#and it included a description of his next book and it sounds fun

[libraryleopard]

Adult romance novel

Second-chance romance between a composer and a Hollywood star who met in their high school chorus and then had a falling-out in college

When the two reunite for a benefit concert in their hometown years later, they find the spark between them hasn't dulled with time

Dual timeline between the past and the present

Gay, Filipino American main character; gay, biracial Japanese American/white love interest; M/M romance

[nikosama13]

"Wanna play a game?" (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji x reader)

Description: One shots with the monster trio. In each fic you play a "game" with one the boys from the monster trio. Who knows..? Something spicy might happen..

Side Notes: Hellooo loves! Please enjoy these oneshots with the monster trio. <3 ..⚆ _ ⚆ (Most likely spelling mistakes + my requests should be open.) Ps: The Zoro oneshot is my absolute fav.

Consider following for more..?

~~~

Luffy:

It was a casual and rather peaceful day on the Thousand Sunny. The Straw Hats, including you, had just left a port from a short supply run… already off to find another adventure.

However, it was a rare occasion for it to be this peaceful.. Zoro was napping, Sanji was cooking, Nami drawing her maps, Robin was reading her new books, Franky fixing the ship with Ussop’s help, and Chopper making his medicine.

That just left you and Luffy..

You were just resting on the deck with a chair when you heard one of the Sunny's doors open. To your surprise it was Luffy.

“Ughh.. im hungry and bored and sleepy..” Luffy said, walking sloppy.

Well he was, until he saw you.

“Oh hey y/n!” His eyes and posture snapped into place.

“Hello Luffy..” you raised your glasses and rested them on your head.

“Wanna play a game?” Luffy’s voice also sounded like it got a little happier and excited.

“Sure I guess..” you gave him a smile anyone would fall for.

His gaze was stuck on you. He just blinked a few times before a slight burning sensation on his face struck him.

“U-uhm.. So how about like.. two truths one lie..?

It shocked you that Luffy actually knew that the game existed and let alone how to play it.

“Sure” you gave him a puzzled look.

“Me, Ussop, and Chopper played it once!” Luffy smiled.

Oh, well that explains how he knew.. Ussop always made up fun games for them to pass the time on the ship.

“Ok I’ll go first!” Luffy plopped down next to you on the floor, a look of confidence and blush showed on his face.

“So.. one is I hate meat, two is I want Sanji to cook, and three is I like y/n..”

“W-wait what!?” your eyes were practically popping out of your skull.

“Uhm..” he smiled and then looked down.

He covered this face with this hat slightly and muttered something out..

“Yeah, I like you.. So?” he continued looking down.

“I do too..” you looked away.

Then he looked up immediately after you said those words. His eyes sparkled brightly.

“Really!? You do!?” then he leaned his head on your thigh.

“Yeah..”

You both were a blushing mess but eventually as the days went by you shared a passionate kiss on the deck in front of Nami which made her choke and spit out her water.

It was safe to say you belonged together. ~(˘▾˘~)

~~~ Zoro:

For Zoro it was like any other day on the Thousand Sunny, minus the fighting parts.. Today you decided to get your moss head and play a game. Now what game exactly you ask?

Let’s backtrack really quickly..

You, Nami, and Robin were speaking about Zoro, you simply didn’t know how to get closer to him. It didn't help that he was reserved and always grumpy, as you like to call it. So Robin, being the brightest in the group of girls suggested to you that you should ask or more so “bribe” the moss head into playing a memory game with you. It sounded harmless but it would definitely have the moss head interacting with you. So you thanked Robin and ran off to put this idea to the test.

Eventually, you found Zoro dozing off into a nap. However you’d have to get to him before he slept because waking up a grumpy man isn’t a pretty sight.

“Hey Zoro! Wanna play a game with me?” you smiled and sat down in front of him on the deck of the Sunny.

“Huh..? No, why would I..? That’s for kids like Sanji and I want to rest.”

He looked back down and was about to doze off again.

This is exactly what Robin, you, and Nami anticipated so it was time for plan-b to be put into action.

“Oi, moss head I’ll give you buckets of booze, but only if you play.” You said smiling, sure of your plan bound to work.

Then his eyes popped open immediately.

“What’s the game..?” Zoro’s face slightly changed to a smile.

“It’s a simple memory game.. k?” you prepared the rules in your mind.

“Fine, get this over with… or..”

You could have sworn he muttered “..or…”, but after all it wasn’t your place to ask him what he had said when you randomly intruded on the man’s peaceful napping session.

“Ok so I'm gonna make up three hand signals in a random order and I'll add to it each time, your job is to copy me. Plus if you fail once you lose and we switch places.”

His mind took a second or two to process all of that info but it seemed like he understood, hopefully..

“Alright..” he looked up at you, now he was giving you his undivided attention.

Robin's plan was working.

After a couple of rounds he eventually failed and snickered at you. Now it was his turn to make up the hand signals..

“Watch me, I'll win!” you smiled confidently.

“Yeah, yeah totally.” The look he gave you was mischievous, like he was planning something you couldn’t predict.

And so he did..

His first movement was to grab your collar and pull you in closer, his second was to lift your chin and lean in on your soft lips, and by movement three..? Well let’s just say you and him were a blushing mess. He assumed that you knew what movement three was already supposed to be..

“Repeat that.” He smiled at you with a deep look.

“Fine I wi-” he cut you off..

“And the third movement too. Unless you don't wanna win..”

“Deal, watch me!”

You repeated the steps of grabbing his collar and lifting his chin. You pulled him in closer and looked up at him unsure about this whole situation.

“Do it” he said while looking at you.

You slowly brought him in closer and kissed him. The kiss lasted for a while until you eventually broke apart.

You were a blushing mess, as for Zoro?

“So where’s my booze at..?” (I was literally screaming when I read this over, this is my fav)

~~~

Sanji:

Sanji, as being chef of the Straw Hats was usually always in the Thousands Sunny’s kitchen, either he’d be taking orders from Luffy to cook something tasty like meat or be making special drinks for the lady’s around him.

However, today was different, he decided to finally take a break that he needed. He was walking around and wandered into the Sunny's library. There he found you, studying or reading. Either way he found it cute. When you noticed him and smiled, his heart fluttered.

So as bold as Sanji is, he sat in the seat right in front of you, staring you down intently.

“Whatcha reading there y/n?” he gazed at your book.

“Oh.. nothing much, Robin told me if I had any free time to read it because it was really good. I believe it’s alright.. I’m not too crazy over books.”

He loved the sounds of your voice. The way you talked and looked at him while you glanced at your book at the same time. It was all too much and too perfect for him.

And then all of sudden his day dreaming was abruptly ended by a wave. This wave shook the library and luckily only some books fell out of their place.

“Awh man..” you looked disappointed.

“Sanji, if it isn’t too much to ask, could you help me clean this up..? ..I think Robin would really appreciate it.” you smiled softly.

He took no time to accept your offer and helped you clean up.

As you two were busy cleaning and placing all the books back into their spots, Sanji came around a weird box named “Twister”.

“Hey y/n, look at this.” he faced you with the box in his hands.

“Oh, that’s interesting.. That’s a fun game, I wonder what it’s doing in the library though..” you seemed puzzled.

Sanji adored the face you made when you were confused. Then a great idea popped into his mind.

“Would you wanna play?” he smirked at you.

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt to, do you know how to play though?”

“Not really.. But I wouldn’t mind you teaching me~” He chuckled.

After a long 15 mins of reading the rules over to Sanji, he finally grasped the main idea of the game. This was really his kind of game.

“Ahh.. I see, let's start then~!” He began setting out the mat on the wooden floor of the Sunny.

Then you both began to play and spin the spinner, further and further into the game your limbs both got tangled and tangled.

“Right leg on blue, left arm on red…”

Sanji was trying with all this might to not look up at you with your ‘interesting’ position balancing over top of him. Eventually your muscles both gave out at the same time and you landed on top of Sanji.

Since Sanji is the Sanji we all know and love he automatically nose bled and proceeded to pass out.

With Chopper’s help he was just fine, but those newly discovered feelings he had only for you weren't.

~~~ Finish line here!

Comment your fav Oneshot! <3

Consider following..?

(This is probably one of my fav posts of all time. ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ)

[joannasteez]

the sex life of evie moore - (the first one)

summary: after a tumultuous relationship, with a more than cordial ending, evie moore seeks to spend the rest of her college experience having a bit of fun

authors notes & warnings: this is purely indulgent. contains explicit descriptions of sex and talks of relationships, romantic or otherwise. super big shoutout to @harmshake , she is inactive but has been an immense collaborator in terms of plot points and ideas.

word count: a chill 2,000. if you look through my masterlist this is baby food. can't promise that for the later parts.

genre: alternative universe - college

mentioned characters include but are not limited to, cm punk, damian priest, roman reigns, cody rhodes, rhea ripley... so on and so forth. aforementioned characters are not owned by myself.

evie—the formality of yvette is a little too wiry for this sort of thing isn't it?—knows punk—he goes real stiff when he hears "phil"—pretty well. well enough. maybe a little too much. like an overconsumption that dampens the taste of a thing almost. almost. she knows his blonde box dyed hair, the forever chipped polish coating his nails and that metal labret hanging off his lip that gives his face more personality than he needs. because he's a fucking well of that shit already. an obnoxious pepsi logo tattoo taking up residence on his arm, bags under the eyes that make him look more teasing than unwell, and this growing 'turn all my shirts into tanktops' obsession she can't quite understand just yet. 

vanilla on his skin. warm. like autumn. and mint on his tongue. always. evie knows punk, not enough for it to be banal, but like it's routine. the sun rises, the earth rotates, and unless some God level event stops that meticulous flow then it'll always be that way won't it? but what about the unknowns. the new. the different. the must be found. 

other fishes in the sea, other stars in the galaxy, that sort of thing.

cm punk's queen sized bed has an evie sized dent in it. 

the break up was a year ago. 

"are you still in love with me?'"

he's mid-kiss, shirtless and already half-hard. tucked intimately into her neck. mint lingering on the skin from his mouth. but he's huffing now. the sort of emptiness that comes from interruption. releasing the sure-to-bite—the kind she likes— grip on her thigh he'd have if he held on any longer. "don't do this please". 

"i'm being—"

"serious...", eyes rolling with the rest of him to splay out. "i know. that's the problem". 

and evie scoffs, because never has her delusions about their...relationship...taken her so boldly as to be wrong this bad. there has to be something there. a deep infatuation lingering maybe. a full year removed from calling it quits but scheduling sessions for sex still and saying things that sound a little like 'i love you'. he had to be caught up somewhere in that terrible storm of affection, even after all this time. right? turning over to reach for a used up sketch book. and if he wasn't then why did he— 

"you still draw sketches of my pussy".  

the pages sound with a quick whipping slap. like the memory of seeing her vagina drawn in such meticulous detail—shadows, highlights and the like—is too much of an unusual thing to forget or be regular about. 

the part of his lip where his labret sits, lifts. a lopsided smirk thats all arrogance. the type that tends to bleed off talent. the type that goes on unashamed and blemish-less, even when evie shoves the sketch in his face for some faux disturbed dramatic effect. "you're gettin' up in arms about grade A georgia o'keeffe inspiration babe". 

and she just has to laugh. a snort that works a bit dirty, because even his seriousness is so damn unserious. pulling up to kneel next to the casual way he lays against the bed. sinking into that evie-shaped-dip like he's comfortable. thats the problem. too comfortable. "this is the birthmark on my vulva dumbass". 

"that you didn't even know existed till i told you". snatching up the book to a close. access to vagina portraits suddenly denied. a scowl etching just enough to be seen, and just enough to make those natural bags beneath the eyes less teasing and more full of brooding. like maybe there was a life of pride living for those little drawings. for the musings and bits of details that took a particular sort of painstaking effort, considering it all must've been from memory. a life—at the hands and words of evie moore—that so abruptly faced a deep erasing. "y'know how many chicks would dig me sketchin' their pussy?"

"you mean you're $25 pop up shop, vertical ID, groupies?" 

"you were 19 when we met at a pop—"

the fluff of a pillow snatching up in her hand before its smushing against his face. hushing those lies that aren't lies really. her thighs drawing up over him to straddle for a better angling. "a month, i was a month from 20, and you were salivating for crumbs of attention...", she jokes. whacking him with the pillow before he's rolling to get over on her. a smirk fighting not to pull it's way across his mouth. "...practically begged for my number".  

his fingers pull against her thigh for a pinch. the tease of the act making her jump before he's easing up along the bed and her body again, assuming a similar position to where he began before the dropping of that fully loaded question. hooking into the band of her underwear for a short tease of a tug against the cotton. "you were thumbin' down your miniskirt for a hip tattoo just so i could see the color of your thong", that sure smell of mint curling closer till it lingers in her nose. the metal hooking his lip, a cool ghost of a sensation as it makes to touch. a test of a kiss. shy and fresh tasting. 

her eyes roll, knowingly even. "what color was the thong punk?"

and this smile can't be helped much. the sort that breaks even and eager from memory. toothy and unrelenting. the sort he attempts to hide in the safety of placing a deeper kiss at her lips. a simple slotting pull. because if he's sketching her vulva and all the intricacies thereof from memory, then surely he'll remember this. 

punk's teeth snag at her mouth, the slight of it playing at something prickly, for his own amusement, before he's slipping tongue and curling it over for a short languid kiss. mumbling, "that's not the point...", settling into his own satisfaction with a moaning hum. evie's body warm and so naturally ready. eager. her legs moving under his touch to wrap about him and her fingers this gentle file through his hair. "...it was baby green, but thats not the point...", chuckling as he moves to kiss elsewhere. a wet trail to her pulse. tugging with those hooked fingers again at her panties. pressing and sweeping between her legs till he's pushing and prodding at the seat of them with a circling thumb. 

but evie hates this. her inabilities anyways. never able to be quiet. because any suggestive touch is met by breathy little nothings that urge him forward into something more sure and exacting. and never able to stick to her guns either. or at least as far as punk is concerned. the many off again-on again periods of their romance, and then the post-called it quits rendezvous', serving as bittersweet proof. tender noise strumming up her throat even now, from the steady touching and petting and amorous maneuvers. surely to quiet her questions. a lax press into where the blood is beating at her neck, wet and smooth and rolling enough till she's squirming and squeezing him closer. 

"...salivating implies a ton of shit that sums up to lies...", he hums. amused. pushing off to bring himself further down the bed and between the heat of her thighs. pressing gentle to spread. the cool metal hooking over his bottom lip playing at the tempered skin. "...because if i remember correctly, not too long after, i was the one changing pillow cases and sheets, 'cause a certain somebody couldn't keep her mouth shut long enough to stop the drool from comin' out".

a sharp breath cuts. a heavy exhale that almost feels like relief, if not for the inhale to follow. her hips hitching as punk lets his tongue run warm at her inner thigh. 

her words breathy and unstable. "you want me to apologize for enjoying dick?" 

"you could actually stand to sing my praises more often". 

a huff.  evie coming up to lean against her elbows. brows pulling in. a dissatisfaction coloring her eyes that clues punk in on an undesirable outcome of blue balls. "s'not like im singin' anyone else's".

theres no use in rousing her up is there? inspiring a pleasure she won't enjoy much, not when she's in her head and picking at her thoughts to the bone. but that somber streak about her face does the same to ill him a bit as much as the possibility of blue balls. does even more maybe. "this isn't a 'lets get back together' talk is it?", he asks, moving from between her legs and off the bed to grab a t-shirt. 

it isn't at all some mortifying ordeal, but it is a terrible one, given past instances. the lovers quarrels were interesting to put it lightly, and endless to put it plainly. 

evie's legs pull in to cross. "no". 

"ok, good...", plopping down to lay beside her. a run of something under his skin, inklings gathering from that far away, thoughtful look to her that she can't shake. "...talk then. what's goin on?"  

and maybe, this is why, despite the numbered futile efforts at a deeper romance, punk would never truly leave evie. because to leave, would mean forsaking these moments; pitfalls into an uncovering of some long time introspection. thinking so harshly that her over-thoughts are overthought. his hand reaching to her arm with this pulling sort of caress. an invitation. intimacy with no complicated elements to follow. her body shifting into him in such a way that her head lays to tuck into his neck. warm breaths that stick sweetly to his skin. a leg thrown over his waist that waits for the comfort of his hand. 

they were at their best this way. in the quiet of some uncategorized affection. 

punk gives in rather easily. melts into the her-shaped dent of his bed, an arm coming around to hug her in and the other letting his fingers take to that leg falling over his waist. a simple touch that finds her hip. thumbing to draw beneath her panty line at the shape of a tattoo. 

a small, thin lined, bunny etched into the skin, done up from way back during the first try of their relationship. 

