#and i could stall it for a long time with all the rabbits

[showyoumyfavoriteobsession]

I've been going back to Inscryption a little bit recently bc Kaycee's Mod is a lot of fun but I just lost a run in the most devastating way possible

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

[sordidmusings]

A Coronary Tale - Chapter 1 (Sanji x Reader)

Chapter Summary: You have been hiding away in The Wood, biding your time with the company of your three dear ravens. Fearing those who could find you should you leave your new home, you settled yourself deeply in with the trees and rocks and river, building a quiet routine. Unfortunately, you were wrong to expect no one else to enter the abandoned woods.

Themes and tropes: slow burn for her/lit fuze for him, hidden identities, witchcraft, curses, political pit of vipers, lost royalty, witch hunts, nonverbal gestures of love

A/N: Howdy doodie I finally done did this 😩 My addition to @fanaticsnail's Storyteller collab with the tale of The Three Ravens! I am shuffling stuff around quite a bit and I really hope that you all enjoy my changes and additions! What we have here is an absolute train wreck of a meet cute so that's a start lol The title is a reference to one of the songs I had in mind writing this and definitely the main one with lyrics, A Coronary Tale by Dana Sipos

@fanaticsnail also gifted me the mood board

Wordcount: ~5.2k

Warnings: fem!reader, bit of blood, descriptions of injury but no gore, you're like a little feral maybe, Sanji's kinda into that too at least

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Another twig snapped and your breathing stopped. Every nerve threading through your body pulled your mind from one place to the next: under the skin of your palms, scraping against rough bark; in the balls of your feet, throbbing from their recent pounding at the ground; in the  depths of your lungs, burning for oxygen but turned still as stone in fear. Mostly, though, your mind lived in your ears, desperately sifting through the forest ambience and calling ravens for clues of your hunter.

Enough moments passed to release your lungs from their stalling and you began planning your next steps. Your burrow was far but that was good; you had more time to make sure he couldn’t track you there. You had been leading him East, away from your home, since he’d chased you across the river. The last you’d heard of him was due Northeast of you. If you headed exactly opposite him, you’d be back at your river, able to follow it down to your stuff and scramble back to your hide.

The weight of the risk settled down on you and kept your body from following through with your plan. What if he circled back to find your trail again? What if he was waiting for you at the river, knowing you’d likely collect your things?

You shoved your forehead into the scabbed bark of the great oak that hid you. The calming breath you hissed out held the hint of a whine and you cursed yourself further for the noise. Each moment he was more likely to turn back. Each moment he was closer to finding you. 

Scrunching your face in a snarl towards your fear, you shoved yourself off the tree and ran westward.

Traversing the Wood was second nature to you by now, but you’d only flown through it with such great speed one time before. You moved much more like a fleeing elk than the panicked rabbit you were then, even with your fright measuring close to that of your memory. Your eyes and body knew the trappings of the woods before your mind could even name them; thorny vines were ducked, wayward branches were parried, felled trees were vaulted. Even your long dress wasn’t a hindrance; you simply gathered the skirts high and tight to free your legs and keep the cloth from stretching branches. The only thing slowing your race home was your adrenaline beginning to weaken beneath the force of your exhaustion.

You burst forth from the Wood’s edge, scattering leaves and dirt and noise in your bid for speed over stealth. You could see the river close now, only a stretch of stony shore between you and safety. Not a single stride shortened despite the shrieking of your muscles or the begging of your lungs. You were beginning to boil in the heat of your blood pumping in your hands, feet, and head, but you would not slow, not even with the new glare of the sun making the air feel even more hostile. Your flight would continue as long as the flutters and caws of the ravens urged you on. 

“Wait!”

You shrieked in response and slid right into the swirling current before you. Still furious and frigid with late spring melt, the river overwhelmed you, forcing a gasp from you at the shock to your system. Water flooded into your open mouth and nose, choking you as you spun until up was left, down, and sideways. Despite flailing for a chance at breath and life, your mind kept screaming, West, west, that came from the west!

Your saturated dress sunk you deeper in the toiling water. It gave the chaotic current more purchase to rip and tug you in every direction, bouncing your limbs off all the river’s hidden weapons. Rocks tripped your sandaled feet at every attempt to find footing and thudded against your shins and arms with each turn in the water. Skeletal branches from long submerged trees scraped at you and grabbed at your skirts. Each new hold on the cloth only ended with another old seam ripping and releasing you back to the whims of the river.

Reigning in your sense, you curled into a ball to keep your feet from shoving beneath a rock, trapping you, and to protect your head from smashing in on any of the great boulders that lurked under the water's surface. Just when your world was fuzzing away at the edges, one of those boulders found you and punched the last bubbles of air straight from your lungs.

Before the current could take you further, you used the last of your strength to spin and scrabble at the rough stone’s surface. The moment you got a grip you summoned every ounce of life in you and heaved. 

With a crouping cough you broke the surface of the water. Great lungfuls of cold water scraped their way out of you. Through your heaving and gasping you drug your upper body to splay across the sun baked stone. It burned into your cheek and you couldn’t help but be thankful for the distraction from your raw throat and skinned fingertips. Everything but that sensation began to swirl and drift away into a distant fog.

Within that fog was a warm embrace. It wormed around your chest and lifted you away from the grounding heat under your cheek. You whimpered, agitating your tender throat, but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything further to protest. Sweet shushing soothed your mind, quickly replacing the comfort of your stone and covering the distant cawing. As you floated away, the steady rhythm of each hush set your sore lungs to breathe in soft waves.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun pierced right through your eyes the moment you opened them. Wincing them back shut, you changed your goal to taking stock of your injuries. Your whole body was throbbing, muddling the deeper hurts in a constant protest that sounded with each beat of your heart. Through the cacophony, you heard your right ribs screaming, your throat moaning, and your fingers sobbing. 

You flexed your hands slowly to test them. They trembled and ached at your orders but followed through with no great spike in pain. Next, you shifted your torso in a minute rock from side to side. Your ribs punished you spitefully for the motion, but there was no telltale crackle of bone and you were able to keep breathing throughout your shimmying. Lastly, you began sucking in a deep breath to attend to your throat and lungs. You began hacking halfway through, earning more ire from your battered side.

“You’re awake!,” a relieved voice chimed. Gentle fingers traced your face, continually brushing from your skin into your hair. “Thank goodness. You haven’t been out long; it's only been a minute since I pulled you from the river.”

Your heart kick-started again, not caring the least bit about the man’s attempts to seem non-threatening. His claim as your savior did little too; wishing you death and wishing you harm were two separate things. Your pain quieted to a whisper as your awareness shifted to scouring the space around you for information. The ground under you was solid and your palms felt warm stone. The constant swish and rumble of rapids filled the air. I’m still on the riverside. Calm breathing sounded quietly from your left, only a foot beyond the fingers still caressing your face. He’s already recovered.

“You gave me quite the scare there, Bichette. I thought the river took you,” he whispered to you. “I’m so glad I ran back to the river instead of continuing in the woods.” The genuine care and worry in his tone only made your distrust grow. You instead trusted the continued caws from the treeline. His touch disappeared and you heard the grind of his shoes against the rocky ground as he stood up.

“Keep resting, Mademoiselle, I’m just going a short way down the river’s edge to see if I can spot us an easy way back.”

You counted each step he took away from you, every crackle on stone ramping your anticipation higher and higher. The roaring of your blood in your ears grew to match that of the river but his footsteps still cut through. You slowly bent your knees up to remove your sandals and plant your feet on the ground. Despite their exhaustion, your muscles listened when you tensed them. Your count was nearly there. Thirty! You flung yourself onto hands and knees then bolted.

“Stop! Please!”

You were much slower than before, having to drag the weight of your water-logged clothes, half-drowned body and freshly abused skeleton with you. Your lungs couldn’t keep up with even the diminished speed of your strides and you had to fight with each breath not to cough, yet the urgent calls of the ravens circling you pushed you on. The man’s thumping steps were quickly catching up, but you were almost at the treeline.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, chérie, please stop,” he tried again, begging through panting breaths.

One raven sped ahead of you and landed on a large branch with another loud call. You zeroed in on his choice - an old maple spreading high over its neighbors. Its branches started far above the ground, but that was no problem for you, even now. Your switch from sprint to climb was seamless; one step launching you from between the maple's snaking roots and the next propelling you just that much higher with a bare foot catching deeply against its sturdy bark. Ignored the warnings from your hands, you used knots and lumps for handholds, hauling yourself higher and letting your feet follow the same path. You didn’t let yourself slow until you were well mingled in the smaller branches of the tree, nearly forty-five feet in the air. The way the distance shrunk your pursuer gave you a small bit of comfort.

“I’d climb up there but you’d just jump out, wouldn’t you?” he called up to you.

As if to prove his point, you widened your stance and bent low, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The three ravens flapped their wings in threat of flight. It was all mostly for show; your body was at the end of its rope.

“Ah, Bichette, what has you so scared?” he asked, voice and eyes mourning.

You bared your teeth at him and hoped that he was too far to see your watery eyes. The aches of your body were becoming too much; your bruised ribs stunted every breath, your flayed hands trembled and bled, your scraped toes weren’t far behind their damaged state, your abused throat burned at every scrape of air in and out, and your shaken head, as well as all below it, thudded with pain. The worst of your worries though was the wooziness creeping in on the edges of your mind in the wake of your adrenaline rush. Also the man below you, wrapped in his absurdly expensive clothes, which were just as soaked as your torn rags.

“You’re a strong one, I’ll give you that.” 

You held your shaky snarl. The ravens flapped and cried.

“But even you need food, water, and rest after a chase like that. You nearly drowned,” he pressed, desperately trying to make you see reason. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mademoiselle, I promise.”

You continued to stare down at him with all the ferocity of a caged animal, and he sighed.

“You’re also going to want to get out of those wet clothes. Your laundry on the shore should be dried by now and I dropped my food there as well. There’s plenty to share. I can help you back to go get it,” he persuaded. “I’d go get it myself, but I don’t want you to disappear.”

You’d hold my clothes hostage to find me again, you grumbled internally. The three ravens stilled and took their time looking down at the man. After their analyzing, they took off, leaving you feeling truly cornered and alone. The man saw your face crumble as you watched them go and he ached for your sorrow.

“Well, neither of us are going anywhere, so-” he blew out a long breath and looked down at the tree’s base “-might as well get to know each other.” He found a spot he deemed worthy and settled into the cradle between two large swells of roots. He craned his head back to check on you and found you still staring down at him. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your teary glare to the lost look you sent the birds; both had him wounded.

“I’ll start,” he offered patiently, looking down to his hands fidgeting with his gold rings between his bent knees. “My name’s Sanji.”

He waited a good twenty seconds but received no response. He looked back up and you stared down.

“Can I have your name, chérie?” he pleaded gently.

He was met with more silence.

“Okay,” Sanji relented. “Okay, Mademoiselle, that’s fine. I’ll talk for both of us for now.”

He settled in deeper against the tree, continued his fidgeting, and wished he had his cigarettes.

“I’m a chef; feeding people is my greatest joy,” he started earnestly. “I was sailing the seas, feeding a patchwork crew. Our captain managed to find trouble everywhere he went, dragging us along with him toward his ridiculous dream.”

Sanji paused. You watched as he raked a hand through his shiny blonde hair and attentively took in the way his face softened into a fond smile. Craning further for a better look, you managed to see the sad scrunch in his brows conflicting with the upturn of his lips.

“He was dragging us towards our own foolish dreams, too, though. I want to find the All Blue,” he admitted. He looked up in time to see your incredulous look and the curious tilt of your head. They made him burst out in bright laughter at the dramatic shift in expression from you. You hated how pretty he looked like that.

“Yeah, that’s what I expected; most people think it's a fairytale.” He calmed his chuckles and asserted delicately, as much to himself as to you, “I know it’s out there though. It has to be.”

You fought hard against this man’s charms chipping away at your suspicions. Your complaining injuries helped keep you cautious, even through the strong pull of his placating eyes.

“Our captain would like you. Anyone with your tenacity catches his eye. He’d probably want to add you to his collection,” Sanji joked lightly. “You would fit right in; our navigator and archaeologist always respect a strong woman like themselves. Our musician and engineer are welcoming to new company. Our sniper and doctor might fear you a bit though.” He took a moment to think before looking down and grumbling, “And that damn mosshead would complain, but when isn’t he.”

You were about to start tuning him out, needing to defend yourself from being endeared, when his next words cemented your curiosity to the forefront of your mind.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m stuck here.”

He sounded so heartbroken. You knew that sound; had heard it leaking from your father and brothers - from your own lips.

“My family-” he spit the word with potent vitriol “-found a use for me. Pulled me back here with a threat against my real family.”

You diligently tried to see the emotions in his face, but he kept it firmly turned from you, hiding away. You cursed him for adding a sad ache to your chest as if you didn’t already have enough pains. Looking again at his fine clothes, you began to wonder if they felt more like a trap than a trophy to him. Sanji turned back up to you and his heart stuttered at the first glimpses of compassion on your face. It made you even more beautiful.

“I-I’m sorry, chérie, I didn’t mean to make this a therapy session.” He chuckled awkwardly at his own foible, frustrated with himself for dumping his emotions on you but happy with the result. You decided with great conflict that his unsure smile was just as pretty as his laugh-scrunched face. He let that smile slide off of him, meeting you instead with a vulnerably relaxed face that looked so intrinsically forlorn. Seeing his bare humanity, you needed no further prompting.

Sanji watched in bewildered awe as you pursed your lips at him and sent him a warbling whistle. Your imitation was perfect; it sounded exactly like a robin greeting the sun.

“What…” he trailed off, still taken aback by the strange but sweet turn. “What does that mean?”

You finally allowed yourself to relax your posture and settled your beaten body to splay across the tree’s limbs. Your legs dangled around a few branches, allowing them some much needed relief, and you laid on your front, making it easier to keep your watchful eyes on the man below you. Bedding your forehead into your forearm, you offered a miniscule smile from tight lips before repeating the birdsong.

“It’s beautiful,” Sanji complimented. “Fitting for such a striking lady.”

You scrunched your nose disapprovingly at him and whistled out a piercing warning call.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed. “I just can’t help myself with-”

Avian shrieks split the air and you shot up to find their source. You easily ignored the whimper the action forced from you, but Sanji struggled to do the same.

“Ma chérie, please be careful-”

You spotted six flapping wings and laughed in bright joy, fully distracting Sanji from his worries. The flying forms looked odd; one had a bulbous blob by its head and the other two had billowing streams of color falling from them. You recognized the streams as cloth as they grew closer, but the final item remained a mystery. That raven landed the easiest, having nothing that would snag on leaves or branches. The other two were having much more trouble.

You giggled again at their hijinx, fully amused by their frustrated crying and hopping and flapping at the edge of the tree. To help them, you began weaving your way out towards them until you were at the limits of the branches’ strength to hold your weight. You reached your arm out as far as it would go, feeling the straining stretch in each joint, but still fell short of bridging the gap between you. The whole time, Sanji was calling up fretful and concerned warnings, which you easily ignored. 

Despite your attempts to help, the two raven still just fretted about and progressed no closer to a solution. A shrill whistle cut their actions short and captured their attention. You held up two fingers to them then pointed to the smaller garment. They stayed still and you frowned at them with all the practiced disappointment of a school teacher. You repeated the actions with more gusto, this time finishing the display with a hand waving them toward you. Suddenly getting the memo, both ravens began working the same cloth in your direction, repeating the process of free-shift-snag until it was within your reach. 

You grabbed the familiar green cloth and held it in front of you, recognizing an oversized men’s shirt. The ravens continued their work until you were holding a pair of loose beige pants too. You gave the two birds a loving pet and a quick kiss on their bowed heads in thanks. You slinked your way down to about thirty feet from the ground, seeking more open space between the branches to change out of your sopping and torn dress.

Sanji took in the whole exchange with wonder.

“You really are the Witch of the Wood,” he whispered reverently.

Your face twisted with confusion at the title and you rapidly shook your head.

“But your ravens!” he argued. “They all say the Witch has three ravens for familiars - that they help her spy on all who enter this stretch of forest.”

Well… he’s close, you admitted to yourself. You squeezed the excess water out of your ruined skirts (you hoped some would land on his head), removed your freezing underwear, and slid the pants on under your skirts. The top went on next, acting as a cover for you as you squirmed your arms out of the sleeves of your dress. Once that was accomplished, you began shoving the heavy material through the neck of the shirt. The process was frustrating; the wet material clung to you with every move, forcing you to make more and more and agitate your wounds further and further. When you finally managed to get it all out of the shirt, you shoved your arms through their holes and pulled the dress over your head.

Luckily, your quick work left a minimal transfer of moisture from your old outfit to your new one. The relief of mostly dry clothes felt even greater than you imagined, and you took great pleasure in balling the ruined fabric up and tossing it to ricochet its way down the tree, landing next to Sanji with a great plop. Staring at him again, you turned bitter at the reminder of the title he gave you. I am no witch. You wished you aimed for his head.

The deep crimson smears and fingerprints Sanji spotted on your discarded clothes refreshed his worry. He had gotten far too distracted trying to charm you and even more distracted once he saw your smile. Sometimes he regretted his overwhelming soft spot for women. Then he would see another woman and have that thought overwhelmed. C’est la vie.

“Bichette,” he cooed, hoping again to win you by charm, “ma chérie, please let me take you back. We need to get those wounds looked at.”

You looked down your nose at him then pointedly turned away, looking instead to the final raven bearing a gift for you. He was still holding tight to a cloth knot at the top of a parcel, but he had adjusted to rest its weight on the branch below him while he waited for your attention. You grabbed the parcel from him, immediately noting the intricate weave of the fabric beneath your fingers, matching well with the delicate patterns unfolding throughout it. This must belong to the expensive man at the foot of the tree. A shame to get bloody fingerprints on his fineries, you thought with sadistic glee. Serves him right for chasing me through my woods.

Untying the cloth proved easier on your fingers than your wardrobe change, they had turned to a monotonous pounding instead of the sharp alerts of pain sometime during your first challenge. Opening the wrapping revealed two containers of food, a smaller one sat atop the larger. First popping the top option open, you found two perfectly prepared pieces of meat on the bone. They were seared to perfection, browned just so, and smelled of gentle spices, just enough to enhance the natural flavor of the meat. You snapped the container back closed so you could check in the other. This one contained the most mouth-watering curry you’d ever seen or smelled, nestled in a thick pool next to fluffy white rice. You looked back and forth between the food and the man below with a raised brow.

“A quick lunch I whipped up,” Sanji responded to your unspoken question. You rolled your eyes at him, doubtful that anything in this meal could be made quickly. Maybe the rice. You wrote his dismissal off as showboating in a further attempt to woo you. 

Having no silverware, you prepped your fingers as best as you could by dabbing them on the rich cloth, licking them to wet any dried blood or dirt, and repeating the process until only the barely there leak of fresh blood remained on your raw fingertips and broken nails. The process had them stinging angrily at you again, leaving you biting desperately on your tongue to hold back whimpers that still pushed through. Thankfully, it didn’t take very long. The river water had rinsed them mostly clean, leaving only the layered mess of blood and the dirt from your climb.

Taking a clump of sticky rice, you scooped up a bit of the fragrant orange curry. The taste was just as divine as the smell and you moaned at the best food you’d had in years. You bit into a piece of the scrumptiously tender meat next, recognizing sea king, and you were yet again reminded of Sanji’s opulence. You had to admit to his good taste though; the meat from this variety of sea king leaned much more towards chicken than fish in both texture and flavor, absorbing the bold mix of spices in the curry perfectly. Judging by the vibrant tint to the meat, he set it in a well-crafted marinade as well. Had he not told you he was a chef before you got the food, you would have never believed this was the work of his own hands.

“At least I know you’re getting a good meal,” Sanji said. You were angered and endeared by his honesty. “I came to The Wood for a break. Before the rumors of the Wretched Witch of the Wood, this land and its river were known for their beauty. I can see why now.” He looked up to you with warm eyes and an affectionate smile. You snubbed your nose at him.

“Before I found you, my plan was to find the calm stretch of river, wade around, then sit and eat where absolutely nothing and no one needs me. I chose the food to bring the memory of some of my friends with me.”

You slowed your ravenous shoveling to stare at what was left of the curry with guilt twisting your gut. If it were just food you were taking, you’d happily rob this rich stranger blind, but memories were a different story. Your gaze roamed your three ravens, earning inquisitive coos from them with your misty eyes. You centered your gaze back on the massacred curry, feeling hot shame smother over you. A gentle beak nudged at your cheek.

Sanji let himself sit in the quiet following his confession. He was glad you slowed down, fearing you’d upset your stomach with a quick and filling meal, but he did have to admit, it warmed his heart how much the messy display reminded him of his captain. 

While he had no great time to appreciate the beauty of the scenery before, he found the time now. Trees old and new clustered lovingly around each other in a long stretch, interwoven with blooming hedges of mountain laurel and patches of lacy ferns. Moss hugged the damp places of The Wood, keeping them warm and alive. The earth here was not soft; it was made of packed dirt, rock falls, giant boulders, and wrestling roots, but sweeps of dead leaves did their best to cushion the path of each resident.

The river that had previously felt so threatening and cruel now soothed him with its endlessly running waters. He was mesmerized as his eyes followed the shifts from a shrouding deep blue to frothing white and back again. The cycle felt endless and inevitable, stable and sure, outside the reach of time or the shortfalls of consciousness. It made him small, it made his problems small, and he found peace.

The whisper of rustling feathers broke him from his blissful mindlessness. Sanji turned to see one of your ravens nudging the mound of his tied cloth toward him. The reminder of you made him realize he hadn’t heard a peep from you since he started his zoning. He found you had fully turned your back to him and you were staying statue-still. Now slightly concerned, he reached for the cloth only to stop with a surprised yelp when the raven pecked his hand. It cawed mockingly at him before flying right back to your side.

Reaching cautiously despite the raven’s distance, Sanji grasped his cloth. Again, he looked at your bloodied fingerprints with a clenching heart, but he brushed past it as best as he could and untied the limp fabric. Laying out the cloth, he saw that it held the smaller of his food containers. Opening that, he found the two pieces of meat on the bone untouched. His cheeks ached with the force of his new smile.

“Thank you, ma chérie, you’re very kind,” he called up to you. He shook his head at your lack of response and began munching happily.

Hearing that he had begun his own meal, you were able to stomach the rest of your food.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

The sun had long since bruised the sky, its wounds showing the end of their healing in purples and blues instead of oranges and pinks. Sanji still sat stubbornly and dutifully at his post under your tree. You had succumbed to sleep a while ago, your body much too ravaged and worn to fight the need for rest any longer.  

Seeing you’d fallen under, Sanji tried to scale the tree to bring you down and carry you back to get help, but each attempt was swiftly thwarted by stabbing beaks and talons. They first started as more of a threat, tugging at his clothes, but as he got bolder in his attempts so did the ravens. They found their courage to fight him and would not back down. Instead, Sanji backed off fully after a beak opened his hand for first blood and the other two readied their screeching weapons at each of his eyes.

Retreating from them, Sanji took his time to collect you some fresh water from a fast-flowing piece of the river in his rinsed container. He used the clean inside of his cloth to dry the excess from the outside of the sealed container before laying it carefully on the expensive fabric at the base of your tree like an offering. He stood before it and looked at you through the time passing around his frozen stance, wishing he could just decide what was best for you. Your ravens seemed to think it was not him, nor his wishes to take you away. They were adamant that you were best left to rest as the tree cradled you. He supposed this forest was your home, it fit for its pieces to care for you.

Then again, it was the very river of these woods that so readily snatched you up to steal you from the living.

Sanji waited until the sky had grown much darker than the deep blue of his eyes in the waning light to leave you. He feared more for your future than finding his way across the river and out of The Wood in the dark. Before he could tear himself away though, he had to take you in one more time, hoping the vision will last him until the next time he lays eyes on you. He grieved for the state of you; not just your new hurts but your patchy clothes, your frayed hair, your callused hands. He felt especially for the prominent ribs that greeted him when he wrapped his arms around you to free you from the river. His mind toiled with worries and indecision his whole trek back to the castle.

“Oh, Bichette, how am I going to help you?”

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

End Notes: Robins can symbolize renewal, new beginnings, and finding joy as they are one of the first signs of spring. They are also part of the dawn chorus, announcing the sun each morning.

[dragon-creates]

Five Times Jax and Pomni Share Dreams of Their Past Lives (And One Time Where They Remember)

Read on AO3

Read Part 2 Here

1/2/3/4/5/6

Jax and Pomni know that they can’t actually dream in this digital world, nor can they remember who they were before coming here. But after retiring to their sleeping quarters each night, they begin to have dreams of people who they have never seen before, not the circus themed cast of characters within this realm, but real people! Why do they seem do real? Why do these dreams feel more like memories? And why do these people remind them so much of each other?

I can't believe how much the silly circus show won me over, and how much brainrot these two have given me. I won't update for I while as I have other wips for different fandoms I'm working on but I wanted to get the first chapter up to help motivate me. Anyways I hope you like this and check out the rest of my tumblr to see what I get up to.

Also yes the chapter titles are Taylor Swift songs because I'm weak.

