers and staunched wounds. You thought of the cloth bandage around his arm and how lucky he’d been that it hadn’t gone a bit further in either direction. How difficult you’d always thought him, deliberately toying with iron to build his pain tolerance.

But he hadn’t fallen, and you refused to dwell on those of you that had, because you had a task at hand. You were fond of him, and he was alive, and you were glad.

And you desperately wanted to find some mullein. It would soothe the irritation so many of your people found themselves with, now, from the tainted iron in the air.

You made a small note in the corner of your page of the plants you hoped to find, your foot supporting your woven water-basket. The sun on your neck and the breeze in your wings carried the pungent perfume of sweet mandrake, and you paused your note taking to breathe it in.

And nearly kicked over your water-basket when you heard the earth shift behind you.

“Fallen stars!” You whirled around, nearly slapping Borra with one of your flared, snowy wings.

He had the nerve not play chastised, leaving the ghost of a heart-rending smile on his lips when you faced him. “Are you doing that all by yourself?”

You floundered. “Were you spying on me?” you managed when you regained the ability to speak.

He quirked his head, and you had half a mind to pull back a branch and trap his big horns in it. “I’m not unfamiliar with the territory.”

“So I’ve noticed!”

Horrible, you thought pointedly when his mouth started to quirk, poorly-repressed laughter threatening to slip out. “Did I scare you?”

“No more than you have in the past, you piebald nuisance!”

He did laugh, then, and though your irritation was largely for show, you thought the sound might’ve quieted even the deepest fury. He laughed so rarely. It was like stumbling upon a secluded oasis; a gift for you and you alone.

“I’ve got scouting to do,” he said as though he knew about your map and your plans without being told. Maybe he did; he did see you writing. “I prefer you don’t go alone.”

You couldn’t even pretend it was because of your long-injured wing; he was just like that. Not even Suren, Ini or Shrike were spared.

You sighed theatrically and stowed your water-basket safely in the low branches. You rolled up your materials and stuffed them in your satchel before accepting his offered arms – taking your sweet time about it just to be a thorn in his side.

Not that he minded. As wary as he was of what lied beyond the river and beyond the moors, you’d both waited too long not to grasp your freedom by the antlers.

“Do not drop me,” you cautioned playfully as you wound your arms around his neck, and got tugged flush against his body for your trouble. He was all powerful muscle, and his radiant heat made you shiver.

“Then hold on.” His bright eyes glinted with mischief, and his huge wings beat so hard yours folded instinctively. He launched you both into the sky on a self-created windstorm, the force of which made the leaves tremble on the branches.

You clung to him, your satchel trapped between your hip and his, until you cleared the canopy.

Skies, it really was beautiful.

Were it not for your half-limp wing, you would’ve made this journey yourself hours ago.

Your wings flared instinctively to aid the both of you in coasting. He was unfazed by your weight against his chest, drawing you up until you nearly kissed the clouds. You saw what he’d described in moons-old plans – fields of grain packed dense like walls, a slow-moving windmill just above a mortal village, and the moors. They were so large, so deep, that it was no wonder Ulstead alone had the nerve to prey on them. How many people could wander in and just vanish, lost to the sheer treachery of the landscape alone?

You tightened your grasp when you flattened only for Borra to turn slowly, affording you the proper aerial view.

Below, you saw the moor-folk returning to their lives. You saw flower-people fluttering between the meadows and the streams, people like iridescent dragonflies glinting and shimmering in the sun. You saw Suren tossing berries at the raven Diaval from her respective perch in the trees – as a bird, rather than a man – and him trying to catch them from his branch before they fell, and were stolen by the amphibious peoples who lived in the brook between them.

It was a magical place. Something well worth fighting for, like the man supporting you whose eyes had never left your face. You were so happy to be soaring over the moors that you forgot, for a time, to harbor fear that it might still all be taken away.

“How well do you know this place?” you asked at last. You’d veered toward the peaks and, as interested in fully mapping the territory as you were, you hoped to identify your necessities first.

“Well enough,” Borra replied. Well enough to feel secure in battle, then, which meant well enough to propose your list.

You told him what you were looking for in hopes that he memorized what those plants were; he was no stranger to your work, and he was keen enough that you imagined he’d have at least a rough idea what you were talking about.

He thought it over for a moment, and slowly curled his wings around yours.

You took the cue and let him steer.

He let you glide on top of him until you were ready to dive, and the slow turn of your bodies made you intimately aware of how close you’d gotten, your leg hooked comfortably around one of his. Your eyes flickered up to his, and you must’ve been a little frosty, because his mouth quirked into that ever so lovely not-smirk that meant he was absolutely laughing at you inside.

It wasn’t your fault he looked like that. Wasn’t yours that he acted like that, either, the peacocking fool.

Just for you, you reminded yourself, and the flush of pleasure almost echoed the burn of frost in your cheeks.

You touched down in a meadow, and you flushed terribly at the way he held you up rather than let you slow your own descent once your feet touched the ground.

“Over there,” he said, much too casually letting go of your waist.

You unhooked yourself as though from a pup-cling and tidied your robes. “Thank you.”

He inclined his head, content to wait.

It was so bright, there. You couldn’t imagine the world outside could be much brighter than the jungle fey’s territory, but the hues of green in the leaves, the way shadow and cloud-shifted light danced over the bark of the trees, astounded you. You savored every step through the tall grasses, careful to keep the little sprites that rose to meet you from being caught in your clothes.

A dense cluster of mullein was nestled on a sunny ridge. Exactly what you’d been hoping for. And there was enough to take back to the nest to cultivate, should your people need the resource.

Leave it to Borra to take you right to the most important thing you could think of.

You began note-taking immediately, sketching out the rough outline of a map – marrying the sights of your flight with the rough-hewn one you recalled vividly from being etched into the stone floor of the meeting hall. You’d only covered a small portion of the moors, but you did your best to describe them accurately – here was the starting point, set back from the river; here were the peaks you’d neared. Here was the valley you currently stood in, and right, specifically, there, was the little grove of mullein.

You’d have to come back to uproot whole plants, you realized with a small measure of dejection. You’d only brought enough containers to secure parts for use.

A great peep-and-flutter arose behind you, and a part of you hoped that Borra was behaving himself. You took a bit from a portion of the plants, careful not to impact any of their growth significantly. You noted on another page their health, their size, their gathering time and what portions you’d harvest.

He laughed. Again.

It gave you pause the way the sun on your skin encouraged you to linger. You turned, your slender writing-charcoal still in-hand, and you nearly had to sit down.

The moor-folk were all over him, swarming like bees to sweet. He had several in each of his open palms, and you imagined that one settled and one became a dozen, but, no – he lightly skimmed his thumb-talon down the backs of one of the flower-people, and they shivered with delight.

“I remember you,” he said to one of the willow sprites that dared practically perch on his face. “You were unharmed?”

They chattered fiercely and though there was no way he understood them (you presumed, though he had spent more time on the moors than any of the rest of you), he paid attention to them while they hovered before him on thin, leafy wings.

There were six more of them in his hair, you realized, playing with it. And he let them.

“Good,” he said, though you hadn’t followed a word of it beyond the essence.

They were faeries he’d saved on his private crusade, his incidental attempts to uproot their new companion from her role as protector of the moors. The ones he’d saved from being stolen, who he’d freed himself. Before or after killing their captors, you’d never asked, and it didn’t seem to matter. They knew him, and they loved him, and you saw him that gentle so rarely that, for a moment, you swore your heart might fully frost over.

One of the little dragonfly-people touched his cheek, their high-pitched murmurs of concern drawing tears to your eyes.

“No, no,” he soothed, “they’re natural. It’s decorative.”

Ancestors be with you, you had never loved another as fiercely as you did him.

They touched, marveled. They’d seen horns and wings on Maleficent, but maybe never that way. Maybe they knew her too well (you hadn’t yet learned of their once-tenuous relationship with your people). His wings shifted at the brush of petals on his cheek, and a great chorus of oh! rose up from them.

He smiled so widely that it caused a physical ache in your chest. You brushed away the dampness on your lashes that threatened to make itself apparent. How long had it been since you saw him so at peace? Since you knew without uncertainty that he was happy?

“Alright.” His shoulders rolled, and a few of them giggled as they dislodged. “No more of that.”

The willow sprites in his hair giggled the loudest.

“How proud you are of your dirt,” you muttered, halfhearted, into your notes.