"you're my first for a number of things", she gives. pulling up to look him in the eyes. 

"i am...", his thumb falling away to hook into her knee. pulling her closer. "...for most things". 

"i don't know, i just—", the words attempting to form at an uneven pace. "i feel like i'm lacking in experience. like the only person i know in this way is you and i'm missin' out on other people because we—"

"you feel like i'm forcing you to have sex with me?" 

"no! no", rushing in to salvage her thoughts. or trying to at least. her forehead falling to rest at his chest. a heavy exhaustion coming from all the inner over-scrutinizing. "thats not what i'm saying". 

but if punk were to say that he's completely clueless about the matter, that'd be a lie. caught in this liminal space for quiet a while. a year to be exact. months of a stagnant comfort they'd made into a resting place. functioning like the couple they'd always hoped to be, but formed like something else. never able to shape and mesh just right enough to make the work of it long lasting. 

the arm he's got hugging her in drops to let his palm run a course along her back. "we might've blurred the lines a little".

evie snorts. 

"a little bit yeah". 

because no shit. 

"listen eve...", stitching sentiment together with the delicate pull of a needle. and the tenderness as he begins here catches her up so well till they're stuck at the eyes. "...you know i got a lot of love for you, considering all the sketches of your eyes and your nose and your vulva...", the both of them smiling at his choice of inspiration. "...but we both know how terrible it gets when we trying making sense of anything past this...", his finger motioning about the bedroom. "...the sparks always fly a little too hot for our own good before somebody is left burnt. you find yourself wanting to roll around with someone else, don't stop on my account thinkin' it'll hurt me". 

"it won't?"

punk brings his mouth to place a kiss against her forehead. the warmth lingering as he makes to answer. "no". 

[incandescent-creativity]

Hi friend, can you say more about what your meeting with the book coach was like and what they do? I haven't heard of that specific service before but it sounds really cool! Also congratulations on all your FLOAT progress :)!

Yes of course!

The lady I’ve found is helping me write FLOAT. We met to talk about my writing process and style, aka I told her I’m an over writer who rarely finishes a first draft.

So her strategy is to get me to the end of a "bare bones" draft, which focuses on first nailing down novel and scene structure and deciding on the relevant core scenes of your story, then completing the first draft up to the end point of the novel.

The idea is to write the whole story, plot beats and complete character arcs included, in as few scenes/words as possible, leaving all the fun worldbuilding and side quests and B plots for later (she has me filling in brackets with my notes for my ideas).

Once I have that, the two of us will then review and look at the next part of the process, which involves developing the story through theme, world-building, description, subplots, etc. Going back in and filling in the brackets basically!

It’s not a writing method I ever would have come up with for myself, but it’s interesting and it sounds like it could work, so I’m giving it a shot!

This morning’s meeting was just the two of us going through my outline and talking about which scenes I’ll be writing, so she got a better sense of. What FLOAT is even about lol

Once I have a finished first draft, we’ll see what the plan is! I don’t know whether that will be me reading through and editing on my own, or if we move straight to hiring her again to do like a fully editing phase, or what, but I’m excited!

[rainbowchewynuggets]

TMA Encore - Epilogue

Georgie: The Wilkinson House–also known as the Floating House or Trespasser House–was built in 1896 in Rodell, Kentucky, USA. Two brothers, Joseph and Mathias Wilkinson, inherited their late father’s coveted plot of land. Unwilling to reach an agreement over the use of the land, the brothers descended into an increasingly ugly feud. Joseph built a house “overnight” to stake his claim, using materials bought at short-sale auctions in a nearby town. Said town was suffering from air and water pollution from newly built factories surrounding the steps of the Appalachian Mountains where it lay. The town as it was slowly dismantled and moved out, and the area has since been named Smog, Kentucky. Fun fact: three of these factories belonged to Wilkinson Sr. It is unclear whether they were included in the will.

Georgie: Joseph contracted tetanus while finishing the house and died soon after. Mathias tried to have the house torn down, but apparently had a change of heart and moved it to the same lot as his own home. His body was found with a broken neck in the attic by a neighbor a few days later.

Georgie: The house was made into a tourist attraction the following year, on account of the shocking tale behind it as well as its eerie creeks and slamming doors–most likely due to the rushed craftsmanship. The story went that Joseph’s ghost had possessed his brother and made him move the house, then killed him in revenge. The attraction was moderately popular up until the Great Depression. It never officially closed, despite additional unexplained deaths on the property and a growing negative reputation. The body count only drew in a steady stream of onlookers, according to tour records.

Georgie: It wasn’t until the spring of 2017 that things began to change. On April 18th, the house was observed to have disappeared from the lot without a trace.

Georgie: Five months later, a house of identical description allegedly appeared on a small island in the Pacific Northwest. A retired entrepreneur reported to local police that it had been placed illegally, as she had bought the island privately several weeks before. Police were ready to dismiss the complaint when they arrived and found nothing. She was adamant that the intrusion had occurred and went on record with a vivid argument she had had with one of the two occupants, who she says had been reading a book written in Spanish on the porch. The other was repairing part of the railing and shot her dirty looks. The complaint was sustained after fresh scratches and paint chips were found in the soil, but the case was otherwise shelved.

Georgie: Surprisingly, the pair of men don’t appear to be the Wilkinsons. The brothers were both Kentucky-born and -bred, white, average height, muscular, and almost hairless. The house’s new occupants were “British-sounding”. One was very thin and short and appeared to be of Indian or Middle-Eastern descent, with silver hair. The other was tall, heavy-set, and white with brown hair.

Georgie: Similar reports would crop up in North, Central, and South America over the next few years and get passed around on Tumblr, Twitter, and Reddit. The house would almost always appear in secluded areas that were off-limits to the public and disappear itself shortly after being found. It was always inhabited by the same two men, with the added consensus that they were married.

Georgie: They were rarely spotted in nearby towns and never spoke with anyone enough for their names to become known. When they were interacted with, they were generally polite--if a little tired or distracted. Otherwise, they were found to be wandering the area around their house together, mending the exterior, reading, or reciting aloud. Even the most invasive person couldn’t attempt to film or approach the house without suffering a migraine or severe paranoia before losing consciousness. The house would be gone when they woke up, and their recording device rendered unusable. But written descriptions match a file photo of the original Wilkinson house. Debate sprung up over whether the two were ghosts, aliens, witches, a made up meme that keeps coming into fashion, or two eccentric recluses who happened to be living in a haunted house and deserved to be left alone.

Georgie: Sightings became more sparse toward 2023. When the couple were encountered, they never responded when spoken to. A reddit user in Mongolia supposedly used their home telescope to take photos through the house’s windows where it sat in a glen behind their apartment. The two men sat still or paced in separate rooms for a few hours. They stopped and came together to talk once. The redditor recorded the conversation through lip reading and concluded that they were arguing in English about “where it was going” or “what we are being”. Their accuracy is disputed. The occupants then began pulling books and papers off of the shelves in every room. The user stepped away for a few minutes and came back to find that all the windows were greyed out. They were unsure if they were covered in smoke or paper. The house stayed for a week in that state before disappearing. This account used to be widely discredited, as it didn’t fit the behavior profile at the time and the photos taken are unreadable. More radical accounts are believed to exist going backward, but have suffered from link decay and regional internet suppression.

Georgie: On May 8th of 2024, an elderly woman living next to a military base in New Mexico told her connected family that there had been a security threat that morning, complete with sirens and troops rushing out with rifles and buggies. Her husband–who works as a janitor there–only alluded to “some kind of prank with an old empty house”. Their grandchildren relayed the story to their mutuals on tumblr, stirring attention in the States again.

Georgie: Following reports of the Floating House usually included some description of a visit by a pair of American “secret service” agents or men in military garb with weapons. The usual couple either answer the door or refuse to come out, and the house is gone within minutes. Similar accounts were made by users in China, Chile, Australia, and Turkiye, but were discounted as the agents were always said to be American. The circumstances of each encounter continued to escalate until it was claimed by a cyclist in Mayak, Russia that there was some kind of standoff between the two sides, followed by a “nuclear” explosion that left nothing behind but the house. The area appeared untouched the next day, but had apparently become irradiated due to previously unaccounted-for material in the soil that had been agitated by construction efforts. A few people were found dead in the area. The cyclist himself had to be treated for burns.

Georgie: From here, it gets a little muddy. Despite a renewed surge in popularity for the Floating House, agreed-upon sightings are very rare for the next two years. It only appears in very sparsely populated areas along the north and south poles and is even faster to disappear. A researcher in Antarctica thought she saw the outline of a roof on the horizon as the sun rose after six months of night, but it was gone a few seconds later. She managed to get a quick drawing of the shape, which will be included in the image links in the description. There are often claims of similar encounters to the American secret agent incident. Sometimes it’s cultists. Sometimes it’s businessmen. Or “werewolves”. Sometimes it’s members of a particular subgroup that also follows the sightings. It all ends the same, with the house as the only thing standing when the dust has cleared. The house’s legend has become so routine, that many accounts are ignored out of hand and highly disputed. Though, it is notable that the inhabitants haven’t been a visible part of the story in several months.

Georgie: Phew. Now, to wrap up our deep-dive on the Floating House, we’re going to hear a first-hand account from just last year.

Napâttuk: Okay. Um, hello. My name is Napâttuk Waska. I saw the house in the woods near my hometown–south of Salluit, Quebec, basically. Almost at the tip. I’m not sure exactly how long it had been there by the time I found it. I practically lived in those woods from birth, but I’d been away at university in Montreal with my partner, Tootega.

Napâttuk: I kind of have to tell you about all that for this to make sense. She had some friends there who were willing to let us stay with them. And it was… it was really bad. Not the friends. I’d just never lived in a big city before, and I wasn’t expecting all the trash and noise and giant ugly buildings. And then, there was a really big forest fire nearby a little while after we got there. We didn’t end up having to evacuate, but smoke came in on the wind for two weeks. I was covered in ash and my eyes hurt by the time I got to class every day. The way the sun came through the smoke made everything look orange and menacing. I tried my best to stick it out because Tega was handling it alright. But I just found myself sitting inside all the time, watching people talk on the news about the new giant ugly buildings they were going to put in the place where the trees were burning down. I had to make myself not freak out every time there was a little change in how the air smelled for the rest of the semester.

Napâttuk: Anyway. By the time we finally went back home after finals, I was desperate to feel normal again. This was December, and it hadn’t really snowed yet–which is very odd. But the weather said snow was coming, so I tried not to let it bother me. I decided to go hiking in a spot I knew about ten miles from town. It’s a bowl surrounded by hills, so it’s hard to get lost. I didn’t make Tega go with me. She hates hiking. But it was fine. It was just like I remembered. I felt great.

Napâttuk: And that’s when I saw it. Just–this house sitting in the middle of the forest. First of all, this is the Low Arctic. We don’t even have a ton of forests. It could have been put anywhere else. Second, this is my forest. I mean, it’s not. But. It was like someone had just dumped the house there and knocked over a bunch of trees, and then left. There were skid marks on the ground, like it had been dragged. It even looked like trash. It’s exactly the same as the picture you showed me, but the windows and roof had been covered up with metal. Most of the wood I could see had bullet holes in it. The paint was almost gone, and the slats were discolored and caked in brown and yellow stuff. Like some kind of glue. The weirdest thing was that it looked… bloated. Have you ever seen wood that’s been left in the water too long, and it gets swollen and bent? It was like that, but something had been pushing at it from the inside at the same time. I could hear it creaking and groaning under its own weight. The whole thing was slanted away from the ruts in the ground, which was also strange. I was too mad to really think about that at the time.

Napâttuk: It reminded me of some of the scary neighborhoods around the university, so I was nervous about getting the attention of anyone inside. But I made myself get over it and marched up to the door. I heard rustling when I knocked, so I knew someone was in there. I–I don’t know what was wrong with me. I tried opening the door. It barely moved, like there was something heavy barricading the other side. I kept pushing on it, and it suddenly swung inward.

Napâttuk: …

Napâttuk: The… the inside was so dark, I didn’t see anything. But I knew that I was staring down into a chasm. I swear. The vertigo almost made me collapse. I jerked backward to avoid losing my balance and took a tumble down the steps of the porch. I was okay, but I still felt myself slipping. I had to cling to the ground to keep from falling into the house. There was nothing to grab onto, and I kept sliding back on the pine needles and loose soil. I slowly crawled my way back into the trees until I could stand. Then, I ran until I was back at my car.

Napâttuk: I told Tega about it, and she said it sounded like the Floating House stuff she’d read about. I had no idea. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. She’s much more online than I am. She really likes SCP and things like that. I’m not sure she fully believed me about the falling part, but she and some friends agreed to go back with me. I didn’t want to go too near it again. I just wanted it… reported, I guess.

Napâttuk: The thing is, we couldn’t even find the place where it was. It’s not a huge area. It made Tega more excited, but our friends were pretty annoyed to be dragged into the freezing woods for nothing. I was mortified. I knew where it was, we must have just been circling around it. I cut through another way, and when I turned around, Tega and the others were gone. I kept looking, until I saw that the sun was going down. They weren’t picking up their phones, they didn’t hear me calling them. I decided to just leave and see if they were waiting for me by the car. But then, I couldn’t find the treeline. The trees just went on and on and on. It got hot. I was hot even after I took off my parka. And then, I smelled smoke. It hung in the air all around me and got thicker until I couldn’t see. Ash came off of me in sheets as I waded through it like gritty snow. I couldn’t tell which way the bowl went anymore. I eventually felt something through the ash, but it was hard and flat like concrete. It hurt to walk on. I don’t know, it sounds crazy. I was tired and deprived of oxygen. I don’t remember getting to the road, but I woke up in the medical center in town. One of my neighbors had found me on their way home.

Napâttuk: Tega and the others had gone home without me, apparently? I asked them about what happened, but they wouldn’t talk about it. They keep saying they didn’t find the house, but I think they’re lying. They did say they saw the fire–there really was one. Nobody knows why. Heavy snowfall put it out before it did any real damage. It wasn’t where the house was, and there hasn’t been any word about people finding it. Nothing’s really happened since then, but I had to move to Alberta to get away from the smell of smoke.

Georgie: I see. Do Tega and your friends still live there?

Napâttuk: I’m not sure. They’re mostly her friends, and she and I don’t really talk anymore. The last couple times that we did, she was really agitated about something. I got the sense that we were losing touch because she was busy trying to deal with it. A few months ago, my mom told me she had gotten in trouble for stalking this guy who lived out by the water and had his lights off all the time. Only came out at night. Never had a flashlight. Walked with a cane. I just assumed he was a little blind and sunburned easily. He was always super friendly and chill. But I asked Tega about it, and she said he’d been accused of kidnapping when he lived in Sweden?? Like, kidnapped a whole lot of people??? What????? It’s messed up if it’s true, but then Tega got arrested trying to break into his house with an axe. I just–I can’t believe any of this is happening.

Napâttuk: A while ago, I dove into the Floating House forums to try to make sense of it. I made a bunch of posts about what happened, and people asked all kinds of questions. I was so relieved. I felt like I could actually talk to someone about it. I even put up the coordinates of where I’d seen the house. But lately, my mom says there’s been a lot more tourism at home, and I can’t help wondering if that has something to do with me. I don’t think you can even get to the bowl anymore. The road was closed after some kind of accident. She says people still park up there, though. I… I haven’t thought about going back there before, but… do you think I should?

Georgie: Wh–I–why do you ask?

Napâttuk: You’re the professional. I’m the one who opened it, so maybe I should close it.

Georgie: … I don’t know.

Napâttuk: That’s okay. Sorry… For all I know, it’s not even there anymore. Did you have any other questions?

Georgie: I did see that you took down the locations you’d posted.

Napâttuk: Yeah, it just. It made me nervous. But somebody else probably has them saved and put up somewhere.

Georgie: Hmm. You know, This kind of thing happens all the time. It blows over when something else interesting comes along. And honestly, a lot of these “sightings” are on pretty shaky ground. I wouldn’t worry.