Fearless

The air was crisp and cool, though not to the point where people were shivering in their costumes, neon lights were in every corner anyone could see, flashing the paths with pinks, purples and green, different stalls and rides were up, ranging from candy apples and sweets stand to rollercoasters and Ferris wheels and every single person were dressed as either monsters, characters or whatever their imaginations would come up with. Truly, the festival had set the perfect atmosphere for Halloween…well, everyone except for Penny.

She was a short young woman, 23 years of age with long dark hair that reached her waste and curtain bangs along her forehead, with pale skin and a bony structure (she hated that part about herself).

It wasn’t that she was forced to come here – she had heartily accepted when her sister Riley and her girlfriend Winter asked – but now that she was here, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Penny wasn’t really the bravest person around, she flinched at the slightest sound, she dreaded talking to new people who would come her way and had relied on her older sister to help her out for most of her life, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t trying to overcome any of it. After all it wasn’t like she could control her anxiety, it was something she struggled with ever since she was little. But tonight, she wanted to prove that she was able to enjoy Halloween outside the comfort of handing out candy to trick-or-treaters from the safety of her home. So far, she really did like it, she had fun buying sweets and going on rollercoasters, and though it could be overbearing and loud sometimes, Riley and Winter would take her to a nearby café to help Penny catch her breath before doing something else.

However, this was part of the night that she both desperately wanted and dreaded doing…the haunted funhouse. She knew what was in there, jump scares, clowns and nightmares to last for the next few nights to come, but she didn’t want to miss out, now when she heard about how much fun people have had in there. She just wanted to prove that she wasn’t this scared little nobody, that she was a person who wanted to have fun like everyone else, to enjoy the things that everyone else had fun with. So here she was, dressed in a hastily sewn purple rabbit onesie of her own making (she had made it in a time crunch when learning about the festival) into a terrifying funhouse that deep down, where she wasn’t lying to herself, she did not want to go in.

“Penny no,” she turned to see Riley, holding Winter’s hand as the other girl was texting someone on her phone, “You know what your anxiety’s like, you don’t have to go in there.”

Riley had quite a lean build with noticeable muscle on her arms, she had shoulder length dark red hair, brown eyes and pale skin. She was four years older than Penny, and while she did seem a bit intimidating, she was always soft and protective over her younger sister.

“He’s still not answering,” Winter murmured, shaking her head, “He was supposed to meet us an hour ago.” Winter was slightly taller than Riley, with dark black hair and eyes with a tanned complexion. The two women were dressed in a couple’s costume, Riley as Poison Ivy and Winter as Harley Quinn, they were also supposed to meet with Winter’s friend, but the mystery person still hadn’t shown up yet.

“Maybe he’ll show up while I’m in the funhouse?” Penny suggested as Riley sighed, “I’ll be quick in there, if I run then I’ll have less time to acknowledge the bad stuff in there!”

“Penny, I know you and I know that if you go in there, you’re gonna have a panic attack,” Riley took her little sister’s hand, offering her a pleading gaze, “Please just stay out here with us and we’ll meet up with Winter’s friend. We could go on the rollercoaster again; I know you really enjoyed that one.”

Penny smiled fainty, Riley looking out for her wasn’t anything new, but she didn’t want her sister to be burdened with her. It wasn’t right, Riley deserved to live her life, have fun with Winter and not worry about her scaredy-cat sister all the time, she deserved better than that.

When Riley turned to face Winter again, Penny pulled her hand out of her sister’s and ran into the funhouse, ignoring Riley calling her name the deeper she went in.

She took a few more deep breaths, she was doing! She was doing it and oh…oh she fucked up. There were multiple paintings of disfigured clowns peering down at her from the halls, the eerie sounds of deranged crying and laughing made her hairs stand on end, there were paths twisting and turning as they reminded her that she could get lost in this dreadful house and mirrors that not only showed her in different shapes and sizes, but also her terrified expression. Riley was right, this was too much for her, she didn’t even want to come in here in the first place why did she do this?!

A crazed laugh made her jump, looking carefully over her shoulder, she noticed a tall jester from down the hall, his yellow suit stained with red, and his mask had a twisted smile, hiding dark secrets that she didn’t want to find out. With a scream, she tore off down the hall, the jester chasing after her. She knew that were going to be actors, trained with scaring the guests, but it didn’t mean that she liked it! She really, really shouldn’t have come in here.

She skidded to a stop when she came to a dead end, her back pressing to the wall as the jester came closer and closer to her. She bit back a fearful yelp as he slammed a hand next to her head, peering down at her. She took a few more breaths, trying to keep calm. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real repeating the mantra in her head to help herself from screaming out…before fainting right into the jester’s arms.

.

.

.

“You have some nerve scaring her like that?! Aren’t you supposed to be trained with scenarios like this?!”

Penny groaned at the sound of a loud and angered voice, it sounded like it belonged to a woman and seemed very familiar.

“I am trained for your information!” A male voice retaliated, “I didn’t know she was going to faint!”

“Okay, Riley calm down, Jack be nice!” Another female voice entered the conversation, sharper and more direct than the other two, “What happened right now was an accident, we just need to wait and see if Penny wakes up before we call an ambulance, that was the procedure right Jack?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the male voice was quiet now, “I’m sorry again Winter, I genuinely didn’t know.”

Penny opened her eyes, squinting at the light as she sat up on what seemed to be a mattress. “Oh good you’re awake,” there was a woman she had never seen before beside her, wearing a white hoodie with a red cross on it, “My name is Lianne, I’m a paramedic for the funhouse in case something like this happens.”

“Penny! Oh thank God!” Riley rushed over to her, wrapping her arms around her younger sister and pressed a kiss at the side of her head, “You gave me a heart attack going into that house, and then hearing that you fainted?! Don’t ever do that again!”

Oh that’s right, she fainted, that explained why Riley sounded so angry when she woke up. God help which soul she was speaking to that suffered her wrath. “I’m okay Riley, you were right I shouldn’t have gone in,” Penny sighed, “I’m just tired of not being normal so I wanted to prove-”

“-You don’t have to prove shit,” Riley interrupted, “And you are normal, who the fuck made you think you had to go into a haunted house to prove that you’re a ‘normal person’?”

“Uh…myself?” Penny smiled awkwardly.

Riley shook her head and smiled, it was good to see that she wasn’t actually mad, just really worried, but to be fair worse had happened to Penny to make her sister go into ‘overprotective mode’. “Just don’t push yourself too hard again, okay?” she asked. Penny nodded again, Riley smiled one last time before her eyes furrowed and she turned away to face someone else, “And as for you!”

Penny looked up to see how her sister was talking to when her cheeks suddenly turned red from embarrassment. It was the jester from earlier! He was quite a tall man, with golden brown skin and eyes, with his hair in short dreads pulled up into a ponytail. His face with mixed with both frustration and shame, it wasn’t helping with Riley shouting at him.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook for scaring my little sister!” Riley growled, “I can’t believe you made her faint!”

“How did I make her faint?!” he retorted, “I’ve never had a reaction like hers before I didn’t know she was that scared!”

“That is enough!” Winter stepped in, grabbing them both painfully by the ear for a few seconds and then let them go, “Riley, go outside so I can talk with you, and Jack please apologize to Penny.”

Jack signed, turning to Penny as the girl flushed even more, she still couldn’t believe she fainted in front of him! “I’m sorry,” he said honestly.

“This is the friend I was taking about,” said Winter, “We were supposed to meet up, but he got called in since someone cancelled their shift last minute, but someone forgot to text us!”

“What are you taking about?” He reached into his pocket for his phone, “I sent you message before my…oh…I forgot to actually send it.”

Penny snorted, she tried to hold it in, but she burst out laughing instead, she couldn’t help it, the absurdity of the situation was just too much. She was so caught up in laughing that she didn’t catch the soft smile that Jack had at her reaction.

“Jesus Christ Jack,” Winter rubbed her temples, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“I have a few ideas,” Riley glared at him.

“Okay, you!” She grabbed Riley’s hand, “Come with me, Jack, keep Penny company while I have a chat with my girlfriend.”

“What?!” Penny and Jack said in unison, but Winter had already slammed the door.

“I should, um,” They whipped round to see that the paramedic was still here, having witnessed the entire interaction, “I should go tell my boss that there’s no need to call an ambulance.”

With that, she rushed out the door, leaving the two to stew awkwardly with one another. Penny’s rapidly beating heart wasn’t helping either, she really didn’t want to have another fainting episode again. It didn’t help that this Jack guy was really handsome. Huh? Why did I think that?

“So…” she spoke up, gulping as Jack turned to her, his eyes focused as though he were studying her, like a bug being examined, “What’s the jester like life? I mean! What's the jester life like?! Not the other one, forget about that. In fact don’t talk to me at all! Or do! Don’t let me tell you what to do, I mean, you’re not the one spouting out word vomit!” Jack raised an eyebrow at her, Penny shoved her reddening face into her hands.

It was then Jack’s turn to start laughing, messy chortles escaping his mouth at her bizarre sentence, leading Penny to pout at his reaction. “Sorry toots,” the laughter died down once he saw he face, “I thought you were funny, didn’t mean to offend you. And to answer your question, the jester life is pretty good.”

“You think I’m funny?” she asked. It wasn’t the first time someone laughed at her, but not because they found her humorous.

“Yeah, not everyone can ‘spout word vomit’ and make it cute,” he told her.

Penny blushed. Okay, first he found her funny and now he found her cute, she really hoped he couldn’t hear how loud and fast her heart was beating. “Um, sorry for fainting on you,” she murmured, “Surprisingly it was not the lowest moment of my life.”

“You’re sorry for fainting?” He raised a brow at her again.

“Well it led to my sister yelling out you,” she told him, “I’m sorry about that as well, Riley can get pretty overprotective over me or our mom.”

“Yeah, Winter warned me about that,” he replied, remembering the way he tried to not tremble at her fiery gaze. “If looks could kill.”

“Tell me about it,” Penny nodded, her eyes scanned the costume he was wearing, now having a face attached to it made it less frightening. The way the fabric was stitched and how the everything on the piece was placed, it looked less like something from a Halloween shop and more something homemade. “Did you make this?”

“Huh, oh this? I wish,” he said, “I actually had it commissioned, sure it cost a bit more, but I wanted it to feel a bit more real, you know, to scare people and that.”

“Yeah, well it definitely worked,” Penny giggled, “As someone who does commissions for others as well, its nice when someone reaches out for us to make something.”

“Us?” he titled his head.

“I’m a costume designer, well, studying a course in costume design at college,” Penny explained, “I noticed how your outfit was made and it instantly clicked in my brain.”

“Oh really? Did you also make that rabbit suit you’re wearing?” he asked as he pointed to her onesie.

Penny rolled her eyes, “Not my best work but I had limited time when Winter and Riley asked me if I wanted to come to the Halloween festival. But hey, its warm and cozy for the season!”

“I think it looks cute on you,” he smiled and winked at her. It was a friendly wink, nothing behind it, but it still made Penny’s toes curl. “How about we start over, I’m Jack.” He held his hand out to her.

Penny took it in her own and shook it, “I’m Penny. So, how do you know Winter?”

There was a nervous flicker in his eyes, but he blinked it away before Penny asked anything else, “We meet as freshmen in high school, she was a few months older than me, but she took me under her wing, and we’ve been friends ever since. I met Riley as well when they started dating but I have a feeling I might be on her bad side now.”

Before Penny could say anything else, there was a crash and a scream before Winter and Riley rushed back into the room, slamming the door behind them. “We forgot this was a haunted funhouse,” Winter trembled, her and Riley’s faces paling.

Penny and Jack shared a glance, stifling their laughter as the couple pulled themselves together. “Anyways,” Riley brushed herself off, “We should head home and tell Mom what happened.”

“Right,” Penny nodded before turning back to Jack, “Hopefully we’ll see each other again, but somewhere else cause with all due respect I’m never stepping foot in this funhouse again.”

Jack chuckled, “That’s understandable, and sorry for scaring you again.”

“That’s okay, at least we finally met,” Penny grinned.

“Alright, home time for you miss,” Riley pulled Penny up, giving a final glare towards Jack before leading her sister away.

“It was nice to meet you, Jack!” Penny called back to him.

“The pleasure’s all mine!” Jack called back, giving Winter a hug before she chased after the sisters.

In the car ride back home, Penny found herself smiling. Jack was nice, granted she wished it didn’t take fainting for them to meet but she was glad she did. “So,” Winter turned in the passenger seat to face Penny in the back, “Sorry that it was under these events how you met Jack, hopefully you were okay with him.”

“I’m not,” said Riley, focused on the road.

“Just keep driving mama bear,” Winter rolled her eyes before turning to Penny again.

“I was okay with him, we actually got on pretty well,” she admitted, “I’m glad I finally met him.”

Winter smiled and turned to Riley to smirk at her, “So, it looks like ‘big bad Jack’ won over your little sister.”

“Must you taunt me?” Riley groaned.

“But that why you love me so much,” Winter teased kissed her loudly on the cheek, “It was my taunting that drew you to me.”

Riley tried and failed to repress a lovesick grin. Penny chuckled at her older sister and turned to face out the window again, counting the stars that passed. Hopefully she would meet Jack again.

.

.

.

Pomni woke with a start. What on this digital earth was that?!

Ever since she arrived here, she never had actually dreams before. Whenever she ‘slept’ it felt like she was switching off, like a button on a computer game and blacked out before she was ‘switched on’ again.

But that dream, why did it feel so real? She remembered the concept of dreams, how anything random would happen and the little control you would have over them. Maybe she was a lucid dreamer in her past life and that’s why this one had more will power in it?

She thought back to that Penny girl, she acted so much like her, the nervousness, her fear of mostly everything and her reaction when she went into that funhouse. Although now, she would gladly take that funhouse over this ‘Amazing Digital Circus’.

Then there was Penny’s sister, Riley. Despite how threatening she was at first glance, the protectiveness she had with her sister and the loved-filled eyes for her girlfriend made her feel a bit safer than she ever felt here.

Did Pomni have a family before the circus, did she have an older sister that would protect with without a second thought? Did she have a family that worried about her, wondering what happened to her?

Then she thought of Jack. She thought about him interacting with Penny, how cheeky yet sweet he was with her. And the way he looked at Penny. She felt herself blushing. In a way, his laidback attitude and mischievous grin, he reminded her a little bit of Jax…

She shook her head, she was being ridiculous, regardless of what Ragatha said when she came here, this was just and only a dream. Besides, it probably wouldn’t happen again, and things would return to its usual format here, just switching on and off again.

She sighed and shoved off her bed sheets, mentally preparing herself for whatever sanity Caine had up his sleeves.

Its not like anyone else was having these types of dreams, right?

That would be the case…for anyone who wasn’t Jax.

The rabbit was currently at the breakfast table, he Gangle and Kinger waiting for everyone else to arrive.

Just when he thought we finally got used to this place, he had an actual dream last night, not the usual shut down he received every night. He remembered every detail from the lights of the festival to the noises supplied from the funhouse and that Jack guy in the jester costume.

There wasn’t much he got from the dream about him, just that was someone who worked to scare people and make money out of it, honestly it seemed the ideal career path he would take if he weren’t stuck here.

But what made that dream so memorable for him was that Penny girl. The way she would shyly peek through her hands, to her kind smile and her knowledge with costumes, and of course he couldn’t forget about her fainting spell. Talk about an unexpected surprise.

Although, she did seem sweet in a way, whoever this Jack guy was he hoped that he was smart enough to see her again. Jax sighed, what was he talking about? This was a dream, plain and simple, yet here he was acting as though he knew this Jack person.

Just leave it he thought bitterly its stupid anyway.

“I’m gonna check where the rest of them at,” he told Gangle and Kinger, “Zooble probably lost one of his arms again, so I might as well hide it if that’s the case.”

“Wouldn’t you rather help them find it?” Gangle whimpered.

Jax huffed out a laugh, “And where’s the fun in that?”

He got out from his chair, only to bump into another body, almost losing his balance, “Hey, watch where your-”

He looked down to see Pomni sitting on the ground, probably from him bumping into her, her red and blue eyes widening when she realised what she did.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she burst out, “Usually I sit next to you whenever we eat, and I didn’t see you sitting up but I’m still really sorry either way I shouldn’t have done that-”

“-Not the other one, forget about that. In fact don’t talk to me at all! Or do! Don’t let me tell you what to do, I mean, you’re not the one spouting out word vomit!”

“I’m really sorry!”

Jax snapped out of his trance, looking down at Pomni again, her eyes looking both sad and apologetic. He signed, reaching down to pull her up by the end. “Relax pom-pom, it wasn’t like you planned to do that…unless?”

“What, no, of course not!” she yelped.

 Jax laughed, the newbie was easy to rile up.

“Shut up Jax,” Zooble moved past him to get to their spot, “Let’s just get breakfast over with before we need to deal with the headache Caine is gonna give us.”

“Whatever,” Jax slumped back into his seat, Pomni gently placing herself upon hers as Zooble and Ragatha did the same.

The way Pomni acted just then, the way she was quick to flush and stutter over her words, and the fact that she was so nervous about everything as well. It was all just like Penny.

No, don’t, don’t be stupid Jax. Jack isn’t real, Penny isn’t real, so don’t bother comparing her to Pomni.

With that, he let himself continue with his food.

But it wouldn’t be the last time he or Pomni would make these comparisons, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last time they had these ‘dreams.’

See you next time, let me know if I've written them well, this is the first time writing for this fandom. And who knows, perhaps next chapter the sillies might actually go on a date? 🤷

[mrprettywhenhecries]

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

04. | A Bad Idea

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 5.1k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, misogynistic themes, inexperienced!Gator, public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, early ejaculation, oral (f!receiving), cum eating, gator being sweet, recreational drug use/marijuana ⇾ a/n. took longer than I wanted to to finish this chapter, and I think I've definitely looked at it for too long. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I could use some kind words 💚

When Roy realizes his son didn’t heed his advice, he changes tactics, telling Gator to invite Win to the ranch.  After a steamy night of sex and drugs, Gator breaks the news to Win and she realizes his feelings run deeper than she thought.  And maybe so do hers.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

“Oh fuck, Gator–”

Win’s voice cracked as her head fell back against the stall door, Gator’s heavy breaths loud in her ear with each snap of his hips, desperately fucking her in the dingy bathroom stall.

“Oh shit, you feel so damn good, Winnie,” he grunted, his brows pinched in concentration and Win couldn’t help but grin as she watched him, her head and heart only tangling further each time she tangled with him, which over the past few weeks had been as often as possible – Gator taking every opportunity he could to fall into bed with her or find some clandestine spot for them to fuck like rabbits at any free second, which at the moment happened to be after breakfast in the diner’s bathroom before Gator’s shift.

For a second, Gator’s expression altered, alarm crossing his face as his grasp on Win began to slip and she let out a yelp, hastily bracing herself before she could fall.

“Gator, if you drop me, I swear to God–” she hissed, gasping as he hefted her up higher against the door to readjust his grip on her thighs, which were wrapped tightly around his waist. “I'm not gunna drop you,” he huffed defensively, resuming his impatient thrusts, making her tits bounce softly beneath her tight top.

“Now quiet down,” we don’t want anyone finding us like this,” he grunted.  “Not unless you wanna end up in handcuffs for indecent exposure,” he teased, flashing her a cheeky grin.

“Wouldn’t that entail you ending up in handcuffs too?” Win pointed out, but Gator’s grin only widened.

“Oh, but you forget, sweetheart.  I’m the law,” he chuckled darkly, his eyes screwing shut moments later as he came, as if it were the thought of her in handcuffs that had tipped him over the edge.

Panting heavily, he pressed his face to her chest while he composed himself.  “Did you cum?” he asked suddenly, as if just remembering to ask, his large brown eyes seeking hers and Win shook her head.

“I was close, but no,” she answered truthfully, and Gator frowned, setting her down unsteadily.

“Fuck, sorry,” he muttered as they fixed their disheveled appearances, his disappointment in himself taking Win aback a little.

By all accounts, Gator seemed like just the type of guy who didn’t really care if his partner finished, as long as he was satisfied.

Except, the more time Win spent with him, the more she realized, Gator wasn’t exactly like she’d expected him to be.  Sure, some of the shit that came out of his mouth was problematic as fuck, but it almost felt parroted, as if he were just repeating what he’d heard his whole life, and it was no surprise to her who he’d heard it from.

“It’s okay, you can pay me back later, Deputy,” Win drawled, slipping her arms around his shoulders as she raised up on her toes for a kiss, sighing as his lips moved against hers.

Gator raised a brow at her as he pulled back, his hands lingering at her waist.  “Later?” he asked hopefully and Win bit her lip, nodding.

“Yeah, I have the night off, you should come over, watch some movies, play some video games, have some hot nasty sex on my couch,” she purred, grinning at him expectantly and Gator groaned.

“Fuck, Winnie, you’re gunna make me hard again,” he whined and she snickered, taking his hand to lead him to the door.

“You go ahead and I’ll follow, that way it won’t look like we just did what we did,” Win said, giving Gator a little shove and he chuckled as he turned back to wink at her before striding back out into the diner.

Fighting to keep a straight face, she stepped out moments later, returning the waitress’ smile and wave before she noticed Gator standing awkwardly at the end of a booth and her blood ran cold as she noticed who had just sat down.

When Roy Tillman’s eyes met hers, it felt like time slowed, the air around her turning thick like jelly and she forced herself to keep walking, Gator’s gaze catching hers helplessly before she pushed open the door and hurried outside.  Something about the Sheriff’s sharp gaze made her feel weighed and judged, like some animal at the county fair, and she didn’t like it.

Gator swore under his breath when he saw his father walk through the door and tip his hat to the waitress, heading to his favourite booth.  He’d taken a gamble meeting Win there, hoping Roy would be having breakfast with Karen and the twins.

As soon as Roy noticed him, Gator nodded to him, stopping at the end of the table to greet him.

“Looks like we had the same idea today,” he chuckled, looping his thumbs through his belt loops as he shifted his weight from boot to boot, hoping Roy wouldn’t notice Win leaving, though she’d have to walk right past them to get to the door.

“Guess so,” Roy mused, half glancing over the menu, though he always ordered the same thing, when suddenly his eyes lifted, fixing on something just past Gator.  He could smell Win’s perfume as she passed and glanced over at her as she hesitated for a moment at the door before pushing it open.

Once the door shut, the bell on the handle chiming her departure, Roy glanced back up at him and nodded toward the seat across from him as the waitress came with a cup and her pot of coffee.

“Sit with me,” he murmured, and Gator did so, scooting into the booth and resting his arm across the back of the bench.

Roy waited for his coffee to be poured and the waitress to confirm his usual order before speaking, his gaze focused on the steaming cup in his hand.

“Am I to assume you expect me to believe that was merely a coincidence?” he murmured, taking a careful sip from his cup before his eyes flicked up to Gator's, his sharp gaze seeming to see right through him.

Gator shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact.  “That what’s a coincidence?” he asked, frowning in confusion and Roy let out a disappointed sigh, thanking the waitress as she set his food in front of him.

“That was the girl I told you to stay away from,” he continued, taking a bite of the crispy strip of bacon.  “And you ignored my advice because–?  What, you think you know better than me?”

“I don’t know what you’re–” Gator mumbled, only for Roy to cut him off.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, son,” he snapped, his eyes boring into Gator’s.  “You’ve been coming home late, if at all, you’re neglecting your chores, you’re distracted,” he listed off, taking a bite of his eggs.  “It’s not hard to see where your head’s at.”

Gator opened his mouth, a slew of excuses ready on his tongue, but he quickly swallowed them as his father took a deep breath, as if deciding something.

“I suppose you are a man now, and you can make your own decisions, as long as you understand that she’s not proper wife material… as she is now.”

Gator frowned, just the barest downward twitch of lips and knitting of brow, but he didn’t argue.

“Now, I got two stipulations if you insist on continuing to see this girl,” Roy said, holding up two fingers.  “One,” he ticked off, “you pick up the slack with your chores on the ranch, and two–” he brought the second finger down as well– “you bring her to Sunday dinner so we can meet her properly.”

“Uh, I dunno if that’s such a good idea,” Gator muttered, earning himself another sharp look.

“You questioning my judgement?”

Gator gulped, shaking his head quickly.  “No!  No, it’s just… uh, I’m confused.  I thought you said–” he trailed off, stumbling over his own tongue and Roy let out a long suffering sigh.

“It’ll be good for her to spend some time around honest folk, and maybe Karen can show her how a proper woman acts,” he drawled, and Gator quickly nodded in understanding, though he already knew Win wasn’t gunna like it.

“Alright then, get goin’ now,” Roy said, nodding toward the door.  “We’ll see you and your girl Sunday.”

Gator nearly tripped climbing out of the booth, trying to figure out how to persuade Win to go.

When Gator showed up later that night–for it could be no one but Gator, with that booming cop’s knock–Win answered the door in a pair of shorts and one of his black tees he’d left behind, her nipples hard under the dark fabric, having forgone a bra when she’d thrown it on after her shower.  The pungent smell of weed clung to her, and Gator leaned against the door frame, unabashedly looking her up and down as he got a whiff.