“What was that?” he had no trouble faux-raising his voice to remind you he could hear you all the way across the field.

You’re a dirty little magpie and I love you with all my heart, you thought, though you said, “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve rubbed dust into my clothes!”

He grinned, but it was different. The glimmer was back in his sandstorm eyes, and the little fey knew better than to linger close. They scurried off into the fields, giggling as they watched him launch himself at you – like you were fledglings again, roughhousing in the belly of your people’s nest. He caught you around your white-robed waist and pulled you up off the ground.

You dropped your things and grabbed the straps of his leather armor in warning. “Borra, don’t you dare--!”

“I dare,” he grinned, and your breathlessness at the sight of him fell second to your absolute distrust of the mischief in his eyes.

“I’ll kick you!”

He hauled you up against him like you weighed nothing, like you were as light as his gaggle of faeries despite the furry lining of your clothes. You gripped him for dear life, folding your wings in close.

He flopped backward in the grass hard enough to make you huff. Dropped like a weight, you thought, and followed it up with, sunk like a stone. A big, much too pretty stone.

“You’re the one who wanted to go picking leaves, but you complain about getting dirty.”

You had half a quick retort in mind, but you stopped yourself. It was over now. The war, the preparation. Things could change. You could sink into the springs with him, work a fish-bone comb through his hair with the utmost patience. You might even be able to tend the more obvious cracks at the base of his horns, though whether or not their severity worsened naturally with age or if it was just from benign neglect, you weren’t entirely sure.

“I’m not complaining,” you muttered, and it said far more than you expected it would. You loved him. You were as grateful as they were. For the mullein, for the map, for his obsessive attention to detail, for his love, for his joining you this morning, and for his being with you now. Oh, skies, how you loved him, like a flutist who only knew one song.

He laid still under you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was toying lightly with a lock of your hair. It was so nice to rest, even among obligations. Even if you knew he would never go unprepared, you could see it in his face – in the slow blink of his eyes and the soft set of his jaw beneath your fingers – there was hope he would know peace.

You lowered your forehead and pressed horns gently with him. He was sunshine-radiant against you, and you heard him make his low, purr-like sound at the frost that bloomed where your skin met.

“Thank you,” you murmured. For the help, and for not dying; for his love and a thousand other little things whose names escaped memory.

“Mm.” He bunted gently against your horns in return. “Tell me when you’re ready to move on.”

You lingered there, against him, for a little while longer. The flower people had come to play with your hair and touch your skin and marvel at your cold and the softness of your wings, and you were happy to let them.

“Protector of the moors,” you muttered.

He smiled a bit wider, and you couldn’t resist kissing him.

The flower people had a field day with that.

                  If you liked this and want to see more, click here.

[vesperlionheart]

Lady of the Blackthorn Trees

Happy belated birthday to @frostmarris​​! I hope you enjoy the first part (1/3) of this magical fantasy themed SasoSaku!

They had bound his hands with black horse hair, knotting it over his wrists in elaborate knots that he’d never be able to get out of on his own for how they blocked his magic. The enemy had done their homework and come prepared this time.

Good for them.

Sasori couldn’t bring himself to care that he was on his way to die. What was the point in grieving for such a sad and ruinous life anyway? He had lost his treasures, been run out of his homeland, sent to a foreign continent thanks to his cousin’s strange magic, and chased by every thief with a dagger from Darksprawl to the port cities. His family was likely dead while the Akatsuki group was setting themselves up pretty on the falcon throne across the world. He was a fool to have believed them in the first place. 

It was probably better for everyone if he didn’t live long enough to hear about how royally he had fucked things up an ocean away.

“Hey, you there,” one of the guardsmen called out. Sasori lifted his head enough to stare out his bangs at the other man, but it must have looked disrespectful since he felt the guard’s fist in his hair, pulling forward. Sasori cursed and fell on his knees, out of his seat while the other guards laughed.

“A shame he’s a man, I would have enjoyed myself more if we had a pretty woman,” the guard mocked.

“You think we’d get so lucky twice in one week?” another one jeered.

“The lot of you are disgusting filth. Get the criminal on his feet and lead him to the barracks. We’re not going to be wasting our breath anymore on this,” the captain bellowed before spitting in front of Sasori on the ground.

That’s when Sasori looked up to see where he was. He saw the long walls encircling the small military encampment, pitched with tents around a crudely constructed office towards the back.

The barracks Sasori was left to was a set of cages left out in the open, exposed to the elements but tucked away in the back corner. The whole camp would be able to see him in his cell, but only if they bothered to turn around and look.

 He was pushed in and tumbled into the rotten straw, scratching his hands on the stones hidden within.

“Hey, you had ta use the black rope on ‘em. Shouldn’t we use the irons?” one of the younger soldiers asked his senior.

“Irons can rust and chip but the black rope will always survive, lad. You must not have much experience with the magical prisoners. You lot seem to think the stronger the lock the safer you are, but take a look at this mess here.”

“Sir?”

“Picked him up for murder. Sure they were only rouges and thieves he cut into the throats of, but its a good enough reason for us to show off how much more competent we are than those White Lilly bastards. Look at us, we caught a foreign mage in a tavern with only two men and the element of surprise!”

Sasori refused to turn around as the story of his capture was exaggerated for the younger soldiers. The truth would never come out from their lying mouths so it wasn’t worth it to listen to them. The most honest they got was when they admitting the arrest was more to show off than to protect the peace.

The Darkguard of the latest mad king was reaching farther and took over a settlement protected by the Order of the White Lillies, an order of knights who served the high king from a kingdom too far away to care about. The politics didn’t matter to Sasori as he had no personal ties to anyone or any land, black or white, it didn’t matter what color their armor was, they were all the same to him.

“What kind of magic does he have?” someone else asked.

“We ain’t taking the ropes off to show you.”

“It probably was nothing,” someone else jeered. “You just like to feel good about yourselves so you dressed some lout up as a mage? Yeah right.”

“Jeter, you bastard son of a weasel, put your fists up and say that again!”

Sasori closed his eyes and settled into the hay while the camp laughed at the scuffle outside his cell. Even if he tried, he knew there was nothing he could do and nothing he could use to fray or break the black rope he had been bound with. Even with a knife, nothing would free him until the knot was undone…an impossible task for someone left in the bindings.

If he hadn’t been alone maybe he never would have gotten into such a dire situation, but there was no such option for a foreigner like himself. After his last great betrayal, he wasn’t willing to trust anyone who wasn’t family.  

Poor Gaara. Temari and Kankuro were at least old enough to maybe hold their own, but Gaara was still young and unable to master his wild magics. He would be either consumed alive by what he couldn’t control or slaughtered by whoever put himself up on the throne. Kankuro’s puppet magic was good, but largely undeveloped, and Temari…actually Temari wasn’t one he needed to be worried about. Out of all of his cousins, she was the most proficient in her magics. She was just too stubborn to realize when she was outclassed and outnumbered.

Would they blame him? He had failed to protect his birthright. The falcon throne was being used by an usurper and his family was dead or worse thanks to his blind ambitions. He should have known better than to trust that snake’s lies about immortality without lichdom or necromancy. What a fool he had been.

He hoped they killed him quickly. Sasori was too bored left alone in a cell with only his thoughts and regret to keep him company.    

The day quickly paled into dusk and then the bonfires were lit. Dinner was had and food was passed around, though nothing was spared for Sasori apart from stale bread and a bit of water. The dark seemed to draw most of the guards out for one last drink or story before they retired. Inside the fort they all felt safe.

The hairs on the back of Sasori’s neck all stood up and he tensed inside his cell, recognizing the static of building magic. It was a thick magic, stretching far. When he looked up he couldn’t see where it came from or what was causing it, but there were moths settling on the bars of his cell, clinging to the fortress walls, and perching atop the high points and banners left aloft. The hum of magic was strongest around them.

“What-?”

A younger solider had stepped backwards and crushed a moth under his heel and out of the carcass a spill of magic grew colored quartz crystal up over the man’s heel, up his leg, and over his thigh before encasing his entire body in a jagged prison of red and pink that swallowed up his scream.

A dozen different moths detonated on their own and grew into mammoth crystals that sealed up the exist and threw colored light across the encampment. The screaming rose along with the chaos before a still came over the camp.

The months on his door hadn’t moved or detonated, as several others hadn’t, but the insects didn’t move even as their magic grew. It gave the men time to gather their weapons and arm themselves.

