#and this was a means they had to keep their visage around at least

[zanmor]

Skull portraiture is amazing and it's a real shame that hasn't stuck around as a wide cultural practice.

Check out this amazing art from 9000 years ago:

More than 4000 years before the dynasties of Egypt, people were treating the dead in truly reverent and beautiful ways. It leaves me with little wonder that so many religious beliefs professed life's creation from clay. A skilled neolithic artist could keep a loved one with them for years after death by use of clay.

Would that your face looked that good 9000 years after death.

[auragasmics]

HE LOVES IT WHEN I...

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! sugar daddies have a sweet tooth for all their sugar babies. but for you, these rich dilfs are ready to spoil you rotten for all your cute quirks!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ pairings! sugar daddy bokuto koutarou, ushijima waktoshi, and akaashi keiji x fem! reader

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ cw! 1.7k, drabble + headcannon format, age gap (hq men are early 40s, reader is late 20s), car sex, oral ( m -> f), daddy kink, backshots, fingering, mirror sex, teasing, slight degrading, use of petnames

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! sigh...i love bokuto sm! he can eat me 25/8. ushi can too!

pt.1

Sugardaddy!Bokuto loves it when you say thank you.

It turns him on to unbelievable lengths. It follows the same old routine, one he doesn’t plan to change anytime soon. Each time you accepted yet another bag filled with your latest hauls, you turned to the doting man, his hand eagerly waiting to catch your own. 

With a faint smile present on your lips, the soft coos of your voice rose to Bokuto’s ear, coaxing for his copal hues to widen. The pair of words were simple mannerisms, instilled from a young age for all. But whenever it rolled off your tongue, the porcelain shades of Bokuto’s skin couldn’t hold back the innocent hues of red from surfacing. 

All he needed to hear was your pretty mouth say it one more time that day, just once more. 

“Aht, don’t push my head away. That’s just mean,” Bokuto pouted, the pads of his fingers digging into the limp plush of your calves. He’s got all his weigh on you, pushing you down onto the backseat of his car. You winced mindlessly, your hazy eyes flickering among the space Bokuto occupied between your legs. Your fingers lazily carded through his locks, strength dwindling by the second.

 “B-Bo…I can’t take anymore,” you slurred, resting your head along the sleek platinum headboard. You couldn’t begin to comprehend what snapped inside Bokuto, his insistence leading to you gasping for a lick of air. He didn’t give you time to slip from the citrine dress you wore, only to be bunched around your bucking hips. 

“‘M so sorry, Princess. You just looked so good today, I wanted a piece of you,” he mumbled incoherently, his busy lips latching onto the twitching bud of your clit. He's relentless, working the slicked muscles to paint sticky strokes along the bud.  

He’d been tucked away in his own heaven, relishing in every drop of your essence that spilled into his mouth. He pulled at least three orgasms from you this way, each one slower than the last. 

“Wait–I can’t cum again, Bokuto please!” you sobbed, your back forcing out a harsh arch. You frantically nudged yourself deeper into Bokuto’s hold, your hips swiping at whatever could be caught. 

Sharing in your urgency, Bokuto kept his tongue pressed into your folds, the voids of his eyes taking in the sight before him. He always did love when you chased after your own high, using him however you saw fit. 

He pulled his hindering grip from your legs, allowing for your thighs to smother him in a swift close. Not another syllable had to be uttered as you approached your high, both hands grasping handfuls of Bokuto’s hair. 

A bubbling fit of words fled from your lips, Bokuto giggling at the view. He drew himself from your cunt, placing a final kiss onto the exposed bundle of nerves. He rested back onto his haunches, keeping his hunkering figure hovered above your own. 

As he swiped the pad of his thumb along the spit-ridden mess of your lips, he whispered to your dazed visage gently. “Be nice and use your words. Now, what do you say fr’ me, Baby?”

Through your heavy lashes, you mustered the bits of energy to respond, granting a satisfied smirk to creep onto Bokuto’s face.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Sugardaddy!Ushijima loves it when you spend his money.

God, does he love it? The swipes of his card, the sifting through the thick bills tucked away in his wallet, Ushijima was addicted to it all. He didn’t even have to say a word, your hand already reaching for whatever mode of payment he had for the day. 

You weren’t aware of it, but there was a special glint that illuminated the olive hues of his eyes. Maybe it was how you twirled the thin sheet of plastic between your fingers, whistling some tune to pass the moments of processing. 

He was obsessed with the fact that every heel beneath the soles of your feet, every ring that hugged your finger, and every dress that clung to your body was all his doing, all stemming from the fruits of his labor. 

When that gratifying giggle rang from your throat, it was enough to fuel a flame within Ushijima’s belly—something he knew would be extinguished soon.

“I can’t hear you, Sweetheart,” Ushijima groaned, his hand prying from your stuttering hips. You lifted your head from the tear-stained pillow, pulling the swell of your lip through your teeth. “It’s so fucking good, Toshi! I w-want more,” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

Ushijima returned to the sight laid before him, the plump curves of your ass pressed against his tensed abdomen. Tracing down the arch of your spine, he was met with the glassy voids of your lidded eyes, spools of drool decorating your lips. 

Taking a provoking turn, he drew his hips from their post, dragging his length from your walls. He chuckled at the sound of your cries, the sadist whims surfacing to the forefront of Ushijima’s mind.

“C’mon Baby, you gotta work for all those bags you got today,” he surmised, landing a playful smack on your ass. The mewling whimpers from your lungs came to a sudden halt once you noticed what Ushijima held in the palm of his hand.

The hefty stack of blue bills sat snug in his hand, waving them to your gawking glance. “If you can make me cum just like this, I’ll add everything in my hand to your allowance,” Ushijima wagered snarkily. “Deal?”

With a sheepish nod, you agreed to take on Ushijima’s bet, planting your weakened knees into the mattress. A heavy breath brewed inside your lungs, acting as encouragement for your newly placed endeavors. Ushijima knew all too well how big he was, considering he was always so insistent on taking charge. 

Yet watching his pretty girl struggle to take him was just one of his favorite pastimes as of late.

With the single dive of your hips, your walls enveloped Ushijima’s cock in the viscid warmth once more. A stout arch coaxed itself into your spine as a keening sob sang from your lips. An overwhelming euphoria was placed upon your weary body, stemming from fullness residing within your cunt. Your digits dug into the cotton plush of the pillow, barely grounding your mind.

“Fuck–you must really want it, don’t you Baby?” Ushijima chuckled raggedly, the faint patterns of stars clouding his vision. He hadn’t anticipated your eagerness, the swift drops of your hips resting against his flexed abdomen. He felt everything, every twitch of your walls, every roll of your hips, even every kiss the head of his cock pressed into your cervix. 

The explicit clash of skin began the soft comforting tunes to Ushijima’s ears, hiding his blissful whimpers behind the music. His eyes were trained to the unfolding scene, from tracing the slick sheen of sweat dusting the curve of your back to catching each wave that passed through the supple skin of your ass. Reminding of something that of a fever dream, Ushijima melded into the amorous aura, quickly forgetting the bet he’d made with you. 

Giving in to his fading sense of self, Ushijima drizzled the stack of bills along your body, each one drifting to cover the sheets beneath you both. With his hand now free, Ushijima reached out to you, cupping your chin as he presented you with a single rhetorical question. 

“Who’s my rich little slut?”

Sugardaddy! Akaashi loves it when you flaunt your new clothes.

He finds it to be the highlight of his day. It’s even become his sense of downtime from the frantic day, hopping from shop to shop all across the city. He’ll sit in his favorite leather armchair with a cup of the richest brandy in hand, watching your giddy reflection paraded about through the mirror. 

“Don’t you look pretty? Told you this color suits you best, Sweetheart,” Akaashi cooed, his chin nuzzled within the crook of your neck. You couldn’t bother to respond to his compliment, not with his thick digits drawing relaxed circles along the supple bud of your clit. You clawed at his forearm in protest, the silk fabric of his dress shirt catching each scratch of your nails.

Perched atop his lap, Akaashi kept your thighs parted for his entertainment, his eyes pinned to the mirror’s reflection. He admired it all, the staggering rises and falls of your chest, your trembling lips, and the spilling streams of spit lining your chin. He only wished you could revel in the same vision he bore witness to. 

At his tender handling, your body melted into Akaashi’s hold. From the frantic beats of your heart, the nerves beneath your skin prickling with need, and the hot pants warming the air, it was all for him. Your back arched against his chest, squirming amidst the mind-numbing solace Akaashi delivered. 

“Look at that, making such a mess on my fingers,” he hummed, the tips of his digits ghosting the fluttering slit of your cunt. He allowed for a single finger to graze past your entrance, the lewd squelching spurring you on. “P-Please Keiji…don’t tease me like that. Just–” you sobbed, your hips bucking to meet his fleeting touch. 

“Sorry, baby. Not until you tell me how pretty you are,” he whispered, painting your limped jaw with lingering pecks. Drifting down to the pulse of your throat, Akaashi nipped at the skin, leaving the slightest hints of marks in his stead. 

His calming tone flew to your ear, earning your hazed attention. “Look in the mirror and repeat after me,” he instructed softly. You nodded concurringly, the lids of your eyes prying from their screwed hold. 

You were met with Akaashi’s narrowed glare, the darkened hues of his eyes pinned on you. Embarrassment rang through you, eyes glazing over your pitiful state. What caught your immediate attention was the ruby dress he’d just purchased sitting around your waist. 

Not to mention the pornographic sight of your cunt on full display for him, inducing for a merciful whimper to creep out your lungs. 

Yet for Akaashi, his own concern was hearing that voice of your repeat every word that soon left from his mouth. ��I’m Akaashi’s…” he began, waiting for your frail reply.

“I’m Akaashi’s…” you uttered shyly, the inescapable heat swarming beneath your cheeks. He noticed your resistance, matching it with lingering swipes of his digits between your glossed folds. 

“Pretty Girl. I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” he compiled together, shifting back into his seat patiently. You swallowed the lump sitting in your throat, bundling the bits of energy to comply with his wishes. 

“I-I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” you whimpered out at last, granting a smile to spread along his lips.

“That’s my good girl. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

[straightouttherosebush]

♡Licking Love off of Knives♡

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Vil Schoenheit, Jamil Viper, Idia Shroud

Synopsis: These guys seem likely to degrade their partner, but how would they do it?

Content Warning: AFAB/Female! Reader, "Queen" used as gender neutral, NSFW themes (Degradation (verbal, sexual, physical), rough sex, vaginal sex, foot play (not necessarily fetish? Like, Vil uses kissing his boots to humiliate reader, idk you decide), bondage (shibari pretty much), oral (male anatomy), I must add that all characters are written to be 18 or over and that all of the actions happening here are consensual and any BDSM should be practiced with someone you 100% trust and have set boundaries with :D)

♡ Leona seems like the most likely to degrade his partner. Gloved fingers in your mouth or around your neck, squeezing, his mostly clothed body flush against your naked one. Bullying his cock into you while growling in your ear that you're a stupid slut good for nothing but taking his dick, if even that. Don't try to pull away because you're scared of the pain, either. You're fucking lucky, you should be grateful to be hooking up with a prince, of all things. He'll hold you in place and you'll be able to feel his long nails through his gloves as he tries to work himself inside your tight hole. Where the fuck do you think you're going, you pathetic whore? You wanted this. You had the audacity to tease him, after all. Little human cunt unable to handle beastman cock, crying like a little bitch and grunting from the pain of him stretching you out. He thought you were tougher than that! Where is that spunk? All growl and no bite, herbivore?

♡ You aren't getting what you want until Vil's whims are satisfied. This was your first time with him, but he realized that with every insult, you'd get a little... worked up. At least, as far as he could tell. Why else do you flush when he's harsh with you during dance practice? Why else do you clench your legs together as he dissects everything you did wrong and bluntly relays it to you? His mean words are divine, not even vulgar, and mixed with his voice? You are simply obliged to obey. He had his chin tucked into his collar as he looked down on you. His elegant legs were crossed and his eyes glared daggers into yours. Is it so hard to do? Did he expect too much of you? He must have if you are so incompetent as to not know how to properly pose. All he wants you to do is nuzzle up to the foot of his thigh-high boot and kiss it. That's all. He just wants you to worship him and keep a memento of your grovelling, but if you can't do that, maybe you don't deserve his long fingers inside you, hitting that spot inside of you just right as they curl. The moment you lay a kiss onto the toe cap and start kissing your way up the latex to his thigh, he starts smirking. His eyes, sharp as ever, coldly taking in your pathetic visage. As you make your way up to his thigh, your eyes plead with him as you let out a hushed "please, my Queen." He looks at you with squinted eyes and a wry smile, and scoffs. He didn't get that on camera, so let's try that again. For the millionth time. He doesn't think he stuttered, either. Get back down there.