“You been smokin’ in here, miss?” he drawled, his lips stretching into a sly grin and Win shrugged, not even bothering to deny it.

“You gunna arrest me, Deputy?” she asked, arching a challenging brow at him.

“I just might have to,” Gator replied, running his tongue over his molars as he shook his head in bemusement.

Win eyed him skeptically.  “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, tugging him inside and shutting the door, pressing her back to it when Gator took a step closer, pressing his hands to either side of her head, boxing her in.

“Oh, you have no idea, Princess,” he drawled, watching her lips hungrily.

“I’m really not surprised,” she teased, slipping under his arm to flit past him, leaving him wanting more, and Gator let out a frustrated breath, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his leather jacket before following her.

“You got any weed left?” he asked and Win threw her head back in laughter.

“You’re such a shit cop,” she snorted, pointing to her pipe laying on the coffee table next to her lighter.

“Hey, I’m the law, remember, sweetheart?” Gator scoffed, snatching the pipe and bringing the mouth to his lips.

“I’m not sure that’s how the law works,” Win murmured, rolling her eyes as Gator struggled to get the lighter to light, flicking the wheel several times before a flame appeared and he took a long draw.  

Win leaned against the wall, trying not to stare too intently when he finally blew the smoke out in a long stream, the effect somewhat ruined by the coughing fit that followed, and she snickered, shaking her head.

“I’ve got a frozen pizza and some wings in the oven,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen.  “You want something to drink?” she offered, telling herself she was just being a good host and not waiting on him hand and foot.

“Got any Mtn. Dew?” Gator asked, sinking onto the couch and grabbing the remote, flipping through the channels til he found something he liked.

Win reappeared several minutes later with two bottles, dropping one in Gator’s lap before plopping down next to him and taking a swig from her own.

“Die Hard, nice,” she murmured, snatching her lighter and the pipe from the table before leaning back and resting her legs in Gator’s lap, the light from the tv screen illuminating her face in the dark room as she took another hit.

She hadn’t been planning on getting high that night, but their near run in with Roy that morning had her nerves on edge and she’d ended up swinging by her dealer’s trailer on the way home before she realized that’s where she’d been headed.  And though she was curious as hell if the Sheriff had sussed them out, saying something to Gator after she’d left, she wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

It weren’t as if they were dating…

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” she murmured, taking another swig of her Mtn Dew, her eyes finding his in the dim light.

Gator frowned in thought, his large hand resting on her ankle, thumb drawing circles against her cool skin.  “You know I used to play football?” he asked, not really waiting for her response before continuing.  “I was All County quarterback senior year, a real winner,” he boasted, his gaze turning far away, as if lost in memory.

“So you were a real hot shot, huh?” Win mused, having a bit of a hard time picturing it, if she was being honest.  “I’m surprised you didn’t have cheerleaders falling over you left and right,” she teased and Gator wrinkled his nose at her, clearly not amused.

“Oh, I did.  The only problem was, they were all members of the Abstinence Club,” he huffed.  “The only action I got was over the clothes and awkward handies while making out,” he admitted with a scowl, just waiting for Win’s amused laughter. 

“Aw, you poor thing,” she cooed instead, a hint of condescension in her tone, biting her lip to keep from giggling, just imagining Gator’s frustration.  “Weren’t there any freaky girls you could’ve gotten with?  You know, anti-social goth girls that wouldn’t turn their noses up at fucking the quarterback?” she wondered.

“Unfortunately, no,” Gator sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch.  “It’s a pity you didn’t go to high school with me.”

“You think I would’ve fucked you back then?” she teased and Gator snorted.

“Course you would’ve, you can’t keep your hands off me,” he boasted, a smug grin twisting his lips. “You’re such a shit,” Win scoffed, though she couldn’t hold back her answering grin, knowing he was probably right.

“Can I get another hit of that?” Gator asked, nodding to the pipe in her hand and Win followed his gaze, sitting up slightly.  Instead of handing it to him, however, she brought it to her mouth, lighting the bud and taking a long drawl, the light from the small flame illuminating her face.  Holding the smoke in her lungs, she crooked her finger, beckoning him closer, peering up at him through her lashes.

Frowning in confusion, Gator leaned in, gasping in surprise as Win tilted her head as if to kiss him, their lips nearly touching before slowly exhaling the stream of smoke into his mouth.  

Gator’s eyelids fluttered as he inhaled the pungent smoke, a soft groan catching in his throat before he surged forward the rest of the way, capturing Win’s lips in a searing kiss that took her just as off guard as she’d taken him, pinning her beneath him.

“That was fuckin’ hot,” Gator breathed between deepening kisses, his tongue writhing against hers, exploring her mouth boldly as his free hand traversed her body, slipping under the hem of her shirt to cover her breast, greedily massaging her beneath the dark fabric, his fingers tweaking her pert nipple, playing with her piercing to draw a desperate moan from her.

“Gator–” Win breathed, squirming beneath his touch, arousal pooling low in her gut and seeping through the thin fabric between her legs.

“Hmm?” he hummed, grinding against her, his bulge obvious beneath the rough fabric of his cargo pants and she whined as it pressed against her aching heat, the sudden shrill cry of the oven timer interrupting the moment.

“Shit, I gotta get the food out,” she groaned, half halfheartedly pushing against Gator, a gasp leaving her lips as his mouth found her pulse point, his canines sinking into her skin.

“Ignore it,” he mumbled, grinding harder against her as he pinched at her nipple, his tongue soothing the love bite at her throat.

“It’ll burn,” Win argued, biting back the moan that sprang to her lips before pushing Gator back, nearly kneeing him in the groin as she rolled out from under him.  He let out a frustrated growl, but the rumble in the pit of his stomach reminded him just how hungry he was, the smell from the kitchen making his mouth water.

“Win!” he called, palming himself over his pants before adjusting his half softened length.  “Hurry up, I’m starving,” he whined, leaning back against the couch to peer into the kitchen to see if she was coming.

“You’d get it faster if you got off your ass,” he called back, finally rounding the corner back to the sofa, two plates in hand.

“Oh, you’re an angel,” Gator cried, reaching for the plate she held just out of reach, waiting for a ‘thank you’.

“Close enough,” she snorted in amusement, letting him have his food before sitting back down next to him and propping her feet on the edge of the coffee table.

Silence fell as the two of them dug in, watching the movie as they ate.

“So…” Win mused around a mouthful of pizza, her eyes flicking from the tv screen to Gator.  “When’re we gunna talk about this kink you have with restraining me?” she asked, her lips twitching at the way he froze, half eaten wing still hanging from his sticky fingers.

“What?  Who says I—“ Gator cut off mid sentence at the knowing look in Win’s eyes.  “I dunno,” he mumbled, sucking the rest of the meat from the wing before dropping the bones to his plate.  “Just like the idea of being in control, I guess.  Like seeing you helpless,” he murmured, clearing his throat.

Win nodded.  “I like being helpless sometimes,” she mused, watching his reaction.  “Don’t see why we couldn’t try that sometime.”  She shrugged nonchalantly and Gator had to swallow, needing to work moisture back into his mouth.

“As long as you let me return the favour,” Win added, grabbing her pop bottle for a swig.  “You look awfully cute yourself when you’re squirming under me, whining for me to let you cum.”

Gator flushed, his eyes falling to his plate, not sure he wanted her to know how much he enjoyed that as well.

“Think we should decide on a safe word before we delve into those fantasies,” she mused.  “Maybe something simple as ‘yellow’ for slow down and ‘red’ for a hard stop,” she suggested. “Think you can remember that?”

“Yeah, course,” Gator huffed, rubbing at his nose with his knuckle before making to suck his fingers clean of sauce.

Before he could finish, Win caught his hand, wrapping her lips around the first finger, her tongue curling around his digit before hollowing her cheeks to suck, pulling his finger from her mouth with a soft pop before repeating the process with his next finger, her eyes not leaving his.

Gator’s mouth fell open as he watched, a moan catching in his throat.  “Fuck, Win,” he hissed, his cock once more straining against the confines of his pants.  “You really know how t’make me hard.”

Win smiled, leaning in to whisper in his ear once she’d finished sucking his fingers clean.  “Yeah well, I’m really fucking wet right now,” she breathed, licking a wet stripe along the shell of his ear.

“Oh shit–” Gator groaned, his eyelids fluttering as his hips gave an involuntary jerk.

“Are you gunna be a good boy for me?” Win asked, placing her hand over the bulge in his cargos.  “Gunna let me ride you?”

Gator let out a shaky breath, clearly itching to free his throbbing length, but holding back, waiting for Win’s permission.

“Uh huh, I’ll be good,” he whispered breathlessly, wetting his lips as he pleaded with his eyes.  “Need you so bad,” she whined and Win’s grin grew.  She loved that he was two sides of the same coin–cocky and demanding one minute and needy and submissive the next.

“Good boy,” she purred, grasping the hem of her shirt and lifting it over her head in one swift motion, letting it fall to the floor as she leaned in to kiss him, her hands slipping under his shirt as her tongue flicked against his, her palms sliding up his stomach and chest as she worked the tight fabric over his head.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to rid him of the garment, her mouth was back on his as her hands went to his pants, making quick work of his belt and zipper.  As soon as his cock was free, Win stood, hooking her thumbs under the elastic of her shorts and shimmying them down along with her soiled panties, letting Gator watch, his eyes caressing her body like a man starved before she crawled astride him, too needy to tease him any further.

“Need you,” she breathed against his lips, her tongue meeting his as she ground down against him, coating his twitching length in her slick.

Gator’s answering groan was quickly swallowed and his hands circled her hips tightly, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he guided her movements and Win reached between them to grasp his cock, lining him up with her slick entrance and sinking down onto him, their moans blending together.

“Feel so good,” Gator grunted, his mouth falling open as she began to ride him, her hips rolling fluidly against him, picking up speed as his gasp on her urged her on.

Not bothering to watch her volume, Win’s rising moans competed with the sloppy sound of her pussy as her smooth movements turned harried, instead bouncing in his lap, chasing her pleasure as he drowned in it.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he gasped, exploding inside her without warning, her tits bouncing in his face as she milked him, pumping her fuller with each bounce.

“Shit—“ Gator whined, his head falling back against the couch as he panted for breath, kicking himself for cumming too soon.

“Sorry, I—“ he began, wincing as he softened inside her and Win surprised him by pressing a weary kiss to his lips, her sweat slicked forehead falling forward to rest against hers.

“Didn’t mean to cum so soon…”

Win shook her head.  “It’s kinda hot,” she murmured, working moisture back into her mouth.  “My pussy’s too good, you couldn’t hold back,” she said, her lips quirking slightly.  “You know, there are other ways you can help me finish,” she added with a shrug and it was Gator’s turn to wet his lips as a thought occurred to him.

“Sit on my face.”

Win’s brows rose at how fast he suggested it.  “You sure?” she asked.  Gator’d had yet to test his oral skills and Win wasn’t exactly expecting much, but the husky way he said it made her stomach flip.

“Okay,” she breathed, helping him slide off the couch to the floor, his head resting back against the couch cushions while Win hovered over him, his spunk mixed with her arousal dripping down the inside of her thighs and he groaned at the sight, hooking his arms around her legs boxing in his face, bringing her down to his mouth.

“Oh–” she gasped as he kissed her, giving her clit an experimental lick, his tongue seeking her sensitive nub, swirling around it as he savoured her taste.  It was so much sweeter than he’d expected and he moaned into her cunt, his eyelids fluttering as he grew bolder, tilting his chin upwards as his tongue pushed into her folds, exploring her already messy sex with fervor, his nose bumping against her clit with each movement.

“Y-yeah, yeah just like that,” Win murmured, her hands gripping the couch back as she rolled her hips, grinding against Gator’s face in her desperation for more friction.

His fingers bit into her thighs as he feasted on her, using his entire face to pleasure her, past caring about the mess that smeared his chin and cheeks, each gasp and moan he pulled from her felt like a badge of honour, driving him on, his tongue delving deeper before returning to her throbbing clit, lapping at it with broad relentless rolls of his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he drew her bundle of nerves between his lips to suck until she was shuddering, her thighs clamping tighter around his head.

“Oh fuck, GATOR–!” she cried, her hips stuttering as her climax hit her and she threw her head back, her entire body going rigid.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, collapsing to the couch and letting Gator breathe.  “You can say that again,” he exclaimed, grabbing his shirt to wipe his face and taking a swig of pop before turning to look at her, a smug smirk gracing his swollen lips.  “Seems like you enjoyed that,” he drawled, climbing to the couch with her and getting comfortable, laying half draped over her where she lay, their legs tangling as he snuggled closer.

“Don’t get cocky, Tillman,” Win teased, running her fingers through his mussed hair, the gelled strands half falling into his face as he rested his chin against her chest.

“Too late,” he chuckled huskily, licking his lips.  “You taste really good, by the way,” he mused.

“Glad you think so,” she murmured, relaxing back against the throw pillow behind her, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.  “That was pretty hot how into it you were.”

Gator shrugged.  “I like making you feel good.”

Win hummed, her fingers trailing down his smooth back, tracing lines between the dark moles and freckles that littered his skin.

“So, I was thinking… you should come to the ranch for Sunday dinner,” he murmured after a moment, his downturned eyes flicking up to hers hesitantly and Win frowned, her brows pinching.

“Gator, are you crazy?  That sounds like a terrible idea,” she exclaimed, half pushing up to gape at him.  “What about Roy?  I thought the last thing we wanted was for him to know about this?” she asked, gesturing between the two of them.

Gator winced, hoping she wouldn’t freak out too much when he told her his dad already knew about them.  “Actually, this was his idea…” he replied reluctantly.

“Really?  Somehow I have a hard time believing that,” Win huffed, an uneasy feeling bubbling in her gut and she let out a soft groan.  “That’s what he said to you after I left this morning, wasn’t it?  He figured it out,” she murmured, reading the truth in his guilt filled gaze.

Gator nodded, the lines furrowing his brow deepening.  “He said he wants to meet the girl I’ve been sneaking around with.”

A heavy rush of air whistled through Win’s teeth and she pressed a hand to her face.  “I dunno, Gator, this all seems very official, and we’re–hell, I don’t really know what we are,” she exclaimed, letting her hand drop while her gaze instinctively sought his in the dim room.

“What do you want us to be?” he asked softly, a worried frown knitting his brows as he waited for her answer, his large brown eyes watching her earnestly.

“Aw Jesus, don’t do that,” Win groaned, snapping her eyes shut against the sight, too much for her to take in the moment—her chest tightening with an emotion she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Do what?” Gator countered, nearly pouting, his frown deepening and Win groaned again when she opened her eyes.

“You know what!” she whined.  “Stop looking at me with those damn eyes of yours.”

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Gator asked, a small smirk playing at his lips when he realized the power he had over her with just a look.

“They’re dangerous!” Win exclaimed, trying to turn away, but Gator was having none of it.

“Yeah, and why’s that?” he countered, grabbing her chin to force her to face him and she huffed a sigh.

“Because they’re more beautiful than they have any fuckin’ right to be,” Win breathed, wincing when Gator’s grin widened.  

“Fine!” she huffed, cornered.  “I like seeing you, alright?” she conceded, feeling her cheeks burn.  “But I like how easy this is–how it’s been–and-and I’m afraid putting a label on it is gunna complicate everything.  I don’t wanna get hurt,” she explained, her words growing smaller at the end of her outburst and Gator’s expression softened.

“I don’t wanna hafta hide you anymore, Win.  I wanna show off my girl.  Fuck, I want everyone to know you’re mine.  Is that so bad?” he murmured, searching her face.

“Your girl?” Win scoffed before softening, her resolve weakening—those two little words sending her stomach fluttering.

“C’mon Winnie, be the Ripley to my John McClane,” he uttered with all seriousness, using the line from one of her favourite songs against her and Win barked an incredulous laugh, her doubt forgotten for a moment.  

“I can’t believe you actually just made that reference!” she exclaimed, hiding her face against his forehead and Gator stiffened.

“Hey, I listened to that mix you made me.  Some of it was weird, granted, but I liked that line!” he yelped defensively.

“Now, how the hell can I say no when you compare me to one of the most badass women in movie history?” Win murmured, shaking her head in bemusement.

“You can’t.”  Gator shrugged, half holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

“Alright, fine, I’ll be your girl,” Win relented, rolling her eyes and Gator sobered at her flippant tone, the amusement draining from his face.

"Don’t get my hopes up if you're just gonna leave like everyone else,” he murmured, and Win felt a block of ice drop into her stomach.  All this time she’d been so focused on how he could hurt her, never giving any thought to the fact that she could hurt him just as badly, that his feelings for her might be that deep, and it took her by surprise at just how serious he was.

“I won’t,” she breathed, turning his face toward her, her eyes searching his, the vulnerability in his gaze twisting her heart.  They’d never talked about his mother before, but if her friends were to be believed, she’d apparently run off when he was young, leaving him with his father.

“I mean it,” she insisted, her breath wavering.  “Just… don’t make me regret it,” she whispered and Gator nodded.

“I won’t,” he echoed, letting out a breath she hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.  “Does this mean you’ll come?” he asked and Win sighed.

“Yeah, but they’re gunna hate me,” she reminded him, anxiety prickling her gut.

“Just don’t get political, and wear your nicest dress and those boots you look so good in,” he said, the tension leaching from his body as he rested his cheek against her chest, nuzzling closer to her.

“I hope you know what you’re talking about,” Win whispered, but she felt herself relaxing as well, slipping her arms around him, the weight of his embrace calming her somewhat.

“Trust me,” he murmured.

Win squeezed her eyes shut, hoping she could—hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.  She knew this meant she’d be walking willingly into the wolves’ den, but at least Gator would be there with her.  He wouldn’t feed her to the wolves.

At least, she hoped so.

⇾ taglist. @heartbreak-sandwich @cherrychapsticksteve @super-unpredictable98 @b1tchy3lf

[ms-moonlight-inn]

“Shame-proof” DVD Commentary

Thank you to @shamelessdvdcommentary & to the anon to requested us (whoever you are, we love you!). My bestie @notherenewjersey & I are here to answer all of your burning questions (do you have the syph? why's it burning? it's not supposed to burn.)

Anyway, here's our stuff... hopefully it'll help with that itchy burny.

Which fanfic is your DVD commentary about?

“Shame-proof” is about two childhood actors who lose contact with each other after their series wraps. Quickly, we find out that Ian had been harboring a deep crush on Mickey, who had basically been bullying Ian the whole time. Confessions & apologies ensue.

Also, a friend called it an undercover RPF... and if that’s how you choose to look at it, well we’re not gonna stop you.

NJ–  it COULD be RPF but that’s not how it was written. We weren’t imagining Cam or Noel’s childhoods here, aside from what we stole of Mickey’s back canon that Ian watches as he pines.

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

The outline started on 4/16/24. 22887 words posted. Posted for the Summer Camp project on 8/3 but we were done before that.  Moonlight was convinced it would be 10k but I knew it was bigger. And this was without us going down every rabbit hole we saw. It’s 8 chapters, most of the chapters start with a flashback to the past and then jump to the “present.”

Moonlight– seriously, NJ dragged me away from some other HC I had kicking around, & we dove into this one instead.

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

I read Jeanette McCurdy’s book, and as with any time I read anything, my brain said “What if this was Gallavich?” I know Moonlight is an L.A. girl, so I knew I wanted her input. I think I had a rough outline already when I looped her in, but she immediately took what I had and expanded and deepened it, as she always does.

Moonlight– God it’s so much fun to talk trash about all the things you grew up with & around. Los Angeles is filled with opportunities for trash talking. LOL 

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

This didn’t start out as either of us deciding to stay in Ian’s POV, but in order to keep Mickey’s motivations a little more opaque, we landed there. Until the latter chapters, at least. For the drama.

Moonlight– No further comment.

What was your favourite scene to write?

All of them? I like Sue so much, and I love writing Frank’s bullshit. RuPaul is fun, too. 

Moonlight– I’ve got two favorite scenes. The first is the scene where they’re kids doing the campground episode. I adored the moments of discovery Ian had there –figuring out that trees existed in southern California, figuring out that he had a serious crush on Mickey, and then the boy he meets on set as he’s running away from his problems. (BTW, 10 punk rock points to anyone who knew the song before I remembered to add a link).

The other scene I loved writing was the rimming scene. In the outline NJ said, “they get together in the sexiest and most romantic way.” And I wanted to throw my laptop at her face. SERIOUSLY, what the actual fuck?! So I got them all the way up to the part where Ian’s naked and stalled out for, like, two weeks. I was on a call with @mybrainismelted saying, “I’m stuck on this scene. I’ve managed to get one dick out, but I haven’t quite figured out how the other one’s gonna get naked AND STILL KEEP THIS BULLSHIT SEXY AND ROMANTIC.” Needless to say, I figured it out. 😁

NJ– Yup! That was, I think, the entire outline for that chapter, originally. One line. I knew that’s what happened at that point in the story, why bother with details? LOL

How did you come up with the title?

Oh geez. Trying to come up with both an AU of Shameless AND a reboot name, both of which would sound semi-natural was tough! But Shame-proof is more than just the title of a fake TV show. It also speaks to how Ian and Mickey were able to finally live wholly as themselves. No more hiding, nothing left unsaid. Without shame, shameless in the very best ways.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

I always throw things in. We both do. But hopefully, readers who haven’t read either our individual or joint back canon can still enjoy the story.

Moonlight– See easter egg question.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

No.

NJ– if one of us is stuck, the other usually isn’t or can jostle the other into being unstuck. We’re good like that.

Favorite line in the story?

NJ– @gallavichgeek pointed out two of my favorite lines, but I will repeat them here because … yeah. 

“Hey, come back,” Mickey says softly.

“I’m still here,” Ian answers, a little confused.

“Yeah, but all of you. M’ not ready to let any of you go a moment sooner than I hafta.”

***

“I’d say,” he hesitates, then goes on, “that someday you’re gonna get everything you ever wanted. That all the bad shit, the bullshit, and the pain, it’ll all be worth it.” 

***

If I crash, I’m coming back to haunt you, Ian had answered.

If you crash, I’m diving in after you.

***

Moonlight– “What the fuck? How ‘bout double-dutch no with a cherry on top.” Mickey steadily refuses. (Anytime Mickey is being creative with his cursing & curses is a good time. Bad language & mockery are his love languages.)

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc) 

All of it? It’s a great story. 

Moonlight– I’m also proud of the structure we used. It was NJ’s choice to do what basically amounted to two mini chapters in one –past & present colliding, if you will. And it worked so well for this storyline. 

Are there any deleted scenes that didn’t make it to the final story?

Not deleted, so much as we had ideas that didn’t make it to fully fleshed for the final draft.

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a character’s head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

NJ– It’s important for people to know that Mickey in the past was protecting Ian so much more than he was protecting himself, with his bullying behavior. 

Moonlight– God, yes. 

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

NJ– I want more of Ray, more of Sue, more of the Random Studio Infant now grown up. More of Sheila and of Kermit. I want the world to be fuller. And maybe it will, eventually.

Moonlight– Def’ more Ray, he’s funny & I’m sure he & Ian had so many stupid adventures. I think I’d like to see a few of the conversations between Ian & Mickey, but I struggle with that ‘cause I love when there is that air of mystery to a storyline. I don’t necessarily want to be told everything. But I think at least one of those late night conversations we reference would be nice to see.

NJ– yeah, we did have a time limit so some of the scope got condensed. I agree, those conversations would be incredible to see/hear. 

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

Well…. This story has legs. It has scope beyond what you’ve seen. I have believed, since the outline began, that this was the fic that would make the leap to traditional publishing. Moonlight and I are hoping to expand it and bring it to a publisher. “It’s a crossover between Shameless, I’m Glad My Mom Died, and RWRB.” Who wouldn’t wanna read that? LOL The Gallagher family will shrink a little, Terry will still be his monstrous self. So no, there won’t be a traditional fic sequel. But if we’re all very, very lucky, there will be an expanded version that scratches the same itch.

Are there any ‘easter eggs’ in your story - e.g. references to other stories you’ve written, a trope you often use etc?

The Saint Christopher’s medallion that Ian receives from Mickey? Yeah, the person I wrote that for knows it was for them. 🫶 

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

By far NOT our most popular story. Yet.

Were you nervous or excited to post this story?

I HATE waiting to post- posting a fic like this where it’s all done upfront is hard for me, emotionally. So I was beyond excited for people to read it and love it as much as we do!

Moonlight– NJ really hates not posting immediately. Like, really hates it. This fic was written for the @gallavich-fic-club Summer Camp Event & we had to wait our turn. Which she HATED. 🤣 

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

Can we count each other? I’m a genuine writing freak- fast, thoughtless, and I rarely edit beyond typos. (many of which elude me and still end up in the final draft.) Moonlight is the opposite- she’s incredibly deliberate and also deeply and passionately devoted to the editing process. When we edit together, it can look a little argumentative, but we trust each other, so a lot of those conversations end up like, “I don’t see the issue, but I trust your judgment.” We both say it all the time.

Moonlight– D’aw, bb. You’re making me blush. You’re right, I am a meticulous asshole, but your brain is fast & witty. Together, we write good shit. 