“What is it?” someone shouted.

“Where is it?” someone else yelled in response.

In the chaos some of the fire had spilled out of the pit and caught one of the sitting logs up in flames, but spread no further. It cast longer shadows that changed the terrain to the natural eye.

There were curses as the men turned and searched, fanning out with their swords and bows drawn. Even their commander was out of his tent, looking wary. He shouted encouragements and cursed their coward enemy but it did little to erase the men’s fears.

“I hope it ruins you,” Sasori chuckled darkly, feeling the first tickles of delight in his belly.

When one of the guards started to cough and double over his neighbors noticed in time to watch his body explode in a shower of blood and gore, torn open with sharp, growing crystal. One of the nearby guards fell back on his ass and the stain through his pants was visible.

“At the front!” the commander shouted, pointing to where the thickest cluster of crystals started to glow.  Several heads turned in time to see what Sasori had already been watching. 

There was a cracking sound as a pair of delicate hands reached out through a wound in the crystals and pushed apart the two sides. There was a snap of new magic as a figure pushed herself out of the quartz and emerged atop a platform of ghostly white.

The trail of her glittering pink gown caught the firelight and Sasori could see the design of moth or maybe dragonfly wings beaded into its sides when she moved. There was a petite clack of her heels touching down atop the crystal before more crystal sprouts grew up like spores to make a staircase down to the ground for her.

Sasori knelt in his cell, watching the unearthly beauty emerge in all her finery. Her hair was the color of cherry blossoms, but it had been gathered up and held together with a crown of white and pink quarts shards, thin and long enough to make her look like something holy and haloed. Even from so far away Sasori could see the color of her eyes, as they caught the firelight and glowed with a personal magic of vibrant emerald.

“Y-you’re not from the white lilies,” someone shouted, sounding more confused than scared at the sight of a woman.

She didn’t respond right away, but took her time to look over the men in front of her, turning her head this way and that way, spotting the other soldiers who cowered behind tents and crates of rations. She looked Sasori’s way and the wave of magic made him tremble. If he hadn’t already been on his knees he would have gone down from the look alone.

“Who was the one who raped and murdered the village girl?” she asked, voice as calm as deep water and just as dark.

There was a whisper amongst the men, questions hissed between them in their confusion. What villager? What girl? They weren’t rapists so why would she ask that?

“No matter,” she breathed out, exhaling more magic the men couldn’t see. “He’s here and all of his fellows are complicit. You will all die for his sins.”

“Bitch!”

She didn’t flinch as a swarm of wings rose up behind her and assailed the men in front of her, halting their advance. A thousand different wingbeats hummed in the air, drowning out the hows of anguish from those too slow to get out of the way.

Someone raised their sword her way but she didn’t even look in his direction as the earth split and his body was impaled on a thin obelisk of red crystal.

She raised her hand and the earth trembled before the men in front of her were lifted into the air. A flick of her wrist contoured them horribly before dropping them back to the earth, folded unnaturally backwards.

Sasori watched, rapt and amazed as she turned men inside out and displayed the enormity of her power over the soldiers. She was without mercy, leaving men to bleed out and die on spears of quartz, while other were devoured alive by carnivorous beetles. With others she used magic to brutalize their bodies before finishing them off.

With the last few straggling soldiers she had to walk out after them, as they ran screaming for the walls, desperate to climb to safety. She let them get halfway before their heads slipped from their necks and soaked the ground with enough blood to turn her white crystals pink and her pink crystals red.

The stables were loud with frightened horses but she ignored them in favor of turning towards the cells. That’s when Sasori noticed he was the last living human left in the camp apart from whatever avenging goddess she was.

“You are not one of them. Why are you here?” she asked.

Sasori had to swallow before speaking. “As an example.” He held up his bound hands and she seemed to recognize the black rope for what it was.

“A creature of magic, or are you a learned magician?” she queried, tilting her head so that the dangling earrings tinkled against each other.

“I have learned and practiced my family’s arts, divine lady,” Sasori answered. “The men of this land would call me a mage or a sorcerer.”

“This land?” she echoed. Without motion or command some of the crystals around his cell glowed brighter and he winced under the light, used to the dark of his corner.

He heard her inhale and knew she saw the foreign features of a native to the Golden Desert. True he was pale, but his eyes were desert colored like the eyes of his mother and father before him.

“Then, spellbinder,” she spoke, dimming the lights, “what brought you so far across the sea?”

“The rushed magics of my cousin. Our family was cast out and to save me from execution they did what they could,” Sasori explained without mentioning the falcon throne or his royal heritage. Maybe it was obvious since he knew magic passed down through the royal family exclusively, but it felt wrong to speak of what he once was. He was no longer a prince or a exalted practitioner of the arts.

“What is your name, spellbinder?” she asked.

“Sasori.” He bowed his head and dared. “And who might you be, divine lady?”

When the noisy bars to his cell creaked open he looked up to see she hadn’t moved but was still staring down at him with a contemplative look to her eyes. “You may call me Sakura. I am little more than you are as a practitioner of magic, but I fear I am far older than you could guess.”

“My lady?”

“Sakura,” she softly corrected. She gestured to the open door and beckoned him forward. “You will need someone other than yourself to undo those knots, won’t you? Come here and let me do so.”

“You are too kind,” Sasori could only whisper as he stood and approached.

With only a blur of movement to watch, she took the knot and twisted it before her magic forced its way into the binding and nullified their passive magic. She then yanked on one band and the whole thing came undone.  

 She turned over his wrist and rubbed her thumb across his pulsing vein where a rash showed off where the ropes once had been. With the passing of her thumb across his skin the rash abated and the hurt went with it.

“Where will you go now, Sasori?” She reached for his other hand and he didn’t protest.

“I will…I will continue to wander.”

Forming words became difficult in her presence. She was dressed like a queen and carried herself like a god, but the way she held his wrist and traced his wounds was soft like the caress of a lover. He struggled to think up an answer to her question as different thoughts distracted him; so close he could smell her.

“You have no home here and no destination to guide you after here. What of your homeland? Do you not wish to return?”

Sasori closed his eyes and forced his head to shake. “No, I…I would only be returning to die with how I am now. There is nothing for me there, no matter how I wish it were otherwise.”

“So what of your ambitions here?”

He blinked hard, distracted by the color of her lips and how they matched the blush of her gown. “Here?” Sasori echoed. “I…there is nothing for me here.”

“Then come with me. You are young and not without merit in the craft of spell working. Your veins of magic speak to this.” When Sakura spoke the thrum of her magic brushed up against his and he felt it like the stroke of fine rabbit fur-just as vivid. It made him shiver.

“With you? Why would you suggest such a thing? I could be of no good to you with my own young abilities. You are far older and stronger.”

“Oh yes, that isn’t in question,” she chuckled. “But I have trained others and take no delight in casting out a hopeless man to die from lack of ambition. Come with me and make something of yourself. I would assume at one point in your life you enjoyed the study of it, didn’t you?”

Her words provoked a memory of the libraries in the palace. He remembered running down their halls and vowing to his mother he would read every book they had before he died, even the ones about magic only the adults could access. She had laughed but never doubted him.

Now he wondered if the library still stood. Had they burned it?  

“I was once quite fond of books,” Sasori quietly admitted. “But I still can’t understand why you would help me. I’ve done nothing for you and there are plenty of pathetic men in the world who drink themselves into oblivion and wait for death like an old friend.”

Sakura’s lips split in an honest laugh as she reached for his face, curling her fingers under his chin. “Yes, what you say is true, but how many of them are runaway mage princes who look this good?”

Sakura’s dress while she messes up the guards 

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Glue Trap - Silver

[First installment of Tiny Whumpee! We’re not quite at the circus part yet, but it’s coming. I’m also gonna tag @pine-lark in this because.... Tiny Sadness... and Arion is why Silver exits.]

CW: tiny whumpee, non-human whumpee, trapped, non-con touching, wing whump, restraints. 

“Help! Can anybody hear me?!” He yelled. The call echoed through the trees with no reply. Silver growled and pulled again.

He hadn’t been expecting a trap, so he hadn’t been looking for one. He had smelled the honey and went for it like an idiot. His shoes had stuck first, but he didn’t know that until he tried to take a step and fell out of his shoes and onto his hands and knees.

Right into the glue.