Napâttuk: Right. You’re right.

Georgie: Okay, well, I think that’s about it. Thank you very much for coming on.

Napâttuk: Uh, yeah. No problem. Bye.

————

Prev

First

Whoa. Wow. I can’t believe it. That’s it. That’s the end.

I’ve had this fic slowly taking up more and more space in my head since 2020. And now, it’s fully out there! Spiraling off into the internet like the big crazy snake that it is.

I know the process was rocky, but I’m really glad I stuck it out all the way. I learned a whole lot, and I actually feel more sure that making comics is what I want to do than ever (while working out a more sustainable way to do it, of course).

And I’m really grateful to you, if you’ve read the entire thing or just a page. All the comments and reblogs and kind words have been really nice to hear and helped me keep going. Seriously, thank you.

Maybe have a look at my other stuff, if you’re so inclined.

Hoo... anyway.

I need a nap.

Bye. <3

Index

[humbledragon669]

Script to Screen comparison: Episode 6 – The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives P1 – additions and amendments

Standard Intro

Having followed the episodes through with the Script Book, I've tried to break the differences between the original script and the end result on screen into a couple of different categories:

Large changes (whole scenes/multiple lines of script.

Things that are in the original script but not in the finished episode (I'm calling these deletions). These and the large changes are in part 1 of the write up for this episode.

Things that aren't in the original script but are in the finished episode (I'm calling these additions).

Things that have been changed (I'm calling these ones amendments).

Not all of the changes fit neatly into one category or the other (there are shades of grey...). The first three of the differences will be presented within bullet lists, with a description. The last of the categories will be presented in a table. I'll make comments about anything I find particularly notable after each category.

Additions

There were a LOT of very minor differences in this particular episode (specifically, additions of “um”, “ah”, “oh”, “right”, “well”, among others), which I have not included in this episode’s write up.

The shots of the parallel members of The Them and the Horsemen (War vs. Pepper, etc.) after the two groups meet on the tarmac.

The shot of Madame Tracy and Aziraphale actually separating.

The shot of Madame Tracy returning the thundergun after it has been fired to Shadwell.

God’s scripted line about making choices: “It was time to decide who friends were.” Episode version: “It was time to decide who your friends were. And Adam had.”

Famine rushing at Wensleydale.

Gabriel’s request for Beelzebub to join him in a private discussion (“Can I…?”).

Aziraphale telling Crowley where the prophecy had come from, and Crowley reading it out (whilst on the bench).

Crowley’s reminder of Agnes’s prophecy before he and Aziraphale board the bus.

Gabriel’s reiteration that Heaven’s new contact is on his way.

The shot of Shadwell leaving his flat and entering Madame Tracy’s, including her seating him at the table.

Baddicombe introducing himself to Anathema.

Baddicombe’s exclamation at seeing his name on an envelope inside the package he has brought to Jasmine Cottage.

God’s original scripted line for the speech about Adam and summers: “There would never be one like this.” Episode version: “There would be other summers but there would never be one like this.”

Crowley’s exclamation before he says it’s time to leave the garden (“Right.”).

Crowley’s exclamation when Aziraphale tells him a table has become available at the Ritz.

The shot of the nightingale in the tree.

Just as with the deletions, I feel like most of these additions have been made with the sole purpose of making the end result the best it can possibly be, and there are a couple in particular that I think do this brilliantly. The first of those is the montage shot of each of The Them paired against their parallel member of the Four Horsemen.

I talked about it in the actual episode write up so I won’t repeat it too much here, but if you had any doubts that these two groups of beings are supposed to be mirror images of each other, this shot should dispel them, and sets us up very nicely for the individual battles between each pair that are coming up. It’s very simple, but brilliantly effective.

The shot of Aziraphale and Madame Tracy is one I really love, and is (in my humble opinion) a much better solution to this problem for a visual medium that the one presented in the script:

And Aziraphale is there in the flesh, standing next to Madame Tracy.

I mean, that just sounds… a little bit dull. #sorrynotsorry. I much prefer the fun little special effect we got in the finished episode, and it gives us the opportunity to see the shocked expressions on Shadwell and Crowley’s faces.

The last thing I want to touch upon, and it’s that shot of Shadwell leaving his flat and making his way into Madame Tracy’s. It doesn’t add anything to the storyline (not on an obvious level – for my interpretation of the sub-text in, see the write up I did for the episode itself), I just think it’s a beautiful piece of camerawork.

Amendments

Lots of these changes are pretty subtle, and I don’t know that the versions we see on the screen offer much in the way of changed or deeper meaning. As with the ones I highlighted in episode 5, quite a few of the dialogue changes feel like they may simply have been done because the version we hear in the finished episode felt more natural. The actors may not even have realised they were doing it. There are a handful of them that I would say that this is not the case with. First up:

This one is such a little thing, but I think it says a lot about how Crowley sees his plants. “Pot plants” doesn’t really tell you much about them, but “house plants” suggests that they actually have a purpose, a place in someone’s life. And whilst we’re on the subject of meanings being completely changed with the smallest change, let’s look at this one:

I actually talked about this difference in the episode write-up. In fact, I think it might have been the catalyst for me wanting to do the script-to-screen comparisons. Let’s see what I said about it back then:

Well. Pretty much nailed that first time around, didn’t I? Here’s the last example of the whole tiny-changes-big-consequences thing:

This one is interesting because it’s not the meaning that’s changed with the amendment, but the parallel made by the amended line that is lacking with the originally scripted one. Because now it matches the phrasing used by Crowley, prompting him and Aziraphale to depart from Berkeley Square:

CROWLEY: Time to leave the garden.

It makes me wonder, particularly given the deleted scene of Crowley and Aziraphale serendipitously arriving in the HQ lobby at the same time on their way out, if this line said by two different characters separated by distance actually happened at the same moment. And perhaps at the same time that Shadwell leaves his own “garden�� – his flat. Probably not, but it would be pretty cool if it was.

There are two amendments to stage directions that I think are worth noting. Here’s the first:

I actually prefer the original setting for this one. There’s something about the placard being shown for the first time against a black background that I really like. After all, a black screen is so very similar to a literal “blank slate”, and I feel like that would have been a really good piece of sub-text for us to have at this point in time – that everybody gets to start afresh. Then there’s this little titbit:

This one intrigues me, because Crowley having a tartan tie would have screamed that something was amiss. Sure, the stage directions do state that this particular detail should be subtle, but I just don’t really know how that would have been achieved. I think whoever came up with the idea of changing that little element to be a collar instead deserves a medal. Last up, we have this little oddity:

Now, I have checked the lyrics (it was rather lacklustre research I’ll grant you, but I did do it), and I couldn’t find any reference to the originally scripted line being used by someone in a release of this popular song. I don’t know if this is a genuine mistake by the author, or whether he intended to change the lyric for the show. If it’s the latter, I think there’s probably something to be explored there (not here!). Even if it’s the former, I still find it interesting, given the attention to detail that’s paid to the production of this show in every other area.

I think that’s about all I’ve got. This being the last of the episodes, and there being no script book for season 2, this will be the last of the script-to-screen comparisons I do. I hope you’ve enjoyed them, maybe found something interesting in them that you can add to the brainrot library. They turned out to be a lot more intensive that I was anticipated, but they’ve certainly turned over some interesting points for me. I’m not quite done with the Script Book yet – the plan is to do a quick scan over the deleted scenes that are included in it, see if there are any interesting notes from them, and perhaps do a little summary of this whole experience. For now though, and as always, questions, comments, discussion are always welcome 😊

[sad-boys-anonymous]

Broken Façade

Crossposted to ao3

Genre: sickfic

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Description: Malleus requires some TLC. Lilia is left a bit introspective. 

Warnings: mentions of vomit and vomiting

----

Evenings at the Diasomnia dorms were always quite peaceful, which Lilia appreciated after a long day. Retiring to his room to read a book or strum on his guitar for a bit before bed was a valuable part of his day. The hallways were free of idle chatter or wandering students, forming the perfect environment to clear his mind and relax. 

Tonight, the dorm was especially empty, as most of the first years (and some of the second years, too) had made the trek to Ramshackle dorm, where its prefect was holding a party. Malleus had been among the first of the student body to receive an invitation, and Lilia made the decision to let him enjoy the party on his own (albeit sandwiched between Silver and Sebek). The Ramshackle prefect had a knack for drawing Malleus out of his shell, as they always made an effort to include Malleus in their teenage hijinks. 

Wetting the tip of his finger, Lilia flipped to the next page of his book- a hefty cookbook featuring recipes from all across Twisted Wonderland. He was always excited to try new things in the kitchen for mealtime, and tonight he had his eye on a particularly intriguing beef dish. He kept a pens and a set of sticky notes at his side for annotating the recipe- he found the concept of adding a raw egg to a serving of raw beef intriguing, and couldn’t help but wonder how it would combine with other techniques he had seen abroad. 

The sound of footsteps in the hall made Lilia pause. Malleus? 

The mortal ear would have likely heard nothing at all, but Lilia could hear a pin drop on the other side of the dormitory. Malleus’s steps were light and careful, like the trot of a deer or the stride of a cat.

Lilia cast a sideways glance at the clock on his nightstand. The night was still young, at least to rowdy teenagers. He felt a twinge of concern when he realized Malleus’s footsteps weren’t accompanied by the sounds of Silver and Sebek, as Lilia would have definitely heard them coming. 

“Did you have fun?” Lilia asked the lanky figure hovering by threshold of the door. 

Malleus didn’t respond. Instead, he entered the room, his gait noticeably stilted as he approached Lilia, the shadow cast by his bangs obscuring his face. The bed creaked as Malleus wordlessly settled next to Lilia, squeezing against the curve of his body and resting his head against his chest. 

Well that was a surprise. It had been decades since Malleus wanted to cuddle, ever since he had gotten it into his head that he was too ‘mature’ and ‘cool’ to crawl into bed with the fae that had raised him. Lilia had probably gotten more cuddle-time out of him when he was an egg. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’?” Lilia said cautiously, watching Malleus’s stony face for any hints. The boy was difficult to read, but his frown carried a slightly different air from his usual scowl, an indication that something was wrong. 

For a moment, a paternal flame was stoked in Lilia’s chest, a retired soldier preparing to rise. He had enjoyed his time at Night Raven College, of course, but if a few buildings needed to be flattened to defend the sanctity of his boy, well…

“…It was fun,” Malleus’s voice, muffled into the breast of Lilia’s pajamas, interrupting Lilia’s thoughts, “I just…” 

A low, sickly gurgle finished his sentence, emanating from the boy’s stomach. A blotch of pink painted over Malleus’s unusually sallow skin as he wrapped his arms over his torso, a twinge of pain causing his face to contort. 

“Ah, I think I see the problem,” Lilia said, a twinkle lighting up his mischievous ruby eyes, “All that party food not settling in your stomach too well, huh?” 

Malleus muttered something Lilia didn’t quite catch under his breath, avoiding his gaze. His blush traveled to the tips of his pointed ears, and he would have been cute if Lilia didn’t feel bad for him. Malleus was never one to easily admit defeat, Lilia could only imagine how miserable he had to feel to leave the party and retreat to his guardian’s bed. 

Prying away one of Malleus’s pale arms, Lilia eased his fingers over his belly. He could feel the turmoil inside, plain as day, under his touch. In general, fae had hearty constitutions, but given Malleus’s…sheltered upbringing, he hadn’t quite developed the tolerance for the sugary and greasy delicacies his peers indulged in.

Lilia brought his other hand atop Malleus’s head, falling between his horns and brushing through the locks of dark hair. The sight of Malleus’s face tucked into the crook of his arm brought a thin smile to his lips. As much as Malleus complained of being babied by Lilia, he still knew exactly how to position himself to comfortably cuddle Lilia without prodding him with the twisted horns that grew from his head. 

Lilia’s mind brought him back to the past, where the much smaller prince of Briar Valley could tuck himself in a ball and fit neatly against Lilia’s torso. The process of growing horns was strenuous on the child’s body, and Malleus was often left with a low grade fever and pain radiating from the nubs that protruded from his forehead. 

A sickly Malleus had always been a sorry sight. The dignity and grace he typically carried himself was lost, with a glimmer of the child he pretended not to be showing through. Lilia was likely the only person in Twisted Wonderland to be privy to this elusive side of Malleus Draconia, to hear his low whimpering from a surprisingly low pain tolerance and a desire to be comforted. 

“And of Silver and Sebek?” Lilia murmured, continuing to rub Malleus’s bloated stomach in slow circles. 

“I asked the Leech brothers to distract them while I slipped away.” 

In his minds eye, Lilia could see the two boys already searching every inch of Ramshackle Dorm. Being tasked to such a charge as Malleus certainly wasn’t easy, Lilia could speak from experience. He hoped their fruitless search would lead them back to Diasomnia sooner than later. 

“Yuu’s taste in food is very…unique,” Malleus said, keeping his face buried in Lilia’s side. Lilia could easily imagine Malleus’s expression, how his lips pursed just slightly into a frown, but his eyes remained wide and innocent. “I wanted to try the things they liked. They seemed…excited.” 

Ah, that made more sense. Malleus had always been one to firmly assert his boundaries, but the Ramshackle prefect seemingly had the ability to make Malleus toss out any shred of common sense he had. Lilia could easily see how the situation unfolded- Malleus, flattered that Yuu had personally invited him to a party and unwilling to refuse any requests, and Yuu, with their charming lack of self awareness and eagerness to include Malleus in the fun, were quite the combination. 

Malleus’s stomach churned dangerously under Lilia’s hand, making an audible gurgle that made Lilia grimace in sympathy. Malleus was deathly still, the only movement he allowed himself being the white-knuckled grip on Lilia’s shirt. 

“How about I get you some water? That should help you feel better. You probably haven’t drank much water tonight, have you?” 

A tense hum of agreement. Lilia didn’t find the response promising. He’s already nauseous enough that he’s completely clammed up, he thought, frowning. 

Lilia started the tedious process of detaching the boy from his torso, careful to jostle him as little as possible. He pried Malleus’s clawed fingers off his shirt with the grace and concentration of a lockpick, letting his hands rest at his side. Malleus let out a groan when Lilia guided his head the short distance from being propped against his chest to lying on the bed, his eyes clenched shut under the pressure of nausea. 

Malleus lay on the bed, stiff as a board, legs slightly bent at the knee, as if he was unable to fully commit to tucking them against his belly. Lilia cast one extra look at Malleus over his shoulder before he slipped out of the room, more to ease his own mind than anything. 

Cold water splashed into a glass clutched in Lilia’s hand, courtesy of the sink located in the common area. Although most students preferred to get their meals from the cafeteria, each dorm was still equipped with a bare bones kitchenette for general use. Lilia had gotten the most mileage out of the microwave, which he had learned made popcorn far better than any magic he could blast at the bag. 

“It should be somewhere around here…” Lilia mumbled, shuffling around in the cabinet under the sink, “Ah, here we go.” 

He held up the real reason he had excused himself to the kitchen- a small plastic basin, probably intended to be used for cleaning purposes. It was a far cry from the extravagant vessels Lilia had guided a young Silver’s head into while they were at the castle, but it would do the trick. 

Tucking the basin under his arm, Lilia collected the glass from the counter, haste in his step as he made his way back to his bedroom. 

Just as he had expected, he found Malleus propping himself upright, a ghastly sheen of sweat over his face and a look of urgency in his eyes. Lilia approached him like a spooked animal, guiding a hand onto his back to keep him steady. He placed the plastic basin under Malleus’s head. 

“I don’t-” Malleus croaked through ragged breaths, “I don’t need that-” The smooth baritone of his voice gave way to cracks of desperation as he met eyes with Lilia, trembling. 

“It’s alright, just try to breathe through your nose. It’s going to be okay, Malleus,” Lilia said slowly, rubbing circles on his back.

This was the part Lilia had been worried about- Malleus was particular about being ill, to put it lightly. He had always shut himself away at even the slightest indication that a young Silver had an upset stomach (as human children were wont to do). While Lilia certainly didn’t find the experience pleasant, Malleus seemed to register it as a threat- and that wasn’t even scratching the surface of how Malleus acted when he was ill himself. 

It wasn’t common for fae to have the need to vomit, but it certainly wasn’t impossible. Lilia recalled an instance from Malleus’s youth, where the palace staff had prepared his meal with meat that had gone sour. Malleus was sick for days, spending the time he wasn’t curled in Lilia’s lap with his head in a bucket. 