NJ-- Also, god the verb tenses in this story gave me fits. I am a grammar nerd, so is Moonlight. But skipping between tenses for the past and present when we wrote straight through- she never had an issue but I regularly was in the wrong tense and had to go back and fix, cursing my own self the whole time. Loudly. Often on the phone with Moonlight. 

Moonlight– 🤣🤣🤣 yeah…

If any one has any comments, words of praise, complaints you’d like to register with our headquarters, please let us know. 

NJ - in the greatest detail, if you’d be so kind.

Anything else you’d like the readers to know about the story?

Moonlight– Yes, the cheese sledding story is based on semi-true events. The guys at my high school used to carry large blocks of ice to the top hill of the local golf course & ride them down. Years later, a dorm mate I knew in grad school told us about his Vermont cheese tour where he saw “giant wheels of cheese” that he swore he could use as a mode of transportation. And so, the cheese sledding story was born. 

NJ-- And I made sure it was at Trump’s golf course because a few years back, a man in New Jersey did some fun vandalism like that and I find it deeply satisfying.

🧀🛷 

[blueesnow]

(3/6) Hijirikawa Masato's Private Story [Utapri Live Emotion]

Ch 1: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 6 with Masato)

-Shining Agency Dorm's Living Room- Masato: Oh, Nanami. What a coincidence. Are you on your day off today? Haruka: Yeah, I came here to return the materials that I borrowed before. Are you also on your day off too, Hijirikawa-san? Masato: Yeah. Since the wheather looks nice I thought I'd go outside today. I'm thinking of going to those events at the park. Masato: If you're okay with it, do you want to go with me? I've heard there were also markets and music events too. Haruka: Wow…that looks so fun! I want to go. Masato: Thank you. I've had a feeling you would say that. Well then, let's head out. -Park- Masato: Paintings and lacquerware, clothing and accessories…there were also food and beverage stall too. It seems like there's a lot of stalls being set up here. Haruka: There also seems to be a lot of handmade stalls too. Oh, look at that! There are a lot of cute accesories lined up. Masato: Oh, I think it might be a good idea as a gift for my little sister. If you don't mind can you tell me which one are you interested in? (choices) <How about cookies?> Haruka: Hmm… how about icing cookies? Not only does it look pretty, but it also looks delicious too. Masato: Indeed, these cookies were made with so much attention on the details. Look, there's even a pattern on the edge of it. Masato: Look at how delicate it is. As if it was painted with a paintbrush. How beautiful… <Accessory might be a good idea> Haruka: Beaded accessories are beautiful in my opinion! Look, something like this. It's cute isn't it. Masato: Accessory, huh. Certainly these color seems to be her favorite. Masato: I'm not that knowledgeable about fashion, so your opinion might helped. (back to story) Masato: However all of them are so fascinating, I'm troubled which one to choose… Haruka: Why don't we take a look around a bit more while we're here. Oh, how about that stall over there? Masato: Hm, that's…!

Ch 2: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 11 with Masato)

-Park- Haruka: It's an amigurumi*, aren't they all cute? Masato: They look very well made. There's the rabbit one, a bear… Oh, they also have an owl too. Masato: Alright I've decided, let's go for an amigurumi for her next present. I think it might be a good idea if I could also make a hat or other accessories that goes along well with it. Haruka: Wow, that's so lovely! I'm sure your little sister will be very happy. Masato: It's all thanks to you for finding it for me. I'm very grateful. Haruka: Oh no, I didn't do much… Eh, a cheering sound? You can also hear the sound of instruments too! Masato: Looks like they're holding a concert on that special stage next door. Let's go and check it out. - Masato: Oh they're actually a band consisting of students from a nearby school. It seems they're also selling CDs of their original songs too. Masato: Although their singing and performance is a bit rough around the edges, but you can definitely feel no hesitation on the messages they're trying to convey. There's something in it that resonates within your heart. Haruka: Yes, the way they play feels like they can't help but just enjoy themselves in music. Somehow it reminds me of us back then. Masato: Perhaps the teachers and seniors felt the same way too when they saw us back at the academy. Masato: Although we were still technically and mentally inexperienced, we all had strong aspirations born out of our love for music. Haruka: That's right… It's because I met Hijirikawa-san and everyone that I'm here right now. Masato: I felt the same way too. Maybe their performance here could actually change someone's future too. Masato: …As a matter of fact, I've also had a fateful encounter too that changed my whole life a long time ago.

*: Amigurumi (編みぐるみ) is a Japanese art form that involves crocheting or knitting small, stuffed, yarn creatures or objects.

Ch 3: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 21 with Masato)

-Park- Haruka: Hijirikawa-san's fateful encounter…? Masato: Yeah. It happened back from before I entered the academy, and you could say that it was an encounter that can be considered a turning point in my life. Masato: If it weren't for that miraculous day, there's probably no chance of me choosing an entertainment industry as my path. Masato: It was all thanks to that person that I am now able to move forward without any hesitation. Masato: And then, if I could become an idol who shines bright someday, I might be able to return the favor to them. Haruka: Hijirikawa-san… Masato: Though I wonder if the current me now is even worthy of being such a bright example as of that… Haruka: Hijirikawa-san is already shining bright. So much that just staring at you would blind my eyes away. Masato: …Thanks, Nanami. Hearing your words gives me a lot of confidence. Haruka: Likewise, thank you for letting me listen to that wonderful story. Haruka: Once again I was reminded that I, too, want to bring the music that I love to as many people as possible. Masato: You're right. I also want to deliver more of my feelings through music too. Masato: I will have to work even more harder so that I can perform a sound that will change even fate. Haruka: Fufu, I will use the inspiration I received here today in my songwriting as soon as I return home. Masato: I'm glad that this is worth your time. Let's go out together again just like this sometime.

Ch 4: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 31 with Masato)

Ch 5: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 41 with Masato)

Ch 6: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 51 with Masato)

[skekdris]

Sketch of my OC/Species graciously brought to life by @aryeonos , The Arhulian. Needless to say, a huge, six-eyed, badger-centipede is both intimidating and hard to depict visually. Thanks to Ary again for assisting me with editing and proof reading. I don't think my story could have reached this level of polish if I did not have my love to bounce it off of. <3 Down below is a short story of them meeting the Amaranthine characters by @kwillow and @chocodile . They are in for a surprising house guest, that's for sure! Seems like a good way to get a feel for a character is to put them up against some "knowns" to see how the character would react in those circumstances. Acts as a good backdrop to flesh them out from there. As for right now, I'm still 'sculpting' out a lot of the Arhulian lore and worldbuilding. Initially the story was supposed to be with Hyden, Alex, and Theo, interacting with my Arhulian character 'Niadris' - but the way things were written out and flowed - it turned out to be Alex, Theo, and Ridge instead. I really wanted Hyden to meet them in this story, but then again, Hyden being deadass asleep while all the interesting stuff happens sounds like a pretty Hyden-y thing to do. Anyways, onto the story. It's somewhat of a long read, at ~7k Words. There's a lot of character interaction, so I hope stayed close to how the three would react in such a situation!

The Visitor

It was an afternoon in middle spring - which for this area of the continent meant that if the weather was good, temperatures would rise above freezing. The cool air with the humidity of melting snow seemed pleasantly mild compared to the long, bitter winters. In the study of a large manor on the outskirts of a town called Northcrest; an older, corpulent, Rabbit with a cracked gem embedded in his forehead was gripping the sides of his hair in frustration. "A person of my mind, MY intellect should have solved this weeks - no - months ago!" Hyden snarled to himself. 

"You sure you aren't just stalling for time to enjoy your little 'vacation' here?" A Bat leaning in the doorway chided. 

Hyden put on a despondent look. "I am trying, Ms. Solokov. Really, in earnest. The faster I can put an end to this disaster, the faster I can rebuild my oh-so woefully maligned reputation!" He said, crumpling up another paper of scribbled equations of arcane theory, tossing it into a waste basket. 

Alex wanted to retort, but it would just be another fight, another exchange of barbs like all the other times before. She rolled her eyes, then stood up to wander out of the office. "Hopefully Ridge gets back soon. I want someone I can actually talk to." She thought, returning to her room to take stock of her things.

Hours later, as the sun was setting - casting the hillsides in an amber glow, a brawny teal Shark bundled in a heavy coat returned. In both of his arms were large crates, as well as canvas bags hooked around his arms. The door was opened by a short, roundish fancy Rat. "Oh, do make sure you remove your filthy boots at the entryway, I don't want any melting slush being tracked all over my estate." They sneered in their shrill voice. 

"Yes, of course Theo. I wouldn't want to sully your pristine hardwood floors." Ridge responded dryly. Before the Rat could retort, the large Shark added. "Anyways, here's everything you had on your shopping list, these supplies should keep us stocked for a few weeks before another trip." Preemptively cutting off Theo again, Ridge blurted out: "Oh, and I trust 'ya have the perfect spot to put everything. I wouldn't want to scramble 'yer pantry, after all." 

Theo scowled at the bulky outsider, their constant pokes and attempts at wit got under his skin. He knows Ridge was trying to get out of putting away the groceries after a long walk - but he was also right. "Yes, of course. As the sole keeper of this venerable estate, it is my duty to tend to all it's functions, right down to it's inventory." Theo stated. There would have been more words to shoot back, but Theo's duty as a host kept him from slipping any further into banter with his guest.

After dropping off the groceries for Theo to tend to, Ridge went off to search for alex. The manor contained more rooms and floors than any “house” he had ever set foot in. It irritated Ridge to no end that the little rich Rat insisted that the doors remain closed at all times, so he had to peek into half a dozen rooms and three closets before finding the reading room his friend was residing in. The weary Shark entered, flopping down on a chair; glad to be able to finally sit down on something soft and cushy after his trek. Alex smiled, welcoming him. "Your shopping trip took a long time Ridge, I know he asked you to grab a lot. Is everything alright?" The Bat queried.

Ridge sighed. "Yea... well maybe. Just some things 'goin on." He added before continuing. "I know you don't get out much since you 'gotta keep an eye on them two, so I figured I'd go around town and pick up a little news for ya. See what's happening. There's been talk of some strange things going on. Livestock vanishing, hunting season has been looking a little sparse, and strange tracks out in the snow. People said they look like ski pole marks, I dunno what to make of it, I figured you uh - you have gotten out more than I have, so you'd have an idea."

Alex frowned. "Well, unless we are dealing with a roaming pack of wolves with skis, it's probably another one of those magic, twisted monsters that appeared ever since this whole catastrophe began." Alex sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yet another thing I ought to give that fat Rabbit a piece of my mind about." She said, her voice lowering, oozing with contempt. 

Ridge gave Alex a concerned look. "Yeah, well, if it was just that, that wouda have been one thing. But I saw those funny tracks near the path to the mansion... I don't have a good feeling about this."

Alex nodded. "I see. As much as I want to see that guiltless loaf ripped apart and eaten like cheap, stale bread by the very monsters he's created; we need him. I'll keep my eyes and ears out for anything strange." The following nights were uneasy for Alex. Each night, she'd take station and perch herself on one of the roofs accessible via a second story window, scanning the horizon for activity. Her large ears would catch whispers of something roaming in the distance, but she never could locate the source of the sound or what direction it was coming from. It always vanished just as she felt like she was homing in on her target.

She felt an uneasy tingle in her veins as her frustration mounted. If it was just wildlife, or even a monster, she surely should have spotted something by now. "Is anything really out there?" She thought to herself. After another uneventful evening watch, Alex swallowed her worries long enough to get some rest. She already has Hyden to keep watch over, she doesn't need whatever this is stealing her attention.

During the late evening; an hour past midnight, the manor was quiet, save for the crackle of the evening fireplace, as well as the stirring of but a single person; Theo. Between his duties as host, the sole caretaker for an entire servant-less manor, as well as his intense suspicion of everybody - save for his living historical idol Hyden - Theo was often the last person to go to bed, and the first to rise. This truncated sleep schedule, the bags under his eyes; they were merely the cost of business to keep everything in order. During the final rounds of his estate, a knock came from the door just as theo entered the foyer. The ears of the diminutive Rat twitched, his shoulders jerking at the sound of the knocking, which in the dead of night was as clear as his crystal wine glasses.

Tap tap tap. Another knock came. Theos' ears were not deceiving him. "Who in their right mind would visit at this godsforsaken hour?" Theo thought to themselves. This was abnormal. Tap tap tap. He rarely had visitors, ever. Let alone at a time like this. As he neared the door, he hesitated. The magical crystal embedded in his left hand felt strangely warm, and his hand was flush with blood flow. This was never a sensation he had experienced before - something was off. Tap tap tap. Before Theo could ponder any further, the fancy Rat scrunched his nose and bared a snarl as they heard more knocking pickaxing through his inner monologue. Whatever was going on, it was a terribly rude hour to be disturbing anybody, let alone him. Arming himself with some choice verbal barbs for his unwanted visitor, Theo opened the door.

As the door swung open, he was greeted by a silhouette of something massive - even taller than Hyden - though much of it's form was obscured by the evening darkness and their ebony fur, but what could be seen was not the body of a person. It was of some kind of beast. The fuzzy forelimbs of this creature ended in large, gently curved, off-white spikes, similar to that of a praying insect that Theo had only seen depicted in a historical encyclopedia. He looked up; his eyes met with the pairs it had on their badger-like head. The creature's triangular ears flicked, then it looked down at the Rat; the creature's three pairs of eyes were arranged above one right after the other - like the pips of the six side of a die. The eyes were pure black, save for the iris that shone like a purple ring in the light of the lantern. The words Theo had prepared found themselves lodged in his throat.

Aghast, the fancy Rat stumbled backwards, but his heel snagged on the edge of a floor rug, causing the Rat to land on his posterior, painfully pinching his tail. "Eek! M-monster... Gnnnk! Demon! Hng Aberration!" Theo exclaimed in a shrill voice as his rapid breathing caused him to fumble over his own words. He wanted to call out for help, to Hyden; even to the outsider, Alex. But he could not utter anything beyond sharp gasps as his breathing went to disarray.

The imposing creature looked at the panicked Rat and spoke to them. "Oh? Is that so? Would a monster choose knocking over divorcing your door from its frame?" The creature's voice was deep, coarse, and multitudinous as if three separate beings were speaking in unison. The creature remained in the doorway, peering at the quaking Rat, examining them and their actions closely. All six eyes were locked onto Theo, and the gaze made his fur stand on end. Theo already hated being stared at by just one pair of eyes. 

Theo sat on the floor, his whole body feeling flushed and trembling from his pounding heart. That thing had just spoken to him. In fluent dialect no less! Theo had heard of monsters before, but never an intelligent one - let alone one capable of speech. Something about this creature disturbed him to his core. His mind raced at kilometers a minute trying to process just what he was witnessing.

The creature's lips tensed as if it were about to speak; but then it stopped, before looking to its left. "It seems your sentry has been roused." The creature spoke aloud.

"Ess... Sentry?" Theo questioned. Then it clicked; it was referring to Alex. She always kept watch. How did they know about her? "Was this thing spying on us?" Theo exclaimed in his mind. The Rat felt dread bubbling up within him.

In one of the manor's guest rooms, Alex was sleeping. The tension of the last few nights had made deep sleep an impossibility. Thus, when the sound of Theo's raised voice came from downstairs, it was enough to wake her. She rubbed her eyes as she rose from the bed. "Was that Theo shout-" Her large ears flicked as they heard the sound of something unearthly and her fur stood on end. Without any further thought, her body reacted and she grabbed her hunting rifle, sprinting to the location of the sound. Fortunately, her eyes were fully adjusted for the night, and she made it to the foyer without a stumble despite her scramble. 

She sprang into the foyer, stopping herself with the guard rail of the grand staircase. Alex laid eyes on the huge beast in the doorway, it's six met with hers. Alex was prepared to shoot, but the violet irises of the beast were staring right at her the instant she rounded the corner into the foyer; as if it already knew she was going to be there. The sight made her freeze. "Theo! What in the hells is that!?" Alex exclaimed.

"A monster!" Theo shouted.

"A visitor." The creature stated, it's baritone, stentorian voice matching Theos' shouting in volume.

No longer half asleep with no obstructing walls to deaden the sound, Alex heard the creature's course, multitoned voice clearly. "Did that thing... just speak?" She said aloud.

Before either Theo or Alex could interject, the creature filling the doorway spoke to the two startled people in the foyer of the manor. "Yes. I did. Your language is relatively simple compared to my native tongue." The beast stated flatly. 

"Meh Ms. Solokov! It's egk dangerous! It's bee been spying on us!" Theo said, his chest still struggling to steady itself. 

Alex kept her rifle leveled at the beast in the doorway. She wasn't sure if Theo was speaking the truth, or was just in shock. "Okay, who and what the hell are you?" The Bat said, keeping her focus on the creature.

They replied. "I am Niadris. I am what your tongue would call... an Arhulian." 

Alex looked at Theo in bewilderment. Theo glanced back at the Bat. "Are-rule-lee-an?" Theo said aloud, sounding out the word by each syllable. "In all my eghk studies. I've never heard of such a species!" Theo said. The Rat's eyes glanced back to the creature in the door with fear and revulsion. "More like 'arhulian'." Theo muttered under his breath. One of the Arhulian's pairs of eyes shifted it's gaze back to the Rat.

"After knocking on your door and introducing myself, you suggest that I am a feral beast?" Niadris queried, in their deep, hellish voice causing the Rat's fur to stand on end as they swallowed nervously. The 'Arhulian' did not just speak their language, but had an advanced understanding of their grammatical structure. The implications of this rattled Theo as he shuffled back to get further away from this creature.

Alex took a deep breath as she maintained composure, interjecting before the situation escalated any further. "Alright, 'Niadris', why are you here? Theo said you were spying on us." She questioned, her rifle planted firmly in the direction of the unplanned visitor. The Arhulian was unfettered by her brandishing a gun right at them. Did it really not know what a gun was, or worse - did it not care?

"Spying? Given that your kind have responded to me with either fear or hostility on sight, I must carefully select when I reveal myself and to whom. It is no act of subterfuge. It is a necessity. Even now; you have your armament at-the-ready just from me knocking on your door and speaking to you. I wanted to speak to an individual, then have them inform the rest of my presence. Do you really imagine this going any better if I had been more bold in my approach? Depicting myself as non-threatening would be an order of magnitude harder with gunshot wounds." Niadris snorted, all three pairs flicking their gaze to Alex before one of them returned to Theo. The multiple pairs of eyes looking in different directions at the same time perturbed them both. 

"I eghk do agree that your appearance ehm elicits revuls-" A second pair of eyes locked onto him again. " -ghn a response." Theo said, catching himself. The Arhulian did not speak a word, yet the message was clear; it tore Theo up on the inside to even dare admit, but so far this 'visitor' has shown themselves to be quite capable of not letting verbal barbs go unnoticed.

Alex lowered her rifle, still keeping both hands on it. "I suppose that's... a pretty good point actually." She sighed. "But still, why are you here?"

Niadris spoke calmly. "We share a common enemy. Despite my imposing stature and prowess, physical might is all but meaningless against a foe that subsumes and absorbs all flesh that it touches." Alex's eyes widened as the creature continued explaining. "All my strength and ability are merely tools to avoid becoming a hearty meal in the wake of such a lurid foe." Both Theo and Alex became less defensive as Niadris continued. "...It is a terrible entity that digests without need or moderation. It is a blight upon this world."

Alex and Theo knowingly looked at each other. 

"Yeah. We call it the Shadow." Alex said. Her mind feeling a slight amount of guilt over her hostility, her rifle lowered completely. 

"Hrm Yes. In that regard we do have a commonality..." Theo relented, stopping before adding too much.

The fancy Rat composed himself enough to stand back up, and brush himself off. "So, that brings us to the matter at hand. How did you find out about our mission? I don't think anyone would have snrk told you about Rising Dawn."

The Arhulian stared with no reaction. "Rising Dawn? Is that a title?" They paused before adding: "No, I sensed that this place had an anomalous aura, so I studied you from afar before approaching." 

Theo raised an eyebrow. "What is this urgh 'aura' you speak of? What do you mean by sense?" He asked, his voice dripping in incredulity.

"My kind - Arhulians - have a 7th sense if you will. We can see the 'aura' of living things." Niadris explained. "This place caught my attention because I observed a strange aura much further than I would normally be able to; I was at the crooked sign above the red roofed well when the aura became detectable to me. My normal range is about three-fifths of that."

Theo and Alex raised both their eyebrows. "That's half a kilometer!" They both exclaimed in their minds.

"As I approached and could resolve things in detail, I noticed five distinct auras." Niadris raised their scythe-like forelimb and pointed in various directions. "Two crimson auras; one that luminesces brightly." Niadris pointed to Theo before continuing. "Crimson auras? Is it referring to our catalyst stones?" Theo thought to himself as the creature explained. The Rat was still skeptical, as him being a witch was public knowledge after all. As the Arhulian continued narrating, they mentioned: "The second crimson aura seems faint - as if it were hibernating or asleep." Theo's face twitched in shock as the creature pointed to the direction of the room Hyden was currently residing in - an interior room with no visibility from the outside, nevermind the fact Hyden's presence was supposed to be hidden. Niadris, still speaking: "Then there are two mundane auras - one of them with a notable a tendency to perch from a defensive vantage point." The Arhulian stated, pointing their bone-tipped forelimb to Alex.

"Is that how he snuck past me? He knew I was on watch and avoided me?" Alex pondered. 

"Then lastly, the fifth aura. A writhing, squirming mass of discordant signals, that seethe and roil like water itself harboring anger, yet cannot move freely. As if it were sealed away." Niadris pointed in the direction of where the shadow sample was.

Alex and Theo were at a loss for words. There was no way this thing could have such intricate knowledge of Theo's manor without ever having set "foot" inside. 

Before either could speak up, the Arhulian spoke again. "Another one of your kind has roused. It is the other mundane aura, and a voluminous one at that. They are to the northeast, and heading in this direction. Could you inform them of my presence before another outburst happens?" Niadris asked with a dry tone.

Alex was stunned in disbelief. They must be talking about Ridge!

Theo butted into the conversation: "I'm not sure what kind of feh fool you take me for, but I highly doubt you really have such a fantastical ability. Really, you can 'see' us through solid walls?" Theo's mind was a whirlpool of doubt and skepticism. The creature's claims seemed too extraordinary to be true. Theo was not sure how, but it has to be some sort of ruse! In the depths of the Rat's mind, the idea of this creature being able to observe him constantly, undetected was a soul-chilling prospect that fundamentally violated his privacy. It has to be a ruse.

"Yes." Niadris bluntly responded.

"Hmph Well, it was a cunning deception, but I'll have you know, our guest is residing in the southwest portion of my manor. And even if they were where you claimed to be, you aren't even looking in that direction..." Theo scoffed. As he was monologuing, the Bat's large ears flicked as she picked up the sounds of footsteps... coming from the northeast. 

Niadris did not care to let the Rat finish before speaking, their baritone, multitudinous voice overpowering the Rats' in the conversation. "You have previously admitted to having no information about my species, yet you are presuming knowledge of my capabilities?" 

Theo was incensed at being interrupted. "How dar-"

Ridge entered the foyer, scratching his back with a pillow in the other hand. "Hey, uh, is there a barbershop trio here, who are you talki-" The large Shark froze in place as his eyes met with the strange, badger-like creature filling the doorway. "Ah! uh! What in the goddamn...?!" Ridge dropped his pillow and adopted a boxing pose as best they could as their limbs still felt heavy from their evening nap. The Arhulian's eyes devoted a pair to focus on each individual in the foyer.

"Calm down, Ridge! This thing isn't... being dangerous. It wanted to talk to us." Alex blurted out with as much composure as she could muster. 

Theo's face was flush as he exclaimed. "What are you doing there? Your room is on the other side of the manor!" The Rat's entire body tingled as any shred of doubt he could summon was scalded away by the unfolding situation. 

The muscular teal Shark stammered, as so much was happening all at once for him. "Uh, well, I wandered around and dozed off in one of the book rooms. I got up because it was cold, then I heard this guy... thing?" Ridge said, glancing at Niadris, reluctantly dropping their boxing pose and grabbing their pillow.

"Well, at the very least, Niadris isn't lying to us." Alex said exasperated. Though she too, had her doubts about this 'visitor', she did not appreciate Theo antagonizing them openly. Theo glared at her. So far the Rat has shown hospitality to the outsider, but this jab from her really rubbed him the wrong way. In the uncomfortable silence of the foyer that was now getting cold due to the door still being open, Alex's mind sparked with an idea. "Wait a minute. Your special 'sense' is omnidirectional? And it works through stuff?" The Bat thought aloud, raising her voice as her ideas congealed before her. "You mentioned exactly where our sample of the Shadow was earlier too... Theo! They can detect the Shadow long before any of us can see it coming! Don't you realize how insanely useful that could be?"

The fancy Rat stammered as they choked on the shreds of their ego. "Hhhhnngh I'll... take that into consideration... Eugh if we are going to board this creature. I just hope it's civilized enough to behave as a guest." Theo sneered.

The Arhulian made a grin, showing off their sharp, carnivorous fangs to the Rat, as well as the deep plum hue of their interior flesh. "Considering your kind have reacted negatively to my being - often with violence - my exposure to 'civilization' has been quite limited. If my lack of knowledge bothers you so greatly, perhaps you could take some time to elucidate on the matter of guest-hood~" Niadris smirked. 