His wings buzzed uselessly, trying to give any strength at all to his struggle. He was stuck; all the way down his shins, the tops of his feet, and both hands - fingers splayed. He groaned in frustration and pulled.

Nothing.

Panic rose in his chest and he pulled harder, yanking and wrenching his shoulders.

“Hello?! I need some help over here! Please?”

Even as Silver screamed pleas to no one, his mind was screaming at him. Stop it! Stop fighting! Calm down! It was the smart thing to do, but his panicked body kept struggling and fighting.

Ignoring the little bell.

Every time he pulled, struggled, every time he yanked at his hands or tried to tear the paper, the movement pulled a thin line connected to a silver bell. It was ringing almost nonstop, alerting whoever set the trap that it had caught something.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

“Please! Somebody? Anybody! Help!”

Silver screamed wordlessly, this time mostly out of rage and frustration. How could he be so stupid? He needed to calm down and figure out the best way to get out of this, but he couldn’t calm down because he was stuck in a glue trap and he. Wanted. Out.

He yanked and pulled and wrenched and screamed, but there was no give. It felt like he was going to tear his own skin before the glue would give. His shoulders and back were already starting to ache, head feeling heavy on his neck.

He was starting to tire, and he let his body sag for a moment of rest. Anger and frustration had overtaken his fear and he dropped his guard.

And his head.

A few strands from his gray bangs brushed against the glue and stuck fast. He shrieked in anger and pulled his head up, ripping the strands out to float down in front of his face. It hurt, but it only fueled his temper and made him struggle more.

“Come on! Anybody? Can someone just get over here and help me!”

~

Corwin stretched and made his way down the woodland path. The carnival was heading out that afternoon, so he needed to go and get his trap so they didn’t leave it behind. It hadn’t caught anything yesterday, and he had forgotten about it overnight. A shame for sure, but he could always set it up in the next spot. Not like he needed any more stock, but it was always good to have extras.

As he rounded the corner, he got a pleasant surprise. It had caught something overnight, after all.

The little sprite was a deep blue with gray-white hair, speckled with little white markings. It had clearly exhausted itself struggling, looking by the state of it. Sad really; it was just a few scant inches from the shallow dish of honey.

It had slumped over onto its chest. It was curled up, slightly to one side, full side of its face and one wing stuck in the glue. The wings were pretty, too. Shimmery light blue in color and looked like large dragonfly wings. Corwin whistled a low tone. It was rare to find Nitebrights this far south.

He must have woken it from whatever sleep it was in. The free wing fluttered a bit, buzzing pitifully, but the poor thing was still all worn out. It looked up at him blearily with its free eye, and Corwin wondered if it could even see him. It looked up for only a few moments before it shivered and closed its eye once again.

“Please let me go,” the sprite whispered, voice raw from screaming. Corwin chucked to himself and unclipped the paper from the holder. There was a hole at the top to attach it to the trigger line, but it was also useful to hang on Corwin’s keyring as he disassembled the rest of the trap.

Silver wanted to struggle. He wanted to pull and fight and bit and scratch, but he was just so tired. The morning light hurt his eyes and he just wanted to sleep. It had been an exhausting night, and he knew it wasn’t about to get any better.

He wanted to kick himself, berate himself even further for not fighting hard enough, but fatigue had drained his temper into nearly nothing. He knew that he had tried his hardest, but that his hardest just wasn’t good enough.

The paper he was stuck to moved underneath him, dragging him along for it ride. Without any sort of warning, the paper dropped down and swung wildly. Silver tried to scream, ironically pressing himself harder into the glue to in fear of being flung off.

The trap was hooked onto Corwin’s belt, and it was torture for the small sprite. Every step the man took, every time he turned or shifted his weight, the trap would swing wildly. Silver’s throat was too raw to scream, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

The trap would swing up, and it felt like Silver was floating without flying. For the few moments at the peak of motion, he felt weightless. Then the trap would fall back down, pulling the blood from Silvers head and making his body so, so incredibly heavy. Fuzzy darkness would creep into the sides of his vision, and the force would make him pass out. He woke and passed out, over and over again, entirely at the mercy of inertia.

By the time the movement stopped, Silver was dizzy and disorientated. He was nauseous and lightheaded, body trembling. His body was still expecting movement, even though no more was coming.

The next thing he knew was water. Warm water poured over his head and down his body. It wasn’t hot or burning, just warm. He closed his eyes and held his breath as it ran down his face. After everything, it felt almost…nice somehow.

A minute or two later, he realized that he was slipping. The warm water washed away the glue that held him in place, and he slid off the paper onto a wooden surface. He made to stand, but his legs were jelly. It took all his effort to simply roll over on his back to look up at the giant face in front of him.

Corwin smiled and reached down to sit the little creature up. It was weak, unable to stay up on its own. He let it lean against his hand as the rest of the water trickled over the sprite’s head, diluting the last little dregs of glue.

“I won’t even have to use the gas on you, will I?” Silver shivered, knowing those words were threatening but unable to follow them to their conclusions. He was tired, and if he wanted to get away, he needed save his energy and outsmart the larger man.

The little sprite didn’t answer; its eyes simply fluttered closed and it gave a resigned sigh. Corwin chuckled and grabbed the towel to dry it off.

Thick fabric was wrapped around Silver, and he was lifted by a grip on his midsection. He went limp, holding his breath and waiting for an opportunity. It rubbed the water away, not painfully, but gruff and uncaring. At least the glue is gone, thought Silver.

He was dropped a few inches onto a worktable, landing on his stomach. He groaned and rolled his head, but that was about all he could do. He was content to just lay there for a moment, until he felt fingers run across his wings.

Another spike of adrenaline shot through him as he rolled to his back and crawled backwards, away from the hand.

“Now now, little bug,” came the booming voice. “One last part and you’ll be done for today.” The hand reached for him again, and Silver bit in self-defense.

Corwin cursed and pulled his hand away from the rows of sharp teeth. Silver smiled back at him, knowing the bite of a nitebright can be painful, especially when they’re scared or angry. Their saliva was venomous, causing the bite to swell and hurt.

But it was made to ward off predators like birds and rats; not humans. It stung for a moment, but it didn’t even bleed.

Corwin grabbed the towel and dropped it over Silver, smothering him with it. Silver kicked and fought, but the man’s hand was large enough to pin him from his head down to his hips. He could kick and hit, but those would be as dangerous as butterfly kisses.

Fingers came and pinched his wrists together over his head, pinning them down under a thumb. The hand that pressed his back down lifted, and Silver heard a loud, foreign noise. A moment later, his hands were taped to the worktable above his head with cellophane tape. The cloth was lifted, and a few moments later his ankles were taped down in a similar fashion.

Silver wiggled and squirmed, but the tape held tight against his weary attempts. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain and squeezed his eyes shut. He was trapped, wings exposed, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

Fingers touched his delicate wings again, and he jerked violently. Oh, no no no don’t do that. If you crumple my wings I swear I will end you.

“Stop it! Don’t touch them! They’re very, very delicate and if you break them, they’ll never heal the same! So. Hands. off!” he growled out in rage. Who did this guy think that he was?

A finger pressed against where the base of his neck met his back. It didn’t press hard, but even the weight of it was enough to quiet his feeble attempt at struggling. Silver whimpered at the pressure as his neck bent outwards, chin digging into the wood and forcing his mouth closed.

“Quiet. I know, I know. You think I haven’t done this before?”

The finger retreated and Silver shuddered. Something about the man’s calm, amused tone turned Silver’s blood cold and sucked the air out of his lungs. He had done this before? How many? Was he gonna die? The adrenaline was fading fast, replaced with cold, raw fear.

“Please,” he sputtered, holding back a sob, “Please be careful.”

Corwin hummed noncommittally as his focus turned away from the pleading of his little captive to his wings.

To the man’s credit, he was very careful. He used a softer, finer cloth the wipe away any moisture from the thin membranes, making sure the touch was light. He only ever used the pads of his fingers, never the nails, inspecting them and finally moving away.

Silver was too focused on his wings to notice the light touch of something that slipped over his back. The second the man’s hand let go, he pulled wings in and tucked them tight against his back. He didn’t realize that was what the man wanted him to do until it was too late.

Corwin folded the paper up and around the wings, making sure the resulting envelope was long enough to not fold the tips. He creased it sharply, tucking the sides in and around like he was wrapping a little present. With the wings encased in paper, he took another strip of the cellophane tape and tapped the paper down, winding the tape once around Silver’s midsection for good measure.