The event clearly had some kind of lasting effect on the boy, even urging Lilia to personally take control of food preparation to ease Malleus’s worries. As he got older, Malleus kept that fear close to his chest, to the point where even Lilia had assumed he had grown out of it. But there were times his mask would slip, and Lilia could see his anxieties as plain as day.

Malleus’s brow was knit in desperate concentration, hanging on for dear life as nausea tossed him to and fro. Lilia watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as Malleus forced another heavy swallow. 

Wordlessly, Lilia offered him the glass of water. With a trembling hand, Malleus brought it to his lips, taking a small sip. He just as quickly reeled back, a gag ripping through his stiff shoulders. He hung his head over the basin, the water he hadn’t managed to swallow running out of the corners of his mouth. He hiccuped painfully, but nothing came up. 

“You’ll feel better once you throw up, Malleus,” Lilia said, trying not to wince at the boy’s clear misery. 

“Can’t-” Malleus brought a hand to his sweat-soaked forehead, clutching a handful of oily black hair. 

It broke Lilia’s heart to see him like this. His body was crying out for a relief that his mind couldn’t allow. Something needed to tip the scales. 

Lilia moved his hand back to Malleus’s swollen belly, massaging into the solid, angry mass that hung low in his gut. Malleus hiccuped again, this time a wet noise flailing in the back of his throat. 

“Stop it,” Malleus whined, “You’re gonna make me-” 

Malleus doubled over in a proper heave, the motion only bringing out a strangled cry. Lilia pushed a little harder on his stomach, keeping his lips pursed in a conflicted frown. He gagged again, the muscles in his stomach spasming under Lilia’s hand. 

Malleus’s eyes were wide with panic. “P-please, I don’t want to-” 

A wet belch was what opened the floodgates. A torrent of vomit slapped against the bottom of the plastic basin, each burst announced with a violent heave. Malleus grabbed at Lilia’s shirt for stability as another harsh wave washed over him, his sharp nails cutting through the thin fabric with ease. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lilia murmured, rubbing Malleus’s back, “It’ll be over soon.” 

The Prince of Briar Valley was a pitiful sight, his eyeliner having smeared from the tears trailing down his cheeks. A string of bile hung from his chin as he weathered through another heave with a shudder and a whimper. Defeated, Malleus slumped forward, leaning his forehead against Lilia’s chest. 

“Are you done?” Lilia asked, his voice dipping into a gentle coo that a more lucid Malleus would detest. Instead, Malleus nodded, panting through an open mouth. 

With a flick of the wrist, Lilia sent the basin away with magic, guiding Malleus back into a recumbent position. Malleus was limp in Lilia’s arms, finally catching his breath as he stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. 

“You need to drink something,” Lilia said, propping Malleus’s head up with his arm. Lilia brought the water back to his lips, letting him take a few weak sips. 

Malleus settled back in the crook of his arm, eyelids fluttering as Lilia resumed stroking his hair. The scene struck a chord in Lilia’s heart- as much as he hated to see Malleus look so miserable, he couldn’t deny that he treasured these kinds of moments. Right now, Malleus wasn’t a prince, nor one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland with a grand reputation to keep up. 

No, right now, he was a child- Lilia’s child- that was sick with a tummy ache. He was tired and teary-eyed. 

Sometimes, Lilia wished this was the side of Malleus that his peers got to see. The raw, unfiltered person that carried the title of the Prince of Briar Valley. 

But the boy’s pride would never allow it. 

Lilia planted a soft kiss on Malleus’s forehead. This time, he leaned into the gesture, mumbling a contented hum. 

“How about you sleep in here with me for tonight?” 

[lost4pandora]

Here's more content for that HTTYD Reader in LU. This one has been proofread, and the reader will be using the term Y/N and they/them pronouns.

I'll be writing for more of this, and with that I'll be needing a name, so the HTTYD Reader series will henceforth be known as the "Sparks and Embers" series. I will be taking inspiration from all of the content up until HTTYD Homecoming, which includes the movie trilogy, the series between the first and second movie, and those fun bits such as Book of Dragons, Gift of the Night Fury, and whatnot. I will also be adding in my own personal headcanons here and there in terms of HTTYD dragon lore because I think they're neat and could use some of the fun stuff.

Some trigger warnings for this fic may include but are not limited to: mild gore, mild to fair descriptions of violence, mentions of a monster in pieces.

Now with that out of the way, I do sincerely hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it.

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Sparks and Embers

They heard whispers from merchants and travelers about a truly mystifying sight. A warrior donning a wolven mask, accompanied by two dragons of black and white. Who have been seen cutting down monsters in a flurry of movements, too fast for the witnesses to comprehend. All they remember is the haunting eyes and gleaming fangs of the mask the rider wore before disappearing in either a spark of lightning or a flash of flame.

Honestly, just hearing "warrior" was more than enough to catch the group's attention.

They had recently landed back into the champion's era, as told when he spotted a familiar tower in the distance. After regaining their bearings, they let the Link in question guide them to the nearest settlement, which happened to be the East Akkala Stable. It was there that they had decided to rest for the night, perform an inventory check, tend to wounds, repair damaged clothing or items, and the like.

In the midst of such, they happened to overhear the conversations from the other travelers that came and left. All about the individual who rode on the backs of dragons.

One individual, a hylian merchant, had been speaking to the stablehand about what he saw on the road. He spotted the trio resting along the tops of the Dueling Peaks as the sun began to set below the horizon.

Another traveler, a Rito, had chimed in that on her flight here, she swears that she saw someone walking on the dragon's backs, performing tricks for the fun of it. She remembers that they were hylian, with silver ornaments in their hair and a fluffy fur cloak wrapped around their shoulders. 

Lastly, a pair of children, the stablehand's sons, told the gossiping adults they were saved from monsters by one of the dragons. They said that it was white and sparkly, giggling madly when they mentioned that it sounded like a really big cat.

All these stories had the Chain curious and somewhat suspicious. It was the topic of conversation once they had left the stable the next morning.

"A hylian with a wolf mask accompanied by two dragons," Warriors echoed. "I can't say I've heard that one before."

"Me neither. It seems a bit surreal, doesn't it?" Hyrule replies, looking toward Wild. "You said there were dragons here, do you know who this dragon rider could be?"

The champion shook his head. "Not a clue. The dragons I know are huge and are surrounded by so much elemental magic that no one could even safely approach them."

"You think it's related to our problem?" Legend asks aloud, arching a brow.

"It could be," Wild replies. "But I doubt that it is. You heard those kids, the dragons and their rider saved them. It'd be weird that they'd be willing to cut down their own allies if they were working with the enemy."

Warriors nods at the reason. "Agreed. It has to be something else."

Time finally decides to make his opinion known. "No matter the case, it would be best that we seek this dragon rider out. We will most likely be getting something useful out of it either way."

The rest of the group didn't argue, coming to a consensus on their leader's statement. So they kept trekking onward toward their next destination: Hateno Village.

It was a fairly calm trip from there on out.

You know, up until they were ambushed.

One could call it an unexpected turn of events, though they knew that really it wasn't. It was inconvenient and extremely irritating at that point more than anything, but at least they were somewhat prepared for it. Weapons were drawn, magic was sparking, and everyone in the group had steeled themselves as the enemies came in droves.

When the first monster approached the Link that was closest to it, their sword came down in one sweeping motion. When sharpened steel sliced through soft flesh, a messy stain of black blood coated the blade's edge.

The situation had gone from irritating to bad very quickly.

Upon witnessing the sight of the ebony ichor, each Link had made a silent yet unanimous agreement. Pick a section and focus on your batch of monsters. It was easy enough.

Or it would have been had one not been corralled away from the others, and it had to be the youngest of them too. The sailor in particular could feel himself getting angry about the idea of being cornered, mostly because of how he'd definitely be getting babied by the captain, rancher, and probably even the old man once he rejoined the group later. Alas, he was preoccupied with fighting for his life to really let the anger settle into his bones, so instead he chose to channel it into his next set of attacks.

Swing, dodge, parry, duck, swing, swing, roll.

A familiar set of words that would repeat themselves in Wind's mind in random patterns. A mantra that every hero knew by heart, or would soon come to learn one way or another.

Wind couldn't remember how many monsters he had cut down. His sword was coated in their foul smelling ichor, his heart was racing, and his mouth felt dry. He was tired and the adrenaline pumping through his veins wouldn't last forever. Despite this, he doesn't let up.

He then felt something invisible seizing his lungs, a dreaded feeling. Fear, he deduced. He feels his posture stiffen as he looks around frantically for the cause of it. His head jerks up as a thundering roar rattles the trees around him. He turned his head, his eyes growing wide as a white maned lynel entered his field of vision.

It was safe to assume that the lynel was black blooded as well, and the sailor was in no position to even consider engaging it in battle. The only thing useful he had on him was a single, half empty healing potion that would do very little in this situation. The thought of making a tactical retreat to regroup with the others crosses his mind, but the idea is quickly discarded when he sees that the lynel has spotted him from its place across the field.

He can't outrun it.

It knows that he can't.

So it charges.

Wind thinks he can hear the distant shout of one of the others. He makes an attempt to call for them, opening his mouth to yell—   that's when he hears it. A strange whistling, high pitched and piercing, echoing through the air and in his eardrums. It was unlike anything he's ever heard before, and his mind still riddled with adrenaline shook itself for a possible answer. Although, the more he thought about it, the more he began to realize… that……….

…was it getting louder?

The sound distracts him to the point where he almost forgets about the lynel galloping towards him rapidly. He can feel its heavy footsteps shake the ground as it gets closer and closer. The beast is more than halfway across the field when it happens.

A speeding ball of violet blue fire comes out of nowhere and hits the lion centaur straight in the chest point blank. The impact knocked it to the ground, and he thinks he can see its black blood splatter across the grass. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the monster had sustained an irreparable amount of damage (a polite way of saying that its top half of its body was definitely in pieces).

He feels his namesake blow past him, a blur of white entering his field of vision as it lands just mere feet away from him.

It's big, noticeably bigger than Epona, with a lithe and lean body shape. Its features were surprisingly round and soft from what he could see, and it was coated in white scales that shimmered with blue, purple, and pink undertones. Its wings were noticeably larger in comparison to the rest of its body, and its tail was adorned with fins shaped sort of like fairy wings. It almost looked like it was…

…like it was a dragon.

Its body was crouched in front of him, its back arched into a defensive posture with its wings raised to make itself look bigger. He couldn't see its face, but he could hear it snarl. It was most likely looking at the body of the lynel it had just blasted to hell and back.

He peered over at the lynel's body, or what was left of it really, to see it crumble and dissipate into smokey red embers before fading completely. The dragon relaxes as it folds up its wings, its head raising up and allowing Wind to see two round ears perk as it scans its surroundings, though he could also see that there were also two smaller nubs beneath them. Its gaze soon fell on the young hero, causing it to let out a soft warbling purr.

He wasn't expecting to see such non-threatening features on a mythical creature that had just taken out a lynel in one attack only moments ago. Now that he had a much clearer view of the dragon, it looked less like a dangerous beast of ire and flame and more like a scaly marshmallow that someone had dumped an entire box of glitter on.

Lavender hues eyed him curiously, once hostile slits rounding out to more passive ovals. He could see two separate leather strings decorated with various charms and precious stones hanging around its neck. A black armband with silver ornaments was secured along its upper right arm, the ornament itself shaped like a four pointed star.

It squinted its eyes for a moment, before leaning its head forward to sniff at him from a distance. Wind wasn't sure what to do when it began to approach him, taking slow and careful side steps toward him. It stopped for a moment, and he saw its eyes staring at the blood stained sword in his dominant hand.

He could practically hear the lecture that he would definitely be getting for what he was about to do next, but had since decided that his curiosity of the result outweighed the certainty of consequence. He put his sword down, and took a good few steps away from it.

That seemed to be enough for it to continue its approach. Once it was right in front of him, it lowered its head with its ears flattened against its neck, as if to assure him that it meant no harm. He raised his left hand, the one that wasn't nearly as bloody as the other, and held it out to the dragon.

It tilted its head, sniffed, before leaning forward and rubbing its head against his hand.

Wind couldn't stop the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips, spreading out wider when it began to purr. He pressed the palm of his hand against the top of its head, marveling at the smooth feeling of its scales. He noted that it felt somewhat warm, and that its body was vibrating from the intensity of its purring.

He let out a shout of laughter when it suddenly pressed its whole body toward him, thankfully not on. It curled around him until the front half of its body was on one side and its tail on the other. It rolled onto its back, exposing the pale blue coloring going from its neck all the way down its chest and underbelly. Wind was more than willing to indulge the dragon and give it the pets it desired.

"You're way nicer about being pet than Wolfie is," he comments, scratching the dragon's belly. "You don't even growl or bite either!"

Wind hears the same whistling sound that the dragon had made previously, though this time it was brief and much more calm. He was about to turn to see what it was before he was distracted by a wet and slimy tongue dragging itself across his cheek. His expression morphs into one of disgust as he reaches up to wipe off the dragon's admittedly very sticky and thick saliva with his arm. Though it's clear that he isn't actually that mad about it, judging from the smile that was still present on his face.

"Lux, there you are! Why did you…."

He freezes, standing up straighter at the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

"What have I told you about personal space!" He turns to the owner of such. "Shoo, off! Dårlig drage, skam!"

The white dragon, whose name he now knew to be Lux, cooed softly in apology. It rolled back onto its feet, nuzzling Wind's shoulder one last time before darting toward the newcomer with its head ducked down. It cooed and warbled at them once they had dismounted the black dragon they had arrived on.

Wait, black dragon?

His expression changed into one of shock and realization.

The warrior donning a wolven mask, accompanied by dragons of black and white.

He looked the person over, and sure enough he spotted a wolf mask with its face twisted into a threatening snarl attached to one of their belts. They wore a fur cloak around their shoulders and a pair of dragon fang earrings. From what he can see of their arms, he spotted a myriad of tattoos depicting swirls of dragons painted across their skin.

The black dragon, who was also glaring at Lux trying to suck up to the stranger, was noticeably bigger in size. The ears along its head were much longer and in great numbers. There were shark fin shaped dorsal plates running a line down the length of its spine that became increasingly smaller as it trailed to the end of its long tail. Speaking of, its tail also seemed to have that set of fins on either side, though they were sharper looking than the other dragon's in comparison.

Well, he might be forgiven for petting the dragon now that he's found who the group has been looking for.

Speaking of whom, he saw them looking towards him after scolding the white dragon.

"I'm sorry about Lux, she doesn't exactly understand the concept of respecting people's personal bubbles," they said to him "Did she hurt you at all? I know she likes to lean, but I don't think she realizes that she weighs nearly a ton."

Wind blinks, taking a few moments to register the question before he shakes his head. "No, she saved me actually," he replied with a smile. "It-  uh, she absolutely destroyed that lynel earlier!"

The stranger's brows raised up in surprise, their gaze turning to Lux. "So that's why you suddenly disappeared. If you want to dive into battle, at least tell us first. We can't keep doing this or else I'm going to get gray hairs before I even reach thirty."

Lux rumbled softly, nudging her rider with her nose. She received a pat, which she purred under.

"They're yours?" Wind decided to finally ask, recapturing the rider's attention.

"I guess you could say that," they answered, "They're my family, more like. Sisters that I never had."

So they were both female, he'd have to remember that. "The white one's name is Lux?"

Another nod of confirmation. "Her full name is Faeralux, Lux for short," the stranger then raised a hand to gently stroke their fingers across the black dragon's head. "And this is Rhae, which is short for Rhaeneir."

"Of course, my name is Y/N," they added. "Might I know the name of the boy my overly affectionate Light Fury saved from peril?"

"My name is Link! But I'm going by Wind right now," he answers, biting his tongue on the reason why he's going by the name Wind.

Thankfully Y/N doesn't question it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Wind. Thank you for tolerating Lux's affection, and not attacking her."

It doesn't take a genius to understand why someone would attack Lux, yet even if she's a dragon, she doesn't look or act like any he's ever seen. Granted, he only really has Valoo for reference on that front, but his point still stands.

He opens his mouth to ask another question when he was suddenly interrupted.

"Wind?!"

"Sailor, where are you?!!"

