#and lance is a tan white man

[rememberwren]

Dichotomy of Thought || 11

Past and further chapters here.

Simon and Johnny make up.

|| Chapter warnings: Anal fingering, anal sex, baby-trapping, medication tampering, medication control.

-

Your boyfriend manages your medications, a one-man pharmacy. 

Every morning the pills are waiting for you on the table in the foyer beside where you deposit your keys in the evening. There are two of them. 

The first is oblong, tan. Your boyfriend hoards and hides the bottle, but you’d fished the information pamphlet that came from the pharmacy out of the trash, and you know everything there is to know about it from that page jam-packed with text. Sertraline, 50mg. Otherwise known as Zoloft. Just swallowing the tasteless pill makes you remember the even darker days than the ones you’re living now, the ones that had led you to that waiting room with your boyfriend in the seat beside you waiting for a doctor to see you. How do I know if I’m depressed, you had asked the doctor, bold as anything even with your boyfriend’s hand on your knee, or if my life just isn’t worth living? 

You’d learned. By God, you’d learned. 

The other pill is your birth control. Round, sometimes blue, sometimes white, depending on where you are in your cycle. Today it is white and—

It looks—different. 

He wouldn’t, you think to yourself, thumb nudging at the pill in your palm, like seeing it from a different angle might jog your memory of it. He wouldn’t do that. A kid is the last thing he wants. He wouldn’t sacrifice his own freedom just to keep you trapped underneath his thumb. 

Except—wouldn’t he? 

“Hurry it up,” he says, yawning, like you kept him up late last night. “I want to go back to bed.” 

You try to take a picture of the pill in your mind before you drop it onto your tongue, taking a swig from your water tumbler, but your brain feels so scrambled that you forget it right away. You can’t even remember the color—had it truly been white, or had it been the pale sky blue of  robin’s egg?

It goes down like a lump of chalk. He makes you show him your empty mouth before he’s satisfied that you aren’t cheeking the pills, and then he kisses you and tells you to have a good day at work, honey. 

-

“Rooster wants you in his office,” Jackie says under her breath, helping you hurriedly clear one of your tables. You’re slow with the splint on your smallest finger, the throb of pain lancing all the way up your wrist each time you use the damaged hand. Jackie has been an angel in khakis picking up your slack. 

You wish that you had one of the pills that they’d given you in the emergency department. It hadn’t taken away all of the pain, but it’d made your head feel light and floaty and like you could care less if all your fingers were broken. Or maybe you wanted one of Johnny’s pills—the ones that put him in a peaceful sleep. You haven’t had such a thing in so long that you can’t remember when, even your moments of relaxation tainted until ‘rest’ is just waiting for the next act of violence. 

“What does he want?” you ask. 

“Probably to tell you about the raise,” she says. She rolls her eyes and twirls a fingers, mouth set in a grim smile of comradery. “Fifty cents. Writing home about it as we speak. Or maybe he wants to grill you about who keeps stealing from the registers—like we all don’t know it’s Ruth.” 

Fifty cents. You can’t even turn up your nose at it. Every penny is one that brings you closer to that apartment across town. With a promise that you’ll return as quickly as you can, you step off the floor (avoiding making eye contact with any customers who would happily sideway you for refills or to complain) and into the back of the house. It’s quiet back here, cooler. Rapping your knuckles against Rooster’s door, you wait. 

There’s no response, and no sign of him in the hallway. Some of the line cooks are coming in, filtering toward the break room to start their shift. You feel their eyes on you as you stand impotently outside the door. One of them says something to the other, and there is laughter, too loud and boisterous for the enclosed space. Your heart has begun to pound, sweat breaking out at the nape of your neck. 

“Hey,” one of them says to you. 

“Hi,” you mutter, forcing a smile, unable to make eye contact. 

Still there is no sign of Rooster from either end of the hallway—never would you have considered the short man your savior. Heart racing, you crack the door open and see that the office is empty. You slip inside, shutting the door safely behind you. 

The room is as self-important as you might imagine: a desk that seems too large for the space, filing cabinets in the corner. There’s a corkboard pockmarked with holes after years of use, and you drift over to it, too anxious to take a seat in the chair on the other side of Rooster’s desk. A calendar is posted there, Rooster’s neat handwriting here and there. 

Something catches your eye: LOCKER CLEANOUT marked for two weeks from now. 

It seemed like the last locker cleanout had just happened. You had only collected five hundred dollars back then, but it was far too much to want to explain to Rooster, and you had nowhere else to stash it that was safe. In the end, it had sat in an envelope under the driver’s seat of your car while Rooster took the week and went through each of the lockers to ensure compliance with the restaurant’s rules (all because someone used to have a penchant for leaving snack cakes in their locker leading to a bad case of ants that almost led to the restaurant being shut down). It had been the longest week of your life, like driving around with a live bomb underneath the front seat. 

Now you have nearly two thousand dollars. Where the hell were you going to put it? 

The door opens. Rooster looks at you suspiciously, eyes flickering between you and the calendar. 

“Next time, wait outside,” he says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. It makes your skin crawl to be alone with him, even if he’s never done anything slimier than asking you to pull a double shift. You know the darkness that lies inside men. All men. 

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, taking his seat in a squeaky rolling chair behind the desk. His smile is a dismal, strained thing, like interacting with you is just as painful for him as it is for you. “Next time, just wait.”  

-

Johnny and Simon spend the day in bed. 

Johnny’s knee is propped up on a pillow, red and swollen. Simon lets his fingers hover over it, gentle, feeling the warmth of Johnny’s skin. Johnny winces, like even the brush of air against his knee hurts. 

“It looks infected,” says Simon. 

“It’s not.” It can’t be. Johnny can’t handle that—can’t handle the idea of having to go through the surgery on his knee again, the recovery, the way recovery is just synonymous with pain. No, it isn’t infected. “Just looks like that because he hit it.” 

Simon leans down and brushes his mouth against Johnny’s thigh. It’s meant to be sweet but—well. It’s the closest his mouth has been to Johnny’s cock in more than six months, and just the sight of it has Johnny’s heart skipping a beat and picking up again in double-time, his face growing flush. Not privy to Johnny’s thoughts, all Simon does is press a chaste kiss to the skin a few inches above where Johnny’s swelling starts—nevermind what else might be swelling now, too. 

The two of them lay entwined together, Simon curling up around him. He plants a hand on Johnny’s clothed chest, right over his heart, like he’s trying to remind himself that Johnny’s here. That Johnny’s alive. The look in his eyes is far away, mouth drawn down into a tight frown. All at once, Johnny’s downright sick of it—sick of them not having anything to smile about. Sick of fighting. 

Johnny takes Simon’s hand, laces their fingers, and guides it down. Down over his slim, firm belly, watching from the corner of his eye as Simon’s brows climb up his forehead. Down until their hands cup his half-hard cock. Simon’s hand shifts straight away, fingers curling around the solid length, thumb stroking up the side, the gentle rasp of his calloused fingerpad loud against the cotton of Johnny’s boxers. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon reminds him. 

“Don’t care.” 

“I do.” 

“We don’t have to fuck. I just—” he doesn’t know how to explain, how badly he needs to feel something good. How badly he needs to know that his connection with Simon isn’t ruined. How badly he needs to see that they’re still lovers, that Simon isn’t just his live-in caretaker. How badly Johnny needs to feel like a human being—like a grown man. He finishes, a little lamely: “I just need it.” 

Simon’s grip goes firm. Johnny’s eyes shut, mouth falling open at the sensation. He hasn’t even touched himself like this in weeks, and while he hadn’t necessarily been keeping track, his cock clearly has been. Simon seems content to go on like this, mapping the shape of Johnny’s cock through his boxers, thumbing over the head until a wet sticky spot appears in the cotton fabric, his hand sometimes drifting down to cradle the warm heft of Johnny’s balls. 

Johnny, usually impatient, contents himself with this torture. Let Simon tease him all day, if he’d like, until Johnny is liable to go off at the whisper of a touch. The thought has his cock jerking toward the warmth of Simon’s palm, and Johnny groans when his grip tightens. 

“Fucking pretty, aren’t you?” Simon mutters, his eyes on Johnny’s face.

Johnny snorts. He tosses his arm over his eyes, but beneath his arm, he’s grinning. “Shuddup.” 

Simon clicks his tongue. “Be good, Johnny. Let me look at you.” 

Johnny moves his arm and gives his grin room to breathe. His head feels light and airy as Simon sits up and helps him work his boxers down his thighs just far enough to draw his cock out. The first touch of skin on skin has him hissing a breath in through his teeth. Fuck, it’s good. Just as good as it always was—maybe even better, because he needs it so bad. 

“Want you inside me,” Johnny says on a whim, feeling the truth of it in his chest. He doesn’t just want it—he needs it. 

Simon leans down and kisses him, just a little too hard to be mistaken as anything but desperate. How long has it been for him, Johnny wonders. He spends every waking moment with Johnny except his perfunctory showers. Does he indulge then, between soaping and rinsing off, holding his breath to hide his sounds while he strips his cock with one slick hand? 

It takes some maneuvering to get Johnny on his side, knee nicely cushioned. He can’t reach back and touch Simon, can’t grip his hip and pull him in closer, and it’s just another reason to miss his arm. Because there are a hundred thousand touches Simon deserves that Johnny can’t give him anymore. 

They’re lucky for the shelf life of the lube. It warms Simon’s fingers as he works them past Johnny’s rim. He takes his time, hands shaking where they touch him. 

“Need it bad, huh?” Johnny wonders. 

Simon snorts but doesn’t deny it. Just curls his fingers searching for that tender spot inside Johnny’s ass that makes him grit his teeth. His cock drools onto the bedspread, red and throbbing with his heartbeat. By the time Simon slips inside him, chest to Johnny’s back, Johnny feels liable to go off at a moment’s notice. 

For all the time they haven’t fucked, Simon remembers everything: the way to touch Johnny,wrapping a strong arm around his chest to make up for the one Johnny lacks, fingers playing with the whorls of Johnny’s chest hair or teasing one of his nipples; the way to angle his hips to nail Johnny’s prostate. 

“Quit,” Johnny groans, shifting until the stimulation isn’t so good, so dead-on. His cock aches, balls heavy and tight. “I don’t want to cum yet. Don’t want this to be over.” 

“Can’t miss Johnny; dick’s too big.” 

Johnny guffaws. The sound nearly startles him—when was the last time he fucking laughed? With you in the park—but he doesn’t need to be thinking about you now, not you with your small, soft hands and the curve of your mouth…

“Fuck—touch my cock, please touch my cock—“ Johnny whines, body trembling. He’s right there, right fucking there, too close to go back now, fuck it all, he wants to cum. Simon’s strong fingers curl around his cock and strip it firmly, and the pleasure inside him bubbles up and over, left too long to simmer. He nearly headbutts Simon in the face, his body shaking and jerking and cum splatters against his belly and the bedspread and down over Simon’s fingers. 

“Just like that—so good, Johnny,” Simon murmurs. His pale hand grips at Johnny’s sharp hipbone, cum smearing against Johnny’s skin. “My turn.” 

Afterwards, Simon gently helps him undress and goes to get them both fresh clothes. Johnny’s knee throbs freshly just from his muscles tensing, but he barely feels it. For the first time since his accident, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. He has no arm—but so what? There are many with a lot less. He’s John fucking MacTavish. He can do this.

Simon has gone still at their closet, holding something in his hands. Johnny leans up on his elbows. 

“What is it?” he asks. “Did you find my lighter?”

Simon holds up with no preamble a skull-embossed balaclava. It’s worn, the fabric gone gray at its most threadbare spots, but the image imprinted on the front hasn’t faded.

“Blast from the past,” Johnny says, throat uncomfortably tight with an emotion he can’t name. “Thought you threw those out.” 

“Thought so too.” He doesn’t look eager to throw this one out though, his fingers tracing over the teeth, like he’s tracing the lipless mouth of a lover. 

“You miss it,” Johnny says, the glow of their sex fading rapidly. Of course Simon misses it. The military had been his entire life—until Johnny’s accident. Until Simon had discharged with him, to take care of him. Johnny hadn’t just blown apart his own life by going down in the helo in Kazakhstan, he had blown apart Simon’s life too. 

“No,” Simon says simply. “It’s not that.” 

Johnny frowns. “What is it, then?” 

“The night of the poker party—I was Ghost again. It was the only way I could…compartmentalize. Stomach it. I’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten?”

Simon glances toward him. “Forgotten how useful Ghost could be.” Reaching up, Simon slips the balaclava over his head, adjusting it on instinct until it rests just right against the bridge of his nose. His hair is getting long, little blond strands visible, curling at the ends. 

“Now I want to fuck you again,” says Johnny, just to fill the air between them, and because sex used to be such an easy way to fill it. 

Simon doesn’t smile. 

“Johnny.”

“I was just teasin’—“

“Not that,” Simon says. Even his manner of speaking seems different, words clipped, tone short and no-nonsense. “What if I wanted to go visit our neighbor?”

The question lingers in the silence between them. Johnny swallows, the sound of his throat an audible click in the tense air. 

“You,” Johnny wonders, when he can speak again, “or Ghost?” 

Beneath the balaclava, Ghost smiles. 

[honey-minded-hivemind]

My serious answer on who Reader's companion in into the Unknown is Scott or Kurt. Both give off older and younger brother vibes. Scott would be a very good straight man to the weird and fantastical things going on, while Kurt is excitable and would continously think something is cool until he is reminded yet again that this place is dangerous and bloodthirsty before screaming.

My Crack answer is Lance, Peter, or Toad because they would be miserable and very vocal about it as they regularly get their butts kicked, and I think that's funny.

Ahaha! All good answers!

Scott would be worried, annoyed, and listing every problem with the world around them. He is hugging Reader at night though, and will fight off a Beast or Witch or Harvest Lord for them. He carries an ax or knife with him (he's wearing a sweater with a pumpkin or birds on it-)

Kurt would keep touching everything, from the black turtles and black birds and black roots and flowers, he's messing around with any sticks or teigs or pieces of candy or food he finds, and is talking the entire time. Reader has to save him from a soul-eating creature, and Kurt is hugging them, shaking, and apologizing. Poor guy is trying to make the best of a bad situation, and he tries to entertain himself amd Reader, it just goes wrong 7/10 times (he's wearing a blue sweater, tan pants, and possibly is wearing a witch's hat or cape, carries a bird companion with them, their version of Beatrice thr Blue Bird)

If it was Lance, poor guy is over it. Nope. No. No way. He did NOT sign up for spooky little towns or demons or the thing that sings in the woods at night. He wants out. He also happens to get into trouble, be it stepping in a pumpkin, having to walk in the rain, or falling flat into mud or a river. Reader is offering him a hand, they're giving him a handkerchief, and they're trying to steer him away from the woods (he's wearing a brown coat with black boots, he was carrying a rock in his pocket)

If it was Todd, oh my... This guy is shrieking, running away, amd using Reader as a shield between him and the frightening creature in the dark (it was a cat, thank heavens-). He hops in the puddles, he carries a frog or toad plush with him, and he's trying to joke and make Reader laugh while not breaking down that they're in a place thats creepy as h*ck (is wearing a frog sweater in pale greens and yellows, has brown jeans or pants, carries a frog/toad plush that gets a lot of names)

If it was Pietro, he's talking every second about how miserable he is. Seriously, where are they, why is it so cold and autumn-vintage-looking, where is some food, are they there yet, why couldn't it be anywhere else, did they hear something singing, wait, is that a bird- Reader is letting him run ahead and check for danger, while they go along with what he says, hoping it calms him down some. Reader tosses fruits and rocks between the two of them in a game of catch as they walk, hoping it takes his mind off their situation (he's wearing a fluffy sweater in pale blues and white, has white or pale tan pants, had a bird necklace on)

(Haha, I love it, @sugar-soda! They're all trying to make do with what they have, it's just hard when you're two kids stuck in the Unknown trying to find a way home (and there's no telephone) with a chill in their bones (are they truly alone?) )

[maletfwitch]

Check before you eat (Goggletann)

This is an old story by a deleted user named “Goggletann” i just wanna re upload it since it’s once of my faves, apologies if the pictures are low res/hard to read

I got so annoyed with they’re shit service that i just muted the chat and ended the conversation with the sales Representative and turned off my phone. What dicks…

I’ve been working my ass off for 2 entire years to save up for what people call the “magic pill”. Well, it comes in many variations, but the pill version is the most popular. A pop into your mouth and you just need to lie down somewhere while your body is automatically transformed. I dont know all the science stuff behind it but if you got the cash you can even add more stuff and customize your transformation. I got a small bonus before quiting my last job so i opted for a smooth golden tan option that will never fade. Sweet right!

2 days later 

Finally received their package. Got so excited that i just opened it immediately. There it was, my key to to instant stud hood. The magic pill right before my eyes. I got so engrossed that i hardly noticed the other smaller stuff that came with the package. A small pamphlet and a small bottle of god knows what. Must be one of their samples for some other product, plus who needs an instruction pamphlet? What so difficult about eating a pill? 

An Hour later

I invited Lance over to the beach for a tanning session with me before i poped my pill. I always felt that guy was a total lazy fuck. He always does things way too slowly. And he doesn;t seem to have a care in the world to the point where he just lazes around and hardly gets a full time job. What a lazy piece of shit seriously. I know he has always been envious of those fitness models and bodybuilders but because of his sheer laziness he hardly even makes a point to exercise. Maybe after seeing my transformation he might change his mind. And i would love seeing his green envious face. I’d probably chuckle alittle too.

 opened my box and unwraped the pill ready to swallow it with a bottle of water. It was surprisingly sweet. Not at all bitter as what i heard. 

“hey dude can i have that too? Need a sweet to suck on while we tann” Lance said in his usual slow voice.

I looked back at the box and noticed the small bottle. Looks like a sample tanning lotion.

“Sorry bro that was my last sweet. I got an expensive tanning lotion here though. It should be enough for one person. You can have it…” I replied

“awwww thanks man!” Lance grabbed the bottle and slowly spread the lotion all over his pasty white skin.

Thank god i gave him that bottle to distract him. God knows what other questions he’s gonna ask. I so wanna see his face when we wake up after the tann and he would have to watch me be the hunk he always wanted to be. 