His wings were secured tightly to his back, but in the moment all Silver could think of was how grateful he was that there was a layer of paper protecting them from the tape. However, once that thought had finished crossing his mind, the larger realization of his wings were taped down to his back reared its head.

He sobbed, pressing his head harder against the tabletop.

The tape that trapped his hands was peeled up with a fingernail, his ankles freed a moment later. He tried to sit up, but the new counterweight on his back pulled him off balance and he fell onto his back with a pitiful, confused and surprised yelp; hands grasping for traction in the air in front of him.

Corwin laughed and scooped him up again, taking him off to the gilded cage in the corner of the room.  

[Next]

[twitchesandstitches]

emergency digestion

(Commission for @heimkoheimkofan of my OC Odina getting vored by thier OC Sariel and my Tia to actually help her out!)

-----

A beach was a fine change of pace from the dangerous places Odina usually saw, but she wasn’t in much of a mood to appreciate it properly.

A beach sprawled about into the distance, as far as the eye could see. There was no horizon, just a faint curve of dim light that grew darker and then brighter in something like an alien imitation of a solar cycle. The sea went on, and subtle awareness of the geometries suggested that it just went on forever, a serene expanse of ocean and tides.

Probably, there were sea creatures there. She thought she’d seen a few of her friends, or teammates, bringing some back from a hunt, on the basis that a beach vacation demanded barbeque. She was in too much pain to notice.

Odina and the rest of the eccentric people she’d gotten stuck with had seen a lot of strange places over the past few years. She’d met a lot of strange people, and some of them were… friends, she supposed. A few were more intimate than that suggested, and she wasn’t comfortable enough with her feelings to acknowledge that directly. She’d been to many places, too, some of them were weird. Others were things she’d remember in twisting nightmares, brief memories scarred into her soul that reminded her of how small and brief she was.

A beach was a pretty nice change of pace. Even if they’d gotten there through a doorway and it had opened into a plane of existence that was a single continuous beachfront. Seemingly going on forever, as far as they could tell. Odina had been to many weird places, that defied all common sense and rationality; a perpetual beach, complete with days and nights despite there being no such thing as stars or a sun here, was a lot less awful than some other places she’d seen.

Odina sat huddled on the beach, looking as terrible as she felt, her squat body curled up like she was trying to compress herself into a living ball. She was a human woman of Algonquinian descent; her features were broad, her skin a deep brown, and her thick hair an earthy tone offset by a streak of red dye. Glasses covered her eyes, dipping slightly as she stared down. her toes wiggling into the sand. Her face twisted with pain, and a subtle sense that there was something horribly wrong with her.

She was not a large woman… at least as far as height was concerned. She was one of those humans whose ancestors had been mutated and bred true. She was one of those known as dwarves; a human’s full mass compressed into a squat form about half the size. She was barely four feet tall, but she was nearly six feet wide, particularly at her massive hips. She was a buxom woman, her huge breasts spilling all over her massive thighs, though her butt was probably the most impressive aspect of herself.

Magical energy, the availability of transformatives across most known worlds, and shape-changing abilities all meant that body types tended to get pretty extreme in the modern day. Odina’s body emphasized hips broad enough to wreck most doorways, her thighs wider across than most men’s whole bodies, but her butt in particular was incredibly huge. It squashed beneath her, apparently as big around as she was, and so soft, yet strong, that it was propping her several feet off the ground, a living couch she carried with her. If she stood up, the top of it would be level with her shoulders, her legs mostly swallowed up in its bulk; as it was, she was sandwiched by it as the two fatty masses swelled around her.

It was also glowing faintly, pulsing with random flows of magic. Each pulse made it grow visibly larger, both cheeks wobbling violently; so much that it was visibly hurting her. She winced, looking more ill as it kept growing.

She hugged herself. A modest top, emblazoned with her favorite crafting/sandbox game’s title, did its best to support breasts swelled to torso-obscuring size by her own particular magical abilities. Odina had the power to nullify magic in all its forms by directly absorbing it into her body, mainly her backside, and grew bigger by turning it into physical mass until she processed that energy.

She was so charged up, so full, that even her breasts were growing. Odina thought, in a bleak and intensely worried way, that his was an extremely bad sign.

Around the beach, others from her group had spread out to have fun or set up a small settlement. There were slime girls and robots, humans and beast-morphs, nagas and centaurs, fauns and angelic entities, and stranger creatures; all of them knew Odina, if only as the short human who yelled at them to focus and stay on task. She didn’t want any of them to see her, and she was a lot better at going unnoticed than might be expected.

Her discomfort and distress had not gone entirely unnoticed, though. There were two people watching her from a distance, debating about the matter.

“She’s sick! I’m sure of it!” This first speaker had a soft, gentle voice with a faint accent that was hard to place, but suggested an islander origin. The speaker was also abundantly female, and a testament to the power of what modding (or self-shaping powers) could accomplish.

Her name was Tiashar; her friends, including Odina, usually called her Tia. No one was quite sure what she was, Tia included. Many of the others around the island now were big people, ranging from human sized to larger; special powers, the luck of genetics, their species, or simply deliberate magical or biological modification allowed them to be as huge as they wanted. Tia was even larger than the biggest of them, freely changing her size as seemed warranted, and she didn’t just tower over her friend here: she would have towered over trucks and cars. Even now, her power deliberately reigned in and her body significantly downsized, she could have been mistaken for a hill, and crouched and almost laying on her enormous breasts, she was at least thirteen feet high.

She gleamed faintly, her thick skin a lustrous shade of pitch black and lubricated, like her body oiled itself up. She was vaguely humanoid in form, but she wasn’t human in the slightest; her skin was like a mix of a frog and a whale’s, and she crouched on two digitigrade legs, with broad three-toed feet like some primordial beast. Behind her, a massive tail curled and lashed about anxiously, various flapping bits smacking heavily against herself. Generally, she looked like some amphibious creature that was, bit by bit, adding in various other traits to herself.

Sensory organs running down her back her to her tail, nubby and resembling a kaiju dinosaur’s dorsal spikes, wobbled as she picked up on mysterious signals. Her neck was very long, almost serpentine, and bent slightly as she slowly raised up her solemn-looking face towards Odina. Massive flaps like huge bunny ears (though covered with the same sensory nubs) fell over her shoulders, and around her head a massive mane of pink tentacles swished about, rather like living hair.

Massive breasts spilled out before her; they were bigger than queen size beds, and likely made up a lot of her body mass; nearly as much as her butt, which rose behind her like a pair of matching hills about the base of her tail. It was an interesting dichotomy; she was definitely inhuman in appearance, but she was spectacularly curvaceous, even matronly.

“I mean, I suppose it makes sense,” said the other speaker. This one was even less human-like than Tia, and that was saying a lot. Her voice was musical; not just in the sense of having a pleasing voice, but with a reverb as though the sounds were made by ethereal instruments all playing in tune together. It also did not appear to be spoken; her voice welled up from around her, and her mouth did not move in any way. She simply willed the worlds in, or sung them in a deeper way.

Her body, coiled in a tense cone with her torso at the center, was vaguely serpentine. She had no legs, but a long curling trunk and tail, gently tapering to a tip, all a faintly luminous substance that appeared to be bluish-purple, shimmering like fire made into something solid. She rested on this, rising up so she was roughly the height of a human, but where it should have met her torso, the rest of her body simply detached from this tail. There was a green sphere, glowing like a small star, and above that, there was something like a human woman’s torso, made of the same substance. Two large breasts (roughly the size of her head; not so grand as Tia’s, or even Odina’s) hung suspended under their own power, and four arms branched off from her shoulders, claw-like digits anxiously wiggling together.

This being’s name was Sariel. She was not… from around there. She called herself an angel, and she certainly looked the part.

Six purple wings, similar to a dragonfly’s but fleshy, hung morosely down her back. And finally her head floated just above her shoulders, detached from her body and with no signs that it was meant to attach, a cloud of something like hair above several pairs of eyes and a human-like mouth.

The two of them watched Odina sadly. They knew she was sick; that she’d gotten sick.

They didn’t even know her powers could do that to her. Odina didn’t like talking about herself much; now both of them were very worried that they didn’t know what was wrong with her, exactly.

They did have theories, though.

“Do you remember that fiend berserker who came out of nowhere?” Sariel asked.