The trio of dragons and dragon rider all perk up to the voices. Y/N turns to him and speaks, "Is that your flock?"

Wind nods, and Y/N turns toward Lux. "I'm staying with you from here on out. I don't need you to get any more ideas about diving without saying anything."

The white dragoness coos softly at her rider's decision before leaning down for Y/N to hop on. Yet before they could, Wind interrupts the action.

"Wait!" Y/N turns to look at him questioningly. "Me and my group were looking for you actually, so if you wouldn't mind, could you stay here until they come?"

The black dragon, Rhae, narrows her eyes scrutinizingly at the sailor, causing him to shrink the slightest bit under her gaze. Y/N waves a dismissive hand to get the Night Fury to let up.

"Are they as friendly as you?" the rider asks him. "Because if they're not and are prone to the 'attack first ask questions later' instinct, I don't need them trying to kill me or my dragons."

"I promise they won't, not if I tell them that you're safe," Wind says, gazing at them hopefully. "Please?"

Rhae remains unconvinced, but she sees Y/N's resolve start to bow at the sight of the sailor's look. She grumbles lowly, her expression morphing into a look that said, Are you seriously going to bend that quickly to some random hatchling's pleading eyes??

The Night Fury gave her rider a flat look when the answer was yes, as told by the sigh of resignation Y/N breathed out. 

You're weak, Rhae warbled.

Y/N's only reply was a halfhearted swat in the general direction of Rhae's face, an attempted hit that was nowhere near making contact. It was the rider's way of saying that they didn't need her judgment right now.

"Fine, I'm choosing to trust you on this one. Don't make me regret it," Y/N says, dismissing the little mental talk that they just had with Rhae. The rider turned, to which something shiny was seen in their peripheral vision. "If that sword is yours, best you pick it up so your flock doesn't assume I disarmed and cornered you. Gods know I don't need a repeat of that problem."

Wind nods and goes to retrieve his weapon he dropped in favor of coaxing Lux toward him. Y/N hummed, perking up when they heard the bushes rustle and a mop of blonde hair emerge.

"Wind?" Crystal blue eyes search the area frantically before they land on their target. "Wind!"

The boy, who had just sheathed his sword, called back to the other. "Warriors! Check out who I found!"

The captain's face displayed confusion, brows furrowing as his lips were parted just the slightest amount as he was stopped before he could speak. Wind points to his left, and Warriors follows where it goes and is gobsmacked by what, or rather, who he sees.

Y/N's arms were crossed as they were leaning on Lux, who was currently sitting down. They raised their hand momentarily to wave, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

Lux looked curious about the child's sibling, at least, they smelled like siblings to her.

Rhae was passive, not particularly interested or disinterested, merely there to witness.

It wasn't exactly the strangest ragtag group of individuals the captain has ever seen and believe him, he's seen his fair share. Though he would admit that this one was definitely in the top five.

Now to go tell the others about all of… this.

So much for a peaceful trip.

[ash5monster01]

Lessons of You Final Part

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of depression, mentions of smut, broken reader, 18+

Summary: Blake Parker was used to running. When life got hard, she’d run. The idea of sticking around to end up broken was scarier then she’d like to admit. So she hid away, cut all ties, and lived contently on her own. She was done running because no one could find her there. That is until a Navy Pilot runs into her life, and she learns allowing yourself to love can be scary, but hiding from it can be even worse.

word count: 2,822

Intro, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Final

Masterlist

Leaving Bradley behind was harder than Blake had thought. He stayed with her to the very moment she drove off, prepared to drive across the country, a few boxes of her entire life inside, and the biggest piece of her heart left back in San Diego with him. Yet the breath of fresh air she released when she pulled up in front of her parents house for the first time in years relieved so much weight off her shoulders. Tears came to her eyes insatantly as she sat in front of her childhood home and she realized she had put that stress on herself by leaving. This unbearable weight she had been carrying with her everywhere coud've gone away the minute she allowed herself to risk loving someone again. Loving the people she always had.

Getting adjusted to being back home was simple after that realization. She loved her new little apartment and got to see her cousins every day. Pictures covered her apartment now including one of her and Bradley, the guy who got her to fix her life. Yet all of that didn’t change the fact he was all the way across the country. They tried to stay in touch, they really really did. Yet Blake became busy with family and Bradley could go radio silent for days or weeks at a time due to his job. Neither meant for it to happen but soon the messages and calls stopped all together. Just memories of the person that fixed them remained.

At first it hurt, but when three years pass by it's not normally the first thing on your mind. So Blake went on to date other people, get to know her family again, move up higher in her job, and publish her first book called Lessons of You. A fast paced romance novel about a Navy Pilot who steals a girls heart while she's on the run. An instant hit, her experience and very detailed descriptions made it a number one best seller almost instantly. She only had years of reading and reviews to thank for her to be able to write an instant hit. Now she got to travel the world, do book signings, and be comforted by the fact she could go back home to a family that loves her.

After today her book tour would be over, and she could fly back home tomorrow. She had been home sick the entire time and her book tour only lasted two weeks. In her defense that was the longest she had been away from home since she had been back. Yet her tour was ending in Sand Diego which felt right considering that was where her book took place. She hadn't been back here in three years, and it surprised her how comfortable it was to be back here. Even if it was only a short few years of her life she did live here, fall in love with the area, and understand it more than the normal tourists.

So she smiled widely each time she handed a book back after signing it, heart lurching every time they complimented it and told her how much they loved it. It became second nature, smile at customer, sign book, listen to them as they spoke, hand book back, thank them, onto the next. After a while faces began to blur, voices sounded the same, and her smile started to crease her face. The longer the line got, the faster she went, still trying to maintain her kindness but moving them along as quickly as she could all the same. After all she was in the home stretch, literally. Tomorrow she'd get to go home and relax, tell her cousins all about the fun she had, she couldn't wait.

"This book, wow. I couldn't seem to put it down. I thoroughly enjoyed the part where he comes to her apartment before the big mission and they, well you know" Blake froze as she heard that voice, one she hadn't heard in almost three years, yet she'd know it all the same. Slowly she lifted her eyes, the pen trembling just slightly as Bradley Bradshaw stood above her, the book about him seemingly so small in his hands. "Look at you little B"

Bradley was completely the same and different all at once. He was still just as buff and tan as he was when she knew him, yet his hair had lightened a bit more, a few grays starting to make their appearance. The mustache he sported still proudly sat a top his lip and Blake shuddered as she remebered the feeling of it on her skin. You could tell he was a bit older, wiser. Yet his eyes still twinkled with mischief just like it did the first day she met him. He was all boy, happy go lucky, Rooster. Seeing him strained her heart in a way she could've never imagined.

"I thought Bradley Bradshaw hasn't read a book since high school?" Blake found herself asking, smirking as his arms crossed across her chest.

"Well that was true, at least until my favorite book critic decided to write one of her own. Was a lot more fun to read when I learned it was about me too" his ego was so large she could feeling weighing on her, she quickly let out a breathy laugh.

"Who said it was about you Bradshaw? Did I forgot to tell you about my short lived romance with Hangman?" at this the boys eyes darkened, he set down the book, now leaning on his hands on the table to look at the girl closer.

"That's not funny" he told her but Blake snickered anyway, amused to know that Hangman still got under his skin as much as he did three years ago.

"I thought it was pretty funny" Blake said, grabbing his copy of her book and opening the front cover. She quickly clicked her pen and began to write in the front cover.

"How long are you here for?" Bradley asked, watching how her curly brown hair cascaded across her back with each movement.

"I leave tomorrow" Blake told him, signing her name quickly and shutting her book. Bradley’s stomach jumped as those beautiful hazel eyes looked back up at him.

"You free tonight?" Bradley asked and Blake smirked, handing the book back to him, and he leaisurly tucked it under his arm.

"I normally am for Bradley Bradshaw" Blake told him and he smirked. "But if you keep holding up this line the less time you'll have with me"

"Aye aye Captain" he told her and quickly turned to walk off, her already smiling and talking to the next customer in line as if the guy she didn't write the entire book about was standing right there. Once he got to the front door he opened the front page of the book to see what she had wrote.

I always figured it would be you who would fly across the country for just one night

- Blake Parker

Bradley smiled widely, his heart yearning for the gilr he wished he never lost touch with. He figured someone would've snagged her up by now. Yet when he saw that book he realized she still thought about him like he did her, and after today he saw no ring. That was fair game to Baradley considering this girl was his soulmate. He never found someone he felt like that for after her. He figured he never would again. The time they had known each other was so short but it clearly impacted them both. It was his duty now to try and make it work.

Pretty soon the line shortened, the room quieted down, and Blake could finally give her hand a rest. She planned on not picking up a pen for at least a month. The tour was now officially over and the only thing standing between her and home was Bradley Bradshaw. How familiar. So once her publisher gave her the go ahead to turn in for the night she collected her things and made her way outside so she could get in her uber, shower, and text Bradley for the first time in three years.

"Man that took forever" Blake jumped lightly as the voice beside her startled her.

"Bradley, you waited?" she asked once her heart had slowed, turning to face him with a kind smile.

"It's not often my favorite person is in town, plus I was worried you had a new number" Blake laughed lightly but it didn't last long because he was stepping beside her, close enough to smell his cologne, and send her senses into overdrive. "Now I'd like to give my old friend a hug"

"Is that what I was? A friend?" Blake teased but Bradley ignored her as his arms snaked under her own, her instinctively moving hers to wrap around his neck. Once they were curled around each other, his face in her neck, and inhaling her scent, did he feel a new sense of calm wash over him for the first time in years.

"You were never just a friend Blake" he whispered into her ear and she shuddered lightly, closing her eyes as she finally realized she had Bradley in her arms again for the first time in so long. She had dreamed of this moment, of him, and she wished every day there was a way she could have both him and her family at the same time. If this was just for one night she'd be content though, because all those years ago one month with Bradley meant everything, one night was bound to be enough to hold her over.

"I was gonna go to my hotel, get a quick shower" Blake told him as she pulled back and he kept his hands around her waist so she wouldn’t pull back too far. If he only had her till tomorrow he was going to be as close to her as he could for most of it.

"Need some help?" he teased, half expecting the playful slap to follow but Blake just grinned, lust in her eyes.

"I wouldn't mind an extra set of hands, especially if they’re yours" and at that Bradley was gripping her hand, leading her to his Bronco on the other side of the building. Blake struggled to cancel her uber as he helped her in and peeled down the road after learning which hotel she was staying at. It didn’t take long until they both standing under the same steaming water, holding each other, in awe of the fact they were together even if it was just for now. It was crazy to think moving fast with Bradley never really felt like she was moving fast.

"So, you published a book. Did they let you review it too?" Blake giggled, swaying under the water with the boy as her phone played music from the bathroom counter.

"No, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't try" she told him, her hands playing with the hair at the base of his neck, wet from the water. Bradley laughed softly, glad that the comfortability between them hadn't changed since he last saw her.

"Figures, I'm sure it was scary. Writing something of your own after years of critiquing others" no one ever throught like that, they all thought Blake was absoltuley crazy for even thinking it, but here Bradley was saying it like it was his very first thought.

"Terrifying actually, if no one had liked my book my reputation would've been completley debunked. I'd have nothing to go back to" Blake's life had been a whirlwind, the only stable thing she ever had was her job, and putting herself in such a compromising position was a leap of faith she never expected to take. "Yet I always wanted to write a book, something good enough to be reviewed by someone like me. The only reason I never did was I never had a story special enough to tell. Well that was until I met you"

Bradley had wanted to kiss the girl since he first walked up to her table. Kiss her when she walked out, when he hugged her, when she suggested showering together, when she got in his car, and when they got back to the hotel. Yet he didn’t because when he kissed her for the first time in three years he wanted it to be good. He wanted their kiss to be as good as the first one. Now with her standing here, talking about him being her something special, he realized he needed to kiss her and soon. When they first kissed it was after a conversation where they began to understand each other. They were always good at talking about the tough stuff. Now Blake was standing in front of him, admitting to writing a book about him, and he needed nothing more than to kiss her right then and now.

"You looking for a sequel?" then suddenly Bradley’s mouth was over hers, lips slotting together perfectly, mouths hotter than the shower against each other. For a moment it was the calm in the storm, lips slowly moving together, buttery soft, and recalling exactly how the other used to taste. Then Blake was pulling on his hair and his tongue was slipping into her mouth fastly, tasting ever inch he could, and humming in satisfaction as he realized she still tasted like cherries. Pure bliss was having her bare body, wet and pressed against his, as he rediscovered exactly what she was like. After a few moments they pulled apart for air, foreheads pressed together as their chests heaved into one another. He wished they could be one like this forever.

"What about you big boy? What have you been up too?" Blake knew getting close would make it hard to leave again, but maybe Bradley wasn't in the Navy anymore, maybe he could come home with her, and she could keep him forever.

"Not much actually. I'm still in the Navy but they're looking into relocation for me. Moving me to help train some people on the east coast" Blakes eyes widened as she moved to look him in the eye.

"That's my coast" she breathed and he chuckled, a wide smile on his face.

"Yeah I know. The minute they suggested it my first thought was you. Which led to googling your name, finding your book, and hearing you were doing a book signing here" Blake smiled softly, her heart lurching over the fact he had wanted her still too. That their souls truly were meant for each other and not just for passing.

"You trying to move in with me?" she teased and he smiled, shaking his head lightly.

"Not exactly, I figured we could start with a date, a real one. Then maybe after a year or so I can move in. This time it's gonna be real" he told her and Blake felt tears burn behind her eyes, happy tears. When she came to San Diego she had no plan on finding him. She didn’t want to be heart broken if she learned he had gotten married, had kids, moved to his home town to take care of his new family. Now he was standing here in her hotel shower talking about taking baby steps because he still wanted to be with her after all this time.

"It was always real Bradley" she told him and he smiled, head dipping down to her neck in a hug and pressing a soft kiss to her throat. Blake was content for a moment before a thought popped into her head. "What about Maverick?"

"He'll be here, but me and him both know how to fly a plane. He also can't stay away from me for long. He'll more than likely visit every week" Maverick now fully back in Bradleys life was always in super proud Uncle mode. On base he was pretty sure he took pictures of everything he did. Bradley could've brushed his teeth and he figured Maverick would give him a gold star. Blake laughed softly, amazed she was getting Bradley back after all this time.

“I’m glad you two got close” she told him, happy it all worked out for the best.

“I’m glad you reconnected with your family” he told her in return, never allowing him to be upset that she chose to leave because if his Mom was still around he’d of done the same thing all those years ago.

"I'm glad you noticed me at that coffee shop" Blake told him after a few moments, continuing their thanks to each other. Now holding him for the first time in a long time knowing it didn't have to be the last time that she did.

"I'm glad you noticed me running"

Taglist: @emma8895eb @literatureluster

a/n: that’s it folks, thanks so much for going on this very short journey with me. I came up with the idea for this series when I was struggling with feeling unwanted. I wanted to write something that would remind me some people are worth fighting for and if you have to opportunity to hold them close, please do. You may never know the last time you get to hold a loved one.

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 7

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for the Teacher/Teacher or Both Single Parents square on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Within the hour of your arrival at Sherlock’s flat, the board he used to lay out cases was filled. Sticking to the efficiency of paper notes and adhesive tape, he had placed the deduced or revealed aspects on the left side of the board and the unfilled gaps on the right side; opting for the fun of push pins and colour-coded ribbons, you wove a bright web across the board. 

Purple connected the yet uncategorised ideas and deductions: pieces of the puzzle neither of you knew where to fit, which meant many of Sherlock’s deductions, as “seeing connections is a murky task with so little firsthand and therefore transparent evidence,” as the detective explained.

Green outlined the general facts about the situation with which you two were working: from your scribbled “Edmund had no close confidants but large ton presence” to Sherlock’s “Coltidge hired me”.

Pink bridged each detail of the timeline, with Miss Algar’s recounted beats going on the left of the board and a desperately scrawled “What happened after she lost consciousness? How did S end up with a phaeton and A end up on Cable Street?” on the right.

Yellow highlighted aspects of the perpetrator’s modus operandi that could lead to identifying him, including the meagre but appreciated descriptions Miss Algar provided of the man’s physique and movement.

Red strung together all of the considerations and possibilities of motive—theoretically. At the moment, the red ribbons only connected three pieces of paper on the right side of the board: “For money??”, “For revenge??”, and “For passion??”.