We both looked up at the sky and realised the sun was coming out.   

“Time for a tann and hopefully a new body” I yelled to Lance still unaware of my plot. 

30 Minutes Later

The tanning session was so relaxing that i just dozed off. Looking down at my own body i realized it was still the same so I reached for my phone beside me still with my eyes closed and placed it above my face to check with the Chovonic Sales person why its taking so damm long. And i realized I had missed one msg before i ended my last conversation with them.

[msn-04iinightingale]

The Hanged Man: Watchdogs

Barghest Company's Camp was a hive of activity, the three dropships being loaded with mechs and ammunition in preparation for reinforcing FOB Kinship.

Owen patted Katie's controls as he exited the cockpit of his mech, now parked in its berth aboard the Dando.

"Won't be long now, girl." He says with a grin.

By the time he gets down to the deck, Bell is waiting for him.

"Hey Bell...uh oh, I know that look." He says, grin falling slightly. "What's up?"

"Sir, we...there are a couple of new pilots here."

Owen raised an eyebrow at that. That shouldn't be right.

"...also, you received an eyes only communication from the Commanding General." Bell ads, holding out a datapad for his inspection.

Ok Melissa, what's going on...

He takes the pad, pressing a thumbprint to the reader for ID, and opens the message, scrolling past all the "to" and "from" and all that.

/BEGIN MESSAGE

Commander,

In light of recent events, I am assigning two SLDF mechwarriors to your command to shore up your numbers.

Please play nice with them.

Commanding General Melissa Hazen, SLDF

/END MESSAGE

"Hm..." he grunts.

Seems trust is in short supply around here...

"Thank you Bell, you may return to overseeing the loading of the dropships."

"Yes sir...may I ask...is everything alright?"

He turns to look at her, his most loyal soldier, his most trusted confidant.

"...yeah...they're just keeping an eye on me." he says, casually.

"...because of before?" she asks.

"...yes, because of before." he replies. "Don't worry your pretty feathered head about it, it's all just protocol." He smiles, a very charming smile, causing Bell to blush slightly.

"I....of course, sir..." she replies. "...just...be careful."

"When am I not?" he semi-laughs. "Wait, don't actually answer that."

Bell closes her mouth and gives him a look.

"Ok, ok, I'll be careful." he says, raising his hands in defeat.

"Thank you, sir." she says, mild relief on her face.

"No problem, beautiful. Now, I've got to go meet the new faces, you got everything under control here, yeah?" he asks.

"Sir, yes sir!" Bell says, snapping to attention.

"Atta girl, off you go."

Bell power walks off to go resume overseeing the loading of the dropships. Once she's gone, Owen's face falls back to neutrality.

Let's get this over with.

They were easy enough to spot, his new watchdogs. That's what they were, after all. Yes, they did shore up his numbers...but it's awfully convenient that they show up right now, after he had been investigated for a war crime.

The man and the woman were both dressed in SLDF uniforms, standing in front of a Warwolf and a Skinwalker, respectively, painted in SLDF winter camo.

Beyond their uniforms, the two were as different as it gets. The man was big, not elemental big, but big non the less, with tan skin and redish hair. He had a near perpetual grin on his face as he talked with his companion, who by contrast, wore a blank, cold expression that matched her snow white hair and pale skin. She carefully adjusted a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose. She was the first to notice Owen approach, and snapped to a professional salute, her companion following a bit more casually.

"...At ease." Owen says, neurally. "I take it you're my new replacements?"

"Yes sir, I'm Captain Nero Bastian." the big man says with a smile, extending a meaty hand to shake. Owen does after a moment.

"I'm Captain Weiss Veil." The woman says, pointedly not offering her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you both." Owen replies, sizing both up. "I take it you two are at least passable pilots?"

"Sure are, wouldn't be Captain's if we weren't." Nero says.

Weiss simply nods.

"Uh-huh...well, welcome aboard. We'll need to add you to the IFF lists for our Lances. Go see Colonel Bell about that. She's the one with the blue stripe..." Owen indicates the woman with a thumb over his shoulder.

Nero whistles a bit. Weiss shakes her head.

Owen raises an eyebrow. Well, if he does try anything, then that's kinda his own damn fault.

Sorry Melissa, not my fault he decided to get handsy with the seven foot tall psychotic dinosaur lady with a knife obsession. We did collect all the pieces however...

"One thing...lets be frank. I know why you're both here. My people? Not part of your investigation, you leave them out of this, we clear?"

Nero and Weiss exchange a look, befroe looking back at Owen.

"...perfectly, sir." says Nero, slight less wide smile on his face.

"Good...and for fuck's sake ask before trying to cop a feel of anyone. Last thing I need is to explain how you got snapped in half like a dry twig cause you decided to play grabass with someone two and a half feet taller than you."

"Hey, wait a sec..." Nero begins, before being silenced by Weiss.

"Of course sir, I will...do my best to make sure he behaves." she adds.

"...good...now come on, we need to get your mechs loaded and ready." Owen says, waiting until they two have remounted their mechs before turning around and headed back to his people.

Watchdogs for war hounds...what a fucking operation this is turning out to be...

[thewarriorspecial]

Greenhill High (CH2 - The Faculty)

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Read on AO3

Rating: Teen | Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Dinah Lance, Oliver Queen, Wally West, Katma Tui

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

A little something special for @hobicat!

Left on his own, Kyle meets some of the faculty.

Partners, Kyle thinks as he follows the signs for the cafeteria. He was on his own for the rest of the day. The emergency call Principal Lance had to take involved her husband setting his beard on fire while trying to boil water. Kyle shakes his head as he feels sympathy for the man. He know’s he’d starve if it wasn’t for the microwave and ever since the flaming waffle incident, he mostly eats out these days. 

Much like the rest of the school, the cafeteria is lavish. There are two buffet sections; one with the featured meal of the day and the other with assorted vegetarian options. Everything smells so good and Kyle’s ravenous. He piles his plate up and starts looking for somewhere to sit. The high-ceiling space is a cacophony of excited conversation, squeals of excitement, and youthful energy. Groups of students have pushed tables together, pulled instruments out to play, and they pass phones around sharing memes. 

Kyle remembers his high school days fondly. He always had a group of friends to sit with. He didn’t even have to know anyone in the group to feel welcome. He was easy-going and well liked. He wasn’t sure why—he didn’t feel cool yet, somehow, he drew people in. There was always some girl waiting at his locker, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking up at him through her eyelashes. Someone always wanted to see what he was drawing. 

Of course there was also Douchey McSportball. He wasn’t even like, important on the team. He was the main guy’s hype man. He was like that little thing that hung around on Jabba the Hutt’s shoulder. Come to think of it, Kyle doesn’t remember him ever being out on the field. He just sat on the bench. Kyle struggles to remember the guy’s name but he remembers what he looks like; big gangly ginger, face was mostly forehead. Laughed like an incensed squirrel. He always had some reason to shove Kyle into things and make homophobic “jokes”. 

“Hey, over here! New guy!” A voice calls out and pulls Kyle out of his thoughts. The man waved, and his warm smile lit up the room. He was sharply dressed; a white collar showed underneath his cerulean, quarter-zip pullover, and brown suede boots peeked out of his fitted tan slacks. He beckons Kyle over, his forearms flexing where his shirt is rolled up to the elbow. 

First Principal Lance, then Coach Gardner—is it a requirement that everyone here is hot? Kyle smiles back and approaches, grateful for the welcome. He sits at the table, offering his hand to the man who invited him over, “Hi, I’m Kyle. Uh, Mr. Rayner.”

“John, or Mr. Stewart,” the man says. “I’m currently teaching Calculus and Political Science.”

“Oh wow. I’m just the art guy,” Kyle says, running his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Nonsense! Fine Arts is a fantastic addition to our Humanities department,” John smiles and it’s infectious. “This is my beloved Katma, now Mrs. Stewart,” he continues and the smile he has for her could warm an entire planet for centuries. 

“I teach Geography and World Cultures,” says Katma. Between her warm, husky voice and the sweater vest, Kyle gets strong, sexy librarian vibes. 

The lanky redhead next to Katma is wearing a white lab coat and has clear goggles resting on his head. He unhinges his jaw to bite off half of a mega-burrito. With his mouth full he says, “‘Sup, I’m Wally. I blow shit up.”

“Mr. West teaches Physics,” Katma translates.

“Yeah, we make things heat up and explode, and then we talk about why that happened.” Wally explains around his burrito. “You’re up, nerd,” he adds, kicking the sneaker of the brunet seated next to him.

“Jordan. English,” the man says without pulling his nose out of the copy of The Once and Future King held lovingly in his hands. 

“Quit reading Hairy Butthole and say hi to the new guy,” Wally says, grains of rice falling out of his mouth.

Jordan’s eyes snap up and he glares at Kyle, “Hi,” he says and then his eyes whip towards Wally, “This. Is not. Harry Fucking Potter.”

“Yeah, that’s uh,” Kyle starts, trying to take some of the heat off of the English teacher. He absolutely hates seeing someone get bullied and he decides he doesn’t like Mr. West at all. “That’s King Arthur, right?”

“It is,” Jordan answers stiffly. “You’ve read it?”

“I mean, it was a long time ago. In English class, actually,” Kyle says with a laugh, “But yeah, I really liked it. Like, when Arthur was a kid, remember? When he’s with the wizard and he says he hopes to fight all evil by himself so that if he dies, he’s the only one that suffers. It’s sad how it goes down but I think that his attitude is really admirable.”

“You admired Wart’s naivety?”

“I admired his idealism.” Kyle searches Jordan’s eyes for some glimmer of acceptance or understanding. He sees the shadow of a smile on the other man’s lips.

“Hm,” says Jordan, “I think you’d really like our Philosophy teacher.”

“Ph…Philosophy? High school philosophy?” Kyle asks.

“Oh yes! Ms. Iolande, she goes by her first name, teaches a few of the AP classes,” says Katma.

Wally coughs loudly, “Nerds.”

The bell rings and the room erupts into a flurry of activity. 

“Gotta run,” Wally says, and he takes off at a frightening speed.

Kyle looks around at the several hallways he could take from the cafeteria. He mentally kicks himself for scoffing at the maps offered at the front entrance. 

“Know where you’re goin’?” John asks as the rest of the faculty rise from their seats.

“Upstairs?” Kyle shrugs.

“I’ll show you the way.” John blows a kiss to his wife. She catches it and puts it in her pocket. 

“You guys are so cute.”

“I know.” John grins and that makes Kyle grin, too.

John leads the pair through a series of hallways, explaining that while meandering, this is the best way to go. There are two bathrooms along the way and opportunities to check for students lurking in secluded spaces. John feels it’s equally important to make sure “his kids” are neither up to trouble nor late to class due to being lost in their little retreats.

“I always say, watch out for the quiet ones; they’ve got their headphones on way too loud,” John laughs, clapping Kyle on the shoulder. “You know,” he continues, leaning in, “I used to be a bit of an artist myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Kyle asks with a bright smile.

“Yup! I started out going for architecture,” John says as he hold a door for Kyle, “I wanted a little spending money so I took a tutoring job at the university library. Man, you wouldn’t believe the amount of tears shed over math homework.”

“Oh, I do. Trust me.” Kyle ducks through the door, scanning each hallway for any kind of landmarks. “The farthest I got was Algebra and thankfully that was enough for my degree.”

“Algebra’s great! You use It every day!” 

Kyle groans.

“You do! When you’re cooking and adjusting recipes.”

Kyle makes another uncomfortable noise.

“Well, when you make your schedule,” John adults his trajectory away from personal life and back to work. Kyle shifts uncomfortably. “Or, when you do your taxes? Oh, grocery shopping! Figuring out what fits and if you have enough reusable bags.”

“I uh, I just eyeball it.”

“Spacial reasoning is our mind’s natural ability to parse out shapes and patterns. Those are reflections of algebraic equations!”

“I wish you were my math teacher, John.” 

“It’s never too late,” John says, stopping at the second to last classroom at the end of the hall.

“Nah, it is. I’m cool with it.”

John shakes his head, still smiling, “I’ll try and convince you again later. This is you,” He says, gesturing to the open door. A few students are already seated at the long tables, towards the front of the class. A girl with pink hair already has her sketchpad out. “You ready?”

“I stay ready so I don’t have to get ready,” Kyle says with a playful grin.

“I dig it. You’re gonna do great here. See you soon!” John jogs back the way they came, leaving Kyle with his instincts and his passion for art.

Before Kyle can step into the room, he hears muffled voices at the end of the hall. He recognizes the odd-vowel accent of one of the speakers right away.

“…nut s’prisin’ curryin’ awn a’way yew dew.”

“Hooked on Phonics really worked for you, huh?” Kyle recognizes Jordan’s voice now as well. The pair are standing just outside of the classroom door, barely tucked behind a large, fake plant.

“Ya know, I’m not just some dummy, dummy. I know stuff. Like I know there’s no good reason you’re keeping Bobby off the field.” Gardner turns his head, watching for students and making sure to step out of their way. It’s hard to tell where exactly he’s looking with his wraparound sunglasses on.

“Robert needs to focus his brilliant mind on his writing. He doesn’t need it smeared all over the fake grass. And you need worry about your own job.” Jordan’s arms are crossed tight over his chest. He untucks one of his hands to stab an accusing finger in Guy’s direction. 

“Lookin’ out for my kids is my job,” Guy says, pushing Jordan’s hand out of his face. “Stop talking him out of things he wants to try,” he says, fighting to control the volume of his voice as he points an accusing finger of his own at the other teacher.

“He made his choice. He chose creative writing. It suits him bet—“

“Suits him? Or suits you? What is your problem anyways? Is it that your boy likes boys? Or is it that your boy likes a football player?” Guy is starting to get too loud. The last of Jordan’s students hustle into the classroom with a knowing glance at the arguing pair. 

Jordan is incensed, teeth bared. The second bell rings. He startles, forgets what he was going to bite back with. “Robert isn’t going to waste any of his time with boys like you—“ he hisses, shakes his head, “Like Tom. Go to class you obstreperous dog.” Jordan retreats into his room, trying not to slam the door and failing.

Guy barks at the door once and grins. He feels this is a win. He hopes to see Bobby at least try out. Everybody deserves a chance. Besides, exercise is great for the brain. He turns to stride confidently down the hall and notices Kyle. He pulls his Oakleys down to wink, “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey, Coach,” Kyle murmurs and immediately feels dumb. He feels warm and tingly as he watches Guy’s muscular back mosey away. 

What on earth was that all about? 

__

A/N: My, my! Drama abounds! How will Kyle handle his first class?

[voltron-au]

au where i never have to see the words ‘lance is tan’ ever again

[kathyprior4200]

Ars Goetia Correspondences

1.   Name: King Bael

 Common appearance: Creature with head of a cat, toad and a bearded man

 Powers: Rules 66 legions, can make men go invisible, Connolly states he can bring together friends, spark creativity and instruct people on emotions. He can make a person keep a secret, can cause anxiety

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Yellow/Gold

Element: Fire

Tarot: 2 of Wands

0-10 Aries

  2.  Name: Duke Agares

 Common appearance: Old white man riding a crocodile, hawk in hand

 Powers: Rules 31 legions, teaches languages, makes runaways stand still, causes earthquakes, destroys dignities, Connolly states he helps with wisdom in friendship, help gardens grow and to assist in financial projects

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 3 of Wands

10-20 Aries

   3.  Name: Prince Vassago

 Common appearance: Robed spirit

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, discovers hidden things, tells the past and future, Connolly states he can find out if enemy has cursed the magician, offers friendship advice and is good with negotiations

 Correspondences:

Planet: Jupiter

Color: Blue

Element: Water

Tarot: 4 of Wands

20-30 Aries

   4.  Name: Marquis Samigina/Gamigin

 Common appearance: Horse or donkey

 Powers: Rules over 30 legions, teaches liberal sciences and gives accounts of souls who died in sin

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 5 of Pentacles

0-10 Taurus

   5.  Name: President Marbas

 Common appearance: Appears as a male Lion form but also another form, white blonde hair, silvery eyes, tanned skin, horns

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, master healer and surgeon, charters the dead, helps souls pass on, studies how body and mind decays, enjoys classical music

 Correspondences:

Color: Black, orange, gold

Element: Air

Tarot: 6 of Pentacles

10-20 Taurus

    6.  Name: Duke Valefar

 Common appearance: A Lion with a Donkey’s head

 Powers: Rules 10 legions, gives good familiars, Connolly states he teaches loyalty and manipulation and how to charm others.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 7 of Pentacles

20-30 Taurus

   7.  Name: Marquis Amon

 Common appearance: Wolf with serpent’s tail, vomits flames

 Powers: Rules 40 legions, procures feuds, tells of the past and future, helps stop arguments between friends. Connolly states he helps with finding friends and managing emotions.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Water

Tarot: 8 of Swords

0-10 Gemini

    8.  Name: Duke Barbatos

 Common appearance:

 Powers: Rules over 30 legions, gives understanding of birds and animals, astral shape-shifting. Connolly states he stops wars with magicians and he protects the home

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Fire

Tarot: 9 of Swords

10-20 Gemini

   9.  Name: King Paimon

 Common appearance: Man or Woman riding a camel

 Powers: Rules 200 legions, most obedient to Lucifer, teaches art, music, philosophy and science, gives good familiars

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Gold

Element: Fire

Tarot: 10 of Swords

20-30 Gemini

   10.              Name: President Buer

 Common appearance: Lion with many legs in all directions

 Powers: Rules 50 legions, teaches art and philosophy, knows virtues of herbs, heals distempers and gives good familiars. Connolly states he helps heal the self from addictions and bad behaviors.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Fire

Tarot: 2 of Cups

0-10 Cancer

   11.              Name: Duke Guison

 Common appearance: Strong baboon or man

 Powers: Rules over 40 legions, gives dignity, reconciles friendships, tells past and future, communication with the dead

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 3 of Cups

10-20 Cancer

   12.              Name: Prince Sitri

 Common appearance: Leopard’s head with griffin wings

 Powers: Rules 60 legions, make men and women fall in love, makes them show themselves naked, love and lust spells, seduction rituals

 Correspondences:

Planet: Jupiter/Venus

Color: Blue

Element: Fire/Earth

Tarot: 4 of Cups

20-30 Cancer

   13.              Name: King Beleth

 Common appearance: Rides on a pale horse with trumpets playing before him

 Powers: Rules 85 legions, love spell spirit

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Yellow

Element: Earth

Tarot: 5 of Wands

0-10 Leo

      14.              Name: Marquis Learje

 Common appearance: Archer in green, carries bow and arrow

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, infects wounds, directing goals into reality, Connolly states he helps resolve conflicts

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Violet

Element: Fire

Tarot: 6 of Wands

10-20 Leo

   15.              Name: Duke Eligos

 Common appearance: Knight carrying a lance and a serpent

 Powers: Rules 60 legions, discovers hidden things, knows about war and when soldiers will meet, cause speople to fall in love

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 7 of Wands

20-30 Leo

     16.              Name: Duke Zepar

 Common appearance: Soldier in red armor

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, makes people fall in love

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

8 of Pentacles

0-10 Virgo

   17.              Name: Count/President Botis

 Common appearance: Viper then a man with horns and a sword

 Powers: Rules over 60 legions, reconciles friends, tells past and future, reveals secrets in the mind, Connolly states he can draw new friends

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Water

Tarot: 9 of Pentacles

10-20 Virgo

   18.              Name: Duke Bathin

 Common appearance: Strong man with serpent tail

 Powers: Rules over 30 legions, knows virtues of stone and herbs, can transport people from one place to another

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 10 of Pentacles

20-30 Virgo

   19.              Name: Duke Sallos

 Common appearance: Solider riding a crocodile

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, makes people fall in love

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 2 of Swords

0-10 Libra

    20.              Name: King Purson

 Common appearance: Man with a lion’s face carrying a viper in his hand and riding on a bear with trumpets sounding

 Powers: Rules 22 legions, brings good familiars, answers about the creation of the world, divination spirit and knows natural sciences

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Gold

Element: Earth

Tarot: 3 of Swords

10-20 Libra

   21.              Name: Count/President Marax

 Common appearance: A bull with a man’s face

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, knowledge of astronomy and liberal sciences, knows herbs and precious stones and gives good familiars.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mars

Color: Red

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 4 of Swords

20-30 Libra

   22.              Name: Count/Prince Ipos

 Common appearance: An angel with a lion’s head, a goose’s foot and a hare’s tail. Connolly states he can be invoked for courage and sorting out emotions

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, He knows the past, present and future and makes men witty.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Jupiter

Color: Blue

Element: Water/Air

Tarot: 5 of Cups

0-10 Scorpio

   23.              Name: Duke Aim

 Common appearance: Three-headed man, the first like a serpent, the second like a man and the third like a calf. He rides on a viper, carrying a firebrand in his hand.