"Grrrr... Perhaps I will." Theo scoffed. “But I hope you know, we do not have the culinary erk inventory for something of your dietary needs.” Niadris nodded. “I am more than capable of procuring my own food, so you will not have to worry about my nutrition. In fact, I had eaten a deer a few days prior. I should be satiated for several days at least.” The fancy Rat raised an eyebrow. “You have, egh ‘eaten’ ’a’ deer? I think your grammar is a touch underdeveloped. Don’t you mean you caught a deer? hmph What did you do? Swallow it whole?” Theo sarcastically remarked. “I had to break off those meddlesome antlers, but yes, I devoured it whole.” The Arhulian responded nonchalantly. The foyer was stunned. “A-an entire deer?” Alex said incredulously. Theo’s face contorted with disgust. The thought of a creature this size ingesting prey whole - and possibly alive - summoned dreadful imagery in his mind. “So… that would uh... ‘splain the missing animals without a trace. Heh, we thought that was the Shadow ‘fer a moment there.” Ridge chuckled nervously. Theo did not relish being in the room with this lurid creature any longer than he had to. He turned up his scrunched nose before walking off. He was ready for this evening to end. “As I was stating; ehm your first lesson on etiquette will be on closing the door. You're letting all the warm air escape!" Theo spoke as he slinked to the other room, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter from his suit pocket, needing something to take the edge off. As he puffed on his cigarette, the tingling in his hand faded.

Niadris scuttled forward into the foyer, bowing their head to ensure they cleared the door. As the Arhulian entered, their full figure and size was apparent to Alex, Ridge, and a distant Theo peeking from a doorway. Though superficially resembling a badger from the neck up, from the neck down; the Arhulian had a long, Myriapodic form with six pairs of pointed, centipede-like legs. The limbs started off fleshy, covered in fur, then transitioned to softly curved limb spikes that were off-white in color, like bone or horn after the third joint. The Arhulian's body was long and arranged like that of a large, furry millipede or caterpillar, albeit with no segments. Despite their body arrangement, the Arhulian was mammalian - bone clad in flesh - yet clearly centipede-like in their silhouette and locomotion. Niadris closed the door with a light slap of their long, tapered, heavy tail.

"Holy shit. That's... not somethin' you see everyday." A tired Ridge said, not entirely sure if they were still dreaming or not. 

Alex looked at Niadris and saw that they had the strap of what appeared to be some kind of homemade rucksack across their chest as their only article of clothing. "Yeah, I was about to ask about the lack of clothes... but I guess there's nothing in your size." She remarked lightheartedly, trying to break the tension in the air.

"No. There is not. My metabolism can vary to maintain body heat relative to the environment, so clothes would be unnecessary. In addition, they would both limit my range of movement, and be unlikely to hold up to the kind of abuses my hide experiences." Niadris responded earnestly.

The teal Shark spoke up once there was a gap in the conversation. "So, uh... How do I say this? I don't see nothin' down there, and yet your voice is deeper than an Ironfrost coal mine. What are ya? A guy or girl?" The Shark asked. 

Alex's face went wide with shock before scrunching back down into a glare at the Shark. "Ridge! That's terribly rude to just go and ask someone a thing like that!"

Niadris interjected. "There is no need to chide him. It is a perfectly legitimate question. After all, that den keeper did state there appears to be no documentation whatsoever of my kind in their knowledge base - and given the encounters I have had - neither do the rest of your kind for that matter. To answer the first question, my reproductive organs are housed internally to protect them from the rigors of life. Likewise, the answer to the latter question is that your binary terms are insufficient to describe me. Arhulians possess both the ability to fertilize a mate, and sire children. We are hermaphroditic." Niadris explained. "Your language is... limited in expressing my form, so gender neutral terms will be adequate."

Ridge's face was flush with embarrassment as he realized how personal and blunt his question was. "So yeah, on that... if 'yer talkin' about mates; doesn't that mean there are more of 'you' out there?" The shark said sheepishly, trying to adjust the course of the conversation away from his prying faux pas. He clutched his borrowed pillow tightly. Talking to this thing still seemed like a surreal dream to him.

The Arhulian was silent for several seconds. Up until now, they had been immediate to respond to questions. Alex and Ridge glanced at each other. "My kind are not native to this land. In addition, I have traveled a substantial distance. It is highly unlikely you will encounter another Arhulian." Niadris stated, with a briskness to their voice. 

Alex looked down at Ridge from the second floor and gave Ridge a gesture to "Cut it out." Ridge gave a small nod. Alex sighed. "Well, it's safe to say your arrival has been quite a surprise. I think we all should get some rest and continue your introduction properly tomorrow." The Bat said, waving her arm for Ridge to come over to her.

Ridge added: "Oh, uh, I don't think we have any beds that'd fit you. 'Fer now you'll have to stay in the reading room I was in. Theo's got a big cushy rug in there. The fire is dyin' down, but I'm sure it's better than out there, heh.``

Niadris gave an acknowledging nod while their triangular ears perked up. They then pointed in the direction of the room Ridge came from with their uppermost arms, that had regular - albeit large, clawed - hands instead of a fang-shaped spike like the rest of their limbs. The shark raised an eyebrow. 

"Hey, uh, how do ya know what room I came from?" Ridge asked, confused. 

Alex sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah... I'll explain that in a minute, Ridge. I think Niadris here wants some space, they need a moment to relax after the 'welcome' we gave them." She said, physically pushing on the Shark to usher them out of the foyer.

It was true that they wanted to be left alone. Niadris had little experience dealing with people. They felt exhausted having to keep their composure on total lockdown to appear as non-threatening as possible. Niadris was eager to find this "reading room" Ridge had mentioned. Spatially, they knew exactly where it was based on the Shark's location in their mindsphere. On the other hand, their mindsphere did not consider walls, thus the Arhulian had to take a few moments to figure out how to navigate the interior of the manor to the reading room. 

Despite their size and bulk, the sound of the Arhulian's centipede-like legs scuttling across the floor were much quieter than one would anticipate. Niadris made it a point to take light steps, and maneuver on rugs and carpets to minimize sound. Not out of etiquette, but as a means to hone their stealth. Never before Niadris had such an opportunity to interact and maneuver around people in close proximity in a safe environment.

The Arhulian noted a single aura tailing him; it was the bright, crimson one of Theo. Not desiring further drama, Niadris elected to ignore the Rat's presence as they made their way to the "reading room" Ridge had spoken of. The comforts of fire and shelter were secondary to the Arhulian; what had piqued their interest was the very title of the room itself. Alex and Ridge were returning to their rooms, trying to process the evening's events. "They were... quite the visitor." Ridge said, his tone unsure. Alex looked down at the floor as she walked. "Yeah. Something about them makes my fur stand on end. It's like a creeping feeling going up my back." The tall Shark looked down at his troubled friend. "Are... are ya afraid? They give me the creeps somethin' fierce too." The Bat exhaled. " I... I don't know Ridge. I had my gun pointed right at their head, but they were unfazed. Niadris seemed to know what guns are, yet they treated me like an afterthought. They don't seem dumb either; they gave Theo a good run for their money in a debate. So either they got a damn good poker face, or... this 'Arhulian' might be even tougher than it looks." Alex trailed on, the confidence in her voice gone now that she was in private with the one person here she could truly consider her friend. "...I'm a soldier. A hunter. I've had scraps with big game, I've fought people bigger than me. Even gave ol' lard chops a bloody face." Alex said, referencing her brawl with Hyden. "But that creature, it isn't like anything my training could have prepared me for. I don't fancy getting into a fight with them." Ridge scratched his fin. "So, was letting 'em in really a good idea?" "Personally, I think their alibi passed the sniff test. They could have attacked any time and hit us when we couldn't see it coming. If they wanted to make a move, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be playing mind games like a certain someone I know. We have that going for us at least." Alex paused. "Even so, I feel like they aren't telling us everything." Ridge nodded. As they reached their bedrooms, the two parted ways, then closed the doors to their rooms.

In the other portion of the manor, the Arhulian arrived at the reading room; their three pairs of eyes widened in delight. Wall to wall shelves lined with books! Niadris had very limited experience with books from their fleeting encounters - or spoils - from outsiders. Most of those books contained relatively uninteresting data like logs or journals, or completely fictitious tales. Here however, had an assortment of books on a large variety of subjects and organized quite neatly. The Arhulian removed their handcrafted backpack and pulled something out. It was a thick leather-bound book. It was plainly covered, with the sole word "Dictionary" for the title. 

Niadris' chest seemed to squirm and writhe all on its own, followed by the faintest of popping and cracking of stiff joints. With a sound of flesh being pulled taught, numerous pairs of spindly arms came slinking out from in between the creature's ribs on the sides of their chest! These arms were very thin; near-skeletal in appearance. The hands on them were clawless, and consisted of three vaguely conical digits - two fingers, one thumb. These limbs were much slower and deliberate in their movements, and the leathery skin they had was a very deep plum color, almost black. In their travels, Niadris had quickly learned that the pages of books often were too delicate for their stronger, clawed, "normal" arms.

After tenderly putting away their dictionary, the creature's three pairs of eyes darted all across the room, scanning the spines of each book for topics of interest. The low-light conditions of the dying fire was more than enough for the Arhulian to discern the titles. Then, the Arhulian scuttled across the perimeter of the room, picking out a dozen books before returning to the center of the reading room by the smoldering fireplace. The huge, badger-centipede-like being then rested their long form on the floor, their body and abdomen landing on the carpet with a plompf. Niadris laid out three books with the covers open, while each pair of eyes scanned it's own book.

Theo had been quietly observing the beast from a hidden spot in another room through a peephole; and totally-not-a-hole that he had not gotten around to patching yet. The Rat monitored them carefully, shuddering at the sight of the numerous lanky arms protruding from the Arhulian's chest, and those arms touching his books. Yet, his attention was stolen when he witnessed this creature reading three books at a time! Was this creature really that capable of absorbing knowledge? Then, another thought crept into his mind. "Wait, who taught them to read in the first place?" As his mind contemplated, Theo's eyes widened when the creature looked up, and peered straight at him. Eye to eye contact, as if the wall parting them was not even there. Niadris gestured "come over here" with one of their their large, scythe-like forelimbs that were mounted below their exterior arms. Theo ducked down from the footstool he was standing on - nearly falling off in the process - then he covered his face in embarrassment. It seemed like there really was no hiding from this damned creature.

Letting out a sigh, Theo came to the reading room. The warm tingling sensation in his left hand returned. Was his catalyst stone reacting to this creature? The fancy Rat took slow, cautious steps forward. "It is remarkable. A wealth of knowledge at my fingertips." Niadris spoke aloud. They continued. "For so many years, I had to learn matters in direct fashion. I knew your kind stored information on physical documents, but I never could have imagined this place being lined to the ceiling with this treasure." When Theo was up close to Niadris, and composed enough to listen clearly, the Arhulians stentorian voice seemed to be composed of multiple octaves speaking in perfect unison. The scholarly Rat recalled the Arhulians' comment on their native language... “If the multiple octaves can be modulated separately, the grammar of this species could be phenomenally intricate!” However, Theo had more pressing things on his mind than appealing to his inner linguist, and set aside that tangent in his mind for later. The voice had strong projection, and the beast seemed to be making a concerted effort to whisper - which was speaking volume to Theo’s delicate ears.

Theo initially had some words for the Arhulian prepared, but the "treasure" comment gave him pause. The Rat stood there in silence for several minutes as the Arhulian continued reading what appeared to be volumes from an encyclopedia series, watching their thin ribcage arms turn the pages of each book. The hands were slow, deliberate, and delicate. Near by was a cloth that seemed to have been borrowed to wipe the oils from the creature's hands before interacting with his books. The rat let out a swift, small exhale. This monster treated his things better than some people he's hosted. Theo then spoke up. "At least someone else besides His Grace sees my library for what it is, and not eguh ornamentation. Though, I am surprised you would have any academic interest at all." Theo's words trailed on. Niadris shot a glance at him. "However, I presume it is not a completely irrational observation; a thing like you just can't sceh scuttle into a library. Which begs the question at hand, just who would teach you to read?"

The Arhulian paused, before giving Theo their full attention. "I... am not sure." They responded.

"What." Theo said, the word seemingly having spilled out of his mouth in disbelief. "What do you mean you don't know? How ek! How is that even a facsimile of an answer!? Didn't your moth-er well, parents teach you?" Theo said, his voice raised in frustration.  

Niadris explained. "I do not know how I came to this knowledge. My earliest memories were of me being carried in my brood lord's abdomen. In my cradle of flesh, I would see and hear the world as they would. They would make demonstrations for me to observe as I nursed inside them. Their past memories would come to me in my dreams." As the Arhulian narrated, Theo shuddered at the prospect of being entombed alive and conscious in writhing, moist, undulating flesh from all sides. The fancy Rat took a deep breath and persisted in wading through the graphic descriptions from the beast - he wanted answers for the trouble he had gone through this evening. 

Theo waited for an opening in the creature's explanation to jump in. "Your kind- urk Arhulians, have hereditary memory? If so, how is it you do not know where your knowledge came from? Perhaps a past ancestor?" Theo questioned, only half seriously.

The Arhulian shook its head in disappointment. "If only the answer was that simple. It is far more complex, and I am uncertain of the details. I will tell you what I know." Theo rubbed his brow, adjusted his glasses, and nodded. "When I dream, I see fragments of memories; but these memories are abnormal. I see... a settlement, a school, memories of a life not only not that of my ancestors, but not of my kind entirely... and our biology cannot interbreed. That I do know." 

Theo gestured for the creature to get on with it. It was unconscionably late.

"I do have one possible hypothesis. There is another way our kind can exchange memories and experience. A ritual called Arhel-vāl." The strange word was accentuated by the Arhulian's multitudinous voice. "In your tongue, the closest word to it and what it means is amalgamation. Two mature specimens of our kind, typically one larger than their partner, subsumes the other into their flesh..." Theo's stomach churned at the vexing, visceral, possibly even vulgar imagery the Arhulian had verbally illustrated to him. "...but unlike ordinary cannibalism, the subsumed being is absorbed alive, mind intact, and two, become one." Niadris described, sparing no detail, much to Theo's revulsion.

The fancy Rat's tail quaked as his analytical mind began to put together a picture his sensibilities did not want to see. "You're hnnngh suggesting you have Esss assimilated a person?" He said, his mind racing as fast as his heart. "Oh heavens! Is that why it is here? To consume our minds and seize our knowledge?!" Theo's mind screamed.

The Arhulian peered down at the Rat. "Your luminant aura is flaring and seething. Do you find this knowledge troubling?" Niadris asked. Theo looked at the beast glaring down at him, his eyes wide with terror. "I see. You imagine me as your would-be predator." The beast let out a hushed, hellish chuckle with their deep, multitudinous voice. "Worry not, Theo. The ritual of Arhel-vāl is strictly between my kind; the 'donor' in question must be of the utmost certainty in their union - lest their knowledge be torn apart in a maelstrom of panic and fear. Your kind were never even considered a possibility due to the mental fortitude required to uphold the ritual. The being that amalgamated with me - whomever they were - must have been exceptional in their conviction."

The trembling Theo swallowed. "Well, erf I suppose that is good to know. Hrf Well, if you'll excuse me, egk I need to be getting some rest.” He stammered. “It is dreadfully late. And do take care to return my books exactly as you have found them. hgn It was painstaking to order them all as I have." With an abnormal spring in their step, the fancy Rat wheeled around and left the reading room with haste. 

"By the gods, what is that thing? How does it exist? And why did it show up to MY manor, of all places?" Theo cogitated. Their attempt to seek out answers seemed to have only made the question mark hovering over this mysterious creature even fatter. Theo paced around the manor, and passed by the room Hyden was sleeping in; him blissfully unaware of all that had transpired this evening. Theo raised his gloved hand, as if to knock on the door, but he stopped himself. "I can't disturb His Grace during his rest... but I must inform him of this aberrant thing as soon as I can." 

Theo, anxious and jittering, sat down on a cushioned chair outside of Hyden's room, fumbling with a pack of cigarettes. Alone with his thoughts his mind began to wander; all trains of thought leading back to that enigmatic creature. A particular moment from the Arhulian’s behavior stood out to Theo. The way they retreated to the library, and found refuge in books where they were not judged for their appearance or the mannerisms that others found odd... Theo shivered as he felt what was quite possibly a degree of familiarity with this creature. He did not want to fancy such feelings. The Rat shook their head and calmed their mind enough for exhaustion to take its toll; his head bobbed down, and the unlit cigarette in his hand fell onto the floor beside him as he lapsed into sleep right in his chair. The heavyset Rabbit snoozing under their blanket on the other side of the door was the only person in the manor to have had quality sleep that evening.

[cattailbouquet]

TWF 4 Thoughts + Theories

TW: Suicide mention

This is quite long. I had a lot of thoughts.

I loved it! A huge part of what drew me to TWF in the first place was the bigger focus on the human characters, something that stuff like FNAF didn't have as much of at the time. And episode four DELIVERS. Imo, the best horror stories make you care about the victims and/or delight in the villain's terrible antics, and TWF does both super well.

Spoilers Below:

We finally met Charles! Him and Susan are fun to listen to. 

Banny continues to be a ladyfailure and smashes into a table. 

So apparently the facial recognition has always had an issue w/ Sophie? Huh.

The employee’s seeming disinterest in what's going on is a bit concerning? "I don't want anything to do with it." Charles I've got bad news.

Susan's death/undeath had been depicted several times already, which doesn't take away from what we see here. The Snap? The Breathing?? Those vile squelching noises??? The rabbit may be starving but I’m put off the next several meals.

"bon" was just as spooky as I'd hoped. I, among others, was under the impression that he was a representation of Bon's facial recognition system or A.I., but that doesn't seem to be the case, since we see him approach the robot? You horrible ghost man what is your deal. The happy little hand clasp Bon did after brutally murdering a woman was morbid enough to be hilarious. The scene of him talking to Susan in Wonderland was so eerie and sad.

Felix becomes a bigger slimeball by the second. He's so terrible in such a real way. The fact that he dug a grave for himself and then proceeded to back away from the cliff sums him up perfectly. He's too scared to take that kind of action on his own, but he'll dig a hole and wait to drop dead. Even in this, he will always choose inaction. Everything he does is to try to avoid consequences. He barely spares a second thought for the two little kids who loved him enough to call him "Uncle."

Edd and Molly are super cool. I was kind of expecting them to just hang around being scary and/or sad, but it looks like these two are going to be major players here. Bunnyfarm makes it seem like they're on board w/ the idea of Sophie joining them, but that might've been a misdirection. E+M might be opposed to the idea of becoming "beautiful"? Hydrogen bon vs. coughing babies.

Speculation/Ideas:

Does "bon" purposefully mangle the bodies in an attempt to push them into accepting becoming “beautiful”? Or is it a flaw in the Bon animatronic that “bon” is exploiting? Or both? Their faces don’t fit what the system says, so “bon” spurs the robot into trying to make them fit.

Edd seems weirdly ok with Susan wandering around the purgatory and needs to be nudged into action by Molly. I could see that causing problems later.

I had a feeling that Bon wasn’t Just Possessed By Jack. If it were that simple, Bunnyfarm would’ve been the perfect time to reveal it. If Jack is dead and connected to Bon, then he’s not the one at the wheel. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t dead at all. I have no clue why he would up and leave his family, though.

I could see E+M trying to stall “bon” by playing keep-away with the other victim’s souls, at least initially? They probably wouldn’t be successful with this until later down the line with Brian? Maybe? He’s the only victim who isn’t confirmed to be in an animatronic, nor does he talk about being “beautiful” like the others. We haven’t heard from him since episode one so this could easily change.

What oh what is that under the tarp? The little bedsheet ghost looking thing. A new friend, I hope.

All in all, a beautiful episode. Worth the wait! Can’t wait for 5+6!

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (132-133)

From the self-indulgent lows of finding out there's fic about you and your secret husband, to the legitimate lows of Bryce's final few months in Calgary.

If you want to read along, the series page is here.

132. Addressing the Audience

Treating myself by breaking the fourth wall a bit.

Jared fucks up his ankle with the most perfect timing in the world — right before the Canucks are off on their first official roadie. A roadie that includes Edmonton and Calgary, among other cities. It’s not too bad, he’s assured repeatedly, all ‘could have been worse’ positivity that would bug him more if it hadn’t been so close — he found a rut and he went down like he was shot, didn’t even fucking know what was happening, barely managed to brace himself. He could have snapped his ankle, landed on his wrist and broken it or his arm, blown his knee out. He got lucky.

Jared has actually been supremely lucky on the injury front throughout his career. When he does get injured, it’s not for long, and often could be worse.

Being injured is frustrating. And boring. Jared’s bored. Jared’s bored, and mad, because the Canucks are in Edmonton and Jared is not, and he couldn’t even sneak his way on the plane because there’s no way he’s game ready by the end of the road trip, plus he has appointments and check-ins constantly so he can’t like, fly off to Calgary in the guise of being moral support for the team. If it was a little better he could have flown with the team, if it was worse he could have gone back to Calgary to recuperate. He’s in an annoying fucking middle as far as LTIR goes.

Jared is a worse patient than Bryce in every measurable way. He should have been reminded of this incessently when Bryce was recuperating, but the ones dealing with it were mostly Elaine and Stephen. Elaine's too nice, and Jared (mostly) knew better than to bitch about Bryce taking his injury poorly to a dude whose hockey career abruptly ended at the age of 21.

Julius plays a hell of a game — Jared is not sulking ‘like a scowly little baby’ that they can’t hang out after, despite what one Stephen Petersen says

Who do you believe, Stephen Petersen or a scowly little baby?

Would have won by more if I was there, Jared texts Julius, and gets an eyeroll emoji from him right around the time he would have gotten his second star of the game, wrapped up media, retreated to his stall. He texted Jared pre-shower. That’s touching. Jared’s touched.

Jared says this sarcastically but he is 100% legitimately touched.

“He’s sulking,” Stephen tells Gabe.

“I’m not sulking,” Jared mumbles.

“Couple more weeks,” Gabe says. “Just be happy you didn’t do it when we finally got to go somewhere warm.”

“You’re flying to my husband’s city tomorrow,” Jared mutters. “What the fuck do I care about the weather.”

“Our baby’s cranky, Gabe,” Stephen says, then, “Fuck off, you don’t hit the driver!”

Stephen’s baby has gone from infancy to a sullen teenager, apparently.

And yes, never hit the operator of heavy machinery, even if he deserves it.

Stephen bitches about it, but considering he’s the one picking Jared up and driving him home — he’s still not allowed to drive, which is annoying — Jared is pretty sure he doesn’t mind. It is literally within his control how often Jared’s there.

He’s onto you, Stephen.

By the time Stephen returns he’s googled their names together and found like — stories. About them. And gifs. And something called a ‘ship primer’ which has a lot of information about him and Bryce. Like, an uncomfortable amount. Like technically public knowledge but you’d have to be really interested. And puts together some pieces way more cleanly than Jared would like.

Twenty minutes could bring you very, very far down that particular rabbit hole.

“What do you mean ‘they do that’?” Jared says.

Stephen yawns. “A small contingent are convinced Gabe and Dmitry are dating, have been for like, a literal decade, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

And that doesn’t infuriate Stephen at ALL.

“I wouldn’t call Dmitry good looking,” Jared says. “And Gabe—”

“You say a single disparaging word about Gabe and you’re clomping home on that injured ankle of yours after I kick it,” Stephen says.

Valid.

“—is very handsome,” Jared says, who is one-hundred percent Stephen would be petty enough to do it, and his painkillers haven’t kicked in yet. “Best looking Canuck by far.”

“Overselling it, Matheson,” Stephen says dryly. “Everyone’s fully aware you’re the prettiest princess of them all.”

Your occasional reminder that Jared is fucking beautiful, no matter how much he minimizes it.

“Pretend you never saw them,” Stephen says. “Pretend they don’t exist. Selective amnesia. That’s what Gabe does.”

“What do you do?” Jared says.

“Find it deeply offensive on Gabe’s behalf that anyone would think he would have such poor standards as to date Dmitry Kurmazov,” Stephen says.

Don’t talk to him about the Gabe Markson/Jake Lourdes fics in existence.

“I will confiscate that from you,” Stephen says. “That is going ten steps further down the road from googling yourself to read about your play. Don’t do it. Leave it to PR.”

“PR knows about this?” Jared asks.

Oh you better believe PR knows about it.

“Be like Gabe,” Stephen says. “Selective amnesia.”

It sounds like a good tack to take. One that Jared will probably be incapable of, but a good one.

“There’s probably more about you and Halla anyway,” Stephen says.

Stephen immediately following good advice with being a shit-stirrer. And he is correct on this matter as well. He knows a good bromance when he sees one.

Jared has forgotten everything. Jared has forgotten everything, so he is not obligated to tell his husband that there are stories about them, knowing that Bryce would panic, and he is not aware that E means explicit, as in explicit sex, meaning that people have written about fictional stories about him, Jared Matheson, having sex, and he is not completely enraged that there are, in fact, more stories about him and Julius than there are about him and Bryce.