♡ You've been tied up in Jamil's room for 30 minutes now. Masterfully tied red ropes adorned your body as you lay on his bed, legs forced open and arms tied behind your back. He was trying to work, and you were all over him constantly. And since you can't manage yourself around him, this is your punishment. Tut, tut, it's only been thirty minutes. Can't handle that much? Too bad. He still had studying to do and other duties to attend to even after that, so you had better get a grip on yourself quick, lest you be stuck there until Jamil turns in for the night. While he is able to remain focused, he will rarely glance over and flash a conceited smirk at you. Hearing you whimper and beg every so often was music to his ears, but he can't have that impeding him either. Your incessant whining is also now becoming a distraction. He suggests you cease it before he gags you. And that he does. With your own wet panties. Scarlet, just for him. Can you taste yourself? See how desperate and stupid you are for him? How absolutely cockdrunk you are and he hasn't even let you have it in weeks? So weak willed... and only for him, right? Come on, admit it. This is the only time he wants you to open your whore mouth. Oh wait! You can't! Oh well. But then he hears a few knocks on his door. Thankfully, he locked it, and you're so lucky he did. What's that? Kalim is asking for Jamil to start on dinner and wants you to dine with them? Ugh, fine. He supposes he can untie you and let you partake in the privilege of dining with the rest of the dorm at his side. But he does not forget, nor does he easily forgive.

Idia isn't typically the meanest, usually he's too meek to be so cruel. Especially not to his doting partner, may the Seven forbid it. However, right now? He's in a game lobby talking about your lackluster "under-the-desk" support. Ever since he caught onto you liking his more arrogant, mean side, he has been using it like crazy. The more he insults the use of your teeth, the more sopping wet you become. You cost his team a game because he was carrying and had to stop you from biting down on him. Way to go, jackass. You better not be touching yourself either, you don't deserve that. The fact that you can hardly see his face from under the desk works wonders for his confidence. He could never say these things to your face. Sure, to any of the normies outside, he probably could. He'd backtrack, but he could still say it at first. But when he's locked in, he's locked the fuck IN. The tips of his hair were still flickering pink, but his voice sounded rougher and a bit angrier than usual. Usually, loser virgin Idia would be shooting blanks by now. God can't you do your job right? You're not even playing, you have one job, and He's nowhere close to finishing. He doesn't care if your jaw hurts, he can't just reach down there, grab your hair, and fuck your face in the middle of a match. Can't. Love to, but can't.

Hello once again!!! I've had these headcanons for a bit so I worked them into little scenarios and I hope you guys enjoyed them! I put actual research into this chapter because as much as I am a degradee, I kinda felt like I was missing something. :>

I really don't know what came over me while writing Vil's part, I blacked tf OUT. I was thinking about the vampire Vil design while writing it because great GOOGLY MOOGLY, y'know?

I MIGHT also do a post on the characters I think would praise/worship their partners. Idk, heavy might.

Bye bye little shrimpies! ROSEY ♡

♡MASTERLIST HERE♡

Ⓒ Written by Rosey, please do not copy/repost/translate.♡

[fridgemissionmaster]

The demon couldn’t help wringing his hands, oh so tempted to rip that glove off. He sighed marching through those empty halls, the tapping of his footfalls drowned out by the echoing, pounding rain who’s sound came pouring though the windows and open archways.

… This was ridiculous, he should turn on heel and go right back. He didn’t need to go home, but his presents would only hinder and distract at this point, everyone else had already decided to wrap up soon anyway. At least he was able to keep the notes to go over later.

Honestly what was wrong with him. Questioning his own decisions and being stubborn about this. This was…

What?

Who was that assaulting the halls of Diavolo’s academy!?

At the end of the hall under that grand entrance was a familiar figure. But it couldn’t be. Surely you, of all people, with your boisterous entourage wouldn’t be left here in this weather. It had to have been someone else.

Yet as he approached your visage only became more and more clear. You, standing there, lightly bonking your forehead against the stone frame.

Well… though odd you weren’t actually doing any sort of dam..age…

…

“Do you not have an umbrella?”

The human flinched looking over their shoulder. Did you not notice his approach? Did you just feel that safe here or were you that air headed to not be alert of your surrounding!?

“As of this afternoon, no! Not unless you count scrap metal I guess!” You heaved a sigh, turning to the man, a bruise forming where you kept meeting the stone.

“And none of those brothers are taking you back? Classes have long since ended!”

“tch.”

“Honestly! What is with that lot! They drone on and on of their love for you yet abandon you here? Are you kidding me!? Even if not you’re still their charge, it’s their job to care for you, not leave you out in the cold! How did you come to be under their care, they can barely keep themselves presentable let alone tend to another life!”

“OH, will you just shut up, yes they suck but they didn’t mean for THIS! Even if they did cause it!”

YOU raised your voice, at him. Mephisto couldn’t tear his gaze away as you paced around, beginning to wave your hands with such force a soft whooshing sound he could pick up as you cut the air.

“I could be home by now, NNNOOOOOO, Lucifer apparently can’t be a decent dog owner and not let Cerberus use whatever the pup can find as a chew toy, and of course he came in all like ‘oh guess we’ll just have to share, here stand closer’ and everyone gets into a fight over who I should share and umbrella with cause nobody could just, oh, I don’t know, just let me run through the rain for a few minuets to get to the market for a new one! And of course the old one I found in the closet Asmo had to mess up a spell in class and TURN IT INTO AN ANGRY GUITAR! Then obviously everyone had to be busy and needed to leave early. I just wanted to study some! Is that so wrong! And Mammon said we’d go home together but Lucifer just HAD to find out about Mammon holding a betting pool on the tournament and decided that OH OF COURSE IN THE MIDDLE OF CLASS I HAVE TO DRAG HIM BACK HOME AND STRING HIM UP TO THE CEILING BECAUSE APPEARENTLY I CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN WHAT WOULD BE THE BEST WAY TO GET ON EVERYONE’S NERVES TODAY! Oh, yeah, and guess what!? I can’t even call anybody cause Levi broke my phone! You know what it’s like to wake up DROWNING in the middle of the night, and all your stuff getting flooded! NOT! FUCKING FU-”

“MC!”

THWACK

He wasn’t fast enough.

You froze the moment your hand crashed into the wall, your fingers crumpling under the force.

In stiff jolty movements you slowly removed your hand from the wall.

“Here, let me-” The moment he took your hand you ripped it away.

“I’m Fine. I’m fine.” With a heavy huff you practically fell back against the archway, holding your wrist, your hand slowly stretching out of it’s awkward positioning, looking to the floor.

…

He looked out to the front gate, a chilling breeze rolling past. A step toward the precipitation, with a pop his umbrella came open.

“Mephistopheles, wait.”

He looked to you with a raised bow. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“Come along, it wouldn’t due for Diavolo’s guest to be left out here like this.” He tilted the umbrella your way.

It seemed your mind was running slow, just… staring at him for a moment before realizing what he was offering and scrambling to his side. “Uh- thank you!”

The pair of you walked in silence. He made sure to keep you covered, admittedly he felt a twinge of nerves, he knew the Devildom and human world shared rain but he knew there were different types and if the one today could harm you.

Those colorful lights danced and rippled across the ground, reflecting off the saturated world. It was not often he had the chance to just walk around like this. There was always so much to do, so much to research, so much to find, he always was doing something. Yet all he had to do for the moment was just… well, walk.

… Maybe it was due time to add a photography section to the paper. Students could submit entries, it could be another method to build more community in school, giving students a-

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“Huh? What are you talking about, you’re sounding like an angel. Is this some human nonsense.”

“What? No! I got mad at you, and had nothing to do with… ANY of that. I shouldn’t-… I don’t like that I lashed out at you.”

“… Wait, are you apologizing for indulging in your emotions?” You looked to him baffled, and likely you were greeted to a similar sight from him in that moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “You really are talking like an angel, repressing emotions and being ashamed of expressing them.”

“Hold on, I never said that! Look, just… know I’m not upset at you. I’m just upset you took the brunt of that.”

“Oh…” He shifted his gaze to the road ahead. It was difficult to look you in the eye for too long, they were too… too much swirled inside them, even he could get lost there. “You made it abundantly clear it was nothing on my part.”

“Still…”

Quietly the pair of you murmured amongst yourselves as you went along, drinking in the sights. It was a slow stroll back to the House of Lamentation, neither of you were in any particular rush to get there. On occasion you would point to a different path, saying there was less foot traffic. Did you really think he, of all people, the guy some people accused of being everywhere at once, wouldn’t know better? He didn’t mind though, you needed a break, and he admittedly was enjoying getting to just take a moment in the rain, it had been far too long since he last took a break himself.

Your pace slowed as you inevitably inched closer to the house, the rain the only thing separating you from those last few steps before the door.

“… Hey, thanks for being here.” You turned around to him, your back to the door. Though the porch was right behind you, you still huddled close under his umbrella.

“There’s no n-”

“Your hand! What happened?”

The demon tucked it closer to his side, trying to relax it some and not hold it so awkwardly. “We were interviewing Solomon on a new potion he made. One bump lead into some things getting knocked over and an unfinished, boiling potion spilled on it.”

“What!? It still hurts or is that just a side effect!?”

“It hurts some, even with a health potion. Solomon wanted to make me one, but I took one from the room’s emergency kit. The pain should subside in a few days.”

“A few days!? Are you kidding me!”

“It was, even if unfinished, a potion made by the most powerful wizard, I’m surprised the effects won’t last longer.”

… Huh, even more surprising, you looked more mad than when you ranted about the brothers before.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath.

Slowly your features relaxed. “Could I hold your hand a moment?”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to try a human world remedy for pain.”

“Oh?” Well, you couldn’t make it worse.

You held his hand so delicately in both of yours’, thumbs gently caressing the back of his. You held it up and close, simply looking to it before

…

“There, kiss it better.” You chuckled. “Judging by that stunned look… it worked?” You took a few steps back. “Uh… consider it a thank you or apology for earlier, again. Okay?........ well, see you?”

Before you could turn away, your hand was taken so softly. His hot breath brushed over it before he shut those emerald eyes, pressing his lips to the back of it. Then one after the other on each of your fingers. With soft clicks that umbrella was dropped to the ground, both his hands now occupied by your shoulders. It was so soft, that kiss to your forehead, was he scared of hurting you?

He stood back, eyes not quite meeting your’s for a moment. Those drops caught in his hair marvelously. “Here’s hoping both our days go better from here.”

“I don’t think it could get better than it is now.”

Quickly that umbrella was snatched up and he marched away.

Just what was he thinking!? Sure, your spell worked on him, but he’s a demon! Did it even work since he did it. And this unbearable heat coursing through him…

Absurd, this whole thing absurd! And why did you say that, of all things!?

…

Guess he’d just have to ask you tomorrow if the spell worked on, even if it was from him. And he could inform you it certainly worked on demons.

@penappal

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Wishing On Golden Stars [FINAL]

Kamisato Ayato

k.ayato/fem!reader

genre: isekai, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, humor(?), series

chapter warning(s)!!!: ayato scolds you but thats really it!

chapter w.count: 3.7k

a/n: its finally here! the finale! let's give these fools a happy end, shall we?

When you wake up, it’s properly dark out. There's a cooling sensation on your forehead and you’re snug in a futon. A sense of deja vu washes over you as you hiss at the pounding in your head. At least whatever was on your head tried its best to stave off the headache. Not that its really working all that well.

There’s rustling to your side before the presence of something settles next to your laying form. You crack your eyes open and even though there’s only a few candles lit for visibility in the dark room, the light still makes you suck in a short breath. Electro currents really aren’t to be underestimated it would seem. The deja vu remains stuck to your mind as the cloudy visage of Ayato knelt in front of you clears up in your haze. 