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, sets cities on fire, makes men witty and gives true answers on private matters. A spirit of self-development, Connolly states he finds creative solutions for artists, writers and musicians

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Fire

Tarot: 6 of Cups

10-20 Scorpio

   24.              Name: Marquis Naberius (Cerberus)

 Common appearance: Black crane

 Powers: Rules 19 legions, makes men knowledgeable in arts and sciences and rhetoric, restores lost dignities, Connolly states he helps with strength and guidance and helping with courage to stand up for what’s right.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Violet

Element: Air

Tarot: 7 of Cups

20-30 Scorpio

   25.              Name: Count/President Glasya-Labolas

 Common appearance: Dog with Griffin wings

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, teaches art and science, tells of past and future, makes men witty and invisible, expert in bloodshed, murder and war, Connolly states he can be invoked to keep secrets from other

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Fire

Tarot: 8 of Wands

0-10 Sagittarius

  26.              Name: Duke Bune

 Common appearance: Dragon with three heads, one like a dog, one like a gryphon and one like a man

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, causes spirits to gather, makes men wealthy and wise, necromancy demon, imparts wisdom about death

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 9 of Wands

10-20 Sagittarius

   27.              Name: Marquis/Count Ronove

 Common appearance: Monster appearance

 Powers: Rules 19 legions, teaches rhetoric, languages, gives good servants and favor with friends and foes, demon of Knowledge and Wisdom

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air

Tarot: 10 of Wands

20-30 Sagittarius

   28.              Name: Duke Berith

 Common appearance: Soldier in red clothing on a red horse with a golden crown on his head

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, turn metal into gold, knows past, present and future, teach magicians to help themselves

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Fire

2 of Pentacles

0-10 Capricorn

   29.              Name: Duke Astaroth

 Common appearance: Angel riding a Dragon carrying a Viper

 Powers: Rules 40 legions, gives answers on past, present and future, liberal sciences, both an angel and a demon, Connolly states they are a divination demon of friendship and love

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 3 of Pentacles

10-20 Capricorn

    30.              Name: Marquis Forenus

 Common appearance: Sea-monster

 Powers: Rules 29 legions, teaches languages and rhetoric, influences others to favor the magician, Michael Ford states he is a serpentine being of self-awareness

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Violet

Element: Water

Tarot: 4 of Pentacles

20-30 Capricorn

   31.              Name: President Foras

 Common appearance: Strong man

 Powers: Rules over 29 legions,

 Correspondences: Teaches logic, ethics, knows about herbs and stones, can make men long-lived and invisible, problem solver

 Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Earth

Tarot: 5 of Swords

0-10 Aquarius

    32.              Name: King Asmoday

 Common appearance:

 Powers: Rules 72 legions, teaches arithmetic, astronomy, geometry, finds hidden treasure, inspires development of self-will

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Yellow

Element: Air

Tarot: 6 of Swords

10-20 Aquarius

   33.              Name: Prince/President Gaap

 Common appearance: Man going before four mighty kings

 Powers: Rules over 66 legions, steals familiars, carries men from one kingdom to another, causes love or hate, liberal science and philosophy, divination spirit, astral projection

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Air

Tarot: 7 of Swords

20-30 Aquarius

   34.              Name: Count Furfur

 Common appearance: Hart with wings

 Powers: Rules over 26 legions, causes storms love between people, fire scrying, assists or destroys the self

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mars

Color: Red

Element: Fire

Tarot: 8 of Cups

0-10 Pieces

   35.              Name: Marquis Marchosias

 Common appearance: Female wolf with gryphon wings and a snake tail

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, strong fighter, Connolly says Marchosias helps people help themselves

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Violet

Element: Fire

Tarot: 9 of Cups

10-20 Pieces

   36.              Name: Prince Stolas

 Common appearance: Crowned Owl with long legs

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, knows the virtues of astronomy, herbs and precious stones. Connolly states he can help with projects

 Correspondences:

Planet: Jupiter

Color: Blue

Element: Air

Tarot: 10 of Cups

20-30 Pieces

   37.              Name: Marquis Phenex

 Common appearance: A Phoenix who sings sweet songs in a child’s voice

 Powers: Rules 20 legions, hopes to return to Heaven, is a great poet and knows all sciences, also a nature spirit, Connolly states he is good for fire baptisms and creative pathworking

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air/Fire

Tarot: 2 of Wands

0-10 Aries

    38.              Name: Count Halphas

 Common appearance: Stock-dove

 Powers: Rules over 26 legions, build towers with weapons, sends men off to war

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mars

Color: Red

Element: Fire

Tarot: 3 of Wands

10-20 Aries

   39.              Name: President Malphas

 Common appearance: Crow

 Powers: Rules 40 legions, knowledge of enemies’ thoughts, builds towers, gives good familiars, Connolly says he is a ward against psychic attacks

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Air

Tarot: 4 of Wands

20-30 Aries

   40.              Name: Count Raum

 Common appearance: A crowned Raven

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, steals treasures from kings, destroys dignities, spirit of justice, love between friends and foes, takes down enemies

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mars

Color: Red

Element: Fire

Tarot: 5 of Pentacles

0-10 Taurus

   41.              Name: Duke Focalor

 Common appearance: Man with gryphon wings

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, drowns men, overthrows ships

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Water

Tarot: 6 of Pentacles

10-20 Taurus

    42.              Name: Duke Vepar

 Common appearance: Mermaid

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, drowns men, overthrows ships, manages emotions

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Water

Tarot: 7 of Pentacles

20-30 Taurus

   43.              Name: Marquis Sabnock

 Common appearance: Armed soldier with a lion’s head riding a pale horse

 Powers: Rules 50 legions, builds castles and towers and provides weapons, infects wounds, gives good familiars, protects homes

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Fire

Tarot: 8 of Swords

0-10 Gemini

    44.              Name: Marquis Shax

 Common appearance: Stock-dove

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, steals money from kings’ houses, fetches horses, discovers hidden things

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air

Tarot: 9 of Swords

10-20 Gemini

   45.              Name: King/Count Vine

 Common appearance: Lion riding a black horse with viper in hand

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, builds towers, makes seas rough, discovers hidden treasures, tells past and future, Connolly states he knows about magick

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Gold

Element: Water

Tarot: 10 of Swords

Tarot: 20-30 Gemini

    46.              Name: Count Bifrons

 Common appearance: Monster

 Powers: Rules 6 legions, Necromancy demon, moves the dead to different places, lights candles on graves, teaches the value of wood and stones, Connolly states he can help one honor ancestors and accept death

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mars

Color: Red

Element: Earth

Tarot: 2 of Cups

0-10 Cancer

   47.              Name: Duke Vual

 Common appearance: Camel

 Powers: Rules 37 legions, procure the love of women, tells the past and future, favor between friends and foes

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury/Venus

Color: Green

Element: Water

Tarot: 3 of Cups

10-20 Cancer

   48.              Name: President Haggenti

 Common appearance: Bull with gryphon wings

 Powers: Rules 33 legions, turns metal into gold, demon of alchemy and transformation

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 4 of Cups

20-30 Cancer

   49.              Name: Duke Crocell

 Common appearance: Angel

 Powers: Rules 48 legions, warms waters and discovers hot springs, teaches geometry and liberal science

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Water

Tarot: 5 of Wands

0-10 Leo

     50.              Name: Knight Furcas

 Common appearance: Cruel old man with a long beard, horny head, riding a horse with a sharp weapon in his hand.

 Powers: Rules 20 legions, Teaches arts, philosophy, palmistry, astrology, chiromancy, pyromancy, rhetoric and logic.

 Correspondences:

Planet: Saturn

Color: Black

Element: Air

Tarot: 6 of Wands

10-20 Leo

    51.              Name: King Balam

 Common appearance: Three heads, one a bull, one a man and one a ram, he has the tail of a serpent and flaming eyes and rides on a bear, carrying a hawk

 Powers: Rules 40 legions, makes men go invisible and be witty, tells of past and future, Connolly states he can help overcome shyness and keep magick secret

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Gold

Element: Earth

Tarot: 7 of Wands

20-30 Leo

   52.              Name: Duke Alloces

 Common appearance: Soldier riding a horse, he had a red lion face and flaming eyes

 Powers: Rules over 36 legions, teaches astronomy and liberal science, brings familiars, Connolly states he helps with clear thinking, build foundations and helps clay/metal artists

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Fire

Tarot: 8 of Pentacles

0-10 Virgo

   53.              Name: President Caim

 Common appearance: Black bird

 Powers: Rules over 30 legions, helps men understand animals and birds, gives true answers of future events, divination

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Air/Fire

Tarot: 9 of Pentacles

10-20 Virgo

   54.              Name: Duke/Count Murmur

 Common appearance: A warrior riding a griffin with a crown on his head

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, teaches philosophy, allows the dead to answer questions, cleanse area of negativity

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 10 of Pentacles

20-30 Virgo

   55.              Name: Prince Orobas

 Common appearance: Horse

 Powers: Rules 20 legions, gives dignities, tells past and future, tells the creation of the world, connection between the living and the dead, Connolly states he can help change people’s opinions and bindings

 Correspondences:

Planet: Jupiter

Color: Blue

Element: Water

Tarot: 2 of Swords

0-10 Libra

   56.              Name: Duke Gremory

 Common appearance: Woman with crown riding on a camel

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, procures the love of women, tells of things past, present and future, divinatory spirit, finds lost items

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 3 of Swords

10-20 Libra

    57.              Name: President Ose

 Common appearance: Leopard

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, liberal science, change men into any shape

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Air

Tarot: 4 of Swords

20-30 Libra

   58.              Name: President Amy

 Common appearance: Flames

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, knows liberal science, gives familiars, tells of hidden treasure/knowledge, seer demon

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Fire

Tarot: 5 of Cups

0-10 Scorpio

   59.              Name: Marquis Orias

 Common appearance: Lion riding a horse with a serpent’s tail and holds serpents

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, teaches astronomy and astrology, favor of friends and foes, Connolly states he aids in self-transformation

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air

Tarot: 6 of Cups

10-20 Scorpio

   60.              Name: Duke Vapula

 Common appearance: Lion with gryphon wings

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, philosophy, knowledgeable in handcrafts

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Air

Tarot: 7 of Cups

20-30 Scorpio

   61.              Name: King/President Zagan

 Common appearance: Bull with griffin wings

 Powers: Rules 33 legions, Makes men wise and can turn water into wine and vice versa, alchemy demon, Michael Ford says he teaches men how to listen, Connolly says he turns things into their opposites, helps curb addictions

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun/Mercury

Color: Yellow/Orange

Element: Earth

Tarot: 8 of Wands

0-10 Sagittarius

   62.              Name: President Valac

 Common appearance: Child with angel wings riding a two-headed dragon

 Powers: Rules 38 legions, gives true answers of hidden treasures, helps magician discover location of serpents

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mercury

Color: Orange

Element: Earth/Water

Tarot: 9 of Wands

10-20 Sagittarius

  63.              Name: Marquis Andras

 Common appearance: angel with the head of an owl, riding on a black wolf and holding a sword in his hand

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, murderer, sows discord and conflicts, Ford says he is a guide of the dead, teaches astral transformation, Connolly says he helps resolve conflicts by bringing them to a confrontation, helps conceal the truth from others

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air/Fire

Tarot: 10 of Wands

20-30 Sagittarius

    64.              Name: Duke Flauros

 Common appearance: Humanoid leopard with big claws

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, true answers of past, present and future, burns enemies of the magician

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Earth

Tarot: 2 of Pentacles

0-10 Capricorn

   65.              Name: Marquis Andrealphus

 Common appearance: Noisy peacock

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, teaches astronomy, geometry and measurement, transform men into birds, Connolly says he helps seal magic

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air

Tarot: 3 of Pentacles

10-20 Capricorn

   66.              Name: Marquis Kimaris

 Common appearance: Warrior riding a black shadow horse

 Powers: Rules 20 legions, locates lost or hidden treasure, teaches grammar, logic and rhetoric and makes men warriors

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Water/Earth

Tarot: 4 of Pentacles

20-30 Capricorn

   67.              Name: Duke Amdusias

 Common appearance: Unicorn with trumpet sounds

 Powers: Rules 29 legions, music demon, causes trees to bend, good familiars, bring one close to the spirits of nature. Connolly says he is invoked for aid in military strategy and aggressive pursuits

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Air

Tarot: 5 of Swords

0-10 Aquarius

   68.              Name: King Belial

 Common appearance: king created after Lucifer, two angels sitting in a chariot of fire

 Powers: Rules 50 legions, distributes senatorships, favor of friends and foes, demands sexual sacrifice, necromancy, destructive earth force

 Correspondences:

Planet: Sun

Color: Gold

Element: Fire

Tarot: 6 of Swords

10-20 Aquarius

   69.              Name: Marquis Decarabia

 Common appearance: Star in a pentacle

 Powers: Rules 30 legions, knows the virtues of birds and precious stones, can make birds fly and sing for the magician, Connolly says he uncovers deceptions and helps free oneself of struggles of the ego

 Correspondences:

Planet: Moon

Color: Purple

Element: Air

Tarot: 7 of Swords

20-30 Aquarius

    70.              Name: Prince Seere

 Common appearance: Man riding on a winged horse

 Powers: Rules 26 legions, bring abundance of things, reveals thievery and hidden treasures, can carry things to other locations

 Correspondences:

Planet: Jupiter

Color: Blue

Element: Air

Tarot: 8 of Cups

0-10 pieces

   71.              Name: Duke Dantalion

 Common appearance: Being with many faces and a book in his hand

 Powers: Rules 36 legions, teaches art and science, causes people to fall in love and gives visions, understand show human thinking works, Connolly says he helps with relating to others emotionally

 Correspondences:

Planet: Venus

Color: Green

Element: Water

Tarot: 9 of Cups

10-20 Pieces

   72.              Name: Count Andromalius

 Common appearance: Man holding a serpent in his hand

 Powers: Rules over 36 legions, brings back thieves and stolen items, protection against thieves

 Correspondences:

Planet: Mars

Color: Red

Element: Fire

Tarot: 10 of Cups

20-30 Pieces

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 16

The Chapter is finally out my Guardians 🐉

Chapter 16 : In the deepest memories of the last of the dragons

My hands would follow their path taken for several minutes, forming various abstract forms of their weak caresses. Many chills arose from time to time with my fingers when I explored new areas but no protest was ever heard, which prompted me to venture out again and again, savoring this almost suspended moment in time.

Blinking hard with white lids in the dim daylight streaming through the curtains, my gaze fell for a moment on the long locks that partially obscured Lance's sleeping face. With his head resting on my bare chest, he didn't seem to want to wake up from his deep sleep, an arm slung over my request now firmly pressed against him.

I directed my caresses a little higher until I reached a scaly area on his shoulder. Fascinated, I drew each outline as if to come to memorize them, surprised to feel them vibrate with each passage of my fingers.

It had been some time since I realized one thing. One thing who, each time he let me see it, filled my heart a little more with new feelings.

More and more often in my presence, Lance seemed to forget his barriers. So sometimes the young man let an infinite number of improbably colored scales run over his skin while, at other times, his ice ran through my body without any logic, drawing complex and involuntary shapes. I’m always surprised at the sweetness of these manifestations, yet they are born of a raw, primitive nature. Because despite his human appearance, Lance was nonetheless a dragon whose instincts he had and, beyond the brutality that accompanied some, I loved to see him let go. I had the impression that in those rare moments when the barrier between his two forms was weakening, he could finally relax, really be himself.