You tilted your head at the little triangle and wondered, “Money is the greatest likelihood, is it not?”

From a few feet away, where he was leaning over his desk, his head bent over a new piece of paper, Sherlock replied absently, “That was certainly my first direction in this case, but I have backtracked. The money Sulyard was skimming from your and his bank account was not to pay off debts: based on Miss Algar’s description of their arrangement, that money was to put up a mistress. The discrepancies were minor but regular, you recall, which would be unusual for debts of honour but fit perfectly with a single woman’s establishment.”

“That does make sense,” you mused. “Edmund would have had to sneak the money out so that Lord Pittford, my father by marriage, would not find out. Edmund still allowed his father to manage his more boring affairs, including his bank account, you see.”

“Singular,” said Sherlock, though he still sounded only half interested. “Ultimately, that means the other common motives for murder are to be equally considered. After all, somebody wrote an incensed letter to Sulyard about ill usage and misrepresentation—a demand, really, to do better or else—and that becomes quite the unanswered question if there is no other sign of substantial debt.”

“Yes, where is that letter? I ought to add that to the board.”

Sherlock waved a hand over his shoulder in a very unhelpful over there motion, concentration remaining on whatever he was pondering at his desk. The gesture reminded you so strongly of being a little girl growing up alongside a little Sherlock—your childhood friend poring over some book and forgetting you were even there until whatever you were messing with to occupy yourself inevitably crashed to the ground—that you almost, almost, refrained from roving your eyes over his now not-so-little form. The chiselled jaw, the wide shoulders, the strong hips, the deft hands, all very well flattered by a smart and confident selection of cut and cloth… No, those you certainly do not remember from your youth.

Shaking yourself, you made a note to self to find the letter later then left the board in favour of seeing what had Sherlock so distracted. “‘What is the maid…hiding?’” you read off of his paper. His penmanship too has certainly improved—er, not that his physique has improved, only developed! “Mrs Kinley? Sir, what do you mean by this?”

At last, Sherlock turned to give you his full attention. “Surely, you also found her dissatisfied with her home and work with Miss Algar. I cannot believe she has not sought fulfilment of some sort on the side: humans are not built for long-term unhappiness, it is only individual tolerance that varies.”

“If Miss Algar is safe and healthy, and the post so unsatisfactory, why must any surreptitious moonlighting on the maid’s part be suspicious?”

“It is more than that; she seemed quite anxious to get us out the door.”

“She did not wish us to come in at all, if you recall,” you reminded him with a teasing smile. “Calling that early is far from the done thing, Sherlock.”

“Why do you fight me, my lady?” he sighed.

“Fight you?” Laughing, you patted his hand in mock consolation. “I do not wish to fight, sir, only to make sure you do not get too accustomed to everyone bowing to your will.”

His nose scrunched in the most adorable fashion, as though he’d swallowed something sour. “I thank you for your consideration, but I believe that is what Enola is for.”

You smiled, remembering your new young friend. “Oh, yes, I can imagine she keeps you on your toes.”

Rubbing his face, he dropped into his desk chair. Your smile wavered as you realised your words had somehow weighed on him, and your concern—and curiosity—was such that you forewent prescribed ladylikeness to move closer and lean against his desk to be near him.

“Sherlock?” you prompted. “What troubles you?”

“Enola.” He closed his eyes and brushed his forehead with tense fingers. “That is, the state of my relationship with her—my being her guardian.”

“Indeed? What of Eudoria?”

After explaining his mother’s disappearance and his brother’s agreement to give up custody, Sherlock said, “I do not doubt that I made the right decision then, but I fear making grievous errors now. On my toes indeed! I know naught about raising a teenage girl!”

“You need not raise her,” you told him with a shrug. “When one’s ward is already six and ten, quite independent, and quite strong, one needs only guide and protect her. Be there for her, Sherlock—be a support and a fallback, and you shall be enough.”

“I know naught about doing that, either.”

Your heart leapt to his defence, then plummeted with the stony reality that you could not disagree with that. If made to choose right now, would you trust Sherlock to be your primary support and fallback? After what happened last time?

Pushing past unpleasant memories, you laid your hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You can inquire and learn. Surely the great Sherlock Holmes is not opposed to that?”

“No, indeed, my lady,” he said, smiling up at you.

With a solid nod, you let go of him and clasped your own hands tightly to ward away the tingling sensation of loss in your palm. “Meanwhile,” you added, “you may confide in me any doubts or complaints. I know that it feels shallow to bemoan parental anxiety and frustration that one could have left to another, but in truth, such burdens are just as heavy on the shoulders of the one who took them upon themself willingly as on those of the one who had them thrust upon them.”

“Yes…” He watched you sharply. “That you knew one of my great concerns without my breathing a word of it astounds me. How…?”

“William,” you said with another shrug, this one with a weaker bravado. “Our mother having died when we were young and our father being…himself, I endeavoured to be the caring presence and upright role model in my brother’s life. I could not voice my hurt when he railed against me or my worry when he seemed in danger of going down the wrong path, however, for someone would have silenced me for involving myself in what was not my business.”

Sherlock’s gaze was keener than ever, yet it sparkled with realisation, which you could not understand: what had he newly noticed, did he newly comprehend? “Just as I could have left Enola’s care to Mycroft, you could have left that of young Pashbroke to Lord Coltidge. You did not, despite the difficulties, and—I am glad.”

You jolted back ever so slightly. “Glad?”

“Quite glad. I have long wondered at the compassionate gentleness at the core of Lord Pashbroke’s docility, at how he did not end up a fatuous sycophant instead. Evidently, I have your undying courage and your ever-impressive empathy to thank.”

You chuckled first at the picture he painted of what, you were sure, William could never have become, then you giggled at the barrage of compliments that, you were sure, Sherlock could not really mean. Doubt only crept in when the corners of his eyes crinkled with hurt.

“I…” Abruptly, he stood from his chair, and your breath shook in your throat at how much closer he suddenly was. “I hope you know, at least, that I am grateful for your offer of someone who understands the circumstances. I shall appreciate having a fr— No, having you to turn to, when I am uncertain whether I do right by Enola.”

“I was happy to make the offer,” you said, awkwardly but not insincerely. Eager to untangle yourself from this heart-to-heart that you had not expected and were even less prepared for, you scooted to the side until you were no longer leaning against Sherlock’s desk—no longer stuck to it, effectively, by how close he stood and how closely he watched you. “Well, then. Shall I add this piece of paper to the right side of the board?”

He blinked a couple of times, then looked at his desk, picked up the note, and handed it to you in one swift, sudden movement. “So you agree with me now?” he questioned.

“I always did,” you retorted as you searched for a space for the slip of paper. “Did you notice how Miss Algar did not reveal that she could see and understand us until Mrs Kinley had left?” Sighing, you punched in the pin for the new note. “If only our one lead in the flesh did not communicate so limitedly. I feel that we are missing something, that we neglected to ask the one yes-or-no question that could crack this case wide open, and there is no way for her to tell us that.”

Sherlock appeared at your side with unspooled purple ribbon. “There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you.”

With an arched eyebrow, you watched him tie the ribbon around the push pin and work the addition into the colourful web you’d been weaving. Once he’d finished and stepped back to take in the board and its dozens of notes, you remarked, “You must be enjoying this case, then.”

“I suppose I must. The case of indirects. Twelve years between witness accounts or physical evidence and us. A middleman between the identifiable victim and the individual with identifiable motive.”

You turned towards him. “What do you mean, a middleman?”

He stared at you for a moment. “Did I not explain that?”

You gave him your most acerbic look. “No. No, you did not.”

“Right. Forgive me.” And how could you not when he looked so boyish rubbing the back of his neck like that? “I have deduced that the character Miss Algar described was a hired killer. The first clue was that the man obtained Sulyard’s schedule so that he could decide his best opportunity to end his life; an educated and cultured gentleman the likes of which wrote that letter—the education and the culturedness are evident in his penmanship and diction, you must have seen for yourself—would not have been able to follow Sulyard to the Younges’ lodgings or other shady parts of town without drawing attention.”

“The gentleman could have hired someone for the investigating, then done the killing himself,” you pointed out.

Sherlock nodded. “The second clue was the restraint and the efficiency apparent on the night of. A first-time killer could not have spirited away a witness and set up an almost perfectly convincing ‘accident’ for the intended victim without so much as a gossiped report of suspicious activity in the shadows. Even before the clean-up of the act, however… The murder weapon was a hammer—a hammer, my lady: the vessel of a man’s blunt force, the symbol of crude brutality—and the letter writer had quite strong feelings about Mr Sulyard. Yet in the dark of night, riding on the inevitable high of power that comes with standing above a person entirely in one’s power, the killer struck his prey only once, and not even particularly violently.”

The intensity in Sherlock’s voice had swept you up into his accounting of events, and you remembered breathlessly what it was to be let into—to be welcomed into—the thoughts of such a brilliant mind.

“All in all,” he concluded, “whoever delivered the killing blow was too professional for me to think he is anything but a professional.”

You smiled at him. “Yes, I see now. I thank you for explaining it to me, Sherlock. I know you do not take the time to do so with everyone.”

“With you, I could do no less.”

Heat rushed to your face, but Sherlock didn’t seem to understand the effect of his words and he rambled on, “Considering the contemptible lack of motive available to us, I believe the direction of this case is to find the hitman in order to identify who wanted Mr Sulyard dead, rather than my wont of discerning why someone was killed to identify who killed them.”

You giggled at the consternation on his face, but when he did not look any less put out by this inconvenience, you stifled your amusement and steered him towards the kitchen.

“Perhaps you only need a small break, dear sir. Shall we see what can be scrounged up for lunch?”

“Hmm. Yes, that may prove helpful. My lady, you have the brightest ideas sometimes.”

“Ha! And I suppose the rest of those times, the brightest ideas are yours?”

“Well…naturally.”

“Quite good fortune that we are a team, then.”

“I would even argue that it is the best of fortune. The very best.”

Thank you for reading. I hope you all appreciated the (sort of) focus on plot this chapter because the next one is going to be completely about the romance—or, rather, the romantic angst hehe… Until then, another cookie to anyone who can point out the Arthur Conan Doyle reference. ;P

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

When Your Feelings Get Uno-Attacked 

Description: Kazuichi struggles with gender expectations and Zoey worries about being a good person as a game of Uno Attack turns into an emotional roller coaster. 

Very long (3,344 words) a piece of my selfship fic that I decided to write instead of drawing. This was fun.

Humor, pining, hurt/comfort

Closeted trans girl Kazuichi x Zoey (self insert), background ship of Gundham x (implied enby) Sonia, 

Trigger warnings: Intrusive thoughts, suicidal thoughts mentioned.  

I feel like I should add a disclaimer that my later teen years had me going through a bout of depression/intrusive thoughts/suicidal feelings, and this fic includes this as a conflict for Zoey. But please dont worry, irl I am no longer suicidal, and my intrusive thoughts don't come as often and are not as intense as they used to be. My life and my outlook on life is a lot better now. I use this fic in part to process how I used to feel (feelings about feelings). And I will give relevant trigger warnings at the beginning of every post.  

-- 

"Hey Gundham!" Kazuichi yelled, ready to start some shit. Gundham put down the book and glanced up at Kazuichi from his seat. "You wanna fucking go?" The mechanic huffed, trying to hype herself up. "You and me, let's-" 

Gundham stood up, his frame instantly towering over Kazuichi. 

"Meep!" And just like that, Kazuichi's fiery rage was extinguished into a panic that almost made her jump. What was she thinking doing this?! What was she thinking?! 

"Uh. U h uhj .. le-let's go - uh-"  

"Play basketball!" Zoey jumped next to Kazuichi, startling her even though Kaz knew that Zoey had been watching. She did wonder where Zoey got the basketball. It seemed appropriate though, as Zoey always seemed to wear boy's gym shorts.  

"Hmph," Gundham rolled his eyes, clearly not interested. 

"No I’m shit at sports!" Kazuichi hissed to Zoey in between clenched teeth, attempting a whisper.  

"Oh." Zoey had hoped this would help. "Then uh, maybe I'll win and get Miss Sonia's heart!" Zoey giggled at her own joke, but stopped at Kazuichi's unamused frown. She threw out a quick "sorry!"

"Then what form of battle do you propose?" Gundham asked, eyebrow raised to Kazuichi.  

Before Kazuichi could say anything, Zoey piped up. "I have another idea!"  

- 

In a short time, the three were now sitting at a table with Uno cards as Zoey explained- 

"When someone puts down THIS card, the next player has to press THIS!" She pressed the button on the Uno Attack machine. It conveniently spit out like a dozen cards at once.  

"Whoa!" Kazuichi stared in awe.  

"A beast forces us to carry a heftier burden!" Gundham exclaims. "And thus, the victim's time in the game is extended, as is the likelihood of their doom."  

Kazuichi side eyed Gundham, and then turned to Zoey. "So it's just like regular Uno, but we get a cool machine that spits cards at us? Okay! We can totally take down Gundham like this!"  

Zoey smiled back at Kaz. She wasn't sure what Kazuichi meant by this "we" business; since they werent sharing cards Zoey was just going to try to win herself. Still, it always made her happy to see her crush friend reaffirm that the two of them were a team.  

"Oo, I love this game." At the sound of another voice, Zoey's smile dropped. It was Miss Sonia, who must have snuck over when Zoey was thinking about Kazuichi. "I would love to play as well, if that's alright." Miss Sonia asked, icy blue eyes staring into Zoey. 

Zoey nearly jumped in fear (tall girly girl, way too good at hiding her emotions, no idea what her intentions are) but quickly tried to bring her smile back. Tried to at least. Kazuichi is probably happy about this, right? So Zoey should be happy for her friend. Yay, her platonic friend's crush gets to join them. And maybe after the game Miss Sonia and Kaz can run off into the sunset and have a million babies forever after or something. That didnt make Zoey sad or jealous, not at all!  

"Sure!" Zoey said, taking the deck, ready to deal out the cards. "You can sit-" She was about to invite Miss Sonia to sit next to Kazuichi somehow (even if Zoey had to switch her own seating arrangement, being the good buddy she was), but she realized that Kazuichi was no longer sitting at the table with them. 

In fact, she was in the distance, running away from the scene. 

W h a t .  

Stunned, Zoey finished with "... I ... I guess you can... take Kaz's seat?"  

Miss Sonia nodded and sat down. Zoey took a breath and dealt out the cards. She would try not to let Kazuichi's disappearance ruin Uno Attack.  

Try not to at least. 

- 

Zoey was on the verge of winning. She only had one card left! But at the same time, so did Gundham, and his turn would be before her’s, so he had a better chance.  

Still, she could get lucky. Maybe Gundham’s last card would not be playable yet?  

She emotionally prepared herself for a loss. If Gundham wins, fair enough, she would keep smiling and say “good game, you guys wanna play again?” Then, if they didn’t feel like playing again, she wouldn’t take it to heart and she would get to bring this game over to Kazuichi. She didn’t have too much invested in this win. 

The order was Miss Sonia, Gundham, and then herself. And Miss Sonia put down... a red Draw 2!  

"Im afraid the Prince of Ice must now draw 2. Hm hm!" Miss Sonia giggled.  

Zoey giggled too. She still wasnt sure if she should really be friends with Miss Sonia (per Kazuichi's insistence,) or even trust her as a good person or not, but the light mood was contagious.  

And now she realized was definitely gonna win. While Gundham drew 2 cards, Zoey could put down her last card! She kept wishing Kaz were here to see her impending victory, but also kept trying to push out that thought and just be happy, genuinely happy, in the moment. 

She was about to win. 

"Mwahahaha..." Gundham chuckled in a manner most villainous. "You think you have bested me, but it is The Sheppard of Wolves who shall taste the losing blow!" Zoey (aka "The Sheppard of Wolves") frowned in confusion. (She wasn't sure why Gundham and Miss Sonia gave her this nickname, but she liked it.) 

Gundham placed down his last card, which was another Draw 2 card. "The curse of the Dark Monarch has doubled in power and is passed to The Sheppard, who must now Draw Four. But this matters not, for with my last card down I have just emptied my hands and sealed my victory!"  

"Hurray!" Miss Sonia clapped. 

Zoey's face scrunched and she couldn’t disguise the disgust (or the whining) in her voice. "Wait -wait- you cant do that! Draw 2 cards dont stack like that! And even if they did- it's not your turn- it got missed because - The rules say that-!" 