“Do you always make it a habit to stick around when I’m sleeping,” you slur, your voice coming back to you in groggy waves as you try and lighten the frown on his face. He sighs, his shoulders dropping as he places his head on top of the cool cloth on your forehead. Some of the water drips out of the edges of the fabric as he applies pressure. 

He's changed into his night robes and he looks comfortable without all his layers and armored pieces on.

“Only when you make it a habit to worry me,” he counters with a bitter, unamused scoff. You let out a huff as you avert your eyes to the ceiling. 

“It’s not like I try to.” 

“Your track record of staying out of trouble fails to support your claim.” The rag of now lukewarm water that had been heated by both your skin and Ayato’s palm is lifted from your head. The remaining dampness feels sticky on your forehead as the air quickly begins to dry it. “Do you realize how reckless you can be?” His voice has a bite to it that you knew was coming. “Thoma sends you out on a brief errand and you do not return back home all day. Naturally, I would worry.” You don't watch him, but you can hear him dunk the rag back into water and wring the cloth out. “I go to retrieve you from whatever it was that was keeping you, and through various people’s testimonies, I found you outside Konda Village. That itself is not the issue, however.” The rag is placed gently back on your head, the action kind and delicate despite Ayato’s bitter tone. He was clearly upset. “Can you begin to understand the depths of my stomach when I saw you in the middle of a battle on the verge of unconsciousness because you were subjected to injuries?” 

You finally turn your head and look at him. The look on his face is soaked deep in so many emotions. His eyes were scared, his lips snared in a frown, cheeks flushed in anger at the memory. Even his posture was rigid. 

“That was you who showed up?” You knew it wasn’t Aether at the end of it all. Part of you was glad it was Ayato. 

“It was,” he sighs. “Luckily for us both, Aether is more familiar with the Priestess of Sangonomiya Shrine than I. He was able to transport you to her for healing swiftly.” You open your mouth in awe. That would explain that even after being shocked with so much energy, all that ails you was a headache and minor pains. “I shall be in her debt for some time for her service.” 

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to place you into any difficult situations that could strain the Tri-commission and the previous rebellion leader.” Ayato says nothing and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “I’ll be sure to pay my respects and gratitude to Sangonomiya as soon as I can.” Still, he says nothing in return to your words. He must be angrier than you thought. 

Silence swallows the dim room in a gloomy air. Ayato remains beside you, just staring out of the room’s window while you continue to stare at the ceiling between prolonged blinking. This was the last thing you needed to happen. Talking to Aether gave you the advice, courage and push you needed to come up with an answer to the one thing that had been plaguing you- that being Ayato’s feelings. Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him. 

Sitting there, he still looks so stupidly beautiful it was envy inducing. How this man saw anything desirable in you when he looks like he could sweep even a God off their feet with a single smile, you’re not sure. In the same breath though, it does inflate your ego to know one of the most powerful men in Inazuma has the hots for you. Then, you frown. 

“Ayato,” you whisper, foregoing his title that has him humming towards your call without looking down at you. “I’m sorry.” His shoulders almost slump. “For worrying you.” 

“Indeed. As you should be.” You almost pout. He could at least try and accept your apology. Still, you’re understanding and know where his emotions are coming from. 

“You must’ve been scared,” you whisper. Afraid that you might be crossing a line in assuming his feelings. The man who had his childhood ripped away from him when his parents passed. The boy who had to grow up in the span of hours to even begin to know how to protect and raise his little sister. The boy who grew up into a man who was probably more lonely than he lets others know. Losing someone he’s confessed love to right in front of him? It must’ve been awful. 

Ayato’s fists clench in his lap. You can see the tensing of his muscles going up his forearm in the corner of your eye. He takes a deep breath in, before holding it and letting it out harshly. 

“Petrified.” His admittance was so quiet you could’ve confused it with the passing wind outside. It’s like your hazy vision clears perfectly when you see the way his face twitches. The Commissioner disappears, even if just for a moment, and all that you see before you is the man, Kamisato Ayato. Fitful, fearful, and so stupidly scared in love. 

You spring up with strength you didn’t know you had in your limbs. The rag on your head flying off towards the foot of your futon. Ayato’s body jolts, shifting back away from your sudden movement. You ignore the dizziness in your head that threatens to push you back into the mattress as you swivel your body towards the pale haired man. Still, your brow twitched at the pang of pain that shoots through you like a current. 

“Do not move like that!” Ayato scolds. 

The Commissioner’s hands move from his lap to grasp onto your shoulders. Whether to steady you or push you back down to rest, you weren’t sure. Maybe both, maybe none; maybe it was just instinctual. Still, it was a chance.

Your hands shoot up, palms latching around his wrists to keep him anchored to you and once again Ayato is faced with your brute strength when he feels shackled onto your body. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. 

“Ayato!” You raise your voice firmly, once again dismissing his pedigree and refusing to collect it from the floor on which you throw the title. “I love you,” you boldly declare. You swear he blue screens. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me on the night of the meteor shower; like thinking about it a lot. I wanted to properly answer you, but you’re such an important person in Inazuma- I just needed a lot of time. Time and advice. Thoma and Ayaka were encouraging, but I needed someone like me to talk to. Someone not from Teyvat. Someone like Aether.” 

Ayato watches as you talk and talk and pour your words out like some sort of unclogged drain. Words washing over him like a silken blanket that fell from Celestia, coating him in warmth. 

You feel his arms twitch in your grasp, lifting from your shoulders and you panic. What if he’s changed his mind? What if you had caused him trouble enough times that he was over it?

“Wait-” you scramble when he manages to peel his wrists from your grip. Instead of standing up and leaving you alone on the floor, Ayato’s wrists twist so that he was the one now holding your hands.

His palms were warm. You could fully feel the difference of skin between the heel of his hand that was calloused from swordplay and the deep softness of the dip in his palm. His thumbs run across your knuckles as his hands encase yours. 

“Relax,” he instructs and to your credit, you do try. Ayato can feel the slight tremor in your hands as he holds them. Feel the cool sensation of your nervous skin under his. See the stiff stature of your shoulders and the way your eyes panic at being left. The Yashiro Commissioner is the pro at reading facial and body ques, but even if your squirming is adorable, he won’t let you steep in disconcerting emotions right in front of him. Not right now. “I understand” -he brings your hands up to his chin, clutched fingers resting just under his bottom lip- “you don’t need to worry.” 

“Do you really?” You press, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“I do.” 

“Ayato-” you’re sure you’re about to start rambling again, words so desperate crawling their way up your throat to explain yourself. Your actions. Your avoidance. And your feelings. All so he could understand crystal clear that how you feel isn’t just because he confessed to you. Or because he was a powerful figure.

These feelings aren’t being coerced out of you or being fabricated because he’s a man of power. You need to tell him that you’ve had these stupid feelings for him for so long- even before he was flesh in blood in front of you and just data inside a computer screen. 

Ayato is a smart man. He knows. He knows what actions, feelings and emotions being pulled out of someone by force looks like. It looks nothing like your flustered expression and shaky hands and glassy eyes. You're being so genuinely cute he wants to combust. 

Chuckling to himself, he sees your jaw drop again. Before anything comes out, he leans forward to place a kiss to your cheek, just below your eye on the apple of your face. He’s sure if you were to smile, he’d feel the skin push up against his lips.

Oh, he hopes he can experience that soon. 

Backing away from your skin, Ayato stays within your breath. Hands still clasped gently- so delicately in his own- between you both. 

“Calm down,” he almost teases you. He watches you take deep, unsteady breathes, and finds your obedience endearing. “Good,” he praises. His suave nature of the situation cracks after you collect yourself from word vomit central as he lets out a deep breath of his own. Letting his head slump down, he rests it on your shoulder. Face turned so his nose was ghosting against your neck. His fingers start tinkering and toying with yours like some sort of fidget toy. 

Nothing else is said for the remainder of the night. Ayato ends up falling asleep on your shoulder and you take it upon yourself to lay your employer and potential lover down to avoid any neck strain. Taking your place back in your futon next to him, you make sure to keep a space between you both. When the sun rises and the air is new, you’d be able to talk things through properly. 

When Ayato opens his eyes the next morning, the sun isn’t the golden color of dawn he’s used to seeing. It’s warm and yellow and from the ruckus outside the door sounds like late morning activities and chores being done. He’s on his back and he knows the ceiling he’s staring at, knowing the futon he’s half on and knows the warmth of the body next to him. Turning his head, he’s convinced that waking up to you is the only thing that he wants for the rest of his time on Teyvat. He’s seen you sleep and rest plenty of times, between being ill and being caught in the middle of battle (albeit the latter is a new experience he strongly dislikes), but this is different. It’s intimate. 

Sitting up, he places one of his hands on your head, careful not to stir you and wake you from the rest he’s sure you need. Even if you didn’t need rest and were completely healthy, he’d be more than accepting if you wanted to spend all day in bed and forget your job completely. Of course, you’d probably just freak out realizing you slept in and hadn’t been earning your keep as part of the Kamisato staff.  

Ayato wonders if you’d still want to be under his payroll if he’s to properly court you? Would that be too risqué? Pursuing a member of his own staff… or perhaps thrilling? 

There's a soft knock on the door you both occupy and he knows that it could only be Thoma or his sister since this was his room after all.  Ayato doesn’t let just anyone interrupt his business in his own personal quarters. 

With his hand still gently playing with your head and twisting your hair around his fingers, he speaks quietly and allows the person entry. Thoma’s head popping in was no shock to the Commissioner. Walking fully past the threshold and into the room, Thoma shuts the door behind him. Giddy and pleased as punch, he sits himself down near his boss and friend. 

“Thoma,” Ayato starts, forgoing any good morning pleasantries. “Would it be considered distasteful to announce y/n as my lover while also keeping them on staff?” 

Instead of acting shocked or repulsed or even confused, the housekeeper cups his chin and closes his eyes as if in deep thought. He hums even, adding to Ayato’s glee. 

“While I personally see no issues with it, others- especially outside of the Yashiro Commission and Kamisato Clan- could potentially see it as something… tacky.” Ayato joins in on Thoma’s air of serious thought. 

“Yes, I could see how that could be taken by others. They could even try and slander y/n’s good name and hard work should I let my guard down.” Then, he scoffs; promptly dismissing the outside opinion entirely. “Pity I care not for public opinion on such important personal matters.” Ayato twists his torso so that he’s looking back down to your sleeping form. His hand moves from your head to your forehead. Finger tracing down the slope of your nose to push against your lips and trail from the corner of your mouth to your cheek and up and around your ear. If he was a blind man, he could still easily see your beauty this way. 

Thoma clears his throat with a flushed face, feeling like he was suddenly intruding. “I’ll go and prepare something easy on the stomach for y/n to eat when she wakes up. Surely she’ll be hungry.” 

“Yes,” Ayato nods, “see to it. After her situation yesterday, we’re not sure how well her stomach will be, so please be mindful with the selection. I shall also eat with her.” Thoma nods, already to standing back up and excusing himself. 

Once alone again, Ayato lays himself back down on his side to just look at you. He’s not sure how much time passes or when your eyes open. Perhaps he zoned out, and just didn’t realize you were now awake looking back at him. 

“You have a staring problem?” You ask him, groggy and cranky just as you always are when you first wake up. He chuckles, bringing a hand up to pinch at your cheek. 

“Don’t be cheeky now,” he hums and you groan, swatting away his hand. He catches your assault and brings your knuckles to his lips, kissing each one delicately and individually. “Good morning.” 

“Who’s being cheeky now,” you mutter but don’t move to pull away from him. Ayato’s exceptionally pleased as he sits up, pulling your arm so you join him. You slip your hand from his and stretch, looking outside and realize that you should probably get up. It hasn’t been that long since you recovered from being sick and now you’re back in bed? That can’t look good to the other staff members.

If you had said that out loud, Ayato would have snickered a cheeky ‘I knew it’ in your face at his initial assumption to the current time and your work.

“Thoma will be back shortly with something for us to eat,” Ayato tells you, seeing you start kicking the covers off your legs. “Stay until then.” 