But to share with him this moment of physical intimacy In purely instinctive outbursts, he loved to mark me with his presence, ranging from his powers to his scent and at times, to his claws. Lance had been unintentionally brutal at times, but was it strange if I admitted that I absolutely loved every moment ?

The dragon pulled me out of my reveries, stirring lightly. Lifting his face with still sleeping features, he arched an eyebrow as he analyzed the situation, his gaze drifting over our still naked bodies. My breath quickened as one of his hands lingered on the slope of my hip as his eyes were already dark with desire. Without warning, he tightened his embrace and rocked over me. His long hair tickled my face as he leaned down to explore every inch of my neck, making me moan in spite of myself with languor.

- Hello, my angel, he said in a hoarse voice against my skin.

I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders as a weary smile stretched my lips.

- Hello, my great dragon.

Lance laughed in the crook of my collarbone as he let his icy hands rest on my thighs, causing goose bumps to grow in the grooves of his palms. His lips entered the slope of my jaw, and when they finally met mine, it was with some authority that he lifted my legs on either side of his narrow hips.

We kissed for a long time, our tongues meeting without delay to deepen our embrace. Between my legs, I felt him pulsing more and more vigorously, increasing with maddening speed the desire that had not left me.

- You do well not to forget in whose arms you find, he amused himself in a voice with a much deeper sound than usual.

I dug my nails vigorously into his muscular back as his hips pushed against my lower abdomen.

- How could I, exactly ? I questioned him with difficulty, so much the least of his gestures obsessed me. You don't really help me forget it...

- It's true that I can't keep my human form completely, with you.

- I don't mind, you know, I said with a laugh.

A gentle smile lit up his face, which features often so harsh. In a light mood, the dragon lifted my chin with his fingers to orient my face in his direction. I plunged without hesitation into his eyes which had occupied all my thoughts for several weeks.

Becoming serious again, we didn’t say the least for several long seconds, we observe with a heavy look of meaning.

- Andraste...

I knew what was going on in his head.

We.

Our relationship, our past, our present... To be in each other's arms was absurd, totally unconventional and we were both deeply aware of it. What would become of each other once we got out of this room ?

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing we could become for each other. And we knew it.

Deciding to stop our respective paths of thought, I crossed the short distance between us, feverishly pressing my lips against his. I kissed him with anger, despair, envy. I placed my fears in those powerful hands that encircled my hips, those greedy lips that devoured mine as if to come and seek some breath. I needed to feel him losing control, needed to drown in his eyes that screamed at me that they loved me.

Or at least, during these short, resolutely forbidden moments.

- Please, don't say anything, I said between two kisses, starting to move my pelvis against his. We'll have plenty of time to worry about this later.

Seeming to consider my words at first, Lance suddenly planted one of his hands on my hip as I shifted more and more vigorously under his weight that crushed me. Not giving me time to think, he shamelessly slipped two fingers inside me without ever taking my eyes off suddenly feverish. Reaching my guard, he stirred slowly but confidently, torturing me with his thumb a little higher. My God, I had never wanted someone so much, I was sure.

Each of his movements made a myriad of sensations explode in the pit of my stomach, making me turn my head with his precise gestures. My pelvis quickly accompanies his fingers, guiding them silently while each of my moans is found drawn to his lips. When a multitude of stars erupted in my field of vision, I firmly grabbed his throat as he led me over the edge of the precipice without warning.

As I lost ground, I noticed with a blank eye that my light was diffused into him. Starting from the base of his neck just under my palm, it illuminated him tanned skin with its bright, warm colors. In this story, it wasn't Lance who lost control the most.

I think it was me.

Not that I ever really had control over my powers, that would have been lying. But I no longer control anything. My emotions, my fears, my desires; I was constantly jostled, tossed about between everything.

When the dragon in turn realized that I was marking him without permission with my light, he groaned in satisfaction before promptly removing his fingers from my privacy. I didn't have time to figure out what was happening to me as I already found myself astride him, Lance having grabbed me to reverse our places, his hands feverishly running my back as his tongue attacked my chest. Tilting my head back, I let his hungry mouth move up to my ear, biting my skin with his suddenly sharper teeth until it slightly marked me.

With one hand, I pushed him away in order to come and press his back authoritatively against the mattress. His gaze darkens again as I lean over him, starting a slow descent from his abdomen. Another gasp escaped him as my palm met his erection, slowly working its way up from the base to the end, never taking my eyes away from his. Lance slid his fingers in an inordinately gentle gesture through my hair to achieve my face, making it easier for me. His hands began to shake slightly when I finally took him in my mouth, unable to fully accommodate him as long as he was imposing.

His breathing quickened as I started my task, fascinated to be able to discover him in my turn as he had done that night with my body. Very soon, I heard him utter several quiet moans which excited me to the highest point before he hastily tugged at my hair to make me lift my head. Bluntly, he pulled me up to him while vigorously grabbing my lips, framing my face with his large hands.

- I think I want you too much, my angel.

*

The water hit my head heresy, hitting my long hair hard against my shoulders. How long have I been wandering here ? My eyes narrowed at the force of the rain that fell on me, I moved forward as in a kind of constant blur.

My gaze was followed by a small shadow which is quickly in front of me. Running under the downpours, she didn't seem to feel them, moving freely in the surrounding darkness. I put a feverish hand in front of my face to try to make out something around, having lost the figure between the trees. Sailing blind, a childish laugh catches my attention as I push two branches in my path. Deciding to follow the sound of that unfamiliar voice, I sank deeper into what looked like a real maze.

The closer I got to the shadow, the more it seemed to take shape before my eyes. Very soon, I could make out rainbow-colored hair that blended into pale skin, accompanied by two small horns. The young girl was running innocently, as light as the air despite the brutality of the force of nature that fell on me. My heart skipped a beat when I thought I was losing sight of her again, which prompted me to pick up my pace even more. I stumbled many times, sliding across the muddy ground, hitting oversized roots. The thundering sound of the rain covered the sound of my frantic breath, my hair clinging to my face, entering my mouth, sticking to my eyelashes. My sight was diminishing, darkness absorbed me with its cold arms.

I didn't know what to do anymore, I was lost.

But suddenly the little girl's big silent eyes appeared in front of me. An arm outstretched in my direction, she invited me to join, as bright as the sun. When my fingers made contact with her skin, the scenery changed completely, making my head spin at breakneck speed.

The movements finally calmed down. I immediately recognized the Crystal Room, but it wasn’t the one I knew now.

Several people with unfamiliar faces stood in front of me. With serious faces, they were discussing without seeming to notice my presence.

- He will be the one we send there.

- A Guard Chief, when the situation is totally out of control there ?!

- He's far too young !

- Bring him in, cut in the man who seemed to be the decision-maker here.

A shiver ran through my back as the door opened wide, letting slow, sure footsteps echo through the room. When the young man in question passes close to me, brushing my right arm in the process, a sharp sensation marked my skin under my sleeve. He seemed to feel it too, for the expression on his face changed for a brief moment, almost flustered. His gaze caressed mine without actually seeing me.

- Lance, we were expecting you.

Continuing on his way, a confident smile widened the full lips of the dragon with such youthful features.

- Please excuse me for being late, Master Kaze.

Completely caught up with what was happening in front of my eyes, I was surprised to find the young girl's little fingers wrapped around my forearm. When I turned my head in her direction, the world shifted once again.

A companion collapsed at my feet, spurting blood against my legs. A violent gag took hold of me when its organs fell from the gaping wound that sawed through its stomach. Horrified, I backed up several meters when my attention was signaled by a huge dragon crashing into the rocks not far from me, all with a thudding noise. In a last rattle that comes back to my stomach, the creature collapses to the ground before taking on a semi-human form. Tears flooded my cheeks as I rushed over to him.

- LANCE !

My voice creaked, broke in my throat. I could only see the red puddle that gradually spread around his neck like a macabre web when my vision changed once again.

I was sitting on a bed in a windowless room. Beside me, a small gas light glowing faintly in the dark. Looking down, I noticed I was perfectly dry. No more blood stained my clothes.

- So if I understood correctly, you want to help me break this damn Crystal ?

A harsh laugh shook the broad shoulders of the young man as his interlocutor didn’t move a millimeter, perfectly stoic.

- You understood me very well, Ashkore. Do you want to make this deal, yes or no ?

Lance's gaze shone with a gleam that made my blood run cold. A carnivorous smile crossed his crazy-looking face.

- Very well, my dear deamon. But don't think you'll get me right.

The light suddenly went out, revealing once again the bluish color of the great Crystal.

Serenity reigned in the room. This time, no sound comes to disturb the religious calm of this atmosphere. A movement at the back of the room made me turn around anyway, revealing Lance once again.

Alone, casually assisting on the floor, his gaze didn’t seem to want to leave the luminescent jewel.

His eyes had never been so dark.

- That was the last time he was here, until you woke up.

I jumped at the sound of the small voice behind my back. The young girl stands there, motionless. I hesitated for a moment.

- Ophelia... where are we ? I questioned weakly, having her decide to disappear again.

Her expressionless gaze was lost for a moment in the void behind me. I thought she wouldn't answer me.

- In the deepest memories of the last of the dragons.

- But why ? What are we doing here ?

Walling herself in silence, she walked straight ahead until she crossed my body and passed to the other side.

- You have to find the answer for yourself, Andraste.

The recommended image to blur around me. No, not now, I had to catch up with her !

- Ophelia !

Abruptly opening my eyes, I woke up sweating in my bed, breathing heavily from my parted lips.

I was dumbfounded when I realized that tiny ice crystals were forming under my astonished gaze.

Damn, what happened to me ?

(Chapter 17)

[hilaomart]

Hi I am NOT dead believe it or not have some new ref sheets and illustrations <3

[Image 1: A reference sheet for a man named Lance Dalton. He is a 5’8 young adult with pale skin and white-dyed hair with brown roots showing. He wears a blue striped sweater and a blue scarf and is standing up straight with a smug expression. His inventory holds a journal, a pair of gloves, a Swiss army knife, and a large pair of scissors.

Image 2: A reference sheet for a man named Cornelius “Corn” Muffin. He’s a 5’10 adult with tan skin with small patches of vitiligo. He has short curly blond hair tied up in a bun, is wearing glasses, and has small amounts of scruffy facial hair. He wears a t-shirt with a sun decal under a brown jacket and an orange scarf. He’s standing awkwardly, waving at the camera with a nervous smile. His inventory holds a brown backpack, a roll of bandages, a pack of playing cards, and a frying pan.

Image 3: A reference sheet for a man named Felix Sepia. He is a 5’4 adult with pale, freckled skin and long, curly orange hair tied back in a ponytail. He has glasses and scruffy facial hair. He wears a green sweater. He’s standing somewhat nervously with one hand on his neck. His inventory holds a satchel with various pins, a brown scarf, a mallet, and a handheld professional camera.

Image 4: A digital illustration of a man from his knees up. He’s a pale man with brown hair tied up in a bun and the sides of his head shaved. He has patchy facial hair and heavy eye bags. He wears a denim jacket that appears to be blowing in wind. His clothes are blood-smeared and he clutches a bloody knife. Half of his face is badly burnt, relatively fresh with visible blisters. He’s wiping blood off his face and grinning madly at the viewer. He is outlined in red on a black background with large blood splatters.

Image 5: A chest-up digital illustration of a young tan man in a brown labcoat and gray turtleneck. He has messy, shoulder-length brown hair with two colored stripes, one lime green and one lavender. One of his hands is black with purple vein-like markings. He is cupping his face and grinning smugly at the camera. Red and blue smoke is coming out of his mouth and trailing around him. The background is tan with a large lime green stripe. /END ID]

[hyphyphurray]

It was lonely living alone during quarantine. Well, almost alone. I had my dog, Rusty... but the conversations were a little one-sided, if you know what I mean.

I just wanted someone else around, to hang out with, maybe watch some TV with, or hell, if I was really lucky, fuck. I was so sick of the tumblr/my right hand nightly (well, actually it was usually several times a day) combo.

I was lucky that I had a small house out in the woods- at least I could go outdoors whenever I wanted. But still, I was bored, and lonely.

Then I found this spell online on some random corner of the internet. Some people were changing their pets into humans, so they wouldn't be quarantined alone anymore. I looked over at Rusty, asleep in a sun spot. I'd had him for years, and he'd always been a good dog. Maybe a bit territorial with the squirrels, but we'd always trusted each other... and it's not like we didn't spend every night hanging out in the living room together anyway.

So I figured, what the hell. That night, I gathered the materials needed, said the words, lit the candles, fed Rusty the biscuit that had some oil on it and.... nothing. Rusty stared at me, and then, bored, walked over to his dog bed and flumped down.

Figures, I thought. I mean, what had I really expected?

I sighed. Rusty had the right idea. I cleaned up, gave him a scratch behind the ears, and went to bed.

I woke the next morning, yawned, rubbed my eyes-

and nearly jumped into the ceiling.

There, on the end of my bed was a muscled, shirtless man, staring at me.

“Who the fuck are you?!” I yelled.

The tan, blonde hunk in front of me grinned. Tied around his neck was a black and white bandana, just like the one on-

“RUSTY?” I yelped.

“Hi, Lance,” the man smiled. “I borrowed a pair of your jeans. They're a bit tight, but they work.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “It worked.”

The man stood, and I got a full view of just how tall and athletic he was. He was right about my jeans- he filled them out in a way I never could. And on his shoulder- a tattoo?

“The bandana,” I said, standing and touching it lightly. “It's... it's a good look.”

“Thanks, bro,” he said,. He cocked his head, and then looked me over. Then he suddenly leaned in and took a big whiff at my neck.

I actually blushed, and gave out a little laugh.

“Oh, uh... hi,” I chuckled. Same lack of personal space, it would seem. I stared at him. He stood two or three inches taller than me, making him... 5'11''ish? Maybe 6 foot. He easily outweighed me. I felt suddenly a bit nervous.

“You should make us some breakfast,” he said, his deep voice rumbling.

My dick twitched. I couldn't help it. This man was just so... confident. And that beard, and chest hair? Woof, indeed.

“Oh, right,” I said, and started to step around him to head into the kitchen.

His meaty hand caught my side, startling me. He squinted at me, as if considering something. Then he grabbed the back of my head with one arm, and with one swift move, shoved my face into his other armpit.

Surprised, I took a small shocked breath in.

Oh.

He smelled... god, it was glorious. Manly, a little sweat... spicy... like cedar and dirt, and...

Fuck. My dick was growing harder.

Rusty laughed.

“Just what I thought, boy,” he said, holding me in place. “Take a deep whiff.”

His muscled arm pulled me in closer. My body pressed into his. God, he was just so hard, everywhere. And his smell.

I let out a small, involuntary whimper.

“Yeah, boy,” he said, stroking the back of my head. “I wondered, and now I now. I'm the Alpha around here.”

He pulled me into him, and lowered me to the ground as he sat on the side of the bed. Fuck, I was horny. And he was right. My whole body knew that he was unquestioningly in charge. I closed my eyes and took another long breath.

Click.

My eyes flew open, and my hand leapt to my neck. I felt a leather strap, and heard a tiny jingle.

His collar.

I looked up at the behemoth in front of me. His stare bore into me. My knees sunk further into the ground. Part of me wanted to look away, but I couldn't.

No, I thought. Not his collar. My collar.

He stared down at me, wheels turning once more in his head.

Was this the view that he had had of me, for so many mornings?

“Don't worry boy,” he said in his warm, gravelly tone. “I'm going to take very good care of you.”

He reached down and scratched me behind my ear. I leaned into it in spite of myself. My dick screamed for release in my jeans.

One thing was certain. I wasn't going to be lonely anytime soon.

[ramble-writes]

Naadam Gone Wrong

So, for some context. I wasn’t aware of Magnai and of how he looks UNTIL I met him. It’s thanks to my bf @fantasmaluna that pointed it out on how similar my Au’Ra and Magnai look and so I decided they’re brothers. Ske’Dah is now half Xaela. A lot of his black scales are on his body but he has a sort of makeup to cover them. Magnai has very few white scales so he doesn’t pay attention to them. Father was Raen and mother was Xaela. Anyway here’s proof of how SIMILAR they look.

It’s just been stuck so I got a whole thing for it LOL! And yes I am fully aware this is not how the Naadam went I just wanted to do this cuz why not and stayed up till 3am to write this when it happened. Also Lavender belongs to bf so yeah.

TW: blood, impalement

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

-

The battle of the Naadam raged on. The Dragoon noticed someone coming up, and he was quick to move to strike down the warrior before they could attack Lavender. Another strike, a dodge, a blow delivered to his arm that blood seeped out. Ske'Dah let out a snarl and looked to his wife. Lavender conjured another flurry of magic that took down other Au'Ra, the Miqo'te holding her own well.

He looked across the battlefield over the Ovoo to where Magnai is with his battle-ax as Hien jumped away to avoid the blow. For some reason, after realizing that the Khan is his brother, Ske'Dah felt his chest cease up at any point when he wanted to say that they're blood brothers. But now, before more could die or even himself could, the half-breed felt that the time was now.

"Magnai!" He shouted. No avail. He cried out again to the Au'Ra as he avoided an attempt on his life. This time it caught his attention, and orange eyes narrowed, and it was like Ske'Dah heard the growl rise from the Marauder before charging at the troubled lance wilder.

With a final breath, he roared: "BROTHER, I DO NOT WISH TO FIGHT YOU!!"

Dead. Silence. The battle halted. Everyone looked over with wide eyes and panting from the amount of adrenaline. Hien, Gosetsu, Lyse, and Cirina were stunned at what came out of their companion's mouth.

"What."

"I don't want to fight you, brother. Mother and father would not have wanted this..."

Magnai sneered. "Fool! I have no brother! I was an only child. And even if you were, my brother would not be some snot-nosed Raen!"

Ske'Dah's own eyes narrowed. He grabbed the edges of his shirt and yanked it open that buttons came undone to show the scales on his chest. Rubbing hard, black scales unveiled themselves that meshed with tan scales, creating blotches in certain spots.

"I am no Raen. I am half Xaela. My mother was a Xaela of the Oronir, while my father was of Sui-no-Sato."

"Oh, so you're the child of that wench!" A male called out with a wicked smirk on his face. "I remember hearing about her from my mother, how she defied her tribe to make off with a fool of an Au'Ra."