Nothing Happened.

“How’s your morning babe?” Bryce says when Jared calls him over breakfast.

“Oh, fine, good, y’know,” Jared says. “I mean, not fine, injured, which sucks but like — considering.”

I think he does an admirable job not immediately blurting out ‘do you know people write about us having sex?’ frankly.

“I’m drinking from your Eeyore mug,” Bryce says. “If like. You want a pathetic image of how much I miss you. And Chaz threatened to kill me yesterday if I didn’t stop sighing.”

Sooooft.

“I really fucking miss you, Bryce,” Jared says before he can stop himself.

“I really fucking miss you too,” Bryce says, and Jared’s eyes are stinging when Bryce has to hang up to go to work.

Oh boys.

133. Affliction

Jared’s back on the ice for literally one game before Bryce fucks up his shoulder. They’re cursed. They have to be.

“You play a high impact contact sport professionally,” Stephen says when Jared says as much, talking to Jared likes he’s a toddler. “Injuries are inevitably a part of it.”

“Cursed,” Jared insists.

Yes, it is that shoulder. Again. By the time Bryce was broken by a baby it was hanging on by a thread.

He’s a big sulky baby when he’s particularly sore, and Jared will never, ever tell him it’s kind of endearing because obviously he shouldn’t encourage that sort of behaviour.

He will no longer find it endearing later, so it is probably good he never did tell him that.

The Bryceless Flames fly into town. Jared gets dinner with Chaz and does not sulk through it, no matter what Chaz says. Chaz should appreciate his presence.

Everywhere Chaz goes, a big sulky baby can be found.

Jared thinks about that moment a lot in the coming months: Bryce and his bright eyes and the coiled tension in his body, the excitement to get back on the ice, to play his game, to help his team. Bryce like a little kid on Christmas. Bryce happy.

Bryce stops smiling when he gets back.

Wow, chill with that scene transition, Satan.

It’s this ugly feedback loop, where the worse Bryce plays, the worse the media and the fanbase lands on him. It gets into his head. Bryce is shaken, you don’t need to be married to him to see he has absolutely zero confidence in himself right now, will pass instead of shoot, hesitate just long enough for the puck to get taken away. He gets a few, a player as talented as him is always going to get a few, but every time it seems like his offence is coming back it slips right through his fingers.

It is always stunning, how much an elite player can deteriorate in a perfect storm. It can honestly go from 'people fight over rights to me on their fantasy teams' to 'this man cannot hockey'.

And it’s fucking killing Bryce, he’s angry and sad and empty and numb at turns every time Jared talks to him, and Jared lets him vent, listens when Bryce needs him to listen, says all the reassuring things that are cliche because they’re true. All players have slumps. He just needs to get his confidence back. He needs to stop overthinking things and just go out and play hockey. Things Bryce’s coach is telling him, things Chaz is probably telling him. He must be sick of hearing them by now but he never cuts Jared off, lets Jared say them, maybe because he knows it makes Jared feel a little better, because at least saying something isn’t doing nothing.

Trade deadline day’s always an anxious one, but Jared feels genuinely sick going into it.

We just spanned over two months in one paragraph, because this is an Upper Case Series, and things would get downright lowercase if we hadn’t. Plus, you know. It’s just going to get worse, so.

Bryce has a no-move clause in the back-end of his contract, but it doesn’t kick in until the offseason, so he could be headed anywhere right now.

Not anywhere, anywhere, but it’s a 15 team no trade list at the moment, so half of anywhere. And huh, interesting fact about that upcoming no move clause, huh?

It’s a 3 team trade list, otherwise NMC, which I'd say is almost unrealistically pro-player, but a) Bryce left a not insignificant amount of money on the table at the time to secure it, because he was all in on Jared Matheson long before Jared was comfortable acknowledging that, and Jared should be settled into his team/career at 22 and b) the RL San Jose Sharks had like five players with one of those at one point. Sorry for any pain that any Sharks fan just experienced. You’re already suffering enough this season.

Chaz was the only fucking guy on that team that gives a shit about Bryce. So now it’s going to be nobody. Nobody in Bryce’s corner, nobody to hang out with on roadies, or team dinners, nobody to invite him over so he doesn’t go back into that shell he keeps hiding in, shutting out the world like it’ll help.

Bryce still has Ashley when in Calgary (they in fact hang out MORE after, because they're both pretty lonely), but yeah, he’s now completely at sea in that Flames room.

“Did you punch through our wall?” Jared says.

Bryce’s silence is sheepish.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your fucking hand,” Jared snaps. He’s probably going to have to ask his dad to fix it, because fuck knows he doesn’t trust the discretion of some random Calgarian contractor not to spread a ‘Bryce Marcus Punched a Wall (We Presume Because He Wanted to Be Traded, That Ingrate)’ to add fuel to the fire. “Are you icing it?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “I just — he was literally the only good part of playing for the Flames right now. Everything else is shit, and it’s just — fuck.”

Obviously not an IDEAL way to react (especially because injuring himself at this juncture would be brutal), but considering where Bryce’s head is right now, it could have been much worse.

“Can you like, tie me to your bed and refuse to let me leave at the end?” Bryce says.

Look, he’d never refuse to report, but he thinks ‘kidnapped and tied to bed’ would make it not his fault. Also it sounds fun.

Bryce looks — rough when he gets to Vancouver, empty-handed slump shouldered at Jared’s door. It’s kind of a shock. Like, Jared’s seen pictures, clips of play, seen him on video calls, but it isn’t until he’s within arms reach, face to face, that he can see how washed out Bryce is, exhausted, like some kind of source of — light or something has burnt out.

He is already so burnt out at this point, and he still has the rest of the season and postseason to go.

What they do is a lot more violent than a hug, though that’s the closest word Jared can think of, Bryce breathing fast in his ear like he just got off a shift, Jared’s ribs aching, Bryce crushing the breath out of his lungs, and Jared doesn’t give a fuck, he doesn’t, he holds on just as tight and he lets it hurt for as long as Bryce needs it to.

It’s so blindingly obvious Bryce adores Jared. Less obvious the other way around, even though we’re in Jared’s head, but man, Jared loves Bryce so fucking much.

“I need you to be like, within arm’s reach until I have to leave,” Bryce says. “I know that sounds pathetic, but—”

“It doesn’t,” Jared says. “I can do that. Like, maybe not during the game, that’d raise some eyebrows, but—”

Bryce’s laugh sounds torn out of him. Jared wants to burn the entire city of Calgary down. He’ll tell his family to get out first.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Bryce says, voice so small, and Jared holds on tighter.

So fucking much. (The Mathesons and Murrays appreciate the heads up.)

“And if someone notices you just ghosted?” Jared says.

“Mom lives here,” Bryce says. “Can just say I fell asleep at her place. I doubt they’d get all worked up.”

“But if they do?” Jared asks. Usually that’d be true, but Jared is extremely aware how thin the ice Bryce is standing on is right now. Bryce is aware of that too.

Jared got a midnight knock on the door from his coach due to bullshit politics, so not an invalid concern on his part.

“I literally don’t care, Jared, if they’re going to act like I’m a fucking problem child I’ll be a fucking problem child,” Bryce snaps.

This has been Bryce’s attitude for so many situations in his life (with the Flames, with Calgary media, with Dave, with the camp, preemptively with his mom very briefly in his teens as a sort of 'will you still love me if I am a total douchebag to you?'/too cool to be nice to mom thing but it made her sad and that made him sad so he stopped real quick) and it really doesn’t do him any favours.

“I just want to have like, one night where I get to be with you and just be me and not to think about their bullshit and I just—” Bryce says. “Can we have that?”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Of course.”

“Thanks,” Bryce says. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me for being like, a bare minimum husband,” Jared says.

“You’re a maximum husband,” Bryce says earnestly.

“Okay but like am I allowed to make fun of you right now?” Jared says.

Bryce’s eyes narrow.

“Because that was like the worst fucking—” Jared says, and laughs when Bryce bites his shoulder.

The emotional range here from Bryce being angry and clipped, to unironically calling Jared a maximum husband, to biting him. And Jared going with Bryce when Bryce needs it and taking the piss out of him for being soft. He’s gotten so much better at teasing Bryce without trodding on his feelings at this point.

Jared skates over to centre ice, but Bryce isn’t looking at him, doesn’t see him, and after a moment, feeling awkward, he skates back over to Gabe.

This is quietly one of the saddest sentences to me. Also really says something about just how bad Bryce’s headspace is right now, because that man has an internal Jared alert system installed by this point.

[vulpes-fennec]

Don't Say Yes, Run Away Now

Summary: What if things took a different turn when Rhys shows up at Feyre and Tamlin's wedding? Warning: SMUT

Read on AO3

For @officialfeysandweek2023 Day 7 (Free Day)

***Rhys***

She liked to think about his mouth on her, especially on the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She tried to imagine what his broad hands would explore, how he would feel inside of her. Sometimes she pictured him moving slowly, other times her mind drifted towards something more fast-paced—urgent. Once, she considered taking charge, tracing her hand reverently across the skin of his wings and leaving him groaning with her tongue. 

He didn’t seek her out specifically, didn’t feel right about this invasion of privacy, even though every inch of him was screaming, yearning to learn more. He wanted to be fully present with his mate, instead of peeking through the windows of her mind and watching her life from the sidelines. 

But whenever she pleasured herself, her desires were so strong that they blew through his mental wards. He knew when she came, and was all too familiar with the knowledge that the following shame and guilt was when she realized it was, again, because of him. 

***Feyre***

“Is it not a lady’s dream come true, to marry her true love?” Elain had sighed wistfully three years ago. Hunched over on the rickety stool, with a threadbare dress, shivering from the chill, Feyre had looked up from the rabbit she was skinning.

Her sister was prone to such romantic daydreams. Still, Feyre had conceded with a “perhaps,” her mind drifting to Isaac Hale’s brown-eyed gaze. The only boy in her life had not stirred such feelings from her heart, though she did feel jealousy from time to time. No, he could not be her true love.

I did not dream of marriage back then, because I did not love Isaac. Today I am marrying Tamlin…so why do I still feel the same way? 

She was unrecognizable in the mirror. Her golden-blonde hair, curled into an elaborate pile of ringlets. Her lips, painted a dusty rose pink. The gauzy veil that would not hide her hesitations as she walked down the aisle. The Spring Court was known for its extravagance, but even this was too much. Her wedding gown was a mountain of puffed satin and tulle, with loops of ribbon and embroidered white flowers assaulting her eyes. 

It’s because I don’t love Tamlin. 

The conclusion came crashing down at the eleventh hour, despite weeks of attempting to fend it off. Roiling nausea threatened to send her to the bathroom. Feyre clenched her jaw and swallowed the pooling saliva, forcing herself to breathe. Wrong, wrong, everything was so wrong. In her distress, the edge of her glove had slipped down slightly, revealing the swirling black ink of her bargain tattoo with Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. Feyre’s mouth twitched in a barely suppressed growl as she tugged it back up. Bearing the mark of another male on her wedding day to another was…it was…

Rhysand’s violet eyes shining in the dim light of the dungeons. His feline grin driving her mad. The heat of his tongue along her cheek—

The door knocked, scattering Feyre’s memories.  

“It’s time, Feyre.” Alis peeked into the room, regarding her with a carefully neutral expression. Feyre turned and nodded, forcing the corners of her mouth to turn upwards. 

The opulently wall-papered halls of the manor seemed to close in on them as Feyre walked towards the lawn. Alis, thankfully, kept silent, as if she knew Feyre was trying to sort through her emotions before the ceremony. 

We were never the same after Amarantha, she reflected. Feyre’s slippered feet grew heavier with each step, as if urging her to stall the wedding for as long as possible. Tamlin…his anger had grown deeper. His simple jealousy had twisted into suffocating overprotectiveness…he had become afraid to live. To let me live. 

Night after night, waves of nausea and guilt colliding in the marble bathroom, tears streaking down her cheeks…all while the High Lord of Spring continued to sleep silently, in her bed. 

Don’t be silly Feyre, he wasn’t sleeping, she told herself. He could hear everything. He couldn’t comfort me during my worst, because he couldn’t help himself, Feyre suddenly realized. Is this what eternity will be like? Spending forever with a husband who simultaneously cares too much and too little? Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

The spring sunlight, once warm and gentle, was now piercingly bright. As if its rays proclaimed, “look! Look at this once-human wretch, happily ever after handed to her on a golden platter, and she doesn’t want it!” to the entire audience.

When Feyre finally stopped squinting her eyes, it became clear that Ianthe had done her worst. The lords and ladies of Spring, dressed in finery and beaming at her expectantly. A whole quartet, playing a lilting wedding song. A sky-high tiered cake, more than enough for all the party attendants and piled with candied flowers, was bordering on tasteless. Crimson rose petals were scattered down the white carpet, like droplets of blood. That bitch, Feyre seethed internally. She knows how much I hate the color red, yet out of all the colors of spring, she picks red. The blonde priestess was smiling at the dais, soft white hands clasped demurely in front of her robe. But Ianthe’s blue eyes were victoriously smug, as if she was waiting for Feyre to break down in front of all of Spring Court’s nobility.

Don’t give her what she wants, Feyre resolved to herself. She took a deep breath, clutched her bouquet of sickeningly sweet flowers a little tighter, and stepped forward. And again. And again. She mechanically flicked her eyes towards Tamlin every few seconds. Tall, strong, confident…for the first time in a while, the High Lord looked the part. But Feyre knew he was anything but that. 

She’d seen too many dark circles, instances of frazzled hair, and tense workings of his jaw. The sighs at the dinner table, the haunted expressions during their garden strolls. Feyre couldn’t fathom calling the male standing before her her “husband”. The title left a bitter taste on Feyre’s tongue, the very sound of it making her cringe. A hollow feeling was deepening in her gut, a dizzying nausea pounding her head. 

What if I don’t marry Tamlin? Up ahead, Tamlin offered her a small smile of encouragement. Her own smile felt more like a grimace.

If I don’t marry him, Ianthe would probably go after him, Feyre suspected. The cunning, power-grabbing priestess had been poisoning Tamlin’s mind with her whispers the last few months, and would probably send Spring Court into a downward spiral soon. 

Is it too late? The expectant faces of wedding attendants said so. The crescendoing music, each step closer to the Tamlin, said so. The engagement ring, in all its symbolism of commitment, said so.

I haven’t said my vows yet, though. Feyre squeezed her bouquet even harder, her heart thudding faster than ever in her chest. The ring is just a rock. This event…no one will die if I don’t follow through. Not like what happened Under the Mountain, with the fae I had to kill. 

Crimson droplets of blood, all over her knife, all over her hands. 

I can’t marry him. I won’t marry him. 

Feyre stopped in her tracks. 

She didn’t think this moment through. Suddenly, everybody’s smiles seemed frozen, if not a little forced, like they were confused about what had just happened, but still trying to pretend everything was still alright.  

Feyre was trembling now, a mixture of fear and heady adrenaline bubbling in her veins. Shit, shit, shit. Help! Feyre’s mind scrambled for something, anything to excuse herself. What do I do, what do I do? I need help—

A clap of thunder boomed, rattling her teeth and sending nobles screaming. A massive slash of darkness appeared out of thin air, as if a piece of the void was tearing the picturesque scene of Spring apart. 

The beautiful male who stepped out of the rip was impeccably dressed in black, his hands tucked into his pants pockets. Night incarnate, with narrowed violet eyes, full lips curved in a smug smirk, brown skin that was rich and powerful. Rhysand.

***Rhys***

The clap of thunder to accompany the otherwise silent winnowing would be a nice effect, Rhys had decided, seconds before he heard Feyre’s panic down their mental bond. The mating bond, actually, he corrected himself.

He still couldn’t believe his mate was Feyre Archeron. And had spent the last few months fruitlessly trying to block her thoughts from his mind. He’d allowed himself a cheat day because she was getting married today—to Tamlin, of all males—and look at what happened. His mate needed him, even if she didn’t necessarily want him. So here he was.

Still, it felt good to rattle the Spring Court’s nobility whenever he could. 

“Oh, is this bad timing?” he blinked nonchalantly as he strolled onto the sprawling lawn. Fae scrambled away from the darkness spreading after him, staining the verdant grass black. 

There she was, his beautiful mate. Even if she wore a hideously puffy gown, her lovely face half-hidden by the veil, Feyre was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. She was trembling, not from fear, but from surprise. He forced his eyes away from her, glancing over at Tamlin with a blank stare. 

“What are you doing here?” The High Lord of Spring snarled. “You do realize you are trespassing on another court, do you not?”

Rhys shrugged. “You do realize Feyre Archeron and I share a bargain, that stipulates her presence at my court for one week every month, do you not? I’ve come to collect her now…didn’t realize it was your wedding day.”

Tamlin’s lips pulled back, revealing gleaming white teeth, when he realized he was bound by fae law to allow Feyre to honor her bargain with his sworn enemy. “If you don’t bring her back, unharmed, in seven days—” Tamlin let the threat hang in the air. 

“Oh, I promise to take very good care of her.” Rhys turned towards his mate, a secretive gleam of starlight twinkling in his violet eyes. Feyre was still staring at him, open-mouthed. “Perhaps I can even teach her a few things.” 

His suggestive remark didn’t even land; Tamlin and the rest of the wedding party were too shocked to register it. Feyre’s blue-gray eyes turned towards Tamlin apprehensively. Rhys smugly noted that she didn’t object to the arrangement, for any bride in love with her fiance should have pitched a fit at wedding delays. He crossed the distance between them and wordlessly gripped her elbow, pulling her closer with a bored expression on his handsome face. His mate was stiff as a board, her heart galloping like a horse. 

“Hold on,” Rhys murmured into Feyre’s ear, voice edged with amusement. She flinched again when he winnowed away, channeling the depths of his power to make the tremendous leap across Prythian, from Spring Court to Night Court. 

Feyre wrenched herself away from his grip, gasping with shock as she took in the pale stone columns, the vaulted ceilings, the ornate furniture of the Moonstone Palace above the Hewn City. For a moment, she looked like she was about to vomit. 

“What was that?” she gasped, her bridal veil askew.

“Never winnowed before?” Rhys teased, tucking his hands back into his pockets. He angled his head slightly, unabashedly checking out his mate. “Apologies, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Where am I?” Gods, she was so stunning, with those sharp blue eyes and flushed cheeks, that he almost forgot how to speak. She kept a good distance from him, her gloved hands balled into fists. A pity both their walls were still up, when all Rhys wanted was to let them down. 

“My home. My court is ruled from the mountain below, but…you will find privacy from them here.” 

“Like Under the Mountain?” Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying not to remember those harrowing three months. Rhys suppressed a shudder; those 50 years had wrought significant damage on him. But he was Fae. Feyre had been human, and endured it all. He was proud of her, though if he somehow found a way to tell her that, she would probably laugh at him. 

“I’d say Amarantha’s version was a pathetic attempt to mimic my court,” Rhys picked a speck of lint from his lapel. “But enough about that female.” 

“Why did you bring me here?” 

“My, my. So many questions, Feyre darling.” Rhys chuckled. He walked around her, circling her slowly. Feyre’s eyes followed him with suspicion. “You needed help, and I obliged. I’m sure you were dying to know when I’d stop by to honor our bargain…Spring can get awfully frilly sometimes.” 

She wrinkled her nose in the most adorable manner. “I don’t think about you at all, actually.” 

“Is that so?” Rhys stepped closer, backing Feyre up against a lounge chair. His smile is infuriatingly beautiful, she was thinking. He’s so tall, too. And his lips…they’re close enough for me to kiss. Oh gods…

Rhys tipped her chin up delicately, noting the slight shiver that passed through her body at his touch. At the dusting of pink that bloomed over her cheekbones. “I can hear your thoughts, darling. And I think we both know just how often you’ve thought of me the last few months.” 

The shock that filled her wide blue eyes was delicious. Rhys laughed, finally sauntering towards the other end of the hall, which ended in a veranda open to the stars. “I’m willing to accept your thanks at any time, you know,” he called to Feyre without looking back. 

Did the wind-swept peaks of the Illyrian mountains appear inhospitable to her? Unwelcoming? Did she find the indigo night sky, with its faint tinge of pink on the horizon, just as beautiful as he did? Was the moonstone palace to her liking, despite her affronted expression?

His instincts sensed something hurtling towards him.

A slim half second later, a sharp, clunky object slammed into the back of his head. Pain erupted from the point of impact, leaving Rhys clutching his head with disbelief. 

Feyre Archeron had thrown a shoe at him, and was wielding her remaining shoe like a javelin. Her expression was fierce, wild, and nearly had Rhys falling to his knees at how formidable she was. 

“Taking off your shoes? I see you’re making yourself right at home,” Rhys purred. 

“Fuck you,” Feyre snapped. She was more embarrassed than angry, for the crimson flush of her cheeks and averted gaze indicated shame rather than challenge.   

“I didn’t pry that much darling. A High Lord has far more important things to do.” Rhys shrugged with a half-apology, for it was true. He only felt what she sent down the bond. “Be a good girl for me here, and I’ll keep your…fantasies a secret from Tamlin.” Feyre’s eyes flashed again, and she raised her other shoe higher. Rhys felt his lips pull back from his teeth. “I dare you.” 

Feyre flung the shoe at him, but this time, Rhys was prepared. It dissolved into a fistful of glittering black dust.  

“Fine.” Feyre gritted out. “I think you are attractive, so what?” She crossed her arms, half-glaring at him. 

There are other things we can keep secret from Tamlin. Rhys cursed internally as he felt blood rushing to his cock. Did she really just say that? If that meant she wasn’t in love with Tamlin…Rhys shoved the delusions away, refusing to get his hopes up. 

“So what?” Rhys echoed, feeling a little faint.

“All Fae are attractive. You’re not special, Rhysand.” 

“Really,” he drawled lazily.

“You crashed my wedding, destroyed one of my shoes,” Feyre continued. “So I don’t feel like thanking you today.”  

“While your appreciation is greatly desired, I am committed to ensuring my guests have a comfortable stay regardless.” Rhys gave her a sarcastic smile. 

“I’d like to see you try,” she shot back, challenge flaring in her eyes. “I suppose I could use a bed after such an eventful day.”

“Oh? Is a bed all you need?” Rhys fought the urge to fidget with his jacket cuffs. 

Feyre shrugged. “Some company in it would also be nice.” She gave him a coy smile. 

He didn’t need to hear anything else. Rhys picked up the slipper Feyre had thrown at him, and crossed the span of the gilded room in several long strides. Threw his mate over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes without missing a beat. She stiffened at first, but then relaxed when his fingers stroked her lower back. The heat of Feyre’s skin through her dress, her scent of pear and lilac…Rhys felt dizzy at their proximity. 

Her puffy wedding gown nearly obscured his view as he walked up the stairs. Rhys swore he’d destroy this damn thing, turn this ugly dress into dust the moment they had a bit of privacy.   

***Feyre***

Like all things related to Rhysand, Feyre didn’t think she’d get this far. She was a little dazed as he carried her up the winding stairs, wondering how it was possible that she was getting ready for her wedding day in Spring Court just this morning. Rhysand laid her onto a massive bed with surprising gentleness, her body sinking into the puff of her gown. 

“Bed. Now.” 

Rhysand laughed softly, his chuckle deep as the night. “So demanding, Feyre darling.” But he obliged, shrugging off his black jacket and joining her on the bed. Before he could settle down, Feyre lurched upwards, bringing her mouth to his. 

The searing heat of desire that burned down her body was a stark contrast to how soft and full his lips were. They were very nice lips to look at, Feyre thought, and even better lips to kiss. His initial freeze of surprise was quickly remedied when he deepened the kiss, his tongue running along the seam of her lips, desperate to taste her. 

Rhys straddled her somehow, careful to keep the majority of his weight off her body, as he kissed her again, and again, and again. As if he couldn’t get enough of her. Feyre breathed in his scent of sea salt and citrus, marveling at how one kiss led to another without any effort. Each kiss was a little different, some were more delicate pecks at the corner of her mouth, others were more feral with the bite of his teeth against her lip.

“What are you going to do about the dress?” Feyre asked teasingly when they broke apart for air. “The female in your bed is wearing a wedding dress meant for another man.” 

Rhysand’s violet eyes darkened with a murderous glint. But his voice was a casual drawl. “Destroy it, of course. Burn it, or turn it to dust, I don’t care.” His gaze traveled down her body. “I hope you didn’t choose this dress, darling, because it’s gods awful.”

“Of course not.” Feyre was disgruntled. “It’s Ianthe’s work, can’t you tell?” 

“That explains it,” Rhysand grimaced. His hands worked against the pins in her hair, undoing them so he could pull off the veil. It was flung into some corner of the room. As he pulled the gloves off, he peppered her arm with kisses, giving special attention to the swirling tattoo on her left arm. Already, the white fabric was disintegrating under his touch. 

“Don’t…mist me,” Feyre warned, a tinge of concern rising in her. Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord in Prythian; one careless flick and she’d be dead. 

“I would never,” Rhysand crooned as he dissolved the entirety of her gown and underthings, leaving her utterly naked save for her necklace and earrings. 