“I’m kind of sick of eating in bed like a patient. If I have to eat, I’d rather do so at a proper table.” You sigh. While what you say isn’t untrue, the real reason for you wanting to get up was to maybe get out of the futon and get some air. Ayato nods. 

“I see.” He stands to his feet, his clothes that had been well slept in from the night well beyond wrinkled. “Just a moment,” he walks away from you and heads to a pair of sliding doors that reveal more clothes. During the moments he spends rummaging around, you finally realize where you were. Fanning your face, you look away as soon as he starts undressing into something not wrinkled and meant for sleeping. Maybe you could sneak out as he changed- so blatantly- in your presence with his back turned. Being in Ayato’s room made you feel woozy on top of everything else. 

“I’m just going to-” You mutter to yourself, pushing the futon cover off your legs fully. Before you could even get into a position to get up, Ayato’s voice stops you. 

“Stay put.” Looking over your shoulder, he’s not even looking towards you. A new shirt on his torso and fussing with the tassels that hang over his shoulders. You conceded almost immediately, deflating back onto the futon. He struts over once presentable, bends to grab your arm and trail his hand down it to grab your hand before lifting you to your feet. “Now, we can leave.” Ayato leaves his room with you tethered and pulled along by him. 

You pass Thoma with a tray of food set for two and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at your expense. Everyone who’s within the path is obviously staring at the Kamisato Clan head guiding you through the halls by your hand and the attention makes you squirm and heat up. Clearly, it must be entertaining.

“Thoma, we’ve decided to eat in a proper setting.” 

“Of course!” He’s well ahead of the game and shifts gears to lead you both to the dining room. Ayaka hears rumor of Ayato’s hand holding scene and rushes- as dignified as possible- to join the fun. 

The day goes by in a blur. You’re returned to work, under the strict supervision of Thoma, while the two siblings huddled together in hushed giggles and schemes you were sure is just more trouble. Every time Ayato spied you in the halls or out in the yard, he would come trotting over unrestrained. Saying something quick to you before taking your hand, squeezing it and letting it go. Ayaka shot you giddy looks at any chance she got and Thoma... kept his mouth shut. Mostly because he was the only one who you would probably get away with smacking if it came down to it. 

When night falls, before turning in for bed, you had changed into your night clothes before deciding one more task needed to be done. It wasn’t for you, or maybe it wasn’t even that important, but for Ayato’s sake you wanted to try and ease his worries. You knocked on his door, cradling something in your hand when he slides his doors open to come face to face with you. 

“Y/n,” he smiles. “What brings you here?” 

“Hold out your hands,” your face was hot. Why was this so embarrassing? He does as you say, holding out a single, empty palm. You place what you had into his. 

“A handkerchief?” He questions. Was this a custom from your world maybe? He takes the folded cloth and starts unfolding it before his eyes widen at what was being held inside of it. 

“You can keep that. It’s” -you wring your hands- “It’s hard to explain, but I think this is part of the reason I found myself in Inazuma. Maybe if you keep it with you, you’ll feel better about things.” Ayato’s free hand comes to grab the small, circular piece of purple and blue twined bead-sized ball. It felt light like candy and reminded him of the stars the night before he met you.

It was the very same item he somehow knew you had in your pocket when he saw you in the Tenryou prison cell for the first time. “I don’t have all the answers on how I got here, or why. And I can’t make any promises that I won’t end up… leaving..?” You scrounge around for more reassuring words but fall short. “For what it’s worth though, I want to stay. Here. With you.” 

Ayato’s hand curls around the piece of fate and brings his fist up to his lips. Smiling with his eyes, crows feet crinkle his skin. He grabs your wrist and drags you into his room for the second night in a row, sliding the door shut at your back. The candle he has lit is soon extinguished afterwards and you don’t come back out. 

It took all of one, simple day for rumors to run around the estate, and even beyond its walls, that Kamisato Ayato had finally shown romantic interest in someone. Rumored still that the person he’s supposedly now courting is not only someone he picked up from a prison cell years ago and not from Inazuma, but is one kept on his payroll. 

None of that mattered though. Not when he’s able to look up and watch the next meteor shower with you, holding your hand instead of worrying you’d fly away with them at the end of it all. That’s all he wants; you, safe and happy with him in his home with his family.

And Kamisato Ayato usually gets what he wants. 

-END-

a/n pt.2: if you've decided to take the time to read through 9 parts of an insanely messy ayato fanfiction, words can't describe my appreciation! i worked pretty hard on this series and seeing it come to an end makes me feel satisfied. It's not the most popular by far, but its finished and for those who read it- i thank you from the bottom of my heart <3

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[bagel-bird-ainsor]

Ghost trick spoiler thoughts I had while working on my most recent drawing

GT:PD SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

Thinking about the process of Yomiel learning how to control his body again. I mean, when he took his body back from the morgue in-game, he got up and walked out pretty naturally. But what if it didn’t go so smoothly? He’s spiritually puppeting his own corpse around, and it’s probably a very different experience.

There’s a lot of bodily functions that we don’t necessarily *think* about; blinking, breathing, walking, etc.

So essentially what I’m picturing is Yomiel’s detachment from his body resulting in him being really uncanny (at least at first)

He zombie-walks at first, having to remember to keep his torso upright while manually moving one foot in front of the other. Even as he gets better at it, there’s still a stilted nature to his steps; never able to keep a steady walking rhythm.

Regaining his voice was the trickiest part. He had to learn what shapes to manipulate his throat and larynx into to formulate each sound. I feel like he’d sound like something out of the Mandela Catalogue, or similar horror content where an inhuman thing tries to mimic human voices. Once again, he gets better with practice, but there’s still something…off about him.

He never blinks, and why would he? He’s got the sunglasses on, so there’s no need to put in the effort. He never breathes, which most people don’t really notice unless they’re paying attention.

There’s a video game called Who’s Lila? that I heard about recently from a Jacob Geller video. In that game, you physically click and drag your characters facial features to form expressions, often to unsettling effect. I imagine it’s a similar process for Yomiel’s face. And without the ability to feel pain or damage his body, I can only imagine what expressions he could contort his face into without those limitations.

I like Yomiel as the cool, calculated, menacing presence that he is, but I also think the concept of what he is lends itself to the potential for uncanny imagery.

ANYHOOT; I just think it’s a cool concept to think about. Plus, there’s the added tragedy of his own body becoming such a foreign object to him, having to relearn things that were once second nature, and still not quite attaining a convincing visage of humanity. More traumatic experiences for Yomiel, why not.

If you read all that, thanks! And I’d love to hear any thoughts y’all have on the concept.

[thegoldencontracts]

I can make a request for Azul x Reader who confesses to him, but asks him to reject their feelings because they thinks he doesn't return their feelings and thinks he wouldn't date someone like them? Make it have a fluffy ending please!!!

Of course! Thank you for requestingg <3

Irrationality, Love

Summary: Azul never could help the irrational way he acted around you. An unexpected confession helps him sort himself out.

Notes: A dash of angst(?), I'm soo sorry to you anon I think I got a bit too self-indulgent with the prompt

You were an odd person. You weren't meant to be, that was the problem. You were average. No particularly remarkable talents or privileges to set you apart- at least, not when compared to the highly eccentric students of Night Raven.

And yet, you made Azul act in an infuriatingly irrational way. His heart raced, his face flushed, his head rushed. Seeing you in the hallways, he couldn't help but stare.

Your eyes, your hair, your lips- they were all tantalizing. Were they really, though? Or was that merely a part of the odd curse you'd set upon him, for him to be doomed to admire you no matter what?

It was an odd, addicting feeling. Why was it addicting? Why did he so crave the sight of your visage? He didn't even know.

He still remembered the first time he'd met you. Well, 'met' was a generous way to put it.

You'd been dining at the Lounge one day, and he'd been observing to make sure things were running smoothly.

But the moment he saw you, that turned into observing your face.

For quite a while. You seemed to sparkle, to shine. He couldn't look away.

Then, you met his gaze.

"Uh- is something the matter?" You asked, tilting your head in a confused manner that looked positively adorable. Wait, no, he wasn't supposed to think that.

"I don't understand what you're asking," Azul said, plastering his face with a condescending grin, before feigning a look of shock. "Oh, did you believe I was looking at you? Odd. I assure you, that wasn't the case. Apologies for souring your experience."

He had to save face. He was Azul Ashengrotto, the mercantile housewarden of Octavinelle. His ruthless yet elegant demeanor had garnered him fear and reverence alike throughout the school. He couldn't just throw that away over- this!

You seemed to accept that answer. Azul hastily left, only letting himself let out his long suppressed sigh of frustration after entering his room.

From next to him, Jade grinned.

"You seem out of sorts," he said, with the look of a predator analysing every weakness in their prey. Azul loathed having that look directed at him; he'd much rather Jade save it fort the clients.

"Shut it."

Jade merely laughed.

"I'm going to handle this- illness of mine, I assure you," Azul said, and Jade actually seemed confused at that. No matter. Azul wouldn't let himself be made a fool of. He couldn't.

Since then, he'd attempted to avoid you, though he'd failed quite a few times. More than quite a few times, in fact. Against his wishes and yet in compliance with them at the same time, you two'd grown closer, and the pounding of his heart around you only seemed to increase.

"Can't believe you're doing this for free, Azul," you said during one of your joint study-sessions, an impish grin on your face. "Is big bad Azul trying to make friends with someone? How shocking!"

Azul didn't know why, but the thought of you two being friends made him upset in a way that signalled that he wanted something more. What more could he possibly want? And why were you implying he was acting out of sentiment?

"P-Preposterous," he said, though his face was flushed. "I don't have friends, only business partners. A-and this is a mutually beneficial business exchange."

You just laughed.

"I never knew you could be so cute, Azul."

What was that supposed to mean? He wasn't cute, he was a businessman! A highly intimidating, refined businessman!

"F-Focus," he said. Why did he keep stuttering? This was all so odd. He only did this around you. He'd tried to get away, and yet he couldn't bring himself to? Why?

"Of course," you said, and that was it for your teasing. Well, for that study session, at least. It seemed like you'd never stop teasing him.

One day, however, you approached him in private, an uncharacteristically somber expression on your face. He wanted to wipe it off, to bring that impish grin back.

"I, uh, have something to tell you," you said, gaze downcast.

"What is it?"

"I love you," you said, as if it was nothing, as if you hadn't just brought a thousand questions to the forefront of his mind. You spoke once more after a few seconds. "...You can reject me now."

You'd been expecting rejection? Could he even reject you, when your confession had brought an answer to the question he'd had for ages?

Love. Was that the odd emotion you'd made him feel all along? It made sense.

"I assure you, you mustn't -"

"Don't try that customer service crap on me. I know you too well." A laugh and a choked sob, all at once. "I know that you're smart, hard-working, adorable and handsome at the same time, ambitious, strong, and just about a hundred other positive adjectives. And look-"

A tear fell from your right eye. It wasn't dramatic or even noticeable at a glance, but it was more heartbreaking than any cinematic breakdown.

"Look at me." Your words were naught but a cracked whisper. "I never stood a chance."

You'd expected rejection, but that wasn't what he was going to give. Azul had repressed his emotions, and that had hurt you. He couldn't let that happen. Not anymore.

Azul steeled himself.

"You're being much too hard on yourself," he chided. "And much too kind about me. If you think I don't return your feelings, then you're mistaken."

You looked at him, eyes wide with shock.

"You're joking, you've gotta be-"

In a fit of what he could only give the shameful label of primal instinct, Azul pulled you in by the tie of your uniform for a kiss.

Long, passionate, and greedy - though he was disappointed at the lack of internal fireworks that Idia's visual novels had promised him, it was lovely.

Azul pulled back after a while, leaving both of you breathless.

"Does that make my stance on the matter clear?" He said, and you nodded shakily. He was thankful for that, because he couldn't imagine having to say the words 'I love you' aloud.

"We're dating, then?" You said, a hopeful shine in your eyes.

He grinned.

"I'd love that."

Bonus:

"You've finally managed to overcome your emotional waterlogging, Azul? I couldn't be more proud."

"Yeah, little Azul's all~ grown up!"

"Hush, you," Azul said, before he realized.