Ske'Dah only growled at the man before turning his attention back to Magnai. "Please, brother, you must remember! Back when we were children, when you-"

"SILENCE!!"

Magnai then let out a battle cry. The lancer was not prepared for something large to hit him in the chest and lodge into his very flesh. Blinking, Ske'Dah looks down to see the ax buried in his torso, blood leaking out from where it can. A cough as he scrunched his face up at the metallic taste in his tongue.

Magnai's breathing was harsh, but the scent of this Au'Ra's blood shot a pang of fear and realization in his mind. It was too familiar...

Ske'Dah let his lance fall to the ground as both hands rested on the weapon as he tried to gather his breath. His head rose to let his purple gaze meet with orange, a small smile gracing his pained features.

"Remember...when we w-were young... How the others teased...and pulled at me because...be-because of how much more of a Raen I looked..." He coughed a bit, his breath rattling in his chest. "You stood up... Told them off... I looked up to you despite being the eldest. I wanted to be strong, be brave like you without fear."

The Khan glanced around quickly after gathering his senses. Where was that Miqo'te he saw? He didn't have to look far since he heard her scream at the very sight of her husband with an ax in his chest. How calm the Au'Ra was as Lavender fretted over him in her fear that he might die. He hushed her gently as the strength in his legs faltered and stumbled to his knees. Magnai followed shakily so he didn't lean on the ax much, and it didn't dig in.

"When we left here... I didn't know why we left you... I was confused, worried.. wondering where my brother went. I didn't learn till their dying breaths... You were given up because you looked more Xaela than I, so they thought it be best for you to stay to live out a better life and not get teased and shunned for having a Raen father and a half-breed brother... I vowed to myself then...that I would be strong for the brother I...n-never got...t...to..."

Magnai didn't know what to say. He watched as the Miqo'te worked her best to heal the wound as the three Hyuran did their best to ease the Au'Ra off the blade slowly. He backed away, then jumped at hearing the Ovoo and looked to see that small Mol woman take it. Did he care? Not really. He found memories flooding his mind from years past and it was like Father Azim had seized him by the throat that he couldn't breathe.

No orders could be given since screams of terror rose and echoed over the lands. Everyone looked up to see men in armor charging, killing warriors in their path. Lyse jumped to her feet in a panic. Imperials?? Now!? This was the worst time for them to invade! No time to hesitate either. Instantly she started to bark orders for those with weapons to attack to fend off the invaders.

Those that were wounded made way to the home of the no longer Khan. Magnai honesty felt rooted to where he stood. Hien rushed over and took a firm hold of his sleeve and jerked hard.

"Come now! We got no time to stand here and gawk!"

With a weak nod, The Au'Ra followed the Hyur to seek shelter.

-

Some days passed. Ske'Dah came to slowly, his head feeling heavy and pain slowly ebbing into his bones, the pain more pronounced in his chest when he tried to sit up a bit and a hiss broke from him. He felt eyes on him. Looking over to the far corner of the room he's in, Magnai was standing there with his arms crossed and seeming huddled into where the two walls meet.

There was no anger on his face, only fear, and worry.  His orange gaze looks to who else is in the room, which promoted the Lancer to look where he sees his sleeping wife. He realized her hand is holding his, and he gave it a light squeeze, seeing as she rested her hand with the ring over his hand with the ring. She must've been worried sick...

"Any time I tried to get close, she would lash out at me, hissing and tears in her eyes... Almost got nicked a few times from those claws of hers. Little daggers..." ". . . Is that all you have to say. Not anything on what happened?" Magnai found himself flinching a little at the tone. He moved away from his hiding spot before making his way over slowly, a bracelet with poorly done beads in his hand that he rolls around a bit as he sat down at the foot of the bed. Ske'Dah knew what it was since that was the one he carried around in his pocket all these years. The one Magnai made for him when they were children... "If I knew... If I knew who you were upfront, none of this would've happened... I... I wouldn't have almost killed you... Azime, forgive me... I never wished to ever shed the blood of what is my blood..." "I wanted to tell you from the start... But I feared you would call blasphemy and have me locked away," He chuckled a bit. A poor time to laugh, but he wanted to try to lighten the air. Magnai just shook his head. He then held out his hand, open that the bracelet is visible. He wanted to give it back. Ske'Dah stared for a moment, then was careful to sit himself up despite the pain stretching from his chest to his stomach where that blade was. Before the Xaela could act, the half-breed clasped a hand over the one with the bracelet. There were no words needed as the two leaned close and pressed their foreheads together, their horns on one side locking together a bit. It was Magnai who broke, a soft whine sounding as tears slipped out from closed eyes. Ske'Dah couldn't help but cry as well. A very horrifying way for a family reunion, but together they are again. "If you two wanted some time, you could've asked." Both jump and looked-well... Tried to since their horns curve inwards and down so it got them hooked. Successfully unhooked, the two look to Lavender as she rubbed at her eyes with a slight smile. "Even if I did ask, you would've clawed my eyes out," Magnai pointed out. This made the mage giggle with a nod. He wasn't wrong. She would threaten him the moment upon changing to Dark Knight. Placing a kiss to her husband's cheek with a soft "rest well" whispered, she left the room. It was dusk when she went to check on them that she found Magnai had sheaded off his larger outerwear to fit on the bed better curled up to Ske'Dah's side. The two are sleeping soundly with breathing in time of each other. Like this, Lavender can see how similar they look. Almost like identical twins, but not. Either way, family is family.

[hrtiu]

There’s Only One Bed on Slave I

Thanks to @flybynite19 for the idea!

Fennec had worked for a lot of people over the years, so she was used to dealing with her clients’ idiosyncrasies. Still, she’d never worked with someone quite like Boba Fett before.

She’d heard of him, of course. Anybody who was anybody in the hired gun game knew the Fetts. Ok, maybe some of the young hotshots wouldn’t, but they were all dumbasses whose opinion was of no value to Fennec or anyone else. Boba Fett was bounty hunter royalty, and like any proper monarch, he was a little bit mad.

It took about a month for Fennec to recover from Boba’s life-saving “intestinal enhancements,” as he liked to call them, and Fennec knew that as soon as she was operational, they’d be getting to work. Boba was like a snake, waiting still and silent in the burning sand for the perfect opportunity to strike. And that opportunity had finally arrived.

“Where to?” Fennec asked the first morning Boba declared her fully recovered. She got to her feet and snapped the cover over her cybernetic stomach shut, ready to conquer systems and topple dynasties.

“Wherever my father’s armor is,” Boba said, gathering up supplies from around the small hut he called home with the unhurried confidence of a man who expected others to wait for him.

“And that is…?”

Boba looked up at her, his scarred face serious and unyielding. “My contacts have tracked the man who currently possesses my armor to Corvus. We’ll pick up the trail from there.”

“Fair enough,” Fennec said. “How are we getting off-planet?”

A slow smile crept across Boba’s face. “I’ve got that all figured out.”

They packed their few personal effects and extensive weapons collection, then Fennec followed Boba out of the hut and to the tall sand dunes beyond his residence. He held a small remote up towards the monochromatic dune and clicked it with all the solemnity of a monk performing a sacred rite. Fennec watched on, unimpressed, then a rusted, formidable-looking patrol ship rose from the dune, the sand falling off it in tawny curtains. Her eyebrows rose a half an inch—the most dramatic outwards expression of surprise she’d shown in years.

Boba showed her onboard, not bothering to look back or lock up his hut behind him. The quarters were cramped and timeworn but well-maintained. Boba must have brought it out of the sand periodically for regular upkeep over the years.

They stowed their things away, mostly in the armory as a large percentage of their belongings was made to kill people, then Fennec followed Boba to the cockpit and they took off. Fennec looked down over the desert planet as it slowly receded behind them, feeling strangely reborn at the sight of the planet where she’d died becoming small beneath her feet.

Boba set the coordinates and Fennec leaned back in her seat, her eyes glazing over as she stared into the cerulean sea of hyperspace. Her future was uncertain, in some ways more uncertain than it had ever been, but she was at peace. Working a job, fighting someone else’s fights—that’s where she belonged. That was a life she recognized.

“We’re still several hours from Corvus,” Boba said. “You should get some rest. We might run into the man with my armor as soon as we set foot planetside, and Mandalorians aren’t known to give up beskar without a fight.”

“Fine by me,” Fennec said, getting to her feet. “Where should I bunk?”

“The pilot’s quarters are right up that ladder,” Boba said, pointing behind him without looking.

Fennec’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the ladder, mentally going through the quick tour Boba had given her when they’d first embarked. 

“Isn’t that your bunk?” she asked, still making her way back to the ladder.

“Only one bunk on the Slave I.”

Fennec’s hand stopped on the first rung of the ladder, her lips pursing. “I’ll sleep on the passenger deck.”

Eyes still on the console in front of him, Boba Fett sighed. “We’re both old mercs with bad joints. It’s only a few hours to Corvus. It’s a big bunk.”

Fennec’s fingers closed around the rung and her lips pursed tighter. “Fine.” She’d kill him if he tried anything, life debt or no, and she was pretty sure he understood that.

She climbed up into the pilot’s quarters and crawled across the bed, the low space not allowing for much more movement than that. There were fresh sheets, a sturdy blanket, and two cloud-soft pillows already laid out, and Fennec eagerly made herself comfortable. She wondered vaguely at where Boba could have possibly found such nice bed linens on Tatooine, then fell fast asleep.

---

Fennec’s eyes opened on a plain durasteel ceiling less than a foot above her. The lights of the ship had been turned down low and the hum of hyperspace thrummed pleasantly through her body, urging her to close her eyes again and go back to sleep. Conceding defeat, she rolled over onto her side and pulled the blanket tighter around her, fully prepared to once again embrace the oblivion of sleep. Then she saw her bedfellow.

Boba Fett lay flat on his back, eyes closed and hands resting peacefully atop his stomach. The dim light of the cabin cast shadows across his face, the darkness seeping into each crease and crevice of his scars. Fennec reminded herself that she’d known he’d be joining her—that she’d agreed to the arrangement and understood the boundaries. It was still quite the trip to actually witness Boba Fett sharing her bed.

Deciding she wouldn’t get much sleep staring at him, she tried to roll back onto her back, where only the durasteel ceiling would keep her company. The maneuver twinged something in her stomach, and suddenly her gut was burning in pain.

“Agh!”

Boba’s eyes flew open and he surged upwards, banging his head soundly on the low ceiling. “Dank farrik! What is it?” he swore.

“Nothing! I-” Fennec cut off, gasping in pain. “Something went wrong in my stomach.”

“Let me see.”

Boba rolled over towards her as Fennec opened up the panel in her tunic that covered her exposed wiring, the lancing pain overriding any questions of propriety or embarrassment.

“It looks like it’s the motivator,” Boba said, his face hunched low over her torso as he attempted to do repairs in the tiny bunk space.

Fennec bit hard on the inside of her cheeks, her eyes watering from pain and her hands fisting in the blankets. “Just… get it fixed.”

Boba nodded in agreement and practically buried his face in her abdomen, his sharp eyes darting to and fro as he attempted to locate the source of the malfunction. After far too many minutes of agony, Boba’s surprisingly nimble fingers clicked a wire into place and the pain instantly abated. The tension in Fennec’s muscles took time to unwind, and she slowly went through her body one tendon at a time, releasing the built up pressure. 

“You alright?” Boba asked, still hovering awkwardly with his nose just inches from her cybernetic stomach.

“Yeah. Much better.”

He started to pull away but Fennec reached out a hand, her vice-like grip on his wrist halting him.

“I’m not useless, you know,” she said, her jaw taught. “I can still fight. I know it.”

“Do you think I would have brought you if you were useless? Do you think I would have bothered to save you at all?” Boba asked, smooth brows furrowed over his honey-dark eyes.

“I can sleep on the deck without a blanket. I can push through the pain if I malfunction. I’m not faulty.”

Boba’s eyes narrowed on her and his mouth twisted more than the scarring already warped it. “Fennec. We’re both faulty. That’s why I picked you. And that’s why we’re both taking the bunk.”

He started to settle back into the sheets, but Fennec didn’t release her hold. She tugged on his wrist, bringing his face close to hers and staring intently into his eyes. She’d heard that the eyes were the windows of the soul, but Boba’s amber eyes revealed nothing. Her gaze drifted to his scars, following the one stabbing right between his brows, then trailing up the one that reached from the end of one eye and up to the very center of his forehead. His red-white-tan-mottled skin didn’t look quite so discolored in the dim light, and she thought he’d actually fared better than most of their peers from her early days of work. Maybe they both had.

Firmly, but with an air of intrepid experimentation, Fennec reached a hand behind Boba’s neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his in a stiff and unyielding kiss. His mouth was softer than she’d expected, and she felt his lips turn up into a smirk before she pulled away.

That smirk convinced her she’d made a mistake, and she started to retreat, her hand slipping away and her eyes avoiding direct contact with his.

Before she could make her escape, Boba cupped her face in his hands, the patronizing smirk on his face morphing into something gentler.

“Oh, I think we can both do better than that,” he said, his nose brushing hers.

He kissed her slowly—almost lazily—but with a control and tension that promised more. It was just enough to remind Fennec how good a touch could feel—the softness, the heat, the breath. She made the beginnings of a response, her mouth opening under his and her fingers testing gingerly at his chest. Then, by mutual agreement, they separated.

Fennec opened her eyes and this time, the smirk on her face matched his. Understanding passed between them, a recognition of kindred spirits in a galaxy of strangers. She couldn’t say where this was headed, and she knew he couldn’t either, but she felt instinctively that they would be on the same page.

Fennec turned onto her back and stared up at the durasteel ceiling again, her eyes closing and her breath slowing.

“Rest up,” Boba Fett said from beside her. “We should only have an hour left before we land.”

“I’ll be ready for it,” she said, resting her hands across her torso. The smirk on her face turned into a full-blown grin.

She didn’t think Boba Fett was going to be like any of her previous employers.

[snelbz]

The Ranch {21}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

The Ranch Masterlist

When Tomas descended the stairs, the first thing he noticed is that the house was quiet. No gasping breaths, no groans of pain, no screams of agony from a natural birth. There was also no baby crying. 

The sun was almost gone, the last rays of its light just behind the tree line. The house was already becoming dark.

“Nesta?” He called, his voice crooning. “Are you okay, love?”

There was no reply. The chair she’d been in was still in the middle of the living room, rope still looped around the back. But the bedroom, the room where she was supposed to be giving birth…

Tomas flipped the light switch on. It was a bloody mess. Towels on the floor, the bed, the chair in the corner. There was blood and moisture and some mucus-y looking substance on the rug he didn’t want to look at for too long.

But it was empty.

He turned heading for the kitchen, knowing she couldn’t have gotten far, not with how much blood was-.

He screamed as white hot pain lanced down his arm, the same arm that was covered in stitches from the night before. 

Before Nesta could bring the knife back down, Tomas had grabbed her wrist.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he seethed. He got right in her face. “Where is she?”

“Safe,” was all Nesta said.

Her legs were wobbling, surely about to collapse. Beads of sweat coated her pale skin. Unsure of what she was actually trying to accomplish - as if she could accomplish anything in her current state - Tomas let out a breathy laugh. 

“Let’s get you back to bed, my love,” he whispered, bringing his fingers up to graze her cheek. “You need rest, or you could die.”

“If that’s the alternative to a life with you, so be it,” she hissed, but the words, the tone, even cost her a great amount of energy.

Tomas clicked his tongue. “You always were so dramatic.” 

She tried to jerk her wrist away, but it was pointless. Instead, he tightened his hand around her wrist until a soft sob shook Nesta’s body.

“Let’s get you back in bed,” he repeated, his voice low.

“I’m not dropping the knife,” she said, voice shaking. She could hardly keep herself upright. “You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

With a roll of his eyes, Tomas was reaching up to take the weapon away. Although weak and in a mass amount of pain, it seemed she believed what she said, because her grip around the hilt of the knife was tight. 

One by one, he pried her fingers from the wooden hilt, and when there was only one more clinging to it, she struck.

He hadn’t noticed the small, thin paring knife in her right hand when he’d seen her. No, he was too focused on the large chef’s knife in her left hand.

She jammed the small blade up into his abdomen and he released her with a cry. The chef’s knife fell to the floor and she moved away from him as quickly as she could, a whimper of pain the only sign of her discomfort.

“You fucking bitch.” The voice was much closer than she expected and suddenly she was jerked backwards by her loose hair. She cried out as her scalp was on fire and then his arms were around her, caging her in. “Where is she, Nes, huh? Where’d you hide her?”

“I didn’t hide her. She’s far, far away,” she bite out. “She’s gone, she’s safe and you’ll never get your hands on her.”

She felt his arms tighten. “Is that a challenge, love?” he breathed in her ear. “We’re going to be a family and you know it.”

“I hate you,” she hissed. “I fucking hate you.”

“Let’s get you back to bed,” he said, once again, his words clipped.

His arms began to tighten even more, a vice to cage her where she stood, but then from outside, a horse whinnied.

For a split second, Tomas’ grip slacked, but the instant Nesta’s mouth shot open to cry out, his hand was over her mouth, muffling her screams.

She tried to scream, praying it was Cassian that was just outside, but failed. Instead, with one arm tightened over her abdomen and the other covering her mouth, Tomas dragged Nesta to the corner and peered through the window, hiding beside it. The back of Nesta’s head was against his chest.

She couldn’t see a thing. 

Her attempts to scream continued as Tomas’ blood stained the back of her sweatshirt. He jerked her back again, fingers digging into her scalp, and she grew dizzier as he hissed into her ear, “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

But she had heard it, had heard the yell of a man that would tear apart the world to find what had been taken from him.

“NES!”

The sob that tore from her was weak, she knew she wouldn’t be on her feet much longer, but she had to make what time she had count.

He had her head jerked to the side, but she could still feel his breath on the side of her face. She couldn’t brace herself and she knew it would hurt her as much as it hurt him, but without warning, she threw her head back and slammed it into his.

The sound of Tomas’ skull bouncing off the wall was something she would remember for the rest of her days, but the new ache in her head made her sick to her stomach. It didn’t help when Tomas shoved her away from him, causing her to stumble. Her forehead smacked into the window and blood trickled down her forehead as she tried to crawl away.