"The commoner rules are commonly recognized as heresy- card stacking is a superior method!"  

Zoey watched in anger as Miss Sonia and Gundham celebrated Gundham's "victory". Was this a joke?! Their joy stabbed into her like she was a pincushion with a circle of sewing needles closing in on her. She stopped breathing. She could feel in the air that she was "supposed to" ignore the blatantly broken rule, congratulate Gundham and collect the remaining cards, shuffling and asking for a second round, like the polite, friendly fun person she was. 

But... she just couldn't muster that anymore. 

Everything was attacking her, and once again everyone else was having a good time while she was feeling cheated and alone...so alone....she was always so alone...she was the only one who felt like this... everyone else was having so much fun because they didn't understand...and she would always be so alo- 

And where the heck was Kazuichi?! 

In one last plea, she whined "But that's not the real rules...!"  

"In Novaselic, card stacking is the official rule." Miss Sonia stated. 

She couldn't look at anybody. She just glared into her last card, the Wild Draw 4 card that was supposed to be her win, ("The Sheppard, who must now draw four,") now felt like it was mocking her. Just like everything else. 

"Yeah, of course it is." She muttered, not bothering to mask her bitterness. "That's freaking stupid!" 

It only took her a second to snap out of it and assess the damage she dealt. Miss Sonia's face remained neutral, but her eyebrows were raised. Still, Zoey didnt need any context clues to know that was the wrong thing to say.  

"Im sorry!" Zoey exclaimed. "I shouldnt have said that- I didnt mean it! Im just-" She was trying so so hard not to cry. She really thought of herself as a good sport (at least better than Kazuichi), a good person, and here she was insulting Miss Sonia's entire country just because she lost a stupid card game! "That was stupid! Im stupid! It was a good game guys, thank you! Im sorry!"  

Zoey felt some silent awkward energy from Gundham and she heard Miss Sonia's "Wait!" and "Please!" but she couldn't stop herself from getting ready to leave. It was like she was moving too fast for her brain to hear it. Gotta get up and go, gotta get up and go, gotta get up and go, time to go... She picked up her backpack and left the Uno game and the basketball (which wasn’t her’s anyway) behind. 

But then she did hear it. Miss Sonia was going to apologize? She shouldn't just ignore that! She had already ran a few steps away, but quickly turned around.  

She saw Miss Sonia, Gundham, and now Akane and Nekomaru out of nowhere, were playing the game. They were smiling and talking. Zoey was too late now, she knew it. They were probably having so much fun, so much more fun now that the dumb spoil sport was gone. 

Dont worry guys, Im going away, maybe going away forever. Zoey put her mouth in her arm to bury the uncontrollable crying noises. She wasn’t trying to draw attention, she didn't want to look like a total baby right now. She didn’t want to act so stupid about losing at Uno.  

She almost went home, but with suicidal thoughts filling her head faster and harder than she expected, and she knew she had to go see Kazuichi right now. 

- 

Unsurprisingly, and to Zoey’s relief, Kazuichi had simply gone back to her own cabin. 

"Oh, hey." Kazuichi muttered, not even looking up from the bike engine she had buried herself in. "How was 'Uno Attack'?"  

The coldness in her love friend's voice, as well as the refusal to look her way, broke Zoey's heart. Dammit, Zoey thought she was finally finished crying and could be calm but now it was happening again. 

"Terrible!" She exclaimed. "Why did you leave mee?"  

Kazuichi turned her body to face Zoey, voice on the defense. "Yeah, well, while you guys were having fun I-" 

And then Kaz's processing delay caught up to her. Terrible? "Wait, what?" And at the sight of Zoey crying at her front door, she took off her work gloves and ran to see her. 

"I- I guess it was fun at first-!" Zoey started. "Even though I really wanted you to be there! But then Gundham kind of basically cheated and won-!"  

And she explained and over-explained and went on and on and repeated herself a bit to talk about the Great Draw 2 Controversy.  

The part that scared her the most was that she could make Kazuichi mad at her for insulting Miss Sonia in such a big way. On the walk over here, she had mentally prepared a dozen scenarios where Kazuichi expressed her absolute disgust at Zoey's actions and proclaimed that they could no longer be friends anymore if she would dare insult the princess like this. 

But at the scary part, Kazuichi just blinked. "Miss Sonia's not gonna be mad at you just cuz you insulted a card game."  

"But I insulted her entire country! I cant believe they all play the game wrong!" Agh, there she goes again! She was not helping to fight the stereotype that her country was full of xenophobes. "I mean, they all play it different! And I know there's nothing wrong with-with-" 

At this point, Zoey was crying again, and couldn't make her words make sense any more. It felt like gibberish. And Kazuichi had gotten closer to her, closer, until she wrapped her arms around Zoey in a hug. A tight, wonderful hug! Zoey sobbed but her better senses told her to try to stop, and just breathe, and bury herself in her crush's wonderful, wonderful scent. 

Downbad. Her thoughts mocked her. If this smell wasn't coming from a pretty girl that you're crushing on... Okay, yeah but shut up brain, she did NOT care right now. She needed this. For her mental health. 

"It's - It's okay." Kazuichi said, her voice shaking. "You're, um, you're okay..." Zoey could tell Kazuichi wasn't used to comforting with words, but that made her love her even more. 

"Miss Sonia's still gonna be your friend." Okay, that wasn't Zoey's biggest priority here, but she could respect why Kazuichi might think so. "Miss Sonia really...likes you..."  

There was an awkward pause before Kazuichi continued.  

"You're a nice girl, and you're caring and sweet and fun and- - and I dont think you could ruin that with a bad card game, cuz Miss Sonia... likes you..."  

Okay, Kazuichi sounded genuine and reassuring, but Zoey could also hear some jealousy slipping through this comfort. She stopped hugging and looked directly at Kazuichi. Kazuichi tried to quickly shift her face into a smile, but Zoey saw the concerned look she had before (She also saw the tears. She didn’t realize Kazuichi had been crying with her!) The frown Zoey saw for a second didn't look mad, like Zoey would have expected (and was worried about), instead she got the vibe that Kazuichi was just...insecure? 

Ohhhh. 

"You're a nice girl too!" Zoey said quickly. "You're really nice and sweet too!" 

Kazuichi blushed. She smiled for a second, but she frowned and looked at the ground. "No I'm not. I know I'm not." She said quietly. 

"Hey! No! You are! And you should have played with us! You could have shown Miss Sonia that, um-"  

"No I couldn’t!" Kazuichi sobbed. "Gundham was there!"  

Now Kazuichi was the one crying and explaining. 

"I wanted to play with you guys! But not with Gundham there too! Or maybe we could have played with Gundham without Miss– I mean –AGHH! It's not even him, it's just - I can't - this is how -!"  

Now Zoey gave Kazuichi a hug. And once again she felt Kaz's big, strong, wonderful arms wrap around her. It was so lovely. Will these hugs always feel so bittersweet?  

Will these hugs always last? With that depressing thought, Zoey figured she better savor this while she could. 

Kazuichi continued, still crying. "I hate being a boy! I can't just be friends with Miss Sonia the way you can! I can't just play a game with Miss Sonia and Gundham! I have to act like a big man against Gundham! And I'm so sick of it!" Now Zoey cried again, with Kazuichi. "It’s not like I wanted to fight him!"  

"Then why-?" Zoey stopped herself from asking the obvious. " 'M sorry." She said instead. 

"D-don't-...- you – you didn't-" Kazuichi cried. “I really didn’t mean to – to leave you!” 

Oh yeah, Kazuichi broke her promise.* Technically.

“I’m sorry!” Kazuichi yelled. 

Zoey forgave her. “It’s okay!” Zoey yelled back. 

Zoey squeezed tighter. 

Kazuichi squeezed tighter. 

They cried, and cried, and then calmed down. After some silence, they moved apart from the hug.

Zoey had an idea. "Do you want me to fight him for you?" she asked. 

"Wha??" Kazuichi responded.

“I’ll do it. I’ll fight him.” She almost rolled up her long sleeves, and then realized she wasn’t wearing long sleeves, so she mimed rolling up long sleeves until she scrunched up her T-shirt sleeves, to show she was serious serious. 

“N-n-no! Don’t!” Kazuichi stopped Zoey from scrunching her t-shirt sleeves and laughed nervously. Zoey couldn’t tell if this laugh was from fear that Gundham would beat her or from thinking she was just kidding, and was offended by both reasonings. “Don’t do that! That’s not what girls do!” 

Ew. Shut up. “Then you shouldn't fight him either!” 

Kazuichi smiled, looking relieved for a second, then frowned again. “No! Wait! I can’t just get out of it like that!”  

“Why the hell not?!” 

“Cuz I have to show Miss Sonia that I can fight the competition! That I’m not – not just gonna let some – some other guy have her!” 

“Ew!” Zoey couldn’t help it, this time she vocalized her disgust at the gender roles Kazuichi kept forcing in this situation. “Fine! Then I’ll freaking fight her instead!” 

“What?!”  

Zoey quickly corrected her Freudien slip. “I mean then I’ll fight him! Freaking fight –him. I’ll fight Gundham for you! Even if he puts a big curse on me! I don’t care!” 

“You know he can’t actually – But –but- don't fight him!” Kazuichi tried to chill out and stop yelling at Zoey (she was really trying to be better at this, really!) “I know – you're trying to help me – but that’s not how it works! You...you can’t fight him for me, for Miss Sonia... do you get what that looks like?”  

“No.” She actually did, but she wondered if acting confused and making Kazuichi explain it would help the situation. “What’s it look like?” 

Kazuichi stood there for a second. “Huh? You actually don’t -?...” 

Kazuichi messed with her hat a little bit while she tried to cobble together an explanation. “....Okay, so...I’m fighting Gundham to show him I’m - you know – I'm top dog, like, I’m the best Miss Sonia’s, um, that I’m supposed to be her...boyfriend... instead of – and then you – if you fight Gundham – it's not gonna make me look good! It’ll make me look, ah, cowardly, and then – so you can’t! Just don’t! Also, what if you get hurt? Also, Gundham’s not gonna fight a girl!”  

Zoey huffed. She hated being called a girl in contexts like these. Also, she had hoped Kazuichi would realize midway through explaining it how stupid this was, but it looks like Kazuichi still agrees with this bullshit. Ughhhh. 

“Do you get it now?” Kazuichi asked, looking like she was ready to explain more if she needed to. Zoey was almost tempted to ask her to repeat her explanation like it was a video game option.  

She decided not to be annoying on purpose.  

She thought about what might help prevent what Kazuichi was saying. “What if I fight Gundham, but I let everyone know in the moment it’s because I’m being a loyal friend and not because you’re cowardly? Sorry! Not calling you cowardly! I mean, I just mean that I would announce it to everyone, without the ‘cowardly’ part, so they all know it’s not like you need me to fight! Maybe you could try to ‘stop’ me, and I’m so, uh, set on fighting him I just punch-” 

Kazuichi instinctively panicked and put her hands on Zoey’s fists.  

Zoey smiled. “Yeah, like that!”  

This made Kazuichi freeze again, then laugh, and Zoey joined in.  

Everything was starting to feel better now.  

“Okay, okay, I won't fight him.” Zoey said, feeling more willing to let this go (maybe because Kazuichi was touching her hands). 

Kazuichi giggled. “Why’re you always trying to fight people for me?” 

Zoey tried to put on a poker face. “Because I’m a.... v-very loyal f-friend.” She felt like a robot trying to say that. She could feel her face burning. Because I have a big fat crush on you. Because I’m angry at the world and I would punch it for you. Because I want to protect you from everything. Because I really am a loyal friend, but also I would get married and/or take my pants off if you asked me to, which is not my normal loyal friend behavior but it’s- 

“Aww, you’re blushing!” Kazuichi pointed out. 

“I’m not!” Zoey said, accidentally yelling, instinctively covering her face with her hand. “Oh, I - I am???” She pretended to be surprised at this shocking revelation. “I - I guess I have ---- allergiiiies~--?”   

Kazuichi laughed and hugged her. Another hug! Zoey may have lost at Uno Attack, but she felt like she was winning today. 

“Awwww, you’re so cute! I’m really glad we’re friends too!” Kazuichi said. 

Zoey was still smiling, she was still in a good mood, but also, did she just get friendzoned again?! Mother FUCKE- 

-- 

-- 

-- 

(The end of this piece) 

*Kazuichi promised in an earlier chapter that she would never "leave Zoey". I can't explain too much, but this promise was more about the context of leaving the friendship instead of leaving a social situation.

(A/N: Zoey friendzoned Kazuichi first and then gets surprised Pikachu face when Kazuichi returns the gesture. She is a hypocrite lol. They all are. Almost every character I write is hypocritical. I find it funny.

Also, throughout this fic Kaz and Zoey keep unintentionally playing this game of who can be more obvious about their crush before the other one stops being oblivious.)  

[lingy910y]

Gallavich Questionnaire

Thank you @energievie for tagging me to do this! I get too unhinged when talking about these two boys, so warning for very elaborate ramblings 🙏

1. What’s a fic you’ve read more than once?

This fic is the prime example of why you should write a fic even if you think nobody’s going to read it, because it’s my favorite gallavich fic even though most people don’t want to read about them getting a divorce. But I do, okay, because a normal break-up doesn’t cut it (especially since we already see those in canon, but post-canon is up to our interpretation) and it’s just more serious. I think they will work out their issues before it gets too far in canon but it just hurts so fucking good. The reason for their divorce is so realistic too, in fact it’s not one but a lot of problems piled on top of each other. They think it’s only going to hurt everyone involved including their children, which is arguably true in context, but they can’t resist each other and it’s this back and forth push. There’s parallels to canon, the writing is so good without being drawn out, and there’s so much nuance, emotion, and subtly hinting at something beneath the surface. The pining is just delicious because it’s not “I don’t know if you feel this way about me” or “I’m not allowed to be with you,” it’s “I want to be with you so badly but I’m trying to resist that because it’s going to hurt everyone.” Then the trying so hard not to care because “we’re over, but you’re in trouble and I’m trying to move on and I’m never going to love someone else like I love you” 😭😭😭 anyway I actually had to stop myself from rereading too often for comfort because it was too much LOL

the author said they were going to update it January of this year so I’ll be patiently waiting 😔

3. What's a headcanon you can't stop thinking about?

You know that post abt how when you're sleepy you imagine your favs sleepy? I keep imagining Ian wrapping their comforter around Mickey like a cocoon when he has a nightmare and cuddling him, it's cute

4. What's a fanart you love looking at?

The first image of this by @gallavichonly JUST GETS ME SO FERAL. THEIR FUCKING EXPRESSIONS.

5. What’s an idea you’d love to create if you had the time/inspiration?

I want to draw a character concept art sheet for their outfits/weapons/mechanics for kinda a zombie apocalypse AU. Designing that sounds fun but I need to research more

6. What’s something you’ve discovered since entering this fandom? A new trope you love? A different analysis of the show? Something else?

The jealousy trope, especially jealous Mickey. I guess in other fandoms, people write jealousy in a really possessive, cringy way. Not saying gallavich aren't possessive as fuck but at least they earned it, you know? There's too many ships where one of them is breathing down the other person's love interest's neck but they don't even know you exist, like calm down 😭 Meanwhile gallavich tease and try to get each other to admit it first, and Mickey is biting his tongue trying not to say anything and then "Fucking cheat on me, Ian?!", "Whatcha doin' here then?" AND THEIR EXPRESSIONS WHEN THEY EACH SAY "WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW" ARUGHHHHHH I'M SO GONE

7. What’s an underrated trope or concept you’d like to see more of?

Touched on this earlier but basically the more tragic/gritty ones—a huge argument, break-ups, unrequited love, falling out of love, hanahaki, amnesia, MCD...

10. What scene or moment do you feel isn’t discussed enough?

Eh I think we've dissected the shit out of every scene lmao, but probably their s4 reunion? The lap dance?

11. What line/dialogue/description from something else (a poem, a book, a tv show, a movie, or something else) do you feel describes Ian and Mickey’s relationship?

Obviously "I'll take care of you. / It's rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it's you."