“Yeah,” Tia said, thinking about the size of a massive horned brute charging and screaming bloodthirsty war cries, just as Odina dropped on it’s head.

Everyone, in the magical transformations the mortal universe had experienced, had their own unique abilities. Odina was unexpectedly gifted with a singularly potent ability: she could drain magical energy. It was a simple sounding technique, but as everything was made of magic on some level, it translated into an ‘I win!’ skill if she’d bothered to work at it. As it was, she was well within her power to short-circuit spells, nullify magic-powered attacks sent her way, and in the case of purely mystical entities, absorb them entirely.

Case in point: the berserker had dwindled away, until he was dissipated. Nothing but essence on her butt, to respawn later on.

And she’d started looking queasy around them, Sariel thought.

She added, thoughtfully, “And then those… ghost things that tried to ambush us.”

Tia winced, remembering the wave of howling, grotesque things, bundles of raw emotion and the lust to kill, bound into an undead framework of bones and muscle. Odina had simply extended her absorbing field, and their frameworks had collapsed on the spot, the ghosts sucked right into her backside.

That was how they’d found the portal to the beach; the ghosts had been eying it, perhaps to build a nasty trap there. And then, with the rush to explore somewhere fun for once, Odina had been allowed to quietly suffer in silence.

“...She processes magic, doesn’t she?” Tia asked, giving Sariel a sidelong look. “Like… she gets all stacked for a while, but it dies away eventually. Like a short-term power boost.”

“I think so?” Sariel’s wings flapped like someone making an awkward gesture. “I’ve never seen her have problems, uh. ‘Digesting’, I think?”

“But… I guess it’s not a problem with most forms of magic, but she absorbed a big, strong demon and ghosts,” Tia pointed out.

Sariel’s color faded. Horror drew her face into something crumbled and ill. “And they’re made of evil and, and death, and she just took that into herself!”

Tia blinked. “Ohhh, that makes sense. No wonder she’s feeling ill!”

Sariel flapped around. “We have to do something! We have to get her to a doctor or, or something! We need to rip that bad stuff out of her! Ohhh, please don’t just sit there, we have to do something!”

Tia grabbed her with one massive, flipper-like hand. “Sari! This isn’t the time to panic!”

“This is exactly the time to panic!” Sariel wailed. “Our Odina is in danger!”

Tia gently pushed her face into the sand, muffling her. Briefly, she had considered pile driving her on the basis of it being totally awesome, but decided at the last second that it wasn’t the time for that. “Yelling and running around isn’t going to help! Helping will help! And I have an idea!”

Sariel made a vaguely interrogative mumble. Tia leaned down and whispered to her.

------

Odina was still clutching herself, whimpering faintly in pain, when she felt the sand shake, and a familiar ethereal presence wash over her. It honestly made her feel a little better, a thought so sappy she was instantly revolted at herself for it.

She glanced up, a shadow falling over her. Sariel hovered before her, her four hands grasped in a very prim way that Odina instantly knew was Sariel trying very hard to pretend she was composed. Behind her, so big that she practically was her own crowd, Tiashar loomed. Mostly Odina saw a pair of massive black breasts extending over the immediate skyview like a platform, wobbling faintly even though she was standing still, a sign of her exotic internal structure; she was built like a big mass of jelly, honestly. Curiously, though, she didn’t seem particularly sexual in a way that would normally make Odina uncomfortable or irritable.

Her outfit helped the part. Tia had a tendency to dress either like a mom-type figure with a punky flair, or she wore so little that she technically qualified as nude; she had a poor grasp on social norms, rather than being some kind of exhibitionist. The funny thing was that either way, she didn’t feel particularly sexual. Today, she was fairly primly dressed, with a massive white t-shirt and beach shorts that looked quite sensible. They were rather tight and the neckline was so low it nearly reach her belly, so much cleavage visible that the bottoms of her breasts were nearly on display, but that was down to her body sorely testing any confinements she found.

Tia leaned over. A thick mass of belly pushed over her waistline, while her tail looped overhead, making a sort of perimeter that made the whole scene feel a bit more private, or perhaps intimate. “Hey, hun,” she said, now so low that her massive breasts were pushed into the sand, but she appeared not to notice. “You’re not doing so great.”

Odina glanced above the massive valley of cleavage, unfazed. “I’m fine,” she said, and immediately rolled back into her own swollen backside. Dark flesh rolled around her, swelling and pulsing erratically with light; sharp pain struck out with each pulse, and in its wake, there was a nauseous bile, and a raw feeling like she’d been slashed with hooks, and something was leaking through the wounds.

She groaned, miserably.

Sariel eyed her, wings fluttering in distress. “You are not fine!”

Odina tried to speak, but groaned again, twisting with clear pain and holding onto her body. She flinched as her breasts visibly swelled larger, trying and failing to hold in a pained gasp.

Any kind of physical reaction from Odina was notable. And that kind of growth being painful? Tiashar and Sariel shared another worried look. That wasn’t normal at all.

The mechanics of the way bodies got bigger through power absorbing or the many ways superpowered digestion could empower you, they were not well understood. But it was almost always a pleasant thing; sometimes addictive. But it was never painful. It didn’t make people sound like their guts were being filled with acid.

Sariel fluttered down, her serpentine lower body curling gently around Odina. Though ODina was normally adverse to even friendly touches, needing to be leaned into it, now she leaned desperately against Sariel’s length. Her butt, improbably, was stiff to the touch, as if filled with sharp edges instead of fat.

Something very much like a hand pressed out, as if from somewhere else. Tia recoiled in horror and sudden awareness, and Sariel had to remain very still to repress the urge to pull away from the sudden surge of malice and inhuman ferocity welling up from… well, Odina’s hindquarters.

Her butt was full of evil. It’d be silly if Odina wasn’t whimpering in agony, and the presence of so much nasty energy enough to make her feel nauseous. Tia’s tentacles writhed and slapped against each other anxiously, and from the way her heavy legs shifted, Sariel got the impression that Tia was fighting the urge to simply lash out at what every instinct knew to be a threat.

Tia’s massive, floppy ear-like structures shifted. She’d grown those a while back, apparently just for the aesthetics, without them actually doing anything. Currently she’d adapted them into something like a cat’s whiskers, or the barbels of some fish; organs to form a new sense out of, sampling the etheric energies around her for total sensory awareness. Right now, they curled back as she flinched away, and the little nubs on them glowing erratically as her sensory powers went active… and then dimmed.

“Odina?” Tia said carefully. “Um. Not trying to be an alarmist buuuut…”

“Just say it, fuck!” Odina howled the last word out, a fresh stab of pain making it too hard to bother with the niceties.

“The energies you absorbed are still independent of you, but they’re interfering with your body! They’re spreading their bad energy through you, and it’s poisoning you!”

“Yeah, kinda figured,” Odina groused.

Tia nodded miserably. She was not a very serious person; she tended to speak in random, whimsical nonsense, and she preferred to not take things seriously if at all possible, and so it was a very bad sign when she spoke in a grim tone. “Odina, this is bad, this is really bad. Do you, um. Get it?”

“I think something I ate is disagreeing with me,” Odina managed, with a hint of her usual sarcasm. The skin on her backside, quite visibly with her very small swim trunks, again stretched from inside. There was no actual hand there; nothing there but fat. All the same, something there, a malign intelligence, was imposing itself and magically lashing out, and so her form was distorting around the… infection. “Oh, hey. A literal metaphor. Neat.”

“This isn’t funny!” Sariel yelled, wings flapping about and her hands struck out, finding Odina’s soft shoulders and squeezing. “You absorbed them but you can’t process that kind of magic!”

“They’re… dead, right?” Odina said hopelessly.

“I mena, kind of?” Tia said. She loomed above them both, and her presence was calming. “As dead as they could be. But their essence is still packed full of everything about who they were, and they were almost literally made of evil! I don’t think your body can just dissolve that kind of thing! Sariel and I can do it, but I really don’t think your body is adjusted for just… purifying the evil from demonic or these kinds of undead things!”

Odina’s eyes went wide. Her glasses dropped off. She didn’t even notice. “Oh no… oh noo…”

Sariel swallowed. “We can help.” Odina’s head tilted up sharply. “We can digest things like that. Easy! But… we can let you ‘borrow’ that sort of thing from us. No, I mean. We can digest them for you.”