The chef’s knife was still on the floor of the living room, the small knife she’d hidden long gone. Nesta could hear the doors shaking as Cassian tried to force his way into the cottage and she turned to glance at Tomas behind her. He was slowly getting to his feet and Nesta saw the black handle of a gun sticking out from the waistband of his jeans. Her heart stopped beating in her chest.

He wouldn’t use the gun on her, he wanted her alive. He had no such reservations about Cassian.

Nesta got to her feet, ran for the living room and grabbed the knife. Tomas looked over as she did so, blood dripping down his lips from his nose. She felt a smug satisfaction at the injury her blow had caused, but when he started advancing on her, she froze.

The sound of a door bursting open had Tomas turning towards the noise and Nesta knew she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

With what little strength she had left, she rushed towards him and he glanced down at her, right as she shoved the large knife into his side. His eyes went wide.

The small grunt that left Tomas’ mouth was the last sound he made before he collapsed.

He didn’t move again.

Thundering footsteps had Nesta on red alert, knowing she had nothing left to defend herself with, but then Cassian appeared around the corner. The whimper was pathetic, she hated herself for the sound, but she was unable to stop it as her knees buckled and she collapsed in the pooling blood, sobbing uncontrollably.

Cassian didn’t hesitate. 

He hurried to her side, on his knees in the crimson pool, scooping her up into his arms. Her head instantly fell against his chest as her eyes drooped, his heart beating rapidly. 

“I’m here,” he breathed, sobbed, holding her head against his chest. “Fuck, you’re burning up, sweetheart. Keep your eyes open, okay? Keep them open, baby, please.”

He cried into her hair, and she wanted so desperately to cling to him, to tell him how much she loved him, but she didn’t have the energy. All she could manage was, “Sloan?”

“Safe,” he promised, his voice breaking as he rose to his feet, her in his arms. “Beautiful.”

The faintest of smiles touched her lips as her eyes fluttered shut. Cassian carried her out of the cabin and down the porch steps, but she didn’t know what happened after that. 

She drifted into a dark, deep sleep.

___

Nesta had no idea how much time had passed before she woke up with a dry, scratchy throat, hooked up to a series of beeping machines.

For a moment, she began to panic, but then her vision cleared and she knew she was far away from Tomas, as the memories came back to her.

She had killed him.

He deserved it.

She was safe.

But where was Sloan?

She attempted to sit up, to find her baby, to find Cass, but she grew lightheaded and fell back into the pillows with a groan.

She began to cry, quietly, but then she heard her name and knew he was there.

“Nes.” 

She opened her eyes and found Cassian sitting on the edge of the cot, Sloan sleeping soundly in his broad arms. His cheeks were blotchy, his eyes red and puffy. A shaky hand reached up, his knuckles trailing gently down her cheek.

She didn’t say anything, nothing had to be said as she grabbed his hand where it brushed against her face and brought it to her lips.

The single tear that ran down Cassian’s cheek told her what he couldn’t.

She gazed down at their daughter, at the perfect combination of the two of them. She hadn’t been able to take the time to look at her when she was born, she was too focused on shoving her into Claire’s arms and begging her to run. But now that she could see her, that she could appreciate her, Nesta began to softly cry once again.

Cassian carefully laid her in her mother’s arms and Nesta wasn’t able to stop herself from leaning down and pressing the softest of kisses to her forehead. She had her father’s coloring, from the tan skin, to the thick, dark hair on her head. But Nesta knew when she woke up, she’d find her own stormy eyes gazing back at her. Sloan had inherited her full lips and she couldn’t tell whose nose she’d gotten because her eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Nesta looked up, blinking the tears away and found Cassian staring at Sloan, his cheeks wet. “Cass, you couldn’t-.”

“He took you, Nes.” His words were deathly soft. “He came into our home and he took you both. I have never been so scared in my entire life. I was going crazy.”

Nesta only shook her head, but when she opened her mouth, it was hard to speak. Cassian grabbed a cup of water from the side table and helped her drink, and when he set the cup back down, he said, “I promise I will never let anything happen to you, to either of you, ever again.”

She nodded, although it was an impossible promise to keep, she knew he would try his damndest. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, and he pressed his forehead against hers. For a moment, the three of them remained there, Sloan sleeping, her parents above her, dwelling in the peace of silence. 

“It’s okay now,” Cassian said, quietly. “It’s over, he’s gone, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Nesta just stared at her daughter with parted lips as Cassian kissed her forehead.

“We’re going to go home and it’s all going to be okay,” Cassian continued, and she knew he was talking just as much to himself as he was to her. She could see the guilt in his eyes.

But she met his eyes and, voice hoarse, whispered fiercely, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he breathed. “More than I can begin to tell you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, savoring the moment of just being together, being a family. Whole and happy and safe.

Nesta looked down into her daughter’s face, the picture of innocence and perfection. She softly ran a finger along her cheek, terrified to wake her, but needing to touch her, to know she was really here. She knew nothing of the evils of the world, to her, the world was still small and safe. She whispered, “I killed him.”

Cassian swallowed hard. “You did. But you didn’t have a choice.”

Nesta shook her head. “I did though, I didn’t have to-.”

He took her face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away the tears running down her cheeks. “Nesta, he kidnapped you, held you hostage, and forced you to give birth to your baby on your own. Thank the gods for Claire or…” His words dropped off and he closed his eyes. “Nesta, if you hadn’t killed him, I was going to.”

She nodded, understanding him, but it didn’t stop the tears. She gazed down at Sloan. Nesta breathed, “Is she okay? Is everything okay?”

“She’s perfect.” The reverence with which he said the words had Nesta looking up at him. His eyes were on their daughter. “Ten fingers, ten toes, the sweetest smile and the loudest cry I’ve ever heard.”

As if she heard her parents talking about her, Sloan let out a piercing wail and Cassian was on his feet, ready to take her, but there was no need.

Nesta was gently bouncing her, stepping so gracefully into the role of motherhood. She cooed down at her and Sloan’s cries quieted.

“How long was I out? Should I feed her? I don’t-.” She looked up at him, fear overtaking every other emotion. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” Cassian began, gently. He pressed a button on the remote by her bed as he said, “You slept for about a day and a half. You passed out on the way here, but they checked everything out when we got here and they say, considering, your body is healing as it should, although they had to redo your stitches, but there’s no infection or anything. Other than that, you’ve just been sleeping. They’ve been giving you fluids through the IV.” Cassian broke his gaze from Nestas to look down at Sloan. “She’s been getting formula while you’ve been out, but I told them you planned to breastfeed, so when your nurse comes in, she’ll help.”

Nesta nodded, taking in all the information. She had slept for a long time, but that exhaustion lingered and she had a feeling it would for quite some time.

The door swung open a minute later and Claire came in, looking much cleaner and less frazzled than the last time Nesta saw her, although her eyes teared up when she caught sight of Nesta awake.

No words were needed as Claire went to the side of the bed and wrapped Nesta in her arms. Nesta returned the embrace and they cried together, careful for Sloan between them.

“Thank you,” Nesta breathed. “I’m so sorry, that he pulled you into it, but, I- I’m so thankful you were there.”

Claire only nodded, unable to trust herself to speak, then cleared her throat. “Okay, momma, let's feed this beautiful baby.”

It took a while for Sloan to latch, which Claire explained wasn’t uncommon, but when she did and began to eat, Nesta felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

Nesta meant it. She was so incredibly grateful to Claire. Without her, neither she nor Sloan would have made it. As someone who Tomas also forced against her will to comply with his wishes, Claire had done her best to make sure Nesta survived a horrid childbirth, and she had brought Sloan to safety. 

For that, Nesta was, and always would be, in Claire’s debt.

When Nesta told her as much, Claire simply shook her head with tears in her eyes and said, “Invite me to her first birthday bash and send me the yearly Christmas card. That will be more than enough.”

Her throat was so tight, she didn’t think she could speak, so she nodded and embraced her again.

“Thank you for getting me out, for giving me time to run, too,” Claire whispered, her mouth close to Nesta’s ear. “I really didn’t… I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” The words were so quiet, Nesta doubted Cassian could hear them from where he sat on the couch, Sloan milk-drunk on his chest, fast asleep.

Nesta leaned back and took Claire’s hand in her own. “We’re here. We both made it out.”

Claire gave her a soft smile before leaving to continue her rounds.

When a knock came at the door less than an hour later, she was expecting her sisters, but instead, she was looking at Lucien Vanserra’s eldest brother.

“Eris,” she said, inclining her head in greeting.

He nodded to both she and Cassian. “First of all, congratulations.” He looked at the baby in Cassian’s arms. She looked so small. He sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to have to do this, but when you’re released, we’ll need a statement from both of you.” Cassian looked ready to object, but he quickly added, “We’re not going to be pursuing any charges, but we have...a lot of stories and timelines to sort through.”

Nesta slowly looked to Cassian, who was watching her with weary eyes.

“It’s okay,” Nesta said. “We’ll come to the station on Friday.”

Eris nodded, said his thanks, and was off again.

She didn’t want to, but she already knew she would have to make a statement, and the faster she got it all over with and behind her, the better. 

“I hate that guy,” Cassian mumbled, once the door was shut, and Nesta had no idea why, but she started to laugh.

Maybe it was because it was true - Eris Vanserra was a total prick, he always had been. Maybe it was because she hadn’t expected the comment, it had caught her off guard. Or, maybe it was because Cassian looked so cute in his new fatherly role, their newborn sound asleep with her mouth hanging open on his chest.

Maybe it was because she was exhausted, sore as shit, and amazed that she had actually lived through what she’d just gone through. 

Her bet was on the last one, but she didn’t care as she plopped her face into her hands and howled.

Cassian just stared at her like she’d gone absolutely mad.

And when her laughter became a mixture of laughter and a sob, he really looked concerned. Hell, Nesta was concerned for herself.

Maybe she was going mad.

Too many emotions. She had too many fucking emotions. Joy, comfort from the fact that her baby girl was here, healthy, thriving. Pain and misery from the trauma she had just gone through. Utter adoration at the sight of the love of her life, holding onto her baby girl with gentle, loving arms. Terror, complete terror from who Tomas was to her.

Over the fact that she’d killed him.

Yes, it was justified.

But she had still killed a man. A man that she had once thought she loved.

It certainly didn’t help that she had just given birth and her emotions were heightened. She wanted to scream, laugh, cry, run as fast as she could to nowhere in particular, while also staying right where she was, with Cassian and Sloan.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked, hand rubbing a gentle path along their newborn’s back.

She watched him, so in love with him, with Sloan, with her life. She chuckled quietly and said, “I’m perfect. Everything is perfect.”

But things weren’t perfect.

Things were complicated, surreal. She was living halfway in a dream, and halfway in a nightmare without fully knowing what the future held. She had survived mass chaos and her greatest fears, while simultaneously gaining what she never thought she’d be able to have - a child, a man that loved her.

She was unsure how to feel, unsure how to think.

But she had to believe that, in the end, it was all going to be okay.

Eventually.

__

The first night home, Cassian expected to have to get up to console a crying Sloan. The baby monitor was on his side of the bed and Nesta had fallen asleep before her head even hit the pillow. He’d stayed up with his baby girl for an hour or two before he’d decided to try and sleep as well. Sloan slept surprisingly well for a newborn, usually only waking two or three times a night to eat, if that.

So when Nesta began thrashing in her sleep, tears streaming down the sides of her face, silent screams contorting her expression into one of terror rather than peaceful sleep, Cassian was immediately trying to wake her.

But what she was experiencing was deeper than a simple dream. No, she was there again, tied to that chair, feeling her water break and her contractions felt just as real as they were that night.

“Babe,” he begged, taking her face into his hands, his face coming close to hers. “Nesta, sweetheart, wake up.”

She sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably as she clung to her blanket, but Cassian did not let her go.

He wrapped her into his arms and cried alongside her, guilt flooding his entire body, heartache controlling the depths of his soul. 

“Nesta.”

His voice was hard, demanding, comforting, controlled.

Her cries lessened, just a little bit as her body melted into his.

“Sweetheart.”

She became silent, her hands now gripping onto his old, holey shirt, instead of her comforter.

“I’m here,” he whispered, a plea for her to hear, to understand, to realize.

Her forehead leaned into his hard chest, and his arms tightened around her sore body. He didn’t move, nor did she, as they clung to one another in the night. 

“You’re safe,” he promised, his voice low, as his hands ran up and down her spine.

She opened her eyes.

She met his gaze.

They stared at one another, unblinking, for a moment, before Nesta breathed, “I’m scared.” 

Cassian’s heart broke at the whispered confession, his arms tightening around her shaking frame. “You’re safe,” he repeated. “Sloan is safe, you’re safe, our home is protected, my love, you’re safe.”

She nodded but her eyes slipped shut. She breathed, ���I killed him and he still wins.”

He shook his head, letting his lips brush over her head. “He didn’t win, Nes. You’re still dealing with the shit he did to you, yes, but that’s only because it’s all so fresh.”

A small cry crackled over the speaker of the monitor on the bedside table. Cassian was about to throw back the covers, to trudge down the hall and rock Sloan back to sleep after a quick bottle. But Nesta was up, her dream and the wail making her nearly frantic, having to see her baby with her own two eyes to know she was okay.

Cassian sighed when he heard the door to Sloan’s nursery open, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’d been sleeping like shit, too, worrying about Nes and checking on Sloan. And there was the fact that hospital couches were not meant for anyone taller than five-foot-two much less someone six-foot-three. He’d stay in bed and when Nesta returned, he’d wrap her in his arms and scratch her back like she loved.

Except she didn’t come back to bed.

After a few minutes, Cass cautiously got up and stepped into the hall. He was halfway expecting to see Tomas creeping down the stairs with his daughter, regardless of the fact that his body was currently cooling in the county morgue. There was light coming through the cracked door to Sloan’s nursery and Cassian gently pushed it open.

Nesta was cradling Sloan in her arms, murmuring to her as she nursed. The baby’s eyes were wide open, staring up at her mother. The scene made Cassian’s heart melt.

He didn’t say a word, he kept completely silent as he watched the scene before him unfolded. Unable to keep himself from tearing up, he leaned against the threshold and stared. Nesta looked up at him, her eyes sad but full of wonder.

“She looks like you,” she whispered.

Cassian snorted, although it was half assed. “She’s perfect.”

Her eyes softened as she smiled up at him. “Yes, she is.”

Cassian went to the chair in which Nesta was rocking their daughter and sat against the wall beside them. He watched as Sloan fed, as Nesta watched her daughter lovingly. 

“I want her to stay in our room,” Nesta admitted, at last. “I can’t… I have to know she’s safe, I want to know that she’s safe.”

Cassian nodded, without argument. “In the morning, I’ll bring up the bassinet I made from the cabin. I’ll put it by the bed. She can sleep with us for as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, relief evident on her face.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled and rubbed a hand up and down her leg.

She cringed and pulled it away. “Oh gods, please, no. It’s been, like, a solid five months since I’ve been able to shave my legs.”

He laughed. “I gave you a foot massage last week. I know what your legs feel like.”

She rolled her eyes, gently beginning to rock Sloan. “That was when I was pregnant. I’m not pregnant anymore. My excuse for not shaving my legs is officially gone.” She looked down at her precious little girl. “Well, I mean, guess she’s technically, officially here.”

Cassian laughed, watching her with adoration in his eyes. Nesta took to the role of being a mother so well, he wondered how she’d ever been able to give up the idea before, when she’d thought it was impossible.

She was gazing down at Sloan, softly brushing her finger over her cheek, when she caught Cassian’s gaze. She laughed awkwardly and blushed. She asked, “Why are you staring at me?”

He shrugged and stood up onto his knees. “Because I can.”

She snorted but leaned down to press her lips to his. “I love you.”

He didn’t stop kissing her, let his lips brush hers, as he said, “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

[nano--raptor]

You Know It

Pairing: Alpha!Lance Tucker x Omega!Reader

Words: 1670

Warnings: Smut! Sex, cursing, ABO dynamics, light pain mention, light spanking, dirty talk, super slight hinting at dom/sub, Lance being a cocky, sexy bastard.

A/N: Hellooo Lance Tucker!! Written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ with this prompt from @book-dragon-13​​ Tysm for submitting this, I had fun writing it! I don’t think I could handle this cocky bastard in real life but damn is he fun to write. Thank you all for reading, enjoy!❤

-----

“Fuck. Fuck!”

You couldn’t believe this. Your biggest competition of the year was less than a week away, and you were going into fucking heat. You couldn’t believe that you’d lost track of your cycle, and hadn’t planned better. This was the last thing you needed. You needed to keep your head in the game, and keep up with your training. You did not have time for this.

You’d been pacing your apartment, trying to figure out what to do, who to call, and your thoughts kept drifting back to one man in particular. Someone you despised, someone who made your blood boil and your temper prickle. Yet, in spite of it all, you adored him, couldn’t take your eyes off him, couldn’t get enough of him. He made you hot and you’d definitely fantasized about him. Often.

Your head coach, Lance Tucker.

You hated yourself for even considering it, but as another wave of cramps hit you and made you double over in pain, you gritted your teeth, telling yourself fuck it and grabbed your keys.

-----

Ringing the doorbell impatiently, you stood at Lance’s door, trying to steady your breathing, gritting your teeth. He took his sweet time answering, but when it finally opened, you really had to try to stop yourself from actually whimpering. Lance stood there, shirtless, navy track pants slung low on his hips, that stupid fucking tattoo disappearing beneath the waistband. Cocky grin on his face. You wanted to first slap that grin off, and then follow the tattoo down his body with your tongue.

“I wondered when you’d finally show up.”

“Hello to you too.” You glared at him for a moment before the cramps made you wince in pain again. You tried not to sound as desperate as you felt asking him, “Can I come in?” He smirked and held out his hand, which you took, letting him pull you inside. As soon as the door was closed, Lance was cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in and kissing you hard. He knew what you needed, and honestly, you were thankful for the skipping of formalities.

“Look at you,” he purred between kisses. “You’re a mess honey. How’d you let this happen?” You couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped you as he kissed along your jaw and down your throat. You were burning up under his touch and he’d hardly gotten started.