For a 500-year old High Lord, Rhysand was surprisingly lost for words as he stared down at her. Feyre supposed he hadn’t been with a female of his own free will in a long time, but still. There was something wondrous in the way he looked at her, as if she was simultaneously precious and awe-inspiring at the same time. 

“Your clothes need to come off,” Feyre growled, realizing he was still dressed. She yanked him back down by his shirt. Buttons popped and scattered as she tore the front panels off, running her hands across the broad chest she’d been fantasizing about for months. 

Rhysand shifted his hips against hers as he tugged his pants off, the hardness of his erection pressing against Feyre’s inner thigh. The air around them was heavy with mingled arousal, the soft light casting shadows across Rhysand’s muscled body. He looked like an ancient sculpture of a long-ago hero come to life. 

“What do you want today, Feyre darling?” Rhysand rasped against her ear as he kissed the corner of her jaw. 

“I thought you would know, Rhysand.” Her voice was breathy, high, as she tried not to moan from the get-go.

Rhysand chuckled against her neck. “It never hurts to ask, Feyre. And call me Rhys.” Rhys. It seemed so casual for her to refer to the High Lord of the Night Court as just Rhys. The sound of his name on her tongue felt just right, so delicious and so perfect. 

Feyre gasped when his finger traced the curve of her breast, before cupping and squeezing it gently with his entire hand. Normally, she would close her eyes to imagine such a touch, but this was real life. This is real life, she thought with amazement. 

And Rhysand—Rhys—was too beautiful to not look at. 

Still straddling her lightly, his other hand experimentally slipping his fingers along her folds before rubbing her clit. She whimpered. A hot flush was surely materializing along her neck, and Feyre turned away with embarrassment. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys said, a hint of a plea in his voice. He brought his hand up to his mouth, tasting her slick with the expression of a cat who had caught the mouse. 

“Rhys,” Feyre whispered, arcing her body upwards to press along his abdomen. “I need you.” 

“Shhh, patience, pet,” Rhys gave her a casual grin before he kissed her again, more harshly this time around. His hips undulated slightly, bringing the tip of his cock against her with each push forward. He was teasing her, Feyre realized, dipping the head into her entrance without fully entering. If he was this big already—

“We’ll make it fit,” Rhys murmured in between kisses, his breath a little ragged now. 

They groaned in unison when Rhys thrust for the first time. Feyre was trembling—every nerve in her body was lighting up—her mind scrambled up except for one thing: Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. Rhys himself had bowed his head against the crook of Feyre’s neck, his ebony black locks silky soft against her skin. 

When he lifted his head up, there was starlight in his eyes. 

“Feyre,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening right now.

“Rhys,” she responded, pushing her hips slightly against him to indicate she was ready. He nodded wordlessly, throat bobbing, and slowly pulled out. 

Rhys was gentle as he slid back in, but Feyre still let out a shaky breath at the fullness between her legs. He returned his attention back to her breasts, gently fondling them as she liked and lavishing kisses on the sides. The tickle of his breath, hot glide of his tongue, and pressure of his fingers were a symphony that lifted her higher and higher with each touch. The rhythmic thrusts and slight grind of his hips against her clit only added to the coiling tension in her gut.

“Rhys—” Feyre moaned. “Oh gods, Rhys, please.” 

“I love it when you say my name,” he purred, the vibrations of his voice smooth as silk. “You are exquisite.” 

“Rhys!” Feyre cried, shaking as release seized control of her voice, her limbs, her mind. He had reduced her to a trembling, whimpering mess in the matter of minutes. Gods knew what else he had up his sleeve. 

“You felt so good cumming on my cock,” Rhys groaned. She could feel her pussy still flexing involuntarily as he continued to thrust into her, more roughly and urgently before. The plat, plat, plat sound of skin-on-skin and the lubricated slap of his cock made Feyre’s fae instincts go wild. He nearly stilled when she moaned. “Too sensitive?” Rhys asked, stroking the curve of her waist. 

“No, keep going,” Feyre bit out. She would ride it out, would let the male before her find his release too. “Fuck me harder, Rhys. Fuck me until I forget everything else. Please.” 

Once a month, for a week. He was probably laughing at her in his head, at how easy she was. But she could escape her troubles with Spring and with Tamlin here. 

Rhys’s answering thrust put all those musings out of her mind. This was perfection…she didn’t care what he thought of her anymore. Feyre canted her hips upwards, craving more of him. Rhys pounded into her with increasing intensity, hard, swift thrusts that had her gripping the sheets and rolling her eyes with pleasure. 

“Shit, Feyre,” Rhys gasped. He said her name like a prayer. “You’re doing so well.” 

She had fantasized him fucking her into the mattress several times, but none of those scenarios could have compared to the real life event. His chiseled, muscular form moving above her. The broad, callused hands gripping her waist for leverage. Those riveting violet eyes staring straight into her soul.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Feyre chanted, the words falling from her lips with each jolt backwards. There were stars on Rhys’s ceiling, she realized. A web of constellations crafted from fine diamonds, positioned against an indigo blue backdrop. It’s beautiful, she thought, feeling like she’d transcended her physical form.

His rhythm was becoming uneven, indicating he was close. With a loud groan that sounded like her name, Rhys pulled out, hot cum spurting onto the plane of her bare stomach. Feyre shivered at the sight, feeling a twinge of remorse that Rhys didn’t finish inside of her. She understood why he didn’t, but…still. 

Feyre wrapped a hand around the nape of Rhys’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, savoring the feel of his mouth. She wasn’t sure if he would oblige her again. 

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he murmured as he broke away. Feyre lay, spread-eagled on the soft bed, feeling the reverberations of their actions deep in her bones. Rhys returned with a warm towel, and he wiped away his release with exceeding tenderness. 

The night sky, or perhaps Rhys himself, must have made Feyre emotional, for she found herself overcome with a contentment that made tears well up in her eyes. Somehow, she felt safe and secure, even though the Night Court was the farthest from home—home in the human lands—she had ever been. There was something raw about the way Rhys moved, from the way he looked at her, that made her feel as if he was an intimate friend. 

“Would my darling guest like to do something else?” Rhys asked softly. 

Feyre shook her head. “I would like to sleep,” she murmured. Indeed, the excitement of the day’s events were catching up to her, making the swaddle of Rhys’s silken sheets very appealing. 

“Very well, then. I’ll let you be.” Rhys draped a soft blanket over her form, fingers brushing hair from her forehead. Stay, Feyre wanted to say. But the words would not come out. 

She grabbed his wrist just as he was turning away. He was still naked, regarding her with solemn authority. “Thank you,” was all she could utter. Rhys nodded curtly, a small, genuine smile curving at his lips, before exiting the room.

[choppedcowboydinosaur]

A few weeks ago I delved into this rabbit hole of watching videos about the In Praise of Shadows hit piece on Wendigoon. Now mind you I don't watch either of these people's content but here's what I noticed during this whole drama.

For In Praise of Shadows I noticed the following (Note for the rest of this post I will refer to In praise of shadows as IPOS because it's easier for me to type.):

He wants ideological purity for horror movies. He doesn't think any conservatives should be allowed in horror. He thinks horror is inherently leftist. Which is odd since you could make the argument 80's slasher films have a conservative bent to them. Were all debauchery is punished by the slasher villain and only the final girl survives by being pure. Also, he accuses Late Night with the Devil of being a conservative movie because some of the transition cards use AI. That is odd to me since if you are going to call that movie conservative it should be by analyzing its themes rather than accusing it of AI. It just makes him seem like a very fragile person.

Most of his accusations are just guilt by association and lying about the youtubers he's complaining about. He accuses a bunch of people I've never heard of being gun crazed guntubers. None of these youtubers are guntubers. He also shits on Mutahara and Shoeonhead for no legitimate reason. I stopped watching Shoeonhead a while ago and distrust her somewhat but even I thought that accusation of her being conservative was completely disingenuous.

He accuses Internet Historian of being a neo-nazi because his birthday being 4/20 which is apparently Hitler's birthday. This stood out to me since you'd think for someone as terminally online as him, he would know what the 4/20 meme is.

He often associates guns with right wing despite there are leftists who use guns. Again, it's a very twitter mentality he has.

He bitches about Wendigoon being supposedly rich. I don't know how true this is, but I am starting to doubt IPOS claims of poverty given his pretentious manners. That and all he cares about is making video essays.

Also, he is whiny about not making enough youtube money and having to walk in a parking lot to a horror convention in North Carolina. To be fair he might have been saying this on behalf of handicap people, but they have handicap stalls for a reason. Also, if you aren't making enough youtube money there's this thing called getting a job. Especially, a part time one which allows for a more flexible schedule for him to make videos. Again, this man is very whiny.

He sounds like a pretentious version of Morakiu. He speaks in a monotone voice with no inflection in his voice. At least Morakiu was funny.

He has twitter brainrot. I say twitter brainrot because specifically he thinks all of Appalachia is white racists. Say what you will about this site many here would have called him out on that. For the record Appalachians are not inherently racist.

He associates aloha shirts with the boogalooo boys/alt-right. He said this while wearing an aloha shirt himself. Now that might be him being ironic but his stupidity cancels it out. Now while the boogaloo boys love their aloha shirts it is not explicitly a right-wing thing. I am a local from Hawaii and many of us here wear aloha shirts regularly so it's not some alt-right thing. I hate how people have now associated something innocent with that. Aloha shirts existed long before the alt-right ever came into existence.

He has this schizo moment where he thinks Wendigoon was trying to harass him by following him on twitter. When it turns out Wendigoon followed him because he liked his Slenderman video.

Pretty much the whole internet pushed his shit in after he spouted all that nonsense. He is a living case of a terminally online leftist with twitter brainrot. On one hand this man was clearly going through a mental breakdown, is delusional and should touch grass/seek therapy. On the other hand, he is a spiteful miscreant who likes to tarnish other people so my sympathy for him is very limited. It's good everyone rejected his ass because I feel like if he did this shit in 2017, he might have gotten away with it given how crazy everyone was driven with the TDS.

Now onto Wendigoon. Despite all this slander Wendigoon forgives IPOS. To me this shows he is legitimate in his kindness and beliefs. Since he was forgiving to someone who did not give him any courtesy at all. Which is doubly ironic since IPOS hates when people slander him, but he is fine with slandering other people. It's like I'm looking at two people diverging form a forked road. One chose the path to hurt people because he was hurt. The other chose the path to help people because he was hurt and doesn't want anyone to suffer. He's honestly far more merciful than I would have been in that situation. The thing was bizarre overall. Hopefully, after seeing IPOS madness people will calm down and not try to cancel each other. Unlikely but hopefully that reckoning will come and people go back to normal.

[ghostofaboy]

Risky Business

Pairing: Max Lord/Male OC Rating: Explicit. Seriously, over 18s only. Word count: 2252

Summary: Max finds himself in the men's room at the office when he spots something interesting… a glory hole

Warnings: Oral sex, public blow job, come eating, a little bit of internalized homophobia

Note: This has not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes.

The meeting was dragging, and Max was on the verge of losing his temper. It was bad enough that it had started over an hour late due to a miscommunication with the marketing department, but now it was overrunning due to one overeager junior executive. The guy was clearly angling for a promotion, and on some level Max respected that, but boring your bosses was not a smart move. Hansen… Harmen… Herman… whatever his name was, had been speaking for forty-five minutes now about… something…

Max had no idea, truthfully, he’d started tuning him out after only ten minutes. By this point, the young man had completely screwed himself. Any point he’d hoped to make could have been made a long time ago. Glancing around the table, all Max could see were glazed-over eyes and a couple of the older execs gently snoozing. 

While this was a waste of time, the bigger issue troubling Max was that the longer this went on, the more uncomfortable he was becoming. He needed to pee. He’d needed to pee for about an hour. He had his legs firmly crossed under the table and had stopped sipping on his water, but the problem wasn’t going to go away.

“...there is a clear link between-”

“I’m going to need to interrupt you there.” Max cut him off, finally reaching his limit. “You make some excellent points, but we’re running over here. Put everything in a report, and I promise you, I’ll look it over.”

“Sir, I-”

“It’s getting late.” Max locked eyes with the young man, his tone turning a little firmer. “Put a report together and send it to me.”

“I… yes, Sir.”

The sigh of relief from the rest of the gathered men was audible, making the overeager young man blush. As everyone started to file out, Max remained seated, his legs still tightly crossed. To his dismay, Grant Davidson, one of the senior board members, was lingering. Probably hoping to speak with him.

“Grant.” Max stood carefully, his smile fixed as he approached the other man. “Whatever it is, can it wait?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I really need the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Grant waved a hand and nodded. “Of course, of course. It can wait, I’ll meet you back at your office. Oh, and I hope you’re not too desperate. The executive bathroom on this floor is out of order.”

“What?” Max paused at the door. “You’re kidding me! Damn it! Where is the closest one?”

Grant thought for a moment. “Two floors down, I think, unless you want to slum it. There might be one on the east side of the building on this floor, but I’ve never been in it, so I can’t speak to its condition.”

“Thanks.” Max nodded as Grant sauntered away. Weighing up his options and his screaming bladder, Max sighed deeply. He was going to have to brave the unknown bathroom.

Leaving the conference room, Max headed towards the elevators and then took a right into the east side of the building. The east side of each floor was dedicated to the non-public-facing side of the business. Maintenance, mail room, interns. Each floor was different, and this one was a rabbit warren of small storage rooms and offices for the lowest-paid employees. Finally, as Max feared he would have to duck into a closet and piss in a corner, he spotted the men’s room.

Pushing the door open, it wasn’t as bad as he feared. It wasn’t anywhere as nice as the executive bathrooms he was used to, but it was clean and smelt fresh. A single urinal was next to the two stalls to the right of the door. On the opposite wall were two sinks with a large mirror hanging over them. Max stepped forward and then frowned as he noticed the “out of order” sign hung haphazardly on the urinal. Grumbling under his breath, he turned on his heel and headed into the stall furthest from the door. Yanking his fly open and freeing his cock, Max let out a long, loud sigh as the stream began.

Relief filled his body as Max continued to piss, taking the opportunity to glance around the cubical as he did. Bland gray tiles stretched from door to ceiling, with only the mirky green of the stall dividing wall and door to add a pop of color. Max looked around with a slight sneer on his face at the dismal condition of the bathroom before his eyes snapped back to the wall of the stall. 

Was that a hole?

Shaking the final drops of pee from his cock, Max didn’t bother to tuck himself away as he bent down to get a better look. It was definitely a hole. Perhaps four inches across, not quite perfectly circular, and it had obviously been cut by an amateur rather than be a part of the design of the stall. Max was puzzled for a couple of seconds before he realized what he was looking at. 

A glory hole.

A men’s room in Black Gold’s headquarters had a glory hole. A small shiver ran down Max’s spine at the thought of all the men who might have come in here since the hole was cut. How long had it been here? Right under his nose. Max’s cock twitched as he flushed the toilet before lowering the lid and sitting down. 

Idly stroking his hardening cock Max bit his lip as he wondered how many men used this hole on a daily basis. Was it well-known in the building? Was that why Grant had sent him here? 

Reaching into his trousers, Max pulled his balls out, rolling them in his left hand as he lazily pumped his cock to full hardness. Spitting into his palm, Max was just settling in and was ready to jerk off when he heard the men’s room door open. Max froze, listening to the man’s shoes click on the tiled floor.

The man went into the stall next to Max, and for a few seconds, Max sat in silence with his cock in hand, wondering if his new neighbor had come just to pee or wanted something more. The seconds ticked by while Max ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, watching as a bead of precum formed before rubbing in gently over the slit.

Max wasn’t sure how to get the other man’s attention. He’d never even seen a glory hole before, let alone used one. Licking his lips, Max racked his brain, trying to think how to get the other man’s attention. 

As if answering his thoughts, Max’s eyes lit up as a semi-erect cock slid into view, as the man in the next stall thrust into the hole. With barely a second's hesitation, Max was on his knees, mouth open, wrapping his lips around the tip of the stranger’s dick. There was a barely audible gasp from the other stall, and Max smiled. This was everything he’d wanted. He’d had fantasies about this for years, and now it was happening.

His own cock throbbed, but he ignored it. Instead, he brought one hand up to grip the base of the length in front of him as he began to work. He started by teasing his tongue around the head, gently poking at the slit with the tip of his tongue before flattening it out and sucking on the head. 

Inch by inch, Max worked his way down the length of the shaft until he could feel it hit the back of his throat. He gagged slightly, just long enough to feel tears pricking his eyes, before pulling back and beginning again. His own arousal ached between his legs, but all Max could focus on was the cock in his mouth. The world blurred around him as he swallowed the throbbing length again and again.

Enveloping the cock once more, Max traced his tongue along the underside, drawing a hiss from the stranger. As his lips stretched around the girth, the sinful desire to be degraded filled his being. Rolling his hips in the air in time with his ministrations, Max hollowed his cheeks, bobbing his head along the full erection before him. 

On the other side of the thin wall, gasps, grunts and the occasional whine filtered out of the other man’s mouth, filling the men's room. It wasn’t long before his jaw was aching. As much as Max wanted this, he wasn’t used to putting in this much work.

‘I’ll have to do this more often to build up the stamina.’ He thought with a small grin. 

Pulling back to focus on the tip, Max swirled his tongue around it before flicking at the slit just as before. The tang of precum was Max’s reward, dribbling out of his open mouth and gliding down his swollen lips. 

Ghosting his tongue over the leaking red head, Max worked the shaft into his mouth to the very back of his throat. Swallowing around the length, he shivered in pleasure as he pulled a loud, wanton moan from the other man. After swallowing for a second time, Max still himself, the desire to be used overtaking him. He needed his mouth fucking. He needed to be used as an object. He needed to choke on this cock. He needed this to complete the fantasy he’d had in his head for so long. 

Understanding what Max wanted, or needed, the other man began fucking slowly into his mouth, testing the water to see if this was what Max truly wanted. When Max didn’t move or pull away and instead opened his throat as much as he could, the other man started to pick up the pace. Soon, the unseen stranger was thrusting his full length into Max’s waiting mouth with abandon. Max’s face burned as his skin prickled with arousal while needy, wet, gagging noises were pushed out of his mouth with every thrust.

His own cock leaked onto the floor between his knees, throbbing in time with the cock gliding over his tongue. He could feel himself tumbling towards the edge and Max reached up both his hands to steady himself against the wall of the stall. His vision swam as the other man began panting loudly on the other side of the partition. 

With a breathy cry, the man came, flooding Max’s mouth with bitter, salty seed. Swallowing what he could, Max could feel some of the come escaping, dribbling out of his mouth and down his chin. Resisting the urge to wipe it away, a shiver ran through Max’s body at the thought of looking at his come-stained lips in the mirror later. Digging his nails into the hard wood of the stall, Max moaned around the cock, still twitching on his tongue. Time seemed to slow as his nails scraped against the wall of the stall, his back arched and his body quivered as he released himself into the men’s room floor untouched.

The cock gently withdrew, and Max could hear the sound of a zipper companied by a long sigh. Still on his knees, Max didn’t trust his legs enough yet to stand. Instead, leaning his head against the cool wood of the stall, Max tried to focus his eyes. Between his legs, his small cock was already softening, shrinking back down to its usual micro state. He could see the other man’s feet, with nice-looking, moderately expensive shoes, shifting around before leaving the stall.

Max heard the rush of water coming from the faucet, and while the other man busied himself at the sink, Max climbed to his feet. The full realization of what he’d just done was starting to dawn on him. What if someone found out? He was the CEO of Black Gold! He was meant to set an example. What would people say?

Pinching his eyes shut, Max sat down on the toilet and waited for the other man to leave. What had he been thinking? This wasn’t like jacking off in the privacy of his office or the regular ‘massage’ sessions he’d been having. He’d blown one of his employees. Surely, there were laws about this kind of thing. 

The sound of the men’s room door clicking shut snapped him out of his spiral. Max opened his eyes and let out a long, loud sigh. Time to get back to reality and possibly face the music for his moment of fantasy.

Tucking himself back into his trousers, Max grabbed some tissue to wipe up the mess he’d made. Bending down to clean up the come, Max’s eyes were drawn to a small piece of cardboard on the floor just under the stall door. Finishing his task, Max picked it up, turning it over in his hand. His eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face as he realized what it was.

A business card. Looking it over, Max could see that there was no name, but there was a number.

Tucking it into his pocket, Max left the stall and went over to the sinks to clean up. Come had dried slightly on his chin, while his already plush lips were pink and swollen. Max smirked to himself at his disheveled state. Putting himself back to his usual well-groomed state, Max couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Leaving the men’s room, he patted the card in his pocket as he made his way back to his office. The possibilities were intriguing. 

[inspiredwriterstory]

TopDragon, ep 1, pt 1.

Qibli: Hello everyone welcome to TopDragon! I'm Qibli!

Turtle: Hi, I'm Turtle.

Winter: Prince Winter.

Qibli: This is a new series where-

Winter: Where you'll watch two idiots and one dragon of class drive the stupidest cars known to Dragon.

Qibli: Winter we talked about this off set.

Winter: Yeah well you said I'd get five silver and I decided it's not worth it.

Turtle: Well before we fall down the rabbit hole of Winter and Qibli bickering like a married couple I'd like to say this cave is huge!

Qibli: Yeah! The producers wanted to start the series with A bang!

Turtle: About that who our are producers?

Qibli: Not quite sure to be honest.

Winter: I'm sorry, your not sure!?

Qibli: I didn't question it.

Winter: I am going to throw you in a frozen lake.

Qibli: Before that I'd like to answer an age old question, which kingdom makes the best cars? So the producers told us to pick our favorite cars from a specific kingdom and take them on the ultimate road trip from the sand kingdom, to the heart of the mud kingdom.

Winter: And I hated every moment of it.

Turtle: Roll the footage!

*Fade to black*

*Fade into footage of the vast sand kingdom.*

Qibli over the footage: The sand kingdom is a vast place to explore. A vast culture filled with history, Long, fast stretches of road....

*A loud engine roars by the camera as a blur.*

Qibli as a black Dodge Charger with a supercharger roars into view: And home of the Muscle car.

Qibli in the car: The 1970 Dodge Charger is an absolute legend. Powerful, looks good anywhere you put it, and most importantly- *Shifts gears and the engine revs* loud.

*The car flies past the Camera as it cuts to Qibli rolling through a town with tons of dragons. He rolls to a stop in a parking lot outside a restaurant. And gets out of the car.*

*Suddenly a clean, white R35 Gtr rolls up and pulls up next to the Charger. Winter then gets out with a look of shock on his face.*

Winter: What on the three moons?

Qibli: You like it?

Winter: Qibli as much as it fits you, the only thing worse you could have bought was a Mustang.

Qibli: You can't talk! You bought an R35.

Winter: A car of class while yours screams Red necks and mechanical problems.

*Qibli start bickering in the background while the camera begins cutting back and fourth showing tires passing by the camera hidden behind walls and market stalls*

Turtle in the inside: I think I'm lost.

*Cut to Qibli and Winter with looks of shock on their faces*

Winter: No way.

Qibli: You can not be serious.

*The Famous Lancia Stratos HF rally edition in a dark green/blue rolls to a stop and Turtle gets out.*

Turtle: Good, I found you.

Winter: I'm sorry, but out of all the cars you could have chosen you choose that?

Qibli: Now hold on, that car is legendary.

Winter: Yeah but they had next to no safety the only thing more dangerous would be a group B car.

Turtle: In my defense, you have not driven one through the rainforest.

Winter: Great so we have a car with more horsepower than the driver has sense, a car of class, and a death machine with a dragon who's never gone over 40 in his life.

???: Qibli!

*Everyone turns to see Kinkajou dive into Qibli's arms*

Qibli: Kinkajou! What are you doing here?

Kinkajou: I heard you were recording a tv show!

Winter: You can't just jump at us on camera.

Kinkajou: Well I wanted to make an entrance. The people in charge sent me with this!

*Kinkajou hands Qibli a paper.*

Qibli: Great, our first challenge!

Qibli reading it out loud: Now that you have arrived you will drive to a remote oasis to get to know your cars before your first test.

Kinkajou: Oh don't go yet!

Winter: We can't waste time.

Kinkajou: Awww...

Qibli: We'll make sure to stop by Jade mountain academy on the way through the sky kingdom.

Kinkajou: Alright. And all of you three better make it!

Turtle: Don't worry, we will.

*Soon the three are in their cars and are rolling out.*

Kinkajou: Good luck you three!

*The cars roll off as the camera cuts to a tiny scorpion scurrying across the sand before cutting to show the sleek black paint of the Dodge Charger and cutting to the inside*

Qibli: The Dodge Charger is a iconic car. Vin Diesel drove it on The fast and the furious, it stared in Dukes of Hazard- *Quick gear shift before passing Turtle* and it is the drag racing king.

Winter over the footage of the Charger driving: While sand snorter was busy acting like a two year old, I was driving in a car of status.

*Cut to the inside of the GTR*

Winter: Now despite the long hot roads this car is smooth. Nissan knows how to make cars that nobles can use to their proper potential.

*Winter slows down and heads into the empty left lane and matches Qibli's speed.*

Winter over radio: You know what I really enjoy sand snorter? Air conditioning.