Odina squirmed, looking uncomfortable and in pain at the same time. “Oh… ohhh…” She knew full well how their abilities worked. “That means you’re gonna have to… to…” She stopped, shutting her eyes tight, face twisting up in an expression best described as like a pear shoved through a grate. It was certainly an embarrassed look.

“Swallow you,” Tia said bluntly. “Yeah.”

Sariel nodded, holding her gently. “We won’t digest you. Just… be close enough so we can use our powers on you, dissolve that stuff right out of you. I can do it for you!”

Tia’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Uh, hey! That’s not entirely true, this is a team effort-”

Unfortunately, at that moment, Odina’s distress gave her unwanted guests an opening. Her mind had to firm to keep them contained, and she was too worried and upset to do that properly; her body was a prison for what was left of their shattered essences and impulse to damage things, but in that moment, there was enough for one of them to lash out.

Power coiled around her. To the naked eye, it manifested as a faint discoloration of air, as if of the air freezing over and curdling at the same time, with a profoundly unpleasant aura around her, but to the magically perceptive, they might have seen the energy pulsing from her and concentrate into a large spike-like mass. It manifested in real-space, sand pulling around it and condensing into that pointed shape, transmuting into bone and metal as the magic poured their energy to it, and it did so violently, launching right into Tia like a cannon blasting off; it hit and then-

She was gone, flying away over the sea.

“Oh holy shit!” Odina shouted, throwing herself back into her butt, the twin masses around her writhing like a bundle of monsters. She pulled Sariel down, in a tangle of wings and arms. The tension keeping the spike held back by Odina’s will let go and fired; she wasn’t strong enough to keep it back.

Tia was mildly put out as the missile was deflected from her body in mid-air, though. It had rocketed off into Tia’s breast, with so much force that she was sent flying like she’d been punched by artillery. The missile did not damage her, though, sinking a little into her breast and then bouncing off, into the water. But Tia kept flying into the distance, skidding along the surface of the water. Her body twisted and morphed, her powers instinctively trying to find a configuration of the many traits she’d absorbed to something that would get her out of this mess.

By this point, she was already out of sight, and as far as they knew, had just had a giant spike launched into her; they did not get to be so lucky as to see her deflect it with her extreme bustiness. “Tia!” Sariel yelled, unfurling upwards, briefly forgetting about Odina’s own situation. She was reminded as Odina actively howled in pain, and Sariel turned back to her, freezing up as Odina’s backside turned knobbly and hard, dozens of gruesome shapes pushing against its insides.

“I, I don’t know how long I can hold them back!” Odina cried out, into the sand. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!”

Sariel hesitated. “I don’t know if I can! We need Tia here!”

“Do it now!” Odina screamed.

Sariel made her decision. Odina needed her unique help right here, and right now.

She held Odina’s hands, another pair of hands finding what remained of her hips beneath the swelling butt mass, and she leaned in. Her wings enfolded around her and Odina’s smaller body (at least the bit of it not swelled to the size of a full couch), and then her lips met Odina’s.

The kiss was soft, and those who did not know Odina well would have been shocked at the passion from her as she sank gratefully into it.

Sariel’s jaws widened. Her face shifted form as her mouth opened wide, her throat expanding to fit anything she might gulp down. Slowly, her lips spread over ODina’s face. First the whole of her mouth slipped into Sariel’s own, and her jaws opened more impossibly wide, the kiss going deeper. Odina’s entire face pressed into those lips, and then sank into her mouth, against her tongue.

Gently, Sariel leaned forward, pushing Odina’s head into her mouth, sliding her down into her throat and tongue. She felt Odina’s hair tickle the insides of her throat as Odina’s head, from the top all the way down to her chin, slid into her body.

---

(About a mile away, Tia poked her head out of the water like a very lost softshell turtle. The water churned with her tendrils, and water foamed into a geyser as her massive tail raised up and then smashed down with so much force that it propelled her towards the shore.

Racing like a living speedboat, she REALLY hoped that Sariel wasn’t about to panic, or go off the plan!)

---

Back on the shore, Sariel felt Odina’s body trembling. Waves of pain flowed through Odina to Sariel, and though it hurt to feel, Sariel forced herself to just let that pain pass through her. Without comment, or visible reaction.

Sariel had no throat; at least one in a conventional sense. She had no neck, her head simply floated at a fixed distance from the rest of her body. She formed one now, her head bobbing down and then back up, a slim neck connecting head to body.

Now Odina’s head moved down that throat; the passage was slick and glowing faintly, and where there was light, it was very easy for her to move downwards. It should have been uncomfortable; Odina’s hair was already drenched with saliva, the muscles of Sariel’s throat squeezed so hard on her that Odina’s feet left the ground, and Odina hated personal contact to begin with.

But some people have at least one exception to their ‘never touch me’ rules. Odina visibly relaxed, letting the soft warmth slide down her ears and hair. The sense of wrongness invading her body seemed distant, somehow. The remnants of the monsters she had absorbed snarled their wordless cries of mindless, in the back of her mind, but they were stifled.

Sariel gently lowered herself, pushing downwards. Odina’s head sunk further into her body, her shoulders sliding into her mouth. Odina wiggled, letting Sariel do her work and even grabbed her breasts, compressing them. It wouldn’t work much to make it easier on Sariel, who felt how large they were, pressing against her own stomach. They were bigger than Odina was.

Nevertheless, she did her best. Her jaws gaped even larger, the tops of Odina’s breasts bulging around Sariel’s lips. More spilled down, smacking into the sand, all the way to where Sariel’s serpentine body curled on the ground. Sariel’s lips had a very good grip on Odina’s body, though, and she smooched, or perhaps slurped, very hard, with a magical potency strong enough to overcome physical limits. Reality warped to accommodate her desire, like clay bending beneath a sculptor’s fingers.

Odina’s back slipped entirely into Sariel’s mouth, and her breasts dragged off the ground. Despite their sheer size, or the wriggling as the captive essences fought to make her body fight on her behalf, they were pulled in, Sariel’s mouth too powerful to be defied. Her throat bulged, swelling out with a massive pair of twin spheres that slid down as Odina traveled into her belly, and Sariel sighed with pleasure as Odina’s head settled into her belly, the comforting fullness growing more as her engorged breasts joined her, and then her back falling into position.

Odina was very short, as befit a dwarf-type human, and so her belly and waist were swallowed up all at once. Her hips and butt, though, loomed above Sariel, a daunting and terrible sight. Briefly, doubt crept across her mind: how was she supposed to engulf something as big as that?!

One cheek was close to her mouth, Odina leaning at a slight angle. All Sariel could see was a massive sphere of an enticing dark brown, contours that she knew intimately well… though the rigidity of them was an offense to her, and she felt the hateful attention of the monsters that were concentrated there, and she forced herself to think of Odina’s good. She had to do this.

Sariel inhaled. Odina’s waist slipped down into her, and Sariel’s mouth gaped into a massive ring as that butt came down.

It should have hurt, she thought distantly as the upper curve of them went into her. It was so big; each buttcheek more than twelve feet across and far higher than that, dwarfing her so imposingly. Yet, magic flowed into her body, giving her greater flexibility, and so her body simply expanded around it, growing wider to accommodate it.

Odina’s butt came down. Slowly, grindingly, with horrible slowness, but it was the kind of slowness that was also an inevitability. Soon the brown flesh was passing by her lips, and then a massive distortion in her throat. Sariel wobbled with the weight of it, wavering in place, her Odina-stuffed belly shaking in place, and then she gave one massive gulp-

And then it slipped down, and her belly filled, so violently that it knocked her over, and a huge swell of faint blue filled her vision. Odina’s legs and feet came with the butt, so comparatively tiny that Sariel honestly didn’t notice.

Her stomach squirmed. Odina moved around inside her, getting comfortable as divine fluids washed over her, and at once, Sariel felt the pain retreat from Odina. The demonic essence plaguing her recoiled form it at once, weakened by her digestive powers.

Sariel sighed in relief, and blinked up as a shadow loomed over her.

“Sariel! This wasn’t the plan!”

Sariel’s wings flapped weakly as she tried to shift her position, but it was too hard to move now; she’d expended a lot of power to swallow all of Odina, and just propping herself upright proved difficult. She managed it all the same, and tilted her head upwards to look at Tia, who was panting heavily. The green-feathered gills of Tia’s neck flapped in exhaustion, and she was almost walking on all fours from how tired she was. Her hair tentacles flopped down somewhere around her waist, one or two of them growing crude mouths just to wheeze pathetically.