“I lost track,” you gasped, control over yourself quickly fading. “Too focused on routine…” Lance tisked and kissed back up your throat, licking over your pulse point and making you groan, then back to your lips. Another kiss and he pulled back to smirk at you again. 

“Maybe I’ll have to remind you next time, you’ve only been stinking up my gym all week.” You gasped as he crowded you against the wall, caging you in with his arms. His scent surrounded you, making you dizzy, and his taut muscles right in front of your face made your mouth water. You wanted to trace your tongue over every firm dip and line. Fuck, this man. He just did things to you. 

Lance continued, his piercing blue eyes staring straight into your soul. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on though, smellin’ you so strong all the time. It’s fuckin’ delicious." His voice was low and gravelly, and you wondered briefly if he was always like this, or if this was something reserved for you. Lance was crude and flirty with everyone, and you'd made eyes at each other a few times, but it had never gone further than that. He'd hinted and joked about it, what he'd do to you, for you, during your heat, but now when you needed help, he didn't even hesitate, letting biology take over. 

"Now. What are you doing here, doll face? Hmm? Tell me what you want.”

You hated how he knew exactly what was going on, but still wanted you to say it. It almost turned your stomach to think how you were about to beg, but you didn’t know what else you could do. You sighed, your voice quiet, but couldn't stop the desperate little whine that crept out, preceding your words.

“I need your help, Alpha... please...”

Lance’s devilish grin made you feel uneasy, his eyes quickly darkening at your sounds and the rank falling from your lips. At the same time you could feel the slick dripping between your legs from it. It made your stomach tighten and a shudder run through you and then he was crushing his mouth to yours again. It was messy this time, any semblance of self control out the window as you gave in to your desperation. He knew, he could smell it. His scent was thick and strong with desire as well, and when he pinned you against the wall with his hard body, you whined again, those track pants doing nothing to hide his arousal. You could feel every inch of him and wanted him inside of you, now.

His hands wandered roughly down your body, grabbing your thighs and picking you up. You locked your ankles around his waist and could barely keep from grinding your hips against him, looking for relief as he carried you up the stairs and into his bedroom. He dropped you on the bed, growling as he crawled over you and kissed you again. His hands dove under your shirt, bunching it up and urging you to take it off. Pulling away, you did so, stripping it over your head and tossing it aside. Lance’s mouth was immediately back on your skin, but he helped you make quick work of the rest of your clothes, finally sitting back and looking at you spread out before him. His eyes raked hungrily over your body and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth with a groan.

“Fucking hell, you are one needy thing. All spread out for me, whining for my cock.” His eyes sparkled and that smirk made fire flare through your bones. “Isn’t that what you want, sweetheart?” You nibbled on your lip this time, nodding, legs spread for him, chest heaving. Lance chuckled and stood, stripping off his pants and letting you take it all in.

You were pretty sure you whined again as your eyes wandered over his perfectly sculpted body, perfectly tan, and perfectly hard. He was gorgeous, you had to admit, but now wasn’t the time for admiration. 

“Lance!” Your tone was forceful and abrupt, but then it melted into something softer when he narrowed his eyes at you. “Please…” You rolled over and crawled to the edge of the bed, sitting back on your heels and gazing up at him. His smirk returned and he grasped your chin roughly.

“You gotta behave, doll face. I can’t have some little Omega thinking she’s in charge here.”

Looking away, you leaned into his hand, trying so hard not to whine but you just needed relief so badly. Lance watched you for a few moments as you started to squirm, before tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him again.

“Turn around, honey.” Heat rushed through you and you nibbled your lip, holding his gaze as long as you could while you turned around to present yourself. Strong hands grabbed your hips and yanked you closer to the edge of the bed and Lance rumbled hungrily as he got a good look at you.

“So fucking wet for me, holy shit.” His voice was low and velvety, but the way he hissed out the words sent a jolt right to your core. Everything about him was making you hot, making you throb, the sound of his voice, the feel of his fingers digging into your skin, the heat radiating off his body. When the bed dipped as he knelt behind you, pressing himself against you, you thought you might actually pass out.

Lance slowly dragged his cock through your soaked folds, incoherent murmurs falling from your lips. He was driving you insane and before you realized it, you were begging again, pleading for him to take you already.

"Alpha, please… please, fuck me…"

He teased your entrance for a moment longer before suddenly pushing in, sheathing himself inside you in one thrust. A strangled cry escaped your throat at the stretch, the pleasure and pain rolled into one, fading into a moan as he pulled out and then slowly sank back in.

“You feel fuckin’ perfect,” Lance praised, voice low and raspy, his pace starting slow but quickly speeding up, pushing you further and further into a state of bliss. It wasn’t long before you could feel the coil tightening, feel his knot swelling, and as you both neared the edge, Lance folded over you with a moan, bringing his hand between your legs to lightly brush against your clit. That was all you needed for the coil to snap, and you screamed as white hot pleasure shot through you. Lance fucked you through it, and after a few more thrusts he was biting down on your shoulder, spilling into you with a snarl as his knot locked you together.

You both collapsed into a panting heap, trying to catch your breath. Lance delivered a hard smack to your ass, chuckling as you twitched and squealed. You couldn't help but wriggle around, loving the feel of him locked inside of you. Sweaty, and briefly satisfied, you almost dozed off, suddenly chuckling to yourself about the whole situation.

"I never thought I'd see the day," you answered his unasked question, remembering all the times you'd vowed never to end up in Lance's bed. He chuckled darkly, as he absently massaged your thigh, his mirth sending jolts through you, waking your body up again.

“Oh you better believe it sweetheart. Cause I'm gonna fuck this heat right out of you," he paused, cock twitching inside of you again. "And then, you're gonna go win me the fucking gold.”

-----

Tags! ❤️ @sfreeborn​ @jobean12-blog​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @mannatgalhotra​ @bubbabarnes @buckysthing​ @marvelgirl7​ @ikaris-whore​ @aesthetical-bucky​ @littleredstarfish​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @winterboobear11​ @stuckyinamoose​ @our-whitetulips-us​ @throwmyheartawayagain​ @cristie24​ @jesslovesyouall @my-own-private-library​ @hawksmagnolia​ @peaceinourtime82​ @infinity-saga​ @kenzieam​ @sallycanwait68​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @ballyhoobarnes​ @earthworthies​ @tinymalscoffee​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @buckosawrus​ @thefandomimagines​ @kianifan​ @skkye​ @dark-academics-and-florals​ @buckysbunny​ @buckys-henley

Join my taglist here!

[livesincerely]

You’re hurt kiss javid? (If you want, possibly a part 3 to the soulmate one?)

(Also you are an angel for doing this, it is seriously helping my political anxiety<3)

Okay, I’m gonna fill this with a different you’re hurt idea just because I already had it shuffling around my brain, but I will put a part three to the soulmate one on my list just for you, darling. 😊💕

00000

Jack wakes up with the taste of blood and bile in his mouth, lying on his side against a cold hardwood floor. His entire body is aching and it feels like his brain is leaking out his ears. He attempts to push himself up but he can’t even manage to pry his eyes open, each breath feeling like a massive effort.

Everything hurts.

At some point he becomes aware of a voice nearby, the quick, worried tone of it breaking through the haze of pain: “—he’s running a high fever and he’s thrown up at least once. I think he fell trying to get to the bathroom, I found him lying on the floor next to the bed. He looks like he’s breathing okay, but he’s in and out of consciousness and doesn’t seem to really know what’s going on.”

There’s a pause, then Jack feels a hand on his forehead, the touch gentle but trembling. Jack doesn’t know what to make of it, can’t hardly think around the throbbing in his skull. He knows that something’s wrong, that he’s sick—like, bad sick—but there’s something else too, something just... off in a way his battered brain can’t quite figure out.

“We’re on the third floor,” the man continues to someone. “And there’s no elevator, so they’ll need to.... yes, of course. Yes, I understand. Thank you.”

The man stops, fingers tapping carefully against the side of Jack’s face.

“Jackie? Are you with me?”

Jack lets out a weak moan.

“The ambulance is on its way but I need you to stay awake, okay?”

The man sounds worried, deeply worried. Jack wonders how bad off he must be that total strangers sound like they’re about to cry just looking at him.

“Tryin’,” Jack grunts. “Hot. Burning up.”

“He says he’s burning up,” the man says, and Jack realizes that he must be on the phone with 911. “I don’t know. He’s been sick all week but we thought it was just a cold—“

Another pause. “His name is Jack Kelly, he’s twenty-seven years old, no allergies—not to any medication or anything else that I know of—”

Jack twitches, shakes his head and groans, because that’s not right, he’s not twenty-seven, he’s... he’s...

Fear hits like a lance to the heart because he can’t remember.

Jack pries his eyes open. There’s a man kneeling next to him: twenties, maybe, with dark hair that curls up at the ends. He’s dressed for sleep, sweatpants and a t-shirt, and around him there’s a large bed, a pair of nightstands, a dresser and an attached bathroom, but it’s all unfamiliar, and that sends another spike of panic surging through him because who the fuck is that and where the fuck is he?

“I’ve got him on his side, just in case he throws up again,” the man continues to the dispatcher. “He’s conscious, he’s talking a little. He... what?”

He nods to himself, then looks down at Jack. “Jack, do you know what day it is?”

Jack hesitates, because he’s not sure how much he should admit to. But the man’s face is painted with nothing but concern, so he rasps out, “Night time.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Thinking is difficult. Jack manages, “Your... bedroom?”

“Our bedroom,” the man corrects, but his voice breaks on the last syllable. “Jack, do you know who I am?”

Jack’s eyes slide away, the world starting to tilt around him. The man leans even closer, slapping lightly at Jack’s face—Jack flinches away.

“Jack, what’s my name?” he demands.

Jack shakes his head the barest amount. “I don’t... I don’t...”

“He doesn’t know who I am,” the man says into the phone.

There’s a long silence—the man listening intently to whatever’s being said on the other side of the line.

Jack becomes aware of his heart racing in his chest, his breaths coming out in short, ragged pants.

“Jack,” the man says, and if he’s trying to mask the terror in his voice he’s doing a shit job of it. “My name is David, I’m your husband.”

“No,” Jack chokes out. “I don’t... I’m not...”

“Breathe, Jack,” The man—David—orders. Jack automatically sucks in a long breath. “You’re sick, you’re confused, but the paramedics are on their way and everything’s going to be okay.”

Jack shakes his head. His tongue tastes like copper and pain.

“Jack, look,” David says, curling a hand into Jack’s and lifting it into Jack’s line of sight. “Look.”

Two hands, pressed together, one pale and one tan. It takes Jack a moment to figure out what he’s getting at, but then he notices them—the matching bands of gold encircling both of their ring fingers.

“What?” Jack says. “No. That’s not... You... I... What?”

“I’m your husband,” David says. “We’re married. The ambulance is coming and it’s going to be okay.”

“But I’m not married,” Jack insists, desperately confused. Because he isn’t. He isn’t. He’d know if he was, he’d know...

He doesn’t know.

“My head,” Jack mutters, the realization finally clicking into place. “I don’t remember... somethin’s wrong.”

“I know, darling,” David says. “But I’m here and I’ve got you. Help is coming.”

His brain hurts. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to think, can barely process what’s happening.

“Is there something I can do?” David asks. “Something that would help, something you could trust... Wait, we can— Don’t move.”

He lurches to his feet, darts to one of the nightstands. He comes back with a second cellphone: one of those fancy, expensive smart phones that Jack can’t afford on a freelance artist budget.

He scrolls through the contacts and dials a number. It rings and rings.

“What the fuck do you want, Kelly?” Spot grunts.

“Jack is sick,” the man says. “He’s got a fever and is really disoriented. I’ve already called an ambulance, but he doesn’t know who I am.”

“What?” Spot asks. “You— what? What?”

“I need you to tell Jack that it’s okay to trust me,” the man says, placing the phone on the floor next to Jack’s mouth.

“Jack, you good?” Spot asks, and that’s definitely Spot, a hint of worry bleeding through his usual gruffness.

“Am I married?” Jack asks, because that feels like the most important question.

“Yeah, you got married, like, five years ago,” Spot answers. “I offered to walk you down the aisle but I settled for Best Man.”

“What’s his name?” Jack asks. “My husband, or whatever—what’s his name?”

“David,” Spot answers. “His name’s David.”

“And he’s good?” Jack presses. “I love him?”

“Do you—?” Spot makes a strangled noise. “He’s the love of your fucking life.”

“Oh,” Jack says. “Oh, okay.”

And the world goes dark.

The next thing he’s aware of is the stark whiteness of the hospital ceiling, of beeping machines and an IV in his arm. There’s a man sleeping in a chair next to his bed, head burrowed in the sheets and his hand clasped in Jack’s own.

“Davey,” Jack whispers.

Davey lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion.

Jack attempts a smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Davey raises Jack’s hand to his face and presses a trembling kiss to his palm, a wave of fresh tears falling from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dave, please don’t cry,” Jack murmurs, stroking his thumb against Davey’s cheek. “‘M alright.”

“You didn’t know who I was,” Davey chokes out. “You were scared of me, and I thought...”

“C’mere,” Jack beckons, gesturing to the clear space on the mattress next to him.

Davey shuffles closer, sweeping Jack’s hair off his forehead with a tender touch.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “You’ve already woken up a few times but you didn’t seem as... with it as you do now.”

“It’s still fuzzy,” Jack admits. “But I think I’ve got all the important bits.”

“Do you remember how we met?” Davey asks.

“Remind me?” Jack says. “You always tell it better than I do, anyhow.”

“It was our junior year of high school,” Davey starts, thumb brushing over Jack’s knuckles. “We were in the same year but I had only just moved there—“

“I had Studio Art,” Jack interjects, suddenly sure of it. “And you were in the English class across the hall. I used to watch you from the window.”

Davey smiles. “Then what happened?”

And Jack tells him.

00000

@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside

Tags: @corbinthecowboy

[talesofsonicasura]

Wonderful Hunter

Chapter 1: Awakening

Life was very odd when it came to the future. Sometimes souls are brought together in the most extreme circumstances...in a bang. Warning: Description of graphic injuries and swearing! Rating Estimate: Teen

I never wanted to be a hunter. Ever since I was little, there was a desire in me to perform. Dance on the stage to my own melody, to bring awe and in wonder for others to witness. A dream that I never had a chance to grab.

To perform in little free time, what wasn't taken by vigorous unwanted training. Nearly every piece of money made to buy materials with the purpose of crafting costumes was placed for ointment to mend any injury or ailment. A toy soldier who wished to no longer have a winding key.

Who would've thought that day where the key had broken was the day I died?

"What the hell did you do?!" The soft whir of electricity echoed through the void in a massive blur of distortion. Voices clear for all to hear but so jumbled that a possible identification of even a gender was impossible. Under all that chaos was a quiet heartbeat. "The machine is overloading! Everyone evacuate immediately!"

That soft whir grew into a high pitched whine as a formed cacophony alongside the harsh thuds from thousands of stomping feet. "___?! No, come back it's too dangerous! Leave that mongrel behind!" Growls of pain and concern from some unknown animal blend together with the crackle of electricity.

An explosion of bright white and velvet purple burst throughout the void with that heartbeat going silent and a small voice hidden amongst it all. Despite the darkness filling the abyss, sensations of phantom pain, muffled voices full of concern, and hands across the skin, that one voice overrides them all.

"We had a good run, pal. Misfits always stick together, ____."

Bright red eyes opened with a harsh start, their owner fully aware of the unfamiliar dimly lit room around them. These confused ruby orbs belonged to a young man around his mid 20s, and almost nude except for the black boxer briefs. Wild cherry blossom pink hair that ends halfway down the man's back, soft peach tan skin, 6'8 tall body sculpted with lithe but powerful muscle and covered in various scars.

Some of these healed wounds were mild such as scratches, bite marks, punctures but there were extreme ones from burns whether it be acid, electric or fire, 2 in deep lacerations to even a large bite mark on the jugular of his neck. Part of the man's body such as his chest and arms were covered in fresh gauze bandages paired with a crude makeshift splint on the right arm.

Raising an eyebrow, the young man removed the bandages whilst breaking the splint with a harsh pull before he took in his surroundings. The room seemed to belong to someone with a rich background from the decor alone. Pastel blue walls lined with beautiful expertly painted portraits, furnished dark oak dressers, a large vanity, double king sized bed complete with silk sheets, pillows, and hard oak frame, large oak wardrobe and three separate doors.

If anything, this made the man feel very out of place. He did catch what looked to be a pair of clothes folded by a table near him, a note on top of the stack. The pinkette delicately got out of the large bed and walked over to the table. 'Dear guest, sorry if I had to leave you a bit underdressed but your wounds needed to be addressed. Hope these would suit you until your wounds finally finish healing. The discussion about the armor would be a later dealing. Sincerely, Maestro of Wonderworld Theatre, Balan."

The man couldn't help the snort or raised eyebrow from the rhyme scheme of the note. His caretaker had left a plain white shirt and long black pants, the material being silk from spiders by the feel of it. Placing the clothes on, he noticed it was a perfect fit suspiciously as it wasn't too tight or loose.

Upon leaving the room, the young man fully understood where he was. It seemed to be a theatre, well, if a theatre was mixed with the dimensional size of a small mansion and aesthetics of a castle. The grand small staircases, rafters above a tall ceiling, fancy torches hanging through a few corridors and the various posters of different shows being some evidence.

As the pinkette walked down the halls, he couldn't ignore the feeling that he was either being watched or led somewhere. The corridors felt wrong, almost if the walls were alive and shuffling each other. He also can't forget the sensation of invisible eyes on his lone form. Whatever the case, the sound of someone talking or to be precise, two people grew louder.

"You are not touching my guest, Lance. Even if the man is odd, I will still hold a defensive stance./ That human isn't normal. Something you would easily notice if you drop being formal. Injuries on his flesh were those that can kill any human. You aren't blind to that weapon and armor made from materials that aren't of man."

Both voices were definitely male in tone and their owners' clearly arguing. The first voice was deep and had a texture similar to smooth chocolate, a type of sweetness paired with charisma. The second voice was softer just as it was light in pitch, however there was hidden animosity to the calm yet alluring tone, a siren luring their delusional prey.