12. What do you think is next for Ian and Mickey post-finale?

I want Ian to go back to being an EMT no matter what :( but their current security gig fits Mickey a lot. Ian also gets really into gardening, he'll be so good to the point where he'll be known in the neighborhood. And Mickey has a little hobby for drawing. They'll adopt a pitbull because Mickey was actually enthusiastic about that idea, which meets Ian halfway by still giving him something to take care of. Now for the elephant in the room: I think it's okay if Mickey never wants a kid, and there's a lot of issues ingrained in them that unless they go to therapy for a couple of years, hinder them from becoming perfect parents tbh. Now I'm not saying they'll be bad, but will their best be enough? Will they be content? Idk, I don't have any experience and I see them with more issues/flaws than the majority of the fandom? Honestly I just don't see that future for them (but I do enjoy kid AUs because who doesn't.) They'll stay on the West Side because I want them to get out but not stray too far from their family. I also can't think about them getting old or I'll sob, but I wrote a fic about how they'll retire and just live comfortably because it's what they deserve, and they'll take tons of vacations when they save up enough money.

oh my god that was way too much but in my defense i rarely get to rant abt them ok!! anyway now that I went through the whole spectrum of emotions, i'm tagging @michellemisfit, @lupeloto, @jademickian & @softmick 🚶‍♀️

[devilisaloser]

Philip smiled brightly at the compliment and lifted his hand to fist-bump him in return. Maybe this wasn't much, but Damien clearly had an influence on Pip; often leading him to causing mischief just like the Devil Prince did. This, staying at the library? That was his favourite kind. Nothing too evil, nothing that dangerous, yet still mischievous and fun. Not to mention he would get to spend the time alone with Damien, which was definitely worth it.

"Oh dear, that sounds like a lot of fun!" he exclaimed in a hushed voice, taking a spot next to Damien, hiding together. "I definitely want to watch some movies! Did you have anything in mind?" he asked, staring at him. Maybe being evil wasn't in his style, but it felt different with Damien in the picture. There's the awe in his gaze as he stares at him, impressed and ready to follow him through the plan. Maybe he was a little too excited about the whole idea because as he listened to Damien's plans, his wings, horns, and tail popped out. He was unable to hold them back, but he didn't mind and didn't even notice at first. Not until his tail brushed against Damien as he waved it.

There's no time to comment on that when Damien warns him about the librarian. Pip moves to duck even lower, hiding behind Damien slightly, looking up curiously. It might be one of the wildest things he had done in a while, which likely says a lot about the scales of what he considers 'wild'. He waited until the steps went further towards the door, peeking slightly to watch as the librarian left the room and locked it, unknowingly trapping Pip and Damien inside.

Of course, that's exactly how it was supposed to be. Pip chuckled and turned to look at Damien. "What do you want to do first." @pips-cup-of-tea

---

Damien was sure that they had been caught by the look on the librarian’s face. Her nose was scrunched and her eyebrows were raised as if she had smelled something terrible and she was looking right at them! That was when she snatched a half eaten bag of chips off of the nearest study table, tossed it into one of the little trash cans, and turned to leave. They had been spared by the perfect distraction in the form of a bag of off brand cheesy poofs! Even with Pip’s wings hovering right up to the third row up of books on the shelf they were hiding behind for a moment, the librarian hadn’t seen a thing! After the sound of the doors locking echoed off the walls, Damien felt his shoulders lower: they did it! A couple of years ago, this would have been a nightmare of Damien’s; he hated it when Satan would tell him that he had a fun night planned for the two of them, and half of the time, that night would be a night in Satan’s library in Hell; if Damien had to hear one more love poem, even if it included blood, horror, zombies, and all of that cool stuff, it would be his true villain origin story. Now, though? He and Pip had a movie night of blood, horror, and zombies ahead of them, but without all of the rhyming sentences and cheesy declarations of love! That, and, he guessed that Pip could make some suggestions, too. It was only fair.

“So, I was thinking, we could start with the new ‘Nuns in Alabama’ or we could go with the classic ‘Lint Man’,” he flipped through a couple of DVDs in his hands, “It’s about a guy who leaves lint as evidence after he takes over space stations on Mars,” he summarized, skimming over the description on the back of the case. “That’s not even realistic. Wouldn’t the lint just float away in space?” With that, Damien tossed the case over his shoulder and it bounced twice on the ground before skidding to a stop in the next aisle down.

“There’s ‘The Forgotten Lasagna’. Looks pretty good,” he handed the beat up case to Pip with a picture of a piece of Lasagna with a pair of robot arms and legs on it. The background was of tall walls of fire, a detail that had caught Damien’s eye when he was pulling a ton of DVDs off of the shelves earlier that night. “Unless you want to do something else? Uncap all of the dry erase markers? Circle all of the Waldos in the Where’s Waldo? books? Boot up the computers and play some games?”

[queeriboh]

pretty sure last I left off with Darkest musings was right after Kaiba got Marik's counterfeit operation shut down and connected him to both the museum bombing and Kame arson, using his connections to quickly elevate Marik to one of Japan's most wanted criminals.

so naturally, Marik's next target is going to be that bastard.

( cw for violence, general descriptions of torture though nothing detailed, and major and minor character death on this one )

he's not just going to storm in and attack though, Kaiba's too smart for that. he's going to spend a few weeks making mind puppets of as many Kaiba Corp employees as possible, including one of their beloved body guards. during this time he learns about Kaiba's surveillance network keeping real-time data on nearly every resident of the city, as well as gaining access to the private paramilitary squad he keeps on call and oh, he thinks that's going to be fun.

he has to catch them both off guard. Kaiba is a crafty son of a bitch, and through his reconnaissance at Kaiba Corp he's well aware of the policy regarding executive handgun training. it's entirely possible that, even at the presumed safety of home, the CEO could be armed. he was able to mind control one of their body guards, but Roland would be a concern as well.

Marik knows damn well how slippery the kid is, Mokuba's already escaped from his capture once (yeah thats anime only but shh), so he has to be careful. It's hard to catch him at the right moment. He has to be alone, unaware and off guard. Fuguta has to be the only guard in the mansion that night, with Seto working late at the office, long after their live in maid has gone to bed. it takes weeks of patience, but finally the stars align as the possessed Fuguta finds Mokuba sneaking a late night snack from the massive kitchen.

Mokuba puts up a hell of a fight when he's grabbed from behind, kicking and throwing elbows and fists wildly at the massive man holding him. Fuguta's hand covers his mouth to keep him from waking the maid, and Mokuba's teeth dig in, grinding and baring down until his mouth fills with blood. but his fighting is useless, the pain blocked by the Millennium Rod and Marik's control, and eventually Fuguta gets the kid in a sleeper hold. From there it's only a few seconds before Mokuba goes limp and Marik makes his way to the mansion for phase 2.

when Seto Kaiba finally returns home it's well after midnight, yet the massive mansion feels unusually quiet. Mokuba isn't one to usually go to bed early, but he's tired and sore and Seto decides not to think too much of it. He takes the bottle of his usual liquor, pours himself a nightcap, and heads to his own chambers with the glass in hand. for a little bit he'll try to relax in bed, reading a book as he sips, winding down to pull a few hours sleep before his early morning workout. but the sound of the handle turning on his bedroom door draws his attention, putting him on alert as his eyes snap up from the pages and words.

"I didn't hear you get home," Mokuba says as he slips into the massive bedroom. It isn't the master, though. Even long after Gouzaburou's death, Seto can't stand to be in that room. "whatcha reading??" he flops onto the bed--and Seto's legs-- with all his weight, the way he always does. but as the two chat idly, it quickly becomes clear that there's something off about the way Mokuba is speaking and acting. Seto looks down at the book in his hands again, and the letters swim around the pages, swirling, illegible. He glances at the glass on his nightstand just before his vision goes black.

When he comes to, he's on the floor, propped against the footboard of his oversized bed. Slowly the details start to come to focus. Like the handcuffs restraining both of his hands to the solid wood posts. His bodyguard Fuguta standing over him, his little brother sat cross legged on the floor beside him, elbows propped on his knees, chin in both hands with a sweet smile on his lips and a far away look in his stormy purple eyes.

"wakey wakey, big brother~"

there's definitely something wrong with Mokuba's voice, but Seto's head is still swimming too much to understand the situation.

"you know, it took me a while to decide what to do with you. you really ruined my plans, you know. so I had to think, how can I ruin Seto Kaiba? you took away something important to me, but what's important to a megalomaniac like you? and how can I even get close to you? and then it hit me when I saw your cute little brother here."

Mokuba's big, toothy grin is sickening.

"Marik--" Kaiba hisses, the details finally connecting. He jerks suddenly, lashing and pulling at the handcuffs with all of his strength like a wild animal, but the chains hold strong.

"Relax, relax, big brother~"

"Don't! You dare call me that! Leave my little brother alone and face me yourself, you coward." Seto spits

"No thanks. This will be much more satisfying, I think." As he speaks, the possessed Mokuba reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, producing a large black stun gun. The room crackles with the sound of electricity as he presses the button, showing off the impressive sparks for a moment before driving the end into Seto's stomach.

Seto writhes and grunts in agony, but shock after shock and the man still never screams. Disappointing, but Marik had expected as much. Still, the look of betrayal in his deep blue eyes, the agony of being tortured by his own beloved brother is exciting. And it's only the opening act anyway.

Seto curses and spits insults at Marik between shocks, but his body twitches and convulses even after they stop. "Snap out of it, Mokuba," he urges, towing the line of pleading but never quite crossing into that level of desperation. "You're stronger than this!!" Another shock and Seto spazzes and grunts in pain, and Marik feels his control of the boy start to waver. That's fine. He's ready for the main event anyway.

The moment that he relinquishes Mokuba, Marik turns his focus to his other puppet. Before the boy can register what's going on, why he's holding the stun gun, why his brother is twitching on the floor and bound, Fuguta grabs him by a fistful of his long hair, dragging him to his feet to wrap large hands around his tiny throat and lift him from his feet.

"You know that was only the start of your punishment, Seto Kaiba," Marik speaks through their bodyguard now. "Sit back and get comfortable, you might as well enjoy the show. Since there's nothing you can do now to stop it." Fuguta's grin is wicked as Mokuba claws and chokes and kicks. Just as his fighting starts to slow, his eyes start to roll back, he's slammed back into the ground.

now. as much as I love angst and violence and misery, actually trying to muse on the torture while at work only made me. very very sad. and I think trying to write that out would be too much even for me. but Marik is a wicked, truly deranged person, and his sadism has only gotten worse since wearing the Millennium Ring. so I'll leave details up to the reader's own discretion and comfort levels (short of sexual violence because Mokuba is just a poor kid wrapped up in something he never should have been and I can't possibly put my son through that even as a hypothetical).

but Marik will be cruel. and unlike his brother, Mokuba screams. Mokuba cries. Mokuba begs and pleads for it to stop. and it crushes Seto, it makes his blood boil and bile rise up in his stomach. at some point, he swears that Marik's killed him, as Mokuba's cries and fighting stop and Fuguta leaves him in an unmoving puddle on the floor. But then a heavy kick to his gut has the boy coughing and spitting up blood.

at some point, Marik will walk in, still wiping blood from the dagger of the Millennium Rod after dealing with the sleeping maid. Wouldn't want her waking up to her employers' screaming. For a while, he leans in the doorway of the bedroom, watching the puppet show he commands.

"You know, Kaiba," he purrs during the moment of calm as Mokuba sobs on the floor. Seto turns quickly, glaring daggers at the puppeteer. "I've been lurking around your office for a while. I'm no good with computers you know, but your little brother here was oh so helpful, accessing the Duelist Databse for me. But there is one access code even he doesn't know, isn't there? The one for that satellite defense system, that asset of the old company you never actually shut down, did you?"

Fuguta steps aside as Marik approaches to kneel beside Mokuba, lifting his head by his hair again.

"Tell me how to access it, and maybe I'll let your poor little brother here go."

"D-don't... Seto, please he-- he'll kill so many p--"

Mokuba's pleading is cut short as his face is smashed back into the floor. Marik will take over the torture himself, only for Kaiba to shout a string of letters and numbers after only moments.

Marik's lips curl back in a viscious grin. Sends Fuguta to go test it and report back. but he doesn't keep his word. well, he did say maybe. he doesn't stop. not until Mokuba is too utterly broken to respond anymore, lost somewhere between consciousness and death.

and that's about when he feels a tug on his puppets' strings, looks through Fuguta's eyes to see the results of the code he was given.

Marik curses, quickly turning his attention to Seto, who laughs a single, cold laugh. "I'd rather destroy everything I've ever worked for, ever created, ever done, than ever hand you a weapon like that."

Scorched Earth Protocol Initiated: All Files Deleted - Satellite Self Destruct in 5 Minutes.

And just like that, Marik snaps. He turns his wrath on Seto, relentlessly beating him with the bulbous end of the Millennium Rod, completely overcome with wild, reckless rage. He doesn't stop when Seto's head splits with a sickening crack. When his blood paints the carpet and footboard. When his face is no longer recognizable.

Marik stands shakily, breath heavy, bloodied Rod in hand. Curses when he realizes he's gone too far this time. His blood boils in his veins and he storms off to try and salvage something from this operation.

But in his haste, blinded by anger, he'd forgotten the other brother.

It takes all of his strength, but Mokuba manages to drag himself across the bedroom floor. The sight of his brother in such a state is almost overwhelming, the only thing keeping him from wretching is the lack of energy to even vomit now. He wants to wail, to cry and scream, but there's nothing left inside him anymore. Mokuba simply curls up, his head on his brother's chest, desperately listening for a heartbeat, finding only the burbling and hissing of a death rattle. He sobs quietly and pathetically until his little body can't stay conscious any longer.

----

When Mokuba wakes, he's still wrapped in his brother's corpse, now cold and stiff beside him. He wants to beg him to wake up, to shake him, but it's too obviously too late. He wants to curl up again, to stay by Seto's side until he dies too. Just to be with his big brother again. To never leave him.

But another realization creeps in, and he knows he can't waste any time. When Marik left, he did nothing to restrain the living brother. How long will it be until he realizes and returns? Mokuba knows that every second matters.

He presses his forehead to Seto's chest, apologizing over and over and over for not saving him somehow. Tears leak down his cheeks as he clings to Seto's bloody pajama shirt. As he says goodbye to his brother.

[pensacolarentalsbyowner]

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[littlebetesofeverything]

Welcome to Night Vale ep 4

Okay, time for a longer lunch break since I have plans to study tonight instead of right now. (shout out to my friend suggesting one more lab walkthrough before they close it) Fun times for this one since I remember Cecil's job/life was in danger at the end of last episode. Here we go!

PTA meeting ends in bloodshed? seems normal to me. the dinosaurs, not so much. The description here is amazing tbh. Did he say roach-spiders? god help me. Call out NYT Cecil. Is it really free when included in cost?

election season sounds fun for the kidnapped family members. Who doesn't love an abandoned mine shaft vacation? Wait, they get HBO, this is a high-end kidnapping.

Front-page ads sounds like a good idea. wow, daily writers were let go, so they are crowd-sourcing news lol. Is there anything that hasn't been blown up in this town? seems like insurance companies have fun here.

PTA update: the swingset was left open. and there is one dinosaur left to capture, FREE PET! Aging several thousand years is the best cheat for getting a senior discount. And really who isn't insane at this point?

How do you put adults in detention?

Humming and green light? sounds like a Disney villain. Oh wait, plutonium. Actually that probably tracks, the plutonium I mean.

Carlos is beautiful depsite his shorn locks. That sounds like he had a bad phone call. Lavender chewing gum? you do you Cecil.

Dino update: secret police updated the type of dinosaurs they were reporting. Gotta be accurate on the news. 38 deaths? wtf Cecil

ah high school football and small-town rivalry, good memories. I remembered next year is my 10-year anniversary. overdue library books lead to court ordered hand removal.

apartment etiquette is important people. Let it go, let it gooo. Oozing is bad, lights are acceptable. good to know.

mysterious hooded stranger sounds like a great guest, Cecil. thank you for the gender description too for the radio. Honestly, the static is soothing for me.

Weather break!

The missing pterodactyl going to an AU night vale sounds intriguing, can I go? glad they can reschedule the meeting for backpacks causing autism. :/

all species and geological eras can't enter the dog park.

Can i learn about morse code for trumpet quintets? please and thank you.

I feel like I need to keep a counter for just the hardest lines. Maybe another day.

Again, I just love this so much. A great idea for this spooky season.