"How long have you known?"

"Since you two first met," Jade said as if they were nothing.

Eh?

They'd known for- for that long? He'd been that obvious? How had he not noticed earlier? This was insane! He was slipping, and-

"Is something the matter, Azul?"

"I think you broke him."

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Orion figured it would be best to do his work with Megatron, he wanted to spend some time in his presence, the sound of that rasping voice.

After all it had been a while since they'd just been on their own together, the last time ended with them being intimate and no doubt it would again.

For all of Megatron's actions he'd noticed that the Decepticon Leader wanted attention to, surprisingly it was Starscream he didn't see much of and he couldn't help but wonder if the seeker wasn't interested or he had a different Prime in his sights.

Obviously he wouldn't just be like

'Oh hey Megatron, what's Optimus like?'

Somehow he had a feeling Megatron would definitely get pissy and say

'What? I'm not good enough for you!'

He made a face like this =m= and decided it would not be worth the hassle.

So instead chose to think of more pleasant things like Megatron's voice...and the voice of the mech whose designation or visage he did not know, his ear finals twitched at the thought of them both telling him they knew how to put an Elite guard in his place.

No, he needed to behave, be sensible, they were letting him wander here and share their rations, the very least he could do was make himself useful.

Getting up he checked himself in the mirror, daring to keep his mask open, though at the first sign of judgement of his fangs it was going to snap shut.

Huh now that he thought about it, the bath had been taken out to, he glanced down at the floor , walking out his room maybe he could find scratch marks where it'd been hauled to, but alas nothing.

As his focus has been on the floor he walked into a Con he'd seen around but didn't know his name.

"Hey Prime , look where you're going would ya!"

Orion stopped and stared at him, trying to see if there was anything visually similar about him to any Mech he knew...

"Uhh I'm sorry, I was distracted, say , what's your name?"

"What they don't have a Blitzwing where you're from!?"

"Wait you're Blitzwing! Where's your accent! Well non American accent as for some reason most of us miraculously seem to have them."

(Ha I'm so funny 😒 🤔 😊)

Orion exclaimed, grabbing him by the head and pulling him in closer

"Doesn't your face have three different ones?"

Blitzwing pulled the mechs hands from his face, he wasn't too annoyed, after all from the sounds of it his counter part was so vastly different that he was unrecognisable in this Universe.

"Explain what you mean by accent and faces."

He returned, folding his arms, absolutely expecting an explanation and oh he got one.

After Orion had explained the split personality and German accent, Blitzwings arms hung by his side as he expelled a sigh with puffed cheeks.

"Well that's certainly a lot to take in, I can understand why you didn't know who I am...so moving on from that revelation, I hear you like older mechs, you uh wanna stop by my quarters some time."

"How old we talking here?"

Orion responded giving him a look over, he wasn't half bad but a good age difference would definitely be a bonus.

"Oh way before the war old."

Orion arched a brow and leaned an arm on the wall

"So you really are an older frame type, I may just take you up on that offer Blitzy, perhaps in a day or so, don't worry, I'll find you."

He placed a kiss to his forehead and smiled

"But for now, would you be so kind as to direct me to Lord Megatron, I have data work to do."

The first thing Blitzwing thought to himself was

'CRAP, I HAVE TO CLEAN MY ROOM.'

He kept his composure and gave a leering smile

"I look forward to it, as for Megatron he's down the hall third door after you take a left."

"Thank you, you've been a great help."

Placing a hand on Blitzwings cheek he gave him the softest of kisses before departing.

The triple changer let out a dreamy sound, oh so that's what Astrotrain had meant when he said there was something about Optimus that just made you feel giddy.

Next

Previous

First

[withered-tears]

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the autobots aren't human.

Well, not in the literal sense. Of course they aren't human. They are giant alien robots that turn into cars, for goodness sake.

But they talk like humans. They walk like humans. Even the way they think sometimes feels extremely human-like.

So sometimes, yes, it is easy to forget they are not human.

This had the unfortunate side effect of, unintentionally, see more than one situation through a human filter, so to speak.

Such as, for example, their durability.

Because when Bulkead ran through the groundbridge carrying Bee's body, with Arcee running next to him carrying Bee's head, every human present in the base froze.

Jack's eyes were wide open, face growing pale.

Miko, in contrast, was looking almost green. Hands clasping her mouth, either to stop herself from sobbing or puking. Tears were streaming down her face.

June, although horrified, was focusing solely on keeping Raf in place.

Raf was the worst. As soon as he saw Bee, he started screaming.

June was doing her best to try and comfort the kid while keeping him from running to his friend's body. Hugging him against her chest to keep him from looking at the horrible visage.

Agent Fowler was grim, fists and teeth clenched. When Cliffjumper died, he was the one who dealt with the horrible bureaucracy of asking the bots about proper protocol. About post-mortem condecoration, about burial rites, about tradition and wishes.

Now, at least he knew the proper way to proceed, which boils down to let the bots do as they please with their dead and keep any nosy superior out of their business.

Then Ratchet spoke.

"Finally. Bulkhead, drop him in a berth, and bring me the second crate of spares. Arcee, bring the head here. I want to start running diagnostics before- Bulkhead! The second crate! I'll have to repair most ports on Bumblebee's neck, f not replace them outright."

June was the first human to speak.

"What do you mean 'repair' his ports?"

Bumblebee's head had been cut off. Surely there's no repairing that, right?

Ratchet rolled his optics (once again, such human-like gestures) at the question, barely paying any mind to the humans as he worked on Bumblebee's head.

"What, you expected me to just shove his head in place and wrape tape around it? Sorry to disappoint, but reattaching a head is a bit more complicated than-"

"Bee's alive?"

Raf's voice was awful. Voice cracking and filled with such fragile, fragile hope.

Ratchet's eyes widened (so human-like) in surprise before his entire demeanor changed.

He carefully and gently picked up Raf to bring him closer to his workstation.

"Of course he's alive. Here, look. Although his neck was severely damaged, his processors, his brain module, are unscathed. The sudden lost of power caused them to crash, which is why I'm running diagnostics through his software."

Raf, small, young, terrified, and brilliant Raf, was quickly putting the information together.

"So it's like, it's like a computer that got unplugged without being properly turned off first?"

It was obvious Ratchet was not happy being compared to such inferior, human technology. But he held any complaints to himself.

"Yeah, something like that, kid. As I said, I have to check every port in his neck to make sure they won't overload his processors once I reconnect them. Not to mention, all vital components on a cybertronian body not only receive power from the spark and energon processing, but they also store a small portion of it. Like an internal battery. Bumblebee's brain could be kept powered off for years without any side effects, other than some minor lag once reactivated. Not that his repairs will take nearly that long. I'll have Bumblebee back online in a couple of days, a week at most."

Raf was sniffing, wiping his face with his sleeves. "Can, can I help?" His voice was still scratchy.

Ratchet huffed, trying really hard to sound annoyed.

"Why not. Might as well have a second pair of optics double-checking the code. Maybe you'll even learn something."

Yeah, the Autobots were not human.

But they sure acted human-like often enough.

[badbatchposts]

Dead Imps Tell No Tales: Chapter One

Summary: Myria Halcorr, cook at Old Doma's brothel, had never left the Imperial port town of Koboh before she found herself having to flee Imperial justice. Seeking passage to Ord Mantell, where she hoped she could disappear, she disguised herself as a boy and begged for a job on the Havoc Marauder. She never counted on the risks of sharing a ship with former Republic soldiers turned pirates--or on falling for Captain Hunter Fett.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Hunter/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Romance, Pirate AU, Pirate Captain Hunter, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Smut, 18+/Explicit

Chapter One: Set Sail

The boy hurried along the bustling dock in the early morning light, dodging and weaving to keep from colliding with the sailors as they went about their duties. Everywhere he looked, men hauled crates, rolled barrels, and heaved at thick coils of rope, their activities accompanied by a constant chorus of shouts and banging. He was no stranger to the port’s lively denizens, and so he paid their rough, filthy visages—and accompanying foul odors—little mind.

Instead, the boy adjusted the floppy, gray hat perched atop his close-shorn, brown hair, shifted his pack, and peered attentively at the sides of the ships he passed, searching for the names painted prettily against their hulls. The dockmaster had described the boat he was seeking, but the words—number of masts, type of rigging, type of ship—had all washed over him, in one ear and out the other. Despite living in the port city of Koboh all his life, he had never been on the ocean before.

Finally, he spotted it, the words sending a nervous little thrill along his spine: the Havoc Marauder. It wasn’t a large ship—incomparable to one of the behemoths that the Imperial Navy kept anchored further out along the military dock at the other end of the bay—but it was sleek and obviously well-cared-for, its hull painted black with red trim and kept clean and in good repair. Above the white sails, a red and black flag decorated with a white skull missing the jaw flapped in the wind. The boy steeled himself and strode boldly up the gangplank onto the vessel.

“Listen here. We don’t take kindly to stowaways,” a young voice piped up immediately.

The boy blinked in confusion at the sight before him: a blonde-haired girl, decked out in a comfortable-looking pair of blue trousers and a red-and-white striped shirt, had a hand on her hip and gestured seriously at him with a cutlass. She couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen.

“You’re a girl,” he blurted out foolishly.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “How observant of you. Now turn around and get out of here.”

“I’m—I’m sorry miss, I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just surprised. And—I wasn’t trying to stow away, honest!” The boy put on what was surely meant to be a brave face. “I’m looking for a job,” he clarified earnestly.

The girl’s expression softened a little, her brown eyes kind and warm, though her tone was regretful. “Well… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure we have anything for you here. This is my family’s boat—it’s just me and my brothers. We don’t really hire anyone else on.”

The boy’s face fell. “But—you don’t understand! I have to get out of here!”

“You can start by getting off my ship,” a voice behind him growled. The boy, already jumpy, practically leapt out of his skin with surprise, spinning toward the newcomer that had just strode up the gangplank.

As if the tone—low, smoky, and bleeding with danger—hadn’t been enough to thoroughly frighten him, he was now confronted with the most intimidating man he had ever seen. Fully half of the man’s face was blacked out by a tattoo, the inky lines forming the relief of a skull against his warm brown skin. More of the tattoo peaked out from under one long sleeve, decorating the back of his hand with delicate carpal and metacarpal bones and phalanges. The crooked tilt of his strong nose, surely broken at least once in his life, seemed to speak to a history of violent scraps and barroom brawls. His long, brown hair was held back by a red kerchief embroidered with yet another skull, atop which settled a black tri-corner hat. A long black coat, trimmed with red, did little to disguise the pistol, cutlass, and dagger arrayed at the man’s hip. As he spoke, glaring down at the boy, he fingered the hilt of his cutlass menacingly, and the boy gulped, starting to think he would be better off looking for a job on any other ship besides this one, despite his desperation.

“Hunter! You’re scaring him,” the girl scolded. The boy blinked, momentarily shocked at her bravery in standing up to what was clearly a dangerous man, before he realized that this must be one of the brothers she had referred to. She turned back to the boy sympathetically. “Why do you need to leave? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Uncertain, the boy looked pathetically back and forth between the siblings, nearly getting whiplash from the difference between their expressions: a gentle smile from the young girl and a dark scowl from her older brother. He squeaked a little when he finally tried speaking, needing to clear his throat to get the words out.

“Um… what I need is… well, I need passage to Ord Mantell, but I don’t have enough to pay… and the dockmaster, he said that your route stops there anyway, and I thought that maybe I could barter passage in exchange for work…” The boy let his words peter out uncertainly.

The scary man—Hunter—and his sister seemed to be engaged in some sort of silent battle of wills, communicating through a staring contest which the boy couldn’t tell who was winning.

“Omega…” Hunter sighed warningly. A few more moments of her pleading look later, he turned to frown at the boy again.

“Why do you need to get to Ord Mantell so bad?” he questioned. “You’re not running away from home, are you, kid? Are your parents gonna be looking for you?”

The boy squirmed a little under his scrutiny. “I’m an orphan, sir. I was an errand boy in one of the big houses, but yesterday my master accused me of stealing. I didn’t do it, I swear, sir! But he said he’d report me to the authorities, so… I have a cousin who lives in Ord Mantell, and I thought maybe it was best if I go stay with him for a while.”