All of it was coming behind a slightly opened door, perfect to peek through or eavesdrop. Quietly the pinkette tiptoed over to the oak frame, ruby eyes looking into the room on the other side. This particular door led to what appeared to be a bar from the kegs put on the side of the bar stand and the various liquor bottles stacked on the shelves behind it.

Sitting at a table adjacent to each other were two humanoids, both being significantly different from the other. The only traits these two oddities shared were their tall 10 maybe 11 ft tall forms, peculiarly thin waists, tendril-like hair, performer attire, spindly arms and spindly legs. Other than that, they could be considered Yin and Yang or opposites.

The one on the left had soft jellyfish-like pastel green hair similar to dreadlocks, pitch black skin, a large perpetual toothy smile, and amber yellow eyes that peered through his hat. A sparkling white hat bearing a red ribbon which acted like a mask for those odd eyes, red cravat, long sleeved short white coat with gold elegant rims, a black tuxedo vest, short red cape alongside fancy white gloves, long glittering white pants that were ruby red past the thigh with gold rims on the bottom, and white pointed shoes.

His opposed companion looked more human except for some glaring details. Deathly pale skin highlight by soft dark violet, long elven ears, blue eyes bearing slit pupils that dwelled in yellow iris, sharp clawed fingers, and long black tendrils with elegant markings in various colors such as green, pink, blue and yellow that sprung from the man's back but was also his hair.

A pitch black bodysuit with gold rims, torn long sleeved short violet cloak bearing elegant gold embroidery for a top, white mask shaped pauldrons on his bony hips and gold toed shoes made for nasty kicks. Wine glasses sat between these two eldritch like entities.

"Dragging others into darkness might be your role, but this one isn't taking a more grizzly toll. He is also greatly injured and like you said could've been dead if I didn't help instead." Spoke the top hatted male, that deep velvet voice belonging to him. It also meant that the darker counterpart had to be Lance from what the pinkette heard outside.

The young man scanned the room, ruby eyes looking for anything familiar to him. His focus immediately sharpened on the glint of darkish violet poking from a large wooden crate, belonging stripped off the pinkette. Carefully and quietly, the man opened the door then slipped inside.

He stuck close to the floor and moved about as the two slender giants were focused on their conversation. It was almost comical how the young man traveled on his hands and feet like a predatory cat, stealthily approaching the target without a sound.

The pinkette was about to reach for the box when the unexpected happened. The door he went through had slammed itself shut with a loud thud, both giants immediately pulled out of their conversation and watched as the chairs parted away from each other. An act that put the stunned human on full display, a deer in the headlights or hand in the cookie jar situation.

No one moved as it was a silent staredown, neither were expecting the chairs or door to come to life like that. It was the man who immediately broke out of his stupor first, the pinkette sidekicking the crate. The box shook as an object was flung out of it by the harsh force, a gun.

It was a double barrel shotgun that was an inky sinister violet in color, the barrels were that same violet but lightened to a red color by the end, the handle of the gun mimicked a dark violet scabbard bearing tannish gold spiral patterns on the side, bone like caparace similar to a segmented blade lined the bottom of the gun barrel and held the trigger within a bone like cage.

With very fluid movements, the pinkette grabbed the descending gun from the air by the handle and spun it until he was holding the trigger whilst the barrel was aimed at the two taller entities. Sapphire and amber could see the subtle cautious fear hidden in those steeled ruby orbs.

"Who the hell are you? And where am I?" The pinkette's voice was slightly rugged, fire within the husky baritone, and a bit of a growl in the pitch. You could hear how deadly serious the human male was at the moment from his voice alone. Lance and his unnamed companion carefully put their hands in the air, sudden movements would only spook the pinkette further.

"There is nothing to fear, you are completely safe here! Please put the gun down, such an item used in a theatre is a huge frown!" Even that giant smile remained despite the slight twitches that showed the top hatted male's nervousness, well, that plus the beads of sweat and now dot sized pupils.

Lance merely raised an eyebrow at the weapon. "You do know it is rude to destroy those bandages you were given? Balan had some difficulty but his will to help you was focused and driven." Those words made the pinkette lower his weapon but not drop it.

He contemplated the words then thought back to the note. Whatever conclusion that came to mind was enough for the smaller man to put the gun down on the table, something that eased the room's occupants. "That means you're Balan? Fucking hell. What the hell happened to me?" The pinkette questioned as he went to sit on the floor only for a chair to move in place instead.

An action that made the human jump back in shock, nearly kicking the chair. "Bloody hell! My day has already been Congalala shit so I really don't need all these magical shenanigans! Please tell me you have some liquor to spare." Balan and Lance could only look at each other completely aware of a very odd explanation.

Not even 5 minutes later, the pink haired man had down half a bottle of wine as he now sat with the taller odd men in the room. Massaging his head, the mortal man finally spoke up. "So I am in a magical sentient theatre that serves as a gateway to someone's heart. You two, mainly Balan, are tasked to use that magic to bring balance to anyone whose heart is out of place upon entering. Nearly godlike beings who performed this task for over 3000 years?"

The top hatted Maestro nodded his head in agreement while Lance took another swig of his wine glass. Both of them ignored the pinkette swearing under his breath, the guy was having a bad day so it was normal. Although none of them could deny that this particular person was anything normal at all.

"Alright. My name is Val'tah, Val'tah Choso and I'm a Monster Hunter." Val'tah quickly raised his hand up before Balan and Lance almost immediately shot out of their seats. "Whoa! Not that kind of hunter for Namielle's sake so don't have your knickers in a bunch. Do any of you have a pen and paper?"

Magically upon request, the mint green haired performer took out a pen and notepad from behind his cravat. Rolling his eyes, the hunter took the items and began to draw something on the paper. Val'tah then placed it on the table for both Maestros to see.

It was a sketch of what looked like a dragon made completely from stone. Stony humps that grew bits of moss protruding from the back, a tail that looked like large pebbles strung together, even flat wings to a wide meteor shaped body and narrowed rhinoceros-like face. "That is a Basarios, a Monster or species of monster."

Lance and Balan looked at the picture with curiosity. It definitely explained why the man had that sort of weapon or armor. "Hunters are sort of like mercenary peacekeepers. Whenever a monster starts a huge ruckus or someone has a job in monster infested territory, we get called to do it."

Taking a swig from the wine bottle, much to Balan's distaste, Val'tah continued. "We don't have to slay targets such as the Basarios if we want to. A Hunter has permission to capture and relocate any large monster to a better habitat, something that I usually do. Where I'm from, it's our duty to keep the balance of not only the ecosystem but between human and monster kind."

A hum of acknowledgment rumbled from Lance's throat, it was almost comical in a sense. Normal hunters have various goals in mind when it comes to hunting: glory or survival. This was the first time hearing about ones who bring balance amongst more dangerous fauna and humans. How very ironic.

"Very interesting, to imagine there is a world beyond the realm of our understanding. There is still a question, how did you end up in our sacred bastion?" Balan's question rang through Val'tah's head alongside a bit of pain. Memories flashing through the pinkette's mind as a look of solemn horror crossed his face.

"I'm remembering it now. I was assigned to an expedition to investigate some odd ruins located near Wyvern's End, a den of a very dangerous monster. Those ruins were actually a machine that accidentally turned on and… I think I was caught in an explosion. Dear Namielle, I think I died."

Silence washed over the room, it was so deafening that a pin drop could be considered a bomb going off. Balan's perpetual smile dropped into a neutral frown, horror crossing his eyes upon the hunter's visage earlier. Severe burns on the unprotected skin and his arm in a very unnatural angle...Wait.

Any other chance to say anything was stopped when a look of abstract terror and grief burned within Val'tah's eyes. "No…! Buena was with me. She must have got caught in the blast too! Where's Buena?!" The pinkette shot out of his chair, the piece of furniture hitting the floor with a loud thud.

Neither Lance or Balan could grab the hunter before he ran for the door, the hard oak opening into a gray expanse of rocky terrain than the actual hallway. Not that the change deterred the hunter as Val'tah ran in but surely took the two Maestros by surprise.

"The theatre opened its doors to a new world never seen before! Could this be the hunter's trauma born from his core or is it something more?" Balan was quick to pick out the growing intrigue within his darker counterpart's words. There was more going on with Val'tah but they couldn't figure it out without finding the man.

Both Maestros quickly ran through those doors to catch up with the hunter and his questionable head start. It appeared that the gray expanse was actually the part of a larger mountain, a steppe to be more accurate. Thick deciduous forests could be made out past some of the gray rocky cliffs other than the one the door led them there, vast yellow fields of grass and very rough uneven terrain laid alongside unknown fauna than just plants.

Or the terrifying large nest made from various sticks, broken logs, ivy, bones of different creatures; humans included, and large egg shell remains of whatever species made it. The only indication that this world was made by Val'tah's heart were the small floating islands and giant airborne accessories or props.

Ribbons woven through part of the forest, a showman's cane that hung by the cliff leading down to the grassy plain, masks hanging across the stone walls, and instruments disguised as plants or rocks playing beautiful music bearing a tribal origin by the beating drums, whistling flutes and sitar strings being strung.

"How very odd and peculiar. This place must be spawned from a memory very familiar. It will be harder to avoid any wrong, when the aura of this world is heavily strong." Balan spoke wearily, a feeling that they were being watched prickle the fuzz on his skin. There was also the strong sensation about splitting up being a very bad idea.

Using the cane to slide down to the forest below helped give both theatre dwellers a quick glimpse of the surrounding areas before they hit the ground. For a split second, Lance swore he saw something large moved through the trees. Whatever it was, it was too big to be Val'tah or any of his familiars.

Both Maestros landed on a reddish clay ridge, small ledges to an almost natural stone bridge connected the large ditch at the center, a small stream of water passing down the middle, various large mushrooms and beehives leaking honey from multiple branches. Or that they weren't exactly alone.

Grazing about the area were deer, their pelts were a dark green speckled by white dots that overlapped a soft peach underbelly, large grayish silver antlers for the males whilst the females had short black horns and azure eyes that stared at the duo. Some of the deer continued to munch on the flora while the others kept a wary gaze on Balan and Lance.

"Definitely inhabitants of Wonderworld but not quite. I think these deer were crafted by Val'tah's memories that hold powerful might." If these animals shared similar traits to their earthly counterparts, the Dark Maestro knew they were relatively harmless unless provoked.

Another thought then immediately crossed Balan's mind. "If these creatures are here, then we might have more to fear. These deer are prey…" Suddenly the various green pelted beasts rose their heads up, ears twitching as if they caught something the other two hadn't.

"Wouldn't a predator cause dismay?" The top hat wearing man really didn't like where things were going as the large herd began to scatter immediately when the sound of heavy thuds could be heard. One deer was running for the bridge, the thuds stopped and both Maestros only had time to blink when something large and purple snatched the scared fawn off the stone ground.

"Holy shit." Balan would've scolded Lance for foul language if they didn't have a bigger problem on their hands. The body of the snatched deer hung limply from the jaws of a giant purple monster. A 69 ft hulking dark violet draconic tiger, its body mostly covered in violet and yellow edged plates of caparace like armor bearing a ruby red underbelly, a short tigerine snout that held large sharp teeth and two large tusks at the ends of the mouth, giant jagged yellow horns that mimicked those on the helms of samurai which also covered long thin ears or the burning azure eyes.

Both front and back legs held four digit paws carrying razor sharp claws or what looked to be long yellow spikes on the forelegs, and the large reptilian tail that ended with a three pointed Spade spear. Balan and Lance watch the deer disappear into the beast's mouth, minced to pieces down its gullet and the feline smiled with blood tinted fangs.

Or that the draconic tiger let out a threatening roar right at the duo as bright blue fire burst from the edges of its mouth like a miasma. They barely had the chance to jump out of the way when the giant beast bounced at the two, sharp claws shredding through the dirt as if it were paper.

"This is a beast we'll have to fight or neither of us will come out alright!" Violence wasn't something Balan often indulged in but he knew there were times that he had no choice. Facing his hands forth, small spheres of yellow energy manifested on the maestro's fingertips before tossing them in the form of arrows.

With a wag of its tail, the draconic tiger brought forth burning blue will o' wisps and launched it back with a tail swipe. Both volleys of energy exploded into fireworks of their respective color, the armored beast leaping through the smoke with claws alight in blue fire.

Lance quickly dove under the beast while Balan flew over to the left side, the Dark Maestro flared out the tendrils on his back then slammed into the beast's unprotected belly alongside a vicious uppercut. The violet tiger felt the pain but took the opportunity to release a thin burst of glittering blue powder from its body before being launched into the air by Lance's attack.

Whatever the blue powder was irritated the raven haired male, the sensation being a mixture of itchy powder and bubbling hot grease. "Lance, look out!" Balan's shout made him look up at the airborne beast, the spade of its tail had opened into a trident as it swung the limb through the air.

The momentum being enough to correct the beast's position and trajectory so it could dive-bomb the Dark Maestro like a burning blue meteor. Neither of them expected for that particular powder to ignite upon contact as Balan watched his dark counterpart get flying by an azure explosion from his own body.

Creating a larger blast of yellow energy, the hat wearing man threw it at the violet tiger before heading over to his fallen ally. It let out a howl of annoyance upon the projectiles not only striking it's face but burst into a thick mustard smokescreen that made the feline gag.

Lance laid slanted by the tree he had hit, burn marks sprinkled over parts of his skin and clothing was singed too. "You okay, Lance?! This beast has more frightening power than just a ferocious stance!" Balan spoke, carefully helping his counterpart off the ground.

The movement made the elven male let out a mild hiss before shaking the greenette's hand off him. "As much as I like seeing you frown, this beast needs to be taken down. Balan, watch out for any powder from the skin of the hide, you'll lose more than just your pride."

Sharp claws of the draconic tiger swept away the hatted maestro's smokescreen. Bright blue fire burning burst the open jaws, the feline was absolutely pissed as even more azure fire spewed from the legs and tail or that the yellow ridges on the back and forelegs were now giant blades. It let out a furious roar forcing Balan and Lance to prepare for another attack.

That was until the entire world became silent, all of the instruments had oddly stopped playing. It was quiet until the sound of shamisen strings being plucked filled the still air with an orchestra of intimidating brass to follow in its wake. Sinister sounding melodies of violins and shinobue flutes were met with someone walking out from the brush.

It was Val'tah, a violet mask resembling the tiger donned on his face alongside dark violet coat with golden fur sleeves, dark violet hakama trousers decorated in elegant gold patterns reminiscent of fire and swords, two fake tails similar to the violet beast sewn on the back and without any shoes, only barefooted.

Balan and Lance stood speechless as the pinkette did something neither of them expected. The hunter had begun to dance in a style similar to those done by kabuki actors. His arms glided through the air, bits of glittering violet powder produced from the sleeves creating streaks in the air with an appearance mimicking purple misty fire.

Val'tah stomped his foot to the ground to spread out the mist like powder around him, the man spun into a short pirouette so he could stop in the Dragon Stance found in martial arts. It was like the hunter was manipulating magic to flow with his elegant and entrancing dance.

The sinister orchestra went perfectly with Val'tah's movements. Beating of hand drums, male chants with an ominous tone, shinobue flutes paired alongside the plucks of the shamisen and strung chords of the violin told a story on its own. A ritual performance of omens and cautionary tribulations.

Balan and Lance couldn't look away, neither could the beast who appeared to be calming down. The long yellow caparace blades lower themselves back into thin ridges, the trident tip of the tail collapses into its spade form and the eerie blue fire burning around the beast sputters out. Bright blue in its eyes dimming into a soft mellow teal.

Val'tah spun on the ball of his feet before transitioning into an aerial kick. The pinkette then used the momentum of the kick to position himself so he could bring down his arm in for a slash. He landed on the ground in a predatory stance, nails of his right hand dug into the soil, feet spread apart with knees bent for a crouch, left arm held out behind the man and the tiger mask facing the spectators.

The hunter then twirled himself into a backflip, all for the purpose of landing on his feet with his arms held and hands pressed together while the fingers were positioned to mimic fangs. Val'tah pulled his arms apart and let out a loud beastly roar with the final loud beats of the drum, the draconic tiger letting out its own roar in unison.

The pinkette took off his mask once the music returned to its more peaceful counterpart. "Glad I made it in time or Buena would've torn you to pieces. Luckily the Sonata of Omens can be played here or I would've been forced to do an acapella." Balan nearly choked upon the words Val'tah just said.

The giant hellish tiger that spews blue explosive fire was the hunter's friend?! Something Lance couldn't help but state the inquiry out loud. "You telling us the beast that nearly had us ravaged, is your companion that you ran off to scavenged?!"

Val'tah sheepishly scratched his head and let out a soft chuckle. The beast or Buena groomed their paws as if nothing happened. "She is a Magnamalo and they tend to be... tenacious predators. Buena is unique since she's friendlier than the regular 'malo, at least to me and any friend of mine."

Balan had a feeling there was more to this odd bond than just a story but… "At least your missing friend has been found, even if she treated us like a steak for a pound. Best to return back to the theatre, Lance got burnt bruises that need gauze by the meter." The top hatted Maestro then clapped his hands together as a giant door formed behind him.

It was big enough for the large Magnamalo to go through without any hindrance. Val'tah had a feeling there was going to be more magical convenience when it came to this odd theatre than just the taller duo living inside and a magical replica of the ritual clothing for the Sonata of Omens. Something to think about when he tries to figure out their situation.

And that's it! Yes this is a crossover between Balan Wonderworld and Monster Hunter but also my first Balan fic too! If you guys don't know, Balan Wonderworld is one of the games I've recently got and wholeheartedly. Sure it had problems but it was a delightful experience throughout my entire playthrough.

If you do decide to get the game, wait until it goes on sale. The full price isn't really suited considering the huge controversy involving it's development.

Our two star characters of this fic are an unlikely pair.

'The Hunter Who Wished To Dance' and owner of the mysterious 13th Door in Wonderworld: Val'tah Choso. A Monster Hunter who strived to become a performer but forsaken the goal partly for his ward, Buena.

Buena is a subspecies of Magnamalo called Will-O-Wisp Magnamalo. They expel blue fire often mistaken for spirit orbs and can engulf their body in an armor of azure fire for offensive defense. Only the Sonata of Omens, a mysterious ritualistic dance can calm a rampaging Magnamalo.

Until next time folks! I'll see you back in Wonderworld.