Qibli: Jokes on you, I love this heat.

*Cut to Turtle in the Lancia*

Turtle: I am becoming a boiled fish.

Winter over the footage as the cars slow to a stop: Unfortunately, Qibli decided to bring is to a stop for a ridiculous game.

Turtle out of his car and sitting in between the two other cars side by side on the road: So you two want to drag race?

Winter: More like he bigger me until we stopped.

Qibli: You are going to enjoy this and you know it.

Winter: Sure.

Qibli: Count us down Turtle!

*Dynamic camera angles showing off the revving cars as Turtle counts down*

Turtle: Go!

*Winter takes off but a loud bang suddenly brings Qibli's car to a stop off the line*

Qibli slamming the dashboard: Dang it!

*Fade black and then fade into footage to the giant cave with Qibli, Winter, and Turtle.*

Winter: I can't believe you ended it on a cliff hanger.

Turtle: Well cliffhangers can be a good tool to build suspense.

Winter: Don't start now sand snorter.

Qibli: Well join us next time as we bring on a special guest.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

finally! the long put off awaited continuation of the Reverse Amnesia Loop I left on an unfortunate cliffhanger despite promising @hallothere I would continue it! (oops) Wherein Tossdir doing something reckless actually ends up helping yay

sorry my brain stopped letting me Write Words for a bit. again. anyway I feel like I'm rusty but idk. this kept getting So Long.

He knows.

You have no idea how, but he knows.

The man you ran into on the street a few moments ago, the one built like a siege tower, looked at you a bit strangely before you took off. You didn’t think much of it, but then he called after you, and when you started running, so did he.

You can only think of one reason he would be pursuing you, and that is that he somehow knows you stole that relic from the Houses of Lore earlier today. 

You didn’t think anyone would have noticed it was gone so soon, you didn’t think anyone would have been able to track you down so quickly. You figured you would be able to stay out of sight until tonight, and then no one would have any way of knowing it was you. But you couldn’t stay locked in the cisterns all day, you needed food, but you realize you made a mistake in coming out here.

You duck and weave between vendor stalls and stacks of crates in an effort to lose him. For a moment you think it works, but the next moment you see him still on your tail.

Really, you shouldn’t even be running. You don’t have the relic with you, you’ve already hidden it far away so there’s no longer any risk to anyone here. If he catches you he might turn you over to the guards, but they’ll just forget, and you’ll be able to slip away tonight like you did the last time something like this happened.

You nearly knock over someone's produce display in your haste, and you sputter out an apology to the owner without slowing your pace.

The sensible thing to do would simply be to turn yourself over and spend the rest of the day locked up –hell, you might even get a meal out of it– but you are operating on instinct now, which has ever held mastery over what little sense is contained in that thick skull of yours. Currently, it has decided that you’re going to behave like a scared rabbit. Maybe you would be a little braver if you had your friends with you, if Ethedis Faeron or Bregadir were here, but you do not have friends or a family anymore. They do not know you.

When fleeing into the crowded areas proves fruitless, you duck into an alleyway and attempt to lose him in the narrow backstreets. This would be easier if you knew the ways of the city better, but unfortunately, you do not. 

Still, you manage to lose sight of him for a little bit. You stop with your hands on your knees, gasping for breath. Did you lose him? You might have lost him- wait no, there he is. 

You hiss obscenities under your breath that Meneldir would have scolded you for, and take off again.

You may be faster than him, but he is far more persistent. Always a few steps behind you, always. You know you won’t be able to outlast him. You stumble, fall, and land on your leg crooked. You find yourself unable to stand right away, then not two moments later the tall man is kneeling in front of you. 

You flinch when his hand grips your shoulder, but he doesn't seem to have it in mind to hurt you just yet, just holding you in place in case you plan to start running again.

“Alright, now that I have your attention,” his voice is calm and steady, he’s not even breathing hard. Looks like he did not break a sweat in the chase. You find yourself more terrified of him. “care to tell me what that was all about?” he asks calmly, seeming more annoyed and confused than anything else.

You just blink in bewilderment. Does he… does he not know about the stolen relic? Then why would he have bothered following you? Also why is his hand so cold?

“I could- ask the same thing of you-” you manage to gasp out. “Why on earth were you chasing me?”

“I needed to speak to you, and I would not have chased you if you did not run. I did not mean to frighten you, but it was important. Now, I think you owe me an answer or two.”

After taking a moment to steady your breathing you mutter under your breath “Doesn't matter. You will not remember anyway.”

“What did you say?” he asks almost before the words have left your mouth. Did it sound like you were making some kind of veiled threat? It might have, it was probably a mistake saying that out loud. 

“It’s- there is something wrong with me.” you stammer, “Every night, people forget I exist. It’s some sort of-”

“-a curse?” recognition and dread in his voice.

You nod. He releases your shoulder, and his expression becomes much softer. Sad, too. 

“Not you too…” he says with a weary sigh. “I felt that chill when I ran into you on the street, I thought you might have some connection to it. Sorry to see I was right.”

“You were cursed too...?” That would explain why you didn’t recognize him, despite how much like a Ranger he looks and sounds. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the realization that another of your kin has fallen into this fate. Had he gone to Mordor with you? Or was he cursed when you foolishly brought the relic back to the city? Either way this is probably your fault. You feel sick. 

He nods solemnly. “Then I am doubly sorry for frightening you. I imagine this has been a trying few weeks for you already.” you nod again, though seems like a bit of an understatement. “Although, that still does not explain why you ran from me. I know I can be rather intimidating at times, but surely it was not just that.”

You take a deep breath. You have a lot of explaining to do, and you’re not sure how he’s going to react 

“I guess there’s no sense in hiding it from you. I stole a relic from the houses of lore earlier today, and I thought you had somehow found out and were after me for that reason.”

Corunir just looks at you for a moment, searching your expression in the hopes that what you said was merely a poor jest. To his dismay, he finds you are being dead-serious "Please tell me you're not talking about the relic I think you're talking about... The one I retrieved from Mordor."

"No, I'm talking about the one I retrieved from Mordor."

The two of you make eye contact for an uncomfortably long moment.

"...The one we retrieved from Mordor."

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration "I sincerely hope you had a good reason for taking it. How many more people might be exposed to it-"

"What about the scholars? Were they not at risk too?” you quickly point out “That is the reason I took it, so I could hide it someplace safer."

He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh “It was safer in the Houses. No one was allowed near it, it was only myself, Ethedis, and presumably you who were ever let in there. No one else-”

“-No one that we know of.” you snap a look at him, sharp enough to cut stone. “If any of the other scholars, or anyone else on the Sage’s Tier had been cursed, would we have any way of knowing?”

"No, I suppose we..." he trails off, then a look of horror slowly creeps onto his face “I… I fear you may be onto something. How did I not realize before… I remember bringing the relic to the Houses for safekeeping, but I cannot remember who specifically I handed it off to when I arrived. How could I have been so foolish…” Now that he mentions it, you realize you share the same gap in your memory. At least one other person besides the two of you has been cursed then.

“Perhaps the curse itself is what prevented you from seeing it?” you offer “It seems quite good at concealing memories, after all.”

He looks away and mutters something under his breath “Yeah. It was probably the curse.” His voice is flat, he doesn't sound like he really believes that. 

But in all fairness, you think it is perfectly likely that the curse may be covering its tracks, clouding his judgment to prevent him from putting the pieces together or something like that. Of course you cannot provide any proof to that theory besides ‘it just kinda makes sense’, but he strikes you as an intelligent man, and you have a hard time believing he wouldn’t have figured this out sooner unless something was actively hindering him. If he and Ethedis had been spending more time around the relic than you, it makes a lot of sense. 

Wait, Ethedis?

“Hold on, did you say Ethedis had been near it?”

“You know her?”

“Of course I do! She’s my best friend- well, was, at least. Don’t tell me you actually let her near that thing…”

“Only twice, and only because she insisted. I had hoped that between the two of us we could break the enchantment quickly, and I would not need to risk her being around it for long. But this has proved far more complicated…” and now you’ve gone and complicated things further.

“I guess I’m in no position to judge you for that then, considering my own reckless actions…”

“Well, do you have it with you?”

“Alright I’m not that reckless, give me a little credit at least. It’s hidden away in the cisterns. They were the only place I could think of to put it. Few venture down there and sections of it extend deep into the mountains. I thought there at least it might be far enough away from anyone else.”

“I see why you did it, but that’s going to be a big problem for us… I would likely need the relic on hand if I am to have any hope of breaking the curse, and if I will not remember having this conversation, then I will likely never find it again. Please tell me you had some sort of plan.”

“I… hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’m no loremaster, I know nothing about curses, my only concern had been trying to hide it away-”

“Then there is no time to lose.” he stands, offering you a hand to help you to your feet “Take me to where you’ve hidden the relic, I will simply have to find a way to break the curse before tonight.” 

“That hardly seems a ‘simple’ task…” you test your leg a bit as he helps you stand. It still aches a little bit, but not badly. You should be able to walk this off. “Did you have some new breakthrough?”

“Not exactly. But there was one thing I had not attempted yet, perhaps for good reason. I was reluctant to try before, as I feared it might pose a risk to the nearby scholars if my theory was correct… but seeing as the relic is isolated in the cisterns, I will not need to worry about that.” 

“Oh good, Something dangerous then!” you smile grimly “what is it you plan on doing?”

“I will explain on the way, we should be going now.”

Reasonably, you might want to learn what this man you only think you know is planning before venturing down into the cisterns with him, but since when were you ever considered reasonable?

So nevertheless, you start leading him to the nearest entrance to the cisterns. You notice some strange looks from a few people on the street who witnessed your chase earlier, but neither of you pay them much heed. You’ve gotten out of the habit of caring about your reputation, subconsciously assuming nothing will be remembered.

The two of you properly introduce yourselves as you walk. You learn that his name is Corunir, and he was once a part of Golodir’s Company. Apparently he was the one who first called for aid from the south, and helped you and Ethedis discover the secrets of the stone hearts of the Watchers. You thought it had been one of the Trév Gállorg you first spoke to in Aughaire, but you don’t actually remember who it was now that you think about it. That at least adds up with his story then.

“You know of the stone hearts?” he asks, almost surprised.

“Yes, I was there with Ethedis when we first discovered their secrets and crossed the Rammas.”

“Hm. it is as I thought, then. The three of us must have fought together in the War, as I remember the same thing only without you.”

“That’s what I thought too. But what do the Watching Stones have to do with any of this?”

“I’ll admit it’s a stretch, but I’ve suspected that the relic might actually be of a similar nature to the stone hearts. Not the same thing of course, or I would have recognized it immediately, but an item designed to hold a different kind of fell spirit perhaps.”

You do agree it’s a stretch. The relic seemed nothing like a stone heart. For one thing, it’s not even a stone. It is a small, seemingly empty, iron box you couldn’t open. An air of fell magic surrounded it, but it did not have the same sort of… feeling. It wasn’t the same as the stone hearts. The heart made you feel sick when you touched it, a nauseous dread in the pit of your stomach that threatened to rile up into blind panic. The box from Mordor though, was just cold. Not a natural kind of cold, but that’s still all it was. Deceptively harmless.

But, Corunir seems to know more about this sort of thing than you do, perhaps he could pick up on something you could not.

“So, if you’re right about this, I might actually be able to fistfight the source of the curse? Finally, something suited to my skill set!”

He laughs grimly “Perhaps, but we should still be cautious. I have never heard of a spirit with powers such as these, if we must do battle with it we should be prepared for anything. There’s no telling how powerful it truly is, if it is indeed a spirit we’re dealing with.”

“You don’t need to kill my confidence like that.”

“Overconfidence is far more likely to kill you.” he observes plainly

You almost scoff, not quite though “You sound like my brother.”

He raises an eyebrow “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

You shrug “it’s both, I think.” 

You come to the door leading down to the cisterns and open it. Home sweet home, or at least it has been for the last few weeks.

“Aren’t these usually locked?” Corunir asks, following close behind you.

You glance back at him “They are, but I broke the lock and no one ever fixed it.”

His brow furrows, and you’re not sure why he seems so concerned “So they even forget about the things we touch now…?” he mutters, seemingly not directed at you.

“It’s probably not that.” you rush to assure, though he might be onto something “with everything else down here that was damaged in the siege, I’m sure something small like this was just very low on the list of priorities.” you shake your head as you continue down the dark, damp steps. You know the way down well enough that you do not bother waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dark before venturing deeper in. “At any rate, even if it is the curse’s doing, we will not give it the chance to progress any further.” you sound as confident as ever, but it does not seem to be rubbing off on your ‘new’ friend. He says nothing.

He remains mostly silent as you make your way further beneath the city. Going down here from the bustling streets of the city is always a jarring change, the stone suffocates any sound from up top, and all at once you are accompanied only by the echoing of your footsteps, the occasional drip of cold water, and stale musty air.

“Do you have a weapon?" he eventually asks, only just now seeming to notice that you're unarmed "We’re expecting a fight after all, I should hope you have some means to defend yourself.”

“I will not need anything besides my arms. I’m a brawler, far more comfortable with hand-to-hand fighting.” Well, that might have been true a few months ago, but at Bregadir's urging after Tur-Morva you have preferred to use your sword more frequently, especially when you face foes of an inhuman variety. But you do not have that option now. You notice Corunir giving you a doubtful look in the halflight.

“...what? You doubt that I can banish a spirit by hitting it really hard?” you realize how ridiculous your plan sounds when said aloud, but you choose to ignore it. And besides, in your defense, you have punched spirits before. Fists are far more effective in situations like this than many would initially believe.

“Do you at least own a sword?" His voice is clearly filled with worry, and you're not sure whether you should feel insulted or comforted by it. "I think I would feel better if you had the option of wielding one should the need arise.”

“I do but…” You try to hide the pained expression that crosses your face at the mention of it, but fail. “I… do not have it at the moment.” you reluctantly admit “Earlier I tried to go to Mithrendan for help, but I did a poor job of explaining myself. He recognized my sword as once belonging to my mother, but as he had no memory of me it seemed to him that I must have stolen it or worse… he actually got me arrested for it, and I imagine my sword is still in his possession, though he now has no memory of how it came to be there.” You make a short humorless laugh, as you fear you may cry if you do not express some other emotion “for some reason I thought yelling at him might break through whatever fog concealed his memory, but all I succeeded in doing was causing quite the scene while I was being dragged away. I guess I’m almost lucky no one remembers that…”

He gives you a sad, sympathetic look, "I'm sorry to hear that. I've had similar incidents occur, but I have been fortunate enough to keep all my belongings..."

You shrug nonchalantly “Well, at least I know it’s being kept somewhere safe!” you want to change the subject quickly, you don’t want his pity right now. "Anyway, there was something else I was meaning to ask you," you move on abruptly "If we're right in assuming we both journeyed to Mordor together, why did you choose to join the Conquest?"

"It's strange, I actually cannot remember the reason I went to Mordor, only that it seemed important at the time. Do you remember why you went though?" your heart sinks, you know why he has forgotten.

"I do. it was ill-thought and reckless, but I at least remember making that decision... if you do not, then..." you suddenly find yourself unable to look Corunir in the eyes "then I must have been the reason you went. So I got you into this mess. I'm so sorry- this was all my fault-"

"No, it was not." he assures, voice stern but gentle "If I followed you to Mordor, I did so of my own volition. And I doubt it was by your decision alone that we brought the relic back to the city. Do not assign so much blame to yourself, especially as neither of us remember the full story of how we got here."

"Right... you're probably right." Faeron was right too, sometimes you really do sound too much like Meneldir. That does little to ease the shame you feel, but at least Corunir doesn't blame you as he probably should be.

"More than anything, I'm just glad to know you remember your reasons for making the journey," Corunir continues "I was beginning to worry there may have been more like us."

"I suppose that counts as a silver lining..." you mumble. You recognize this turn up ahead "Ah, it looks like we're nearly to my camp, the relic is hidden there."

“Your camp...?” he looks confused “You've been sleeping down here?”

“Well, obviously, it’s not like I could rent a room at a tavern, I would be forgotten by morning. Where on earth have you been sleeping?”

He pauses for a moment “I… have been waiting until after the curse takes effect to rent a room.” ah, a much more obvious solution that never crossed your mind. He spoke gently, trying not to make you seem like a fool, yet you feel a fool all the same.

“...oh. That’s a good idea, I should have thought of that. A shame I’m not going to remember it.” you sigh “I wonder if we have had this conversation before…” knowing you? Probably.

“You will not have to remember. After we fix this mess, things can finally go back to normal.” he sounds less sure of himself than you would like, but it’s the thought that counts.

Not too long after, you arrive at the place that could only charitably be called a 'camp'. It's in one of the large chambers, positioned on a wide walkway near a reservoir. Just your bedroll, a small amount of scattered provisions, and a spot you had attempted to make a campfire to keep warm. You've since given up on maintaining that, though. It was far too much of a hassle to find and transport fuel down here, and fire does little, if anything at all, to stave off the curse's chill.

"You will have to excuse the mess, I was not expecting visitors." you say dryly, taking out the small bundle of rags you had the relic hidden in and unwrapping it. Intricate carvings adorn the surface of the small box, expertly crafted but of vile subject, they depict scenes of violent deaths and creatures you would rather not describe, runes you only half understand but wish you didn’t understand at all.

You hand it to Corunir, almost glad to have it off your hands despite how long you had spent trying to get it in the first place. A look of discomfort flashes on his face as he touches it, and he takes a sharp breath to steady his nerves.

"Alright, I suppose there's only one way to test my theory then. Are you ready?" you nod, you're ready as you're ever going to be, which isn't really saying much if you're being honest, but what else are you going to do?

Corunir sets the box down in an empty part of the floor and kneels in front of it, sword held at the ready with one arm and shield on the other. He closes his eyes and mutters some words in an old elvish dialect, the meaning of them you know not, but you have heard them before. They are the same words of power that were spoken by Ethedis all those months ago in Angmar, to draw fourth the spirit of a Watching Stone for you to challenge.

For a moment there is nothing. No sound or movement or any other sign of change. You begin to worry that it isn't-

Suddenly all warmth leaves the chamber. An icy blue light fills the area from an unknown source, illuminating the box with a ghostly glow. It feels as if the very air has frozen around you and you cannot remember the sensation of heat. Corunir shoots to his feet, holding out his shield in front of him. "That was it! Prepare yourself!" he shouts.

You assume your fighting stance just as the lid of the box flies open, a spectral figure bursting forth with an animalistic fury in its bright eyes. It is not dissimilar from other ghosts or spirits you have encountered, although it stands (floats?) a whole head and shoulders taller than most. It says nothing, but a feeling of unmistakable hatred emanates from it. You feel that it goes beyond the general spite for the living most spirits possess, it is clearly also angry that someone removed it from the populace areas of the city, surely foiling whatever plans it had for the unsuspecting people. 

It outstretches its hand, drawing the dampness in the surrounding air to its fingertips and freezing it into a jagged blade of ice, and then it turns its hateful eyes to you. It knows you trapped it down here, and you know it has every intention of delivering you to a cruel death.

No going back, it has been unleashed and you must end it here and now. You don't really know if banishing the spirit will break the curse, and you know know if the breaking of the curse will necessarily restore everyone's memories. Maybe you will remain forgotten, maybe you will die down here, but if you can at least ensure that no one else falls prey to this thing, it will all be worth it.

You will not wait for it to make the first move. You lunge at it with all the speed you can muster and connect your fist with its chest. As you make contact with it you feel as if you have plunged your hand into icy water, a sharp jolt of pain and then numbness running through your arm. But, remarkably, you still did some damage to it. As the spirit reels back from the impact you feel heartened, now seeing that it is corporeal enough for you to harm. It’s short lived however as the spirit looks back at you with fell sorcery in its gaze. You find yourself unable to move, your feet frozen to the ground and panic settling in your heart. It could not have lasted for more than a fraction of a second, but that was enough to lower your defenses. In a flash it swings its frozen blade at your throat, and you have no time to react. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut bracing for impact.

You then hear a metallic clang and the sound of shattering ice. You open an eye and see Corunir’s shield-arm outstretched in front of you, turning what would surely have been a fatal blow. Glimmering shards of ice from the shattered blade scatter harmlessly through the air around you. He steps in front of you and bellows a challenge to it, finally drawing its ire away from you. 

You quickly shake your arm trying to return feeling to your frozen hand as you watch the spirit form another blade from the air. It’s hard to describe how grateful you feel to have Corunir and his shield standing between you and it. It has been a long time since you have had to make such a desperate fight with only your hands to defend yourself, you feared your skills were getting rusty.

It is no small feat for Corunir to keep its attention focused on him, considering how enraged it is as you specifically. You heard him say something in elvish, you could not make out exactly what he said, and his axe flashed with heat, now seeming to be wreathed in embers. As he continues to harry it with strikes from behind his shield, the fell spirit has no choice but to face him rather than you. It leaves itself open for you to attack, once, twice, and a third time. Your first blow found its mark flawlessly, the second seemed to as well. The third, well, you think it did, but you can't really feel your hands anymore. Despite the numbness you press on with your attacks.

As it trades blows with the two of you, you start to see its form flicker and fade in some places, as if it is struggling to hold itself together. In a last desperate strike you bring down both of your fists on its head, its hateful screeching abruptly fading to nothingness as its form dissipates into a fine translucent dust.

Then, all at once, a dam in your mind breaks. Nearly a year's worth of memories, memories of Corunir and your harrowing adventures together, all flooding back to you in a torrent of joy and fear and grief and hope. The shock overwhelms you completely and you collapse on the cold stone.

[teacupfullofroses27]

You guys get more Wonderland content because I feel bad for being busy

here's an unfinished sketch of just Jax, Pomni's supposed to be in this one but she is. not in it yet. But he is! looking down patronizingly at no one, for the time being. Here's a little segment from the first chapter if you wanna read it

Or don't if you don't wanna spoil yourself, I'll post it on Ao3 when it's all done :>

______________________________________________________________

Echoing from the tunnel came a man’s voice with a tone filled with annoyance. 

“Great, clock’s running slow. Man, I really don’t want to stop by the Hatter. Already late enough as is.”

The woman stopped. ‘Another person! Finally!’ She thought, wasting no time as she ran through the tunnel, and straight into whoever was standing there. Both where sent tumbling to the ground. 

“Sorry! I’m so sorry! Plea-“ She starts, fumbling to her feet, until she looks at the man she so rudely collided with. Or rather, the rabbit. He was tall for a rabbit. It couldn’t have possibly been the same one she saw earlier, could it? but he was purple, and donned a pink waistcoat. ‘Well, it is possible,’ she thought. After all, how many rabbits happened to be purple and preferred to wear pink waistcoats? But now the rabbit was so cartoonish, so lanky. 

“Wh- what? Who are you?!”

The rabbit smiled wide, revealing his very yellow teeth, which happened to be the same hue of his eyes. Gross. He groaned as he made an effort to stand, towering a good bit over the woman. 

“You know, I could ask you the same. Why don’t you answer that first?” His tone was equal parts menacing and mischievous. 

She stared at the creature that should’ve been impossible. But, then again, a good number of impossible things had happened that day. 

Her eyes darted around from block to colorful block, stalling while she tried to form some sort of answer in her mind. “I… actually don’t know.” She stared down at her clasped hands in embarrassment. The rabbit didn’t say anything, still eyeing her and smiling. The woman never thought a rabbit of all things could be unsettling. But here she was, very much feeling unsettled. 

“So you’re new, that’s good to know.” He finally spoke, and promptly turned around. “Well, It’s been real fun, but I’ve got places to be. Ta-ta now!” 

“HEY WAIT!” She called after him, giving chase through the winding tunnel. “WHERE AM I? WHO ARE YOU?”

He left her questions unanswered as he bolted with remarkable speed. The woman kept chasing him. She hoped the tunnel wasn’t as long as the hole she fell through. She could barely see him now, he was just too quick. She thought of another question to throw at him.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘I’M NEW?’” 

She saw him look back at her for a moment to send a teasing smile, only to then turn back as he picked up speed. She huffed as she grabbed at her annoyingly puffy skirt and continued to give chase. Light filled the tunnel as the end came into sight. He was too far ahead of her now, he made it out. He raced to the end of the hall, and stood a wall full of doors of all shapes and sizes. He was stopped, she could catch up. She heard something clattering, he was holding something. Keys. a large chain of them. He filed through each of them, until he held one up victoriously. 

Something metallic clattered against the floor. She wondered if he noticed. 

The woman so was close, practically inches away, but the rabbit had unlocked the door and slipped through, just in the knick of time. 

She slammed into the door, and thumped her fist on it out of frustration. She tried at the knob, but no luck. 

“HEY! COME BACK!” She pressed her face to the keyhole and yelled. She let out a huff, and stomped a foot on the ground. It landed unevenly. She lifted it to see a small, golden key underneath. She snatched it between her fingers. 

“HAH! HEY, YOU LOST A KEY! B-BUT IT’S MINE NOW! CAUSE-“ She called, confidence waining as she realized he probably didn’t hear her, or care. 

“Cause, I-! I Found it…” 

______________________________________________________________

That's all u get mwehehe you'll have to wait for the rest- also this one will have illustrations like my other fic