Hunter glanced again at Omega, then back to the boy. He sighed again. “Show me your hands, kid.” The boy furrowed his brows in confusion but did as asked. Hunter gripped them and turned them palm side up, nodding a little at the callouses and scars that were evidence of a body accustomed to labor. “You ever been on a ship before?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. “No. But I can cook, sir. I helped in the kitchens sometimes when there weren’t errands to run. And I can clean. And I’m a fast learner,” he expounded eagerly.

Omega brightened and elbowed her brother. “Echo was just saying he was tired of doing all of the cooking, remember, Hunter? This way Echo could get a break, and we won’t have to worry about what the others would try to pass off as food if we made them take a turn!”

Hunter shook his head skeptically, but it was obvious his resistance was crumbling, and he gave in with a final, conciliatory growl. “Fine. Passage to Ord Mantell in exchange for cooking and whatever else we can put you to work doing around here. But it’ll be a good few weeks before we get there, and we have stops to make along the way. And…” He took a menacing step toward the boy, towering over him. “Just know that if you so much as look at my sister the wrong way, I’ll have you thrown overboard.”

With that, Hunter—the Captain, he must be, the boy realized—strode off, leaving the boy gaping, half terrified, half unable to believe his luck.

“So—what’s your name?” Omega asked, positively beaming with satisfaction, not troubled in the least by her brother’s threats.

The boy shook his head to clear it, still recovering. “M-Marvin,” he stammered.

“Well, Marvin, welcome aboard!” Omega replied cheerfully. “I’ll show you around the ship, and by the time we’re done my brother Wrecker should be here and we can help him load the cargo!”

In a daze, Marvin followed Omega dutifully as she gave him the tour, trying his best to memorize the names of all the locations as she pointed them out. Just the names of deck areas and masts topside was dizzying enough, not to mention the dark corridors below.

“Here’s Hunter’s quarters, he’s the Captain so he gets his own, and my brother Wrecker converted a storeroom so I could have my own space, too,” Omega chattered brightly, gesturing at the doors below the quarterdeck, then leading him down a set of stairs. “Down that hall is the berth, my other brothers sleep in there, and the cargo hold is further down this ladder, you’ll see that when we start loading. Gonky is probably down there, he’s our cat, he takes care of the rats for us. This way is the galley and the ship’s stores and the mess, which we don’t use a lot because we usually eat outside when the weather is good, so maybe we can put a spare hammock up in there for you and you’ll be close by for cooking!”

They stepped into the small galley, which Marvin examined closely. The floor was lined with sheets of tin, protecting the wooden ship from the risk of stray embers. Cabinets set against the walls created counters for food preparation. At the center of the room stood a large iron stove atop a stone hearth where something was simmering in a big copper pot. The stove had rails to prevent the pot from tumbling over with the rocking of the ship on the water.

Omega was watching the boy expectantly, perhaps waiting for his approval of his new workplace. He nodded and gave her a small smile, storing his pack in a nearby cabinet.

A series of staccato footsteps announced the entrance of another brother to the galley. Marvin turned, wide-eyed, to take in his appearance. His brilliant gold-brown eyes resembled Hunter and Omega, but he was considerably paler and gaunter than his brother and sister, and his bald head contrasted with their longer manes. Perhaps most notably, both legs below the knee had been replaced with wooden peglegs, and instead of a right hand he boasted a pair of movable hooks that he fidgeted open and closed by pulling at a mechanism further up his arm. Like the Captain, a pistol and cutlass hung at his belt, standing out strikingly against the black and red sash tied around his waist.

“What’s all this then, Omega?” the man asked, a little grumpily.

“Echo! Great news,” the girl gushed. “This is Marvin. We’re taking him to Ord Mantell, and he’s going to cook for us while he’s here!”

“You don’t say?” Echo chuckled, instantly mollified. “Well, I won’t complain about that. Good to have you aboard, kid. Let me know if you need any help getting used to the galley. It’s not supposed to be my job, but since the rest of this lot can’t be trusted I’m about the closest thing to a cook we’ve had.”

Marvin ducked his head politely. “I will. Thank you, sir.”

A series of heavy thuds and exuberant shouts came from above deck. Echo rolled his eyes.

“That’ll be Wrecker. Better head on up and help him, kids.”

Grinning, Omega led Marvin topside once again. The boy blinked as he emerged back into the sunlight—only to come face-to-face, for the second time that day, with another of the most intimidating men he had ever seen.

The man who could only be Wrecker was impossibly large, towering above Marvin and Omega, with the broadest shoulders the boy had ever seen. He came striding up the ramp onto the deck carrying a barrel like it weighed nothing at all, though the loud thump as he set it down attested to the fact that Marvin could hardly have hoped to roll it along with ease, much less carry it aloft. A large, nasty scar spiderwebbed along the side of the man’s head, leaving his ear twisted and deformed. Based on the extent of the damage, Marvin imagined that the eyepatch that Wrecker wore on the same side covered an empty socket. A broadsword and pistol hung at the sailor’s hips, and his white linen shirt hung loosely at his collarbone, exposing a thick coiling of chest hair, despite Wrecker’s shiny bald head.

Marvin almost took a step back in fear when Wrecker swiveled and caught sight of him, though the man was grinning down at him like a madman.

“Who’s your friend, Omega?” the giant asked, in a booming voice that was practically a shout.

“His name’s Marvin!” Omega answered loudly back. “He’s going to be our cook for a few weeks while we give him a ride to Ord Mantell! Wrecker doesn’t hear very well, so you’ll have to speak up,” she added as an aside to Marvin.

Wide-eyed, Wrecker’s smile somehow grew impossibly bigger. “Ooh! You any good at makin’ fish pies? There’s a place in town here makes the best fish pie I ever had!”

Marvin, mouth gaping at the surprise of the friendly reception from such a terrifying individual, barely managed a meek nod. His knees nearly buckled when Wrecker clapped him on the back delightedly.

“Well then, good ta have ya aboard! Now let’s get all this sorted.”

He gestured toward the pile of cargo waiting for them on the dock, and the kids followed his direction in helping to load the goods onto the Marauder. Wrecker, of course, managed the larger crates single-handedly, while Omega and Marvin handled items more suited to their size or combined their strength to carry bigger items. Omega took some time to give Marvin an overview of where things should be stored in the hold, pointing out where they kept their own supplies separate from the merchant goods they transported.

“This is my favorite part,” she whispered conspiratorially as she led Marvin toward a tall crate in one corner which stretched nearly to the ceiling. Grunting a little, Omega managed to push the crate to the side, revealing a gap in the wall the size of a small doorway. More items were piled up haphazardly in the little room that lay beyond. “This is where we keep the good stuff!” she informed him cheerfully.

Marvin looked over the room, wide-eyed. “You’re smugglers?”

“Everybody who docks in Ord Mantell smuggles something!” Omega laughed.

The boy managed a shrug as the girl returned the crate to its strategic position, disguising their secret once more.

By the time they emerged back on deck only a few bits of cargo remained on the dock. The pair stopped short, however, when they noticed a commotion making its way up the pier. Wrecker, arms folded, was glaring in the direction of several Imperial soldiers who were pushing their way through the crowds of sailors, interrupting dockworkers at their labor to interrogate them. Hunter watched on as well, leaning his arms against the railing. A group of soldiers, their long muskets glinting in the sunshine, strolled down the ramp of the ship anchored across the way and then boarded the Marauder.

The official who appeared to be leading them stopped short and surveyed the motley crew, expression dripping with distaste. Marvin tensed and shifted his feet nervously, but the man took little notice of him, especially as his gaze landed on Omega.

“Young lady, your manner of dress is indecent and un-ladylike,” he observed snidely.

“Says you,” the girl snapped, rolling her eyes.

The Imperial scoffed in offense. “Who is in charge here?” he demanded.

Hunter stood at his full height and stepped forward, eyes hard as steel. Though his brother dwarfed him in size, his presence was no less commanding.

“That’ll be me. Captain Hunter Fett. And seeing as she’s my sister and this is my boat, I’ll decide what’s decent. Wanna tell me what you think you’re doing on my ship?”

The official looked him up and down with abject disdain. “My, my. Captain Fett. If it were up to me, you’d still be rotting away on Narkina-5. But in any case, we are required to search your ship.” He gestured to the soldiers that accompanied him, who headed belowdecks without waiting for further permission.

Hunter merely grunted in annoyance and didn’t rise to the obvious bait. “That so? You mind telling me why you feel the need to search my ship?”

The Imperial further straightened and looked down his nose haughtily at the Captain. “We are in pursuit of a dangerous fugitive from the law who we have reason to believe may attempt to stow away to escape justice.”

“Ooh, a dangerous fugitive. Scary,” Hunter commented mildly. As if such a man was scared of anything. “What’s this dangerous fugitive look like?”

“I’m afraid we have been unable to have a likeness drawn up,” the Imperial sniffed. “But the criminal is described as a young woman, approximately twenty to twenty-five years of age, short in stature and slight of build, with brown hair sitting just below the shoulders. She is known by the name Myria Halcorr.”

Hunter hummed thoughtfully. “Doesn’t sound so dangerous to me. What’d she do?”

“I assure you, she is of the most fiendish sort,” the Imperial condescended. “She is wanted for the murder of an Imperial officer.”

The Captain’s face betrayed no surprise, only vague interest. “Huh. And when did this happen?”

“In the early hours of the morning. Shortly before the first bell.”

“Hmm. I don’t suppose this would have anything to do with the commotion around Old Doma’s around then, would it?”

The soldier stiffened. “I’m certain you don’t mean to imply that an officer of the Imperial Navy was consorting about such a… disreputable establishment,” he replied distastefully.

Hunter scratched at the scruff darkening his chin innocuously, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Of course not. Just, there was an awful lot of screeching there around that time… but I’m sure it wasn’t that kind of screaming, eh, lads?” The Captain shot a quick wink toward a guffawing Wrecker before continuing. “But you’re right, that’s no place for fine, upstanding soldiers like yourselves, so you wouldn’t be familiar with any of that sort of thing.”

The Imperial pursed his lips, looking as though he was running out of patience with the conversation. Luckily his companions seemed to have finished with their inspection of the hold, coming above deck emptyhanded, followed closely by an irritated Echo. The official expelled an aggravated huff.

“Well. If you see anything suspicious on your travels, remember that you have a patriotic duty to report it.”

“Oh, we’ll be sure to keep an eye out for her,” Hunter agreed pleasantly.

Giving the crew a final skeptical glance, the officer turned on his heel and marched off, followed closely by the two other soldiers.

The Captain glanced at his brothers. “Right boys? We’ll keep a close eye out—so we can thank her.” He spat on the deck at his feet, shooting a look of unmitigated disgust at the backs of the retreating Imperials before stalking off.

Omega let the scowl she’d held throughout the confrontation soften as she glanced over at Marvin. “We don’t like Imperials,” she muttered darkly.

Marvin furrowed his brow, expression troubled. “Me neither.”

The sun was nearing its apex by the time they finally finished stowing the remainder of the cargo. Marvin, returning to the main deck from down below after one final trip lugging cargo, took a moment to stretch and wipe the sweat from his brow as he surveyed the ship. A small coop and pen near the bow held a few hens, which Marvin assumed were meant to provide them with eggs during their journeys. Nearby, A gray tabby cat perked up when it spotted him. The cat waddled over, stopping partway to examine him curiously. It looked a little worse for wear: its fur was patchy in places and it was missing part of one ear.  

“Gonk,” the cat stated plainly. Marvin wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, or even whether that was a normal noise for cats to make. He’d certainly never heard anything similar from any of the alley cats when he used to feed them kitchen scraps.

“That’s Gonky,” Omega informed him cheerfully. “Come here and meet Marvin, Gonky!”

Gonky only stared at him a moment before turning to saunter slowly away.

“Bad luck, that is,” a slithery drawl commented. A tall, slender man strode up the ramp onto the ship, scowling in Marvin’s direction. Though of an age with the other Fett brothers, this one’s hair was a premature, ashen gray, apart from a bald patch on one temple where he had an angry scar. A tattoo of a circle and cross decorated one eye, and a pipe dangled precariously from the corner of his mouth. He wore a long, brown coat and seemed to have an armory’s worth of knives tucked into his boots, not to mention the pistol at his waist and musket strapped to his back. A large gray dog followed close at his heels; its square head, powerful jaws, and barrel chest would have been intimidating, if it weren’t for the pleased loll of its tongue as it trotted over to Omega to receive a few friendly pats.