Tia loomed over her now, even so; her massive breasts wobbled indignantly upon a chubby belly that Sariel was nearly eye-level with. Her legs could support her well enough, but her arms were drooping, almost jointless, and her tail flopped out behind her. “Whoo. Gimme a second…”

Sariel did so. “I, um. Already got Odina.”

Tia gave her belly an indignant hand wave. “I, uh! I noticed!.” She held up a wobbly tentacle; it extended a tiny pseudopod, as if to say ‘give me one second’. She panted and huffed for a while longer. Sariel obliged her.

Finally, Tia got back up, having recovered. “We were supposed to fuse and combine our powers! That’s the best way to fix Odina and pull those nasty monster essences out of her!”

Sariel coughed. “Um. I might have panicked a little bit?”

Tia gestured at her belly, full of Odina. It was an amazingly expressive gesture that conveyed ‘you call THIS just panicking?’

“She was crying! I had to do something! I thought they were about to take over! OR something even worse!”

Tia rolled a shoulder, half-shrugging. “Okay, okay, I understand. But it still takes two of us.” Sariel gave her a dubious look. “You can handle the demon-y guys! You’re an angel, I know. But what about the undead? I got my body adapted to digest them real good and prevent them from poisoning you with their soul-gunk. Do you?”

“Um. That can happen?!”

“Yeah! Their kind of undead is all about spreading rotting essence to poison the physical world! It is literally their thing!”

“Oh…”

Tia patted her on the head. “Not to worry. I did have a back up plan!”

Sariel smiled faintly. “Oh. That’s… good. Are you going to merge with me?”

Tia waved a hand. “Ehhh. From a certain point of view, I guess you could call it that?”

“You’re not going to swallow me, are you?”

Tia looked speculative at this. She put a stubby finger to her mouth and frowned, apparently mulling something over. “Uh. The answer there’s kinda complex, but I’m leaning towards ‘not technically’?”

And with that, Tia took a step forward. Without an explanation, or the slightest hint of propriety, she grabbed her shorts and pulled them down to her knees, completely exposing herself from the waist down.

Sariel squeaked and turned away sharply, blushing terribly. Her imagination reminded her of brief sights that involved very puffy, ample flesh, and little tendrils wiggling coyly.

“Right, this will take a bit!” Tia lowered herself, and it was a physical presence, her immense size growing closer to Sariel. It was not particularly threatening; someone of her size, particularly such a potent predator with a digestion so powerful, should have been fearsome, but being afraid of Tia would have been like being afraid of a plush toy. She was just too soft and pleasant.

She was also… well. Sariel had definitely harbored some kind of feelings for the monster heroine for a while, and this was brushing up against some intense emotions. From the stirrings in her, she suspected Odina had the same feelings.

Though she didn’t look, and thought that would be rather rude, she heard the gentle noises of Tia’s body transforming, the noise of thick fleshy lengths extending themselves.

The air above her went black; Tia’s legs lowered themselves around Sariel. Soft, damp coolness engulfed her, Tia’s thighs easily more than several feet across and big enough to cradle her whole body, and doing that very thing right now.

And, though she couldn’t see it, she felt several long tendrils extend from Tia’s sex; multi-colored and faintly glowing, and they curled around Sariel’s whole body.

“Um. There we go.” Tia murmured to herself as her tendrils went around Sariel’s arms and dipped down, to the base of her Odina-stuffed belly and her snakey lower body, wrapping around and securing her very tightly. The tendrils clasped on, and lifted her, all at once.

“Oh!” Sariel said, realizing what Tia meant to do, and blushed furiously.

Tia hummed softly to her, sing-song, perhaps trying to ease her. She was a good singer; her voice soothed Sariel, the lilting melody a sweet lullaby. Her tendrils were thick and muscular, and very soft despite their considerable strength. Sugary fluids dripped heavily off them, coating Sariel’s body in tingly raindrops that made her feel a bit lightheaded.

Up Sariel, and by extension Odina too, went. Many feet above the ground, past Tia’s knees, over her enormous bed-sized thighs… and then, Sariel felt her head slide into something soft, and now very slick. With a meek cry, she felt powerful muscles take hold of her as the tendrils pulled her into Tia’s body, and then all she saw was darkness.

Sariel’s shoulders were pulled into Tia next, the plump flesh of her sex locked around her and slowly sucking her in, very gently and taking care to not hurt her in any way. Glowing muscles, very much like a throat (given Tia’s mutant body, it was an apt comparison), pulled her up, towards Tia’s core. Sariel’s breasts came next, and then she felt those tendrils pulling her tail up ahead of her belly, and then that too was sucked into her.

Tia adjusted herself, an enormous and heavily distended gut hanging out from between her legs. She panted and made faint keening noises, pleasure pulsing throughout her lower body. Oh… this felt so good. She longed for this sense of fullness, and the sense of another inside her, her massive body protecting them, nourishing them…

Her body swelled, a big distension appearing there. It wasn’t exactly a massive belly, but it looked similar. It was where Sariel’s belly and Odina were pushing against her own body, and it was traveling upwards.

She moaned, face wrinkling in a very silly expression; there was little pride in the face of such pleasure, and a massive tongue drooped out of one side of her mouth as the belly was pulled into her too.

Slowly. Her hips widened, her body adjusted around its guest. Eventually, she gaped to a point that she thought sufficient. Her tendrils retracted, and her inner muscles pulled gently, but firmly.

The belly slid up her legs, and into her. Slowly, the whole massive bulk slipped inside her, wobbling all over with the bulky masses inside it. Tia softly cried out; waves of pleasure crashed hard in her, but she mastered the impulse to be loud. She was trying to be a courteous host! (At least that’s how she thought of this sort of thing.

And her entrance closed, as all of Sariel and Odina were pulled into her.

Tia trilled with happiness. She sat down, and her internal muscles pulled at Sariel, moving her upwards. Tia’s own body was a bit fluid or elastic even normally, and she was used to reshaping it to suit her needs. Or the needs of others, as in the here and now. Currently Sariel was in a sort of internal cavity; a storage section. But that was pushing her upwards, deeper into Tia’s body.

Tia’s belly twitched and swelled faintly. She formed a nice organic room for them inside herself; it was pretty much a womb.

And Sariel saw the inviting darkness around her, with its pulses of neon lights, give way to a sudden open space that she was squeezed to. There was more light there, blues and pinks mainly, and she was pushed into it. From head to toe, and belly too, she and Odina slid up, until they were pushed into it and their entrance there sealing itself.

Sariel felt fluid all about; warm and flush with magical energies, pulsing around them, and with each pulse, raw nutrition and healing energies were infused into her body. It went deeper; into her belly, and into Odina, and she felt something happening there, just as she felt Odina getting even calmer. The pain was gone from her.

Sariel relaxed, and allowed herself to recline in the womb Tia had made, just for them.

Tia’s belly swelled out; she looked pregnant, her belly slung out and with a distinctive projection to her belly too. It didn’t stand out that much, though, thanks to her sheer size. She lay on the ground for a while longer, eyes closed and mouth smiling faintly. She felt so occupied, so full with happy friends that needed her.

The moments went on, and they pulsed with a very particular happiness for her.

Inside her, Sariel curled up peacefully. Her wings framed her body, her arms cradled her belly (which was as close as she could get to holding Odina with more than just her guts), and her tail coiled around her. Tia’s body embraced her, and she slept in restorative fluids.

And the magic of those fluids seeped into her, magnified with both Tia’s own powers and now Sariel’s too. Their combined energy flowed into Odina, bolstering her body’s magical resistance, digestive powers all pooling against the remnants of the things she had absorbed.

Fiends and specters alike were corrosive and an existential terror to someone like Odina; alone, her body couldn’t process energy so based in pure malicious antagonism towards mortal life. They were anathema to her; no wonder she wasn’t able to absorb them fully into her. But Sariel and Tia were adapted to deal with them.

And so, they withered away, these shades and echoes. Their power waned; any influence they had left over Odina was sharply burned away, cornering them and leaving them to their doom. What little remaining of their willpower dissolved over the next few hours, and those hours stretched out into days.

For the moment, though, Tia simply reclined on the beach. Her body trembled with the movements of her passengers.

All three slept in the sunlight. There were no more thoughts of pain, now.

It would take a long time before Odina was fully recovered though. And all three of them thought that staying together, like this, was a very pleasant thought.