Behind him, a man with receding brown hair and gold, wire-framed glasses huffed in displeasure.

“There is no scientific evidence supporting the superstition that a cat approaching a sailor halfway and then turning around indicates coming poor fortunes. As you well know, Crosshair.”

The final Fett was significantly better dressed than his brothers. A pair of clean, well-fitted gray trousers and a matching waistcoat over a pristine white shirt were complemented perfectly by the drape of a gold watch chain from one of the pockets. He held a well-loved brown leather journal in one hand, and nodded politely toward Marvin and Omega as he came aboard. However, his gentlemanly clothing and manners didn’t mean he was any less deadly; he carried two matching pistols as well as a rapier at his belt, alongside an assortment of mismatched tools and quill pens peaking out of his many pockets.

“Stow it, Tech,” Crosshair snapped back rudely. Tech only rolled his eyes and huffed again. It had the air of a well-trod argument.

Crosshair turned his glare down towards Omega. Marvin nearly shivered at the idea of such an expression being directed at him, but the girl only beamed up happily at her brother. “What’s with the kid?” he demanded.

“Marvin, meet Crosshair, Tech, and Batcher,” Omega introduced. “He needs to get to Ord Mantell, so he’ll be our cook for the next few weeks.”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting soft, Hunter. Haven’t we picked up enough strays?”

Marvin jumped as Hunter came up behind him; he hadn’t even realized the Captain had come out on deck.

“It’s temporary,” the Captain groused. “Grab lunch from what’s left of breakfast, and then get to work. I want out of here on the tide.”

“Porridge again?” Wrecker complained.

“Easy, Wrecker. Echo will show our new cook where everything is in time for dinner.”

Marvin trailed after the group as they trooped into the galley, looking a little lost, but Omega helpfully handed him a pewter bowl and spoon and encouraged him to help himself to the bubbling porridge on the stove. He blinked at it for only a moment before digging it. It was an unappetizing gray color with little flavor and a gluey texture, but he hadn’t eaten since the night before and the long morning of lifting, carrying, and dragging cargo had only added to his hunger. Still, he was already thinking of ways to improve on it, if this was what the sailors were used to eating.

The siblings wolfed down their food even more quickly than he did and were already on their way back topside, shouting and grumbling good-naturedly to each other, by the time he was scraping the last of his porridge out of his bowl. Only Echo remained to chuckle at the boy’s voracious appetite.

“Alright kid, let me give you the lay of the land before I head back up.”

Echo spent the next few minutes patiently explaining the basics of the galley for someone who was familiar with a common kitchen, but unfamiliar with the peculiarities of a fire hearth. Then he gave Marvin a quick rundown of their inventory of victuals in the cargo hold and left the boy to wash the dishes from lunch.

Marvin breathed deeply, savoring his first moments of peace and solitude since this whole adventure began. Then he got to work.

It was obvious to him that the Captain didn’t really want him here. The others ranged in enthusiasm—Crosshair’s venomous glare had made him worry that he might actually be thrown overboard, contrasting with Wrecker and Omega’s enthusiasm, while Echo and Tech seemed more or less indifferent.

So, as the ship launched from the dock and they began sailing into the harbor, leaving Koboh and everything he’d ever known behind, Marvin resolved to do his best to be indispensable to the crew until they finally arrived in Ord Mantell and could go their separate ways. He would scrub the galley from top to bottom, cook the best damn food they’d ever had—anything to make sure he was treated well by this crew of clearly dangerous men (and one sympathetic, but probably also dangerous, young girl).

He didn’t even take a moment to return topside to give Koboh one final, backward glance. It would have hurt too much.

Throughout the afternoon, Marvin worked double-time. He cleaned not only the dishes from lunch, but several pots encrusted with bits of food that were so old they threatened to develop sentient life. He threw together a simple stew of root vegetables and salt beef, baked several loaves of bread, and planned menus for the next few days so that tomorrow he could begin any necessary preparations in advance. Then he spent the last few hours before dinner making butter, cheese, fruit leathers, and jams from some of the fresh milk and fruits they must have picked up that morning in port. When at last he was satisfied with what he had accomplished, he set the bowls of stew, bread, and fresh butter out on several trays and carefully navigated the rocking of the ship to bring them out on deck.

“Oho! Aren’t you a sight!” Wrecker declared exuberantly as he relieved Marvin of the trays. “Chow time!”

Crosshair came swinging down, hand-over-hand, from his perch in the crow’s nest and was joined on the deck by Batcher. One by one, the brothers quickly seated themselves atop a group of crates. Tech, who had been piloting, was relieved at the helm by Hunter, who encouraged his brother toward the food with a gentle push. In the fading light of the early evening, Marvin could have sworn that the fierce Captain’s eyes softened as he gazed briefly toward where his family gathered for their meal, but before the boy could be sure, he blinked, and then it was gone.

In the meantime, Wrecker had begun digging in enthusiastically, tearing off a hunk of bread to dip into the stew. His eyes widened as he chewed with his mouth half-open. “Marvin! S’amazing!” he announced, sending a few spittle-flecked crumbs flying.

Tech sniffed. “There is no reason to be uncivilized about it.” He took his own measured bite with his spoon and blinked. “Although it is quite good,” he admitted.

Echo and Omega responded with similar levels of praise, and even Crosshair set down his pipe to give the meal his full attention. Batcher rested her leg upon the broody man’s knee, peering up hopefully for scraps. Marvin pretended not to notice when Crosshair slipped her a crust of bread and made a note to bring Batcher the last of the porridge later.

Once Tech and Echo had set down their bowls they got up to light the lamps, and when Omega had finished, she climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck to deliver Hunter his portion, returning shortly to lean contentedly on Wrecker’s shoulder. The big man wrapped his arm happily around his younger sister and hugged her to his side. Marvin gazed on wistfully as the siblings rested peacefully together in the gathering darkness.

“You’d think you’d never seen an old injury before,” Crosshair observed snidely.

Marvin’s eyes grew wide. “No— I mean�� I wasn’t looking at that—” he stammered.

Wrecker barked out a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about it none, kid, I know we’re a sight! War left a lotta scars on us. But hey, every new scar means we’re still alive, don’t it?”

The boy furrowed his brow, looking over the crew in new light. “You were soldiers?”

“Aye, the best of ‘em! Special Force 99!”

“For the Separatists or the Republic?” Marvin blurted out.

Wrecker scoffed. “Why, the Republic, o’ course! Kid thinks we were a buncha Seppies, can ya believe it?”

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean—"

“Not like the difference matters much anymore,” Crosshair muttered. “Republicans, Separatists, they’re all filthy Imperials now.” He spat on the deck for emphasis.

Marvin’s eyebrows drew even closer together, his confusion plain. “But—that means you all left? When the Republic became the Empire?”

“Sure did,” Echo muttered darkly. “Paid for it too, when they caught up with us. Six months in an Imperial prison for us, a year for Hunter as our leader, and scars all over his back as a souvenir to remember it by.”

“And it would have been longer,” Tech elaborated, “if we had not agreed to complete a long and rather distasteful mission in exchange for amnesty.”

“Kid doesn’t need to hear about that,” Hunter interrupted gruffly. He looked over his siblings sternly as they turned guiltily toward him. Even Omega looked crestfallen at the subject, and Marvin shifted uneasily. “Been a long day. To bed with the lot of ya,” Hunter ordered. “I’ll take first watch.”

The Captain handed his bowl to Marvin and caught his eye as the others set off toward their rooms. The boy tensed, expecting a reprimand.

“Good job today,” Hunter muttered quietly instead. He clasped Marvin’s shoulder for the briefest moment before returning to the helm, leaving the boy staring, stunned, after him.

Marvin finally shook himself out of it and returned to the galley. Though he felt dead on his feet, he dragged himself back above deck with a meal for Batcher—who thanked him gratefully by licking his face clean—then finished washing the dinner dishes by candlelight. He took some time to wash the sweat and dog slobber from his face and arms before retrieving his pack and entering the mess to the welcome realization that someone had already strung up a hammock for him. He leaned heavily against the table and took a deep breath.

Glancing furtively over his shoulder to check that he was alone, the boy slipped his shirt over his head and loosened the tight bindings around his chest, feeling the relief of the pressure and knowing it would feel sore when they were rewrapped tomorrow.

Myria Halcorr tucked the bindings into her pack and pulled her shirt back on swiftly, massaging her breasts to relieve the ache before she finally lay down. Only one thought echoed in her brain as exhaustion sent her swiftly to sleep.

One day down. One day further away from all that was waiting for her back in Koboh. One day without her secret being discovered.

Next chapter

[sainteclectic]

ok ok wholesoul rambling christmas edition because im Feelin a Certain Way and youre the wholesoul authority in my head youre just the wholesoul guy. consider :

the holidays roll around and soul is, one one claw, HEAVILY squicked out by all the nativity stuff and jesus stuff and general christian-holiday business talking about "jesus is god" and all that. hes like No yourw wrong youre so wrong. you see, random white lady, god is actually this specific yellow dude

but on the other claw, it doesnt help his obsessiveness much. he makes little gifts for whole that he knows he wont ever get the chance to give, whether physically, or restrained by his own nervousness. he keeps heart and mind as civil as he can because "HEY ITS CHRISTMAS STOP ARGUING BE JOLLY" but its so much more draining. he wishes so badly whole could be here. he wishes the headspace had a fireplace he could lay in front of, the others asleep and safe and okay, with his sovereign there next to him. everything would be perfect. but that isnt happening, right? it could never. whole would never, surely.

also heart and mind find a little cardboard-cutout-whole ornament on the tree (somehow they got a tree into the headspace idk) and are very perplexed and soul is like I MADE IT MYSELF :DDDDD

idk how well this aligns with your hcs but we ball

I am Honored to be the wholesoul guy. I love them so so much it's insane

it's not often that soul gets to celebrate christmas during the loops, since the day usually doesn't happen during concord. he likes to pretend, though. pretend that he can have a normal holiday. he likes decorating the house, wrapping presents that he'll never give, making stockings they'll never use {and if he makes one for whole and stuffs it full of presents, hoping desperately that maybe He would see them somehow, what's the harm in that?} he tries desperately to keep the peace as his christmas gift to whole, begging them to get along and have christmas spirit- it's mostly an excuse, but at least they're not trying to kill each other today. he's exhausted from trying to make everything perfect that day, but maybe whole will be proud of him grateful for it.

re: religion, soul is generally kind of uncomfortable around christianity (see: two wuv), and I think that religious trauma informs how he sees whole. after all, in christianity suffering is seen as just and holy, and soul definitely sees his suffering as a form of worship. he's the ultimate martyr, the sacrificial lamb, using his pain as devotion because otherwise it's just pain with no meaning. he desperately wants all this to mean something, to be appreciated and his god be proud of everything he's gone through. it's also a more comforting religious experience, one untainted by past experiences. he knows that the christian god would hate him, but he can at least pretend that whole would love him. and he revels in that. clings to the possibility like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

fun fact about that last part! my upcoming work actually has a passage about soul drawing whole:

It's never seen Whole, not exactly. Not like this. It sees Him in brief flashes, more of an impression of a face than His true visage. It's a face he's tried to recreate, to draw over and over, every single loop, so he doesn't forget what it looks like. {He refuses to look at his own for a reference. It feels blasphemous, to imply he could ever be comparable to Harmonia.}

and in the beautiful world I've crafted in my brain where they can interact, I think soul would be so incredibly nervous getting anything for whole. after all, what do you possibly get a god? how could your gift possibly be enough for divinity? he tries dozens of ideas: a tacky gag gift to make him laugh {too disrespectful}, a handmade gift {his work could never be good enough}, a simple gift {too mundane for a god}, an over the top extravagant one {too flashy for someone like whole}...

eventualy whole finds him sitting in his room, half-finished and destroyed gifts strewn across the floor. he says it's okay if he doesn't give whole something perfect, that the fact someone cared about him enough to want to give him a gift is the perfect present :-)

[isolaradiale]

This is an event rerun. For more information on how to participate, please check our EVENT RERUN GUIDE! If you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask! Keep in mind that this event has already been rerun before, and any form of past participation in the other runs means you cannot claim it again.

“GOOD MORNING, FAIR RESIDENTS OF SPIRALE! DO YOU REMEMBER ME? OF COURSE YOU DO, HOW COULD YOU NOT!?” Regardless of what one was doing at the stroke of midnight, a booming voice echoed throughout the minds of every resident of Spirale in tandem. “IF YOU’D KINDLY TURN YOUR EYES TO THE NEAREST SCREEN, I HAVE AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!”

Every screen in the city - be it a television, a phone, the digital screen on the fridge - all tuned into the same image. Rudimentary camera work pointed at a barely-lit visage. A three-eyed beast, each eye sporting a gleam as its feline features became more apparent. For many this was a beast that had appeared once before, but for others? “I AM THE MAD MERRYMAKER, THE PRINCE OF– AH, I’VE DONE THIS BEFORE. SIMPLY CALL ME K’HORII.”

As the cat beast spoke, throughout the city those that came from other worlds began to feel peculiarly disoriented. They couldn’t tear their eyes away from the screens but neither did they feel rooted on the ground. Almost as if it were an out of body experience. “MY ATTENTION WAS CAUGHT BY THESE HOLIDAY FESTIVITIES OF YOURS! AREN’T THEY PECULIAR? YOU LOT SPEND THE OTHER 11 MONTHS OF THE YEAR ARGUING AND FIGHTING, BUT AROUND THE HOLIDAYS YOU PRETEND TO GET ALONG! DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND ONE ANOTHER? NO! BUT THAT IS THE POINT OF MY BUSINESS HERE.”

All three of K’horii’s eyes shone crimson, and the point of view of every outsider in the city changed. They were not merely in a different place, but a different body entirely. “THE GAME IS SIMPLE! EVERY SO OFTEN YOU’LL BE SHUFFLED AROUND INTO ANOTHER BODY! WELL, IT’S MORE OF A SWAP. BEFORE YOU’RE SENT TO ANOTHER FORM YOU’LL BE RETURNED TO YOUR OWN. TIMING? THERE IS NO RHYME OR REASON! BUT YOU’D BEST NOT THINK THIS IS AS STRAIGHTFORWARD AS MERE BODYSNATCHING! …ALTHOUGH I’LL LEAVE THAT FOR YOU LOT TO DISCOVER!”

The screens all flickered off in tandem, leaving the out-of-worlders in completely different forms. At least for now. But… what could he have possibly meant by the situation not being as straightforward as it seemed?

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

Welcome to our next rerun event, EMPATHEOREM!

As you’ve surely gleamed from the above text, this event is based around the idea of living in another’s skin and coming to better understand people in ways you might not have otherwise. Here’s a general overview of how things will work mechanically:

characters can only swap with one other character at a time. the duration of the swap is up to the muns involved, and it could last the entire event, a number of hours, or even less. do what you’re comfortable with!

the characters do not to be within close proximity of one another to swap nor does it have to be with someone they know. it could be with someone on the other side of the city, leaving them to try and figure out who they are.

swapping must be done with mun permission. please respect the boundaries of other muns!

you cannot swap with an animal / pokemon unless they are a character on the masterlist. if there’s a pikachu on the masterlist for example you could swap with them, but not the pokemon of a trainer on the masterlist.

powers remain bound to the body regardless of whether they are physical or mental along with the unlock limitations. so if muse a were to swap with muse b, they would be able to use all of muse b’s unlocked powers provided they could figure out how to use them.

it isn’t merely a physical swap however, and there are side effects to being in another’s body that become more and more prominent the more time they spend swapped.

swapped characters may be prone to acting more and more like the owner of the body they are in. so for example if muse a and muse b swap, the longer they remained swapped the more they may begin to act like one another.

swapped characters may also experience one another’s memories. with mun permission, feel free to have them remember experiences only the host body might have known. this is a great way for characters to learn things about one another that might otherwise have gone unsaid!

the former two points are optional. you do not need to utilize either if you are not comfortable with it.

if your character has any special biological traits to note, please make sure to include this information in an info post or on your ad! in cases where characters have a fatal weakness to something mundane (in cases like being weak to the sun), you can choose to have anyone in their body subconsciously realize this for example. please do not kill anyone else’s muse without permission!

a posted mini will not count as participation during this event unless it is replied to before the event period ends. likewise during this event, drabbles will not count. this is because the event is very dependent on bond building interactions and we would like you guys to reach out and write with each other.

if you are not comfortable swapping with another character you are free to avoid doing so for the event! however to earn participation you must interact with at least one character who has swapped with someone else!

in regards to icons: if you’d like to offer up icons for people to use you can, but it isn’t mandatory at all!

you can use an info post to list things like unique biological characteristics, unlocked powers, and what kind of things like memories or personality traits a character in their body may come to expect if you’re okay with them experiencing these things. you can also provide a sampling of usable icons if you’d like! we recommend you tag these info posts with ‘#iremp info’.

even if you have mun permission we will not allow nsfw to be written during the event (unless it takes place outside of the event of course!). we also ask that you do not write any content picking fun at your new body in any form, even lightheartedly, for the sake of member comfort (for instance, if your muse does not have breasts and ends up in a body that does, do not joke about “having boobies”, or if they are a different weight do not draw attention to and mock it). if you are at all unsure if something crosses this line, we ask that you refrain.

the event officially ends at 11:59:59PM EST on july 5th.

[twelvedozenterrors]

Gather round, folks. It’s headcanon time.

Well, it was headcanon time two or so weeks ago. Sorry, I got sidetracked.

RP shenanigans on Discord got my sleep-deprived brain to produce this statement a while back.

Had it been lying dormant for a while, waiting for the right time to emerge? Your guess is as good as mine, but it sure was living rent-free in my mind nearly twelve hours later when I originally wrote this manifesto elsewhere.

Anyone who’s done RPs with @hxuse-of-muses’ Cosmos may have noticed how he is not above the occasional gag despite his regal visage and the formal disposition most Magic Crafters bear compared to the other four clans. He’s prim and proper, but he still knows how to take the piss or put on a hell of a show.

Even in Reignited, his gestures are far from nuanced - hands in near constant motion, trilling his Rs and making his exit with a twirl of his staff. He might not have had a chance to showcase it in canon, as with most dragons in the game, but there’s clearly a reason why Cosmos leads the Magic Crafters.

Being a good magician means being a good magician.

You could have all the experience in politics expected from a head of state, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before they even humour the thought of electing you into office if you’re nothing but a stick in the mud. If you can’t understand the importance of theatrics and showmanship, you can’t truly understand the foundations of magic.

It’s alluring because it’s abnormal; you need to embrace the wonder and joy it has to offer and provide people with a fun experience in order to make the most out of it.

All three of the main villains in the original trilogy wield magic in some capacity and prefer to simply blast energy at their adversaries, were aspiring or actual figures of authority - and last but not least, are thin-skinned assholes that got wrecked (or slain) by a snarky, adventurous preteen who loves to help people and has a myriad of fucking awesome powers up his sleeve.

Gnasty doesn't (or can’t) freeze Spyro in crystal, and the Sorceress won't banish him halfway around the world unless your copy of the original YOTD had its piracy flags set off, nor will she attempt to transmogrify him into her newest attack dog...

...and I guess Ripto showcases more of an actual repetoire in his battle than he does during RR’s cutscenes.

Pastel colours and skyboxes made from colouring vertices give the Spyro series (or at least the PS1 trilogy) its trademark visual charm and Stewart Copeland’s synths are the cherry on top; but if I want to grasp at straws, there’s a couple of places that might be worth bringing up during this spiel.

Crystal Islands, the most surreal environment Midnight Mountain has to offer, is populated by stage magicians who transformed it into the titular realm of crystalline fauna and flora by fooling around with stolen magic.

Attack of the Rhynocs, while its wildly out-of-character rendition of Bianca has yet to be reused to this day, also gave us Rabbit Habitat - a realm that demonstrates what it might be like if a birthday party could be a biome. Crystal Islands’ gnome wizards would be right at home here with all the decorations and props about.

Hopefully I wouldn’t be too outlandish if I were to suggest that many kids were introduced to the concept of all things arcane through stage magic. In a world where magic actually exists, maybe you could consider it sorcery as an artform.

Point is, the best magic users always keep their grasp on the childhood mirth that lead them to where they are now.

[evolutionsvoid]

For Vidalia, being alone in the kitchen felt like the only time she was happy. She was a shy one for sure, but life hadn't exactly granted her the confidence to be around others. It started when she was young, and it remained the same for many years. Her body was different from the others, and had its own strange conditions. Her skin was prone to drying out and peeling, causing her form to be a patchwork of flaking rind and sensitive flesh. She practically had to bathe in moisturizer every day to keep it at bay, but sooner or later it was bound to start peeling off again. Thankfully, it didn't hurt, but the flecks it left behind and the image it produced always made others look at her weird. Then of course there was the smell, as her body naturally released a rather pungent odor. It was a bit sweet, but rather sharp, and there was no way anyone wouldn't notice the moment she walked into the room. She did her best to cover it up, but no amount of bathing would stop it and fragrances would only last so long. And last but not least, she was prone to tearing up, eyes getting all watery. It often made her look like she was crying, which was fitting since with her condition she was often driven to tears.

She was an outcast in school and frequently teased by the other saplings when she was young. Her skin and smell made her an obvious target, and she could tell that even the adults shot unpleasant glances at her. People were uncomfortable around her, even if they didn't say it. The fact that the seating spaces around her would quickly become vacant said plenty, and seeing people silently steer away from her in public made the sentiment deafening. Things were only made worse with her constantly tearing up, which made folk assume she was crying. Which then of course got her labeled as a "crybaby," a "weeping willow" and comments about how she was "too sensitive." She didn't mean for this stuff to happen! She had no control over it! Yet, she was frequently seen as a gross, stinky whiner that folk kept their distance from. She hated it, but she couldn't do anything about it. She tried so many things to fix it, but they just wouldn't stick. And it also didn't feel great having to go through an arduous regiment of preparation and treatment just to be accepted by the public. Everyone else could stroll about without a care, but apparently she was the only who had to jump through hoops just to make sure no one was uncomfortable with her existence.

This was why she enjoyed the solitude of a kitchen, where she could lose herself in cooking and baking. There was no one around to give her dirty looks or make subtly rude comments. When the oven was going and the food was roasting, the smells blended in with her own, filling the whole place with a wonderful fragrance. And the completed dishes were like little pieces of art, which could be enjoyed by her and others. It felt good to make food that people loved, as it seemed like the only way she could get approval. That was why she got into cooking, and why she got a job working at a small eatery in town. Dryads were not fans of fire, but Vidalia learned to get used to it when she realized it was crucial to so many culinary wonders. At least its presence kept other dryads away! And so she worked that cramped little kitchen for years, whipping up dishes to be sent out to hungry customers. With her visage hidden, the folk had no idea who was behind their latest meal, and thus couldn't make the usual judgements. They would eat it and sing praises about her work, unknowing that the chef behind it all was someone they wouldn't normally give the time of day to. So she kept herself in this little sanctuary, receiving the "compliments to the chef" and relishing in them. These small praises combined with her love for cooking seemed like all she would ever need.

Her desires in life got a sudden change the day she saw Alicin. Another dryad that seemed just like her. Peeling rind, strong smell and constantly getting stares and nasty looks from others. But unlike Vidalia, Alicin didn't give the naysayers any mind, she went about her life as she saw fit. She was bold and brash, a flavor you couldn't hide. Sure didn't feel like someone who would want to deal with a sad sack like her. Vidalia wanted so badly to make a friend, but was terrified of the possibility of rejection. As the saying goes, "the worst they can say is no," which is correct because sometimes a strong "no" hurts really bad. It seemed like a lost cause, as who could enjoy being around someone like her? A crying coward! But as the weeks went by of watching and wishing, Vidalia eventually forced herself to get it together. There was more to her than the tears and fears! She had sweetness to her and a unique personality! She was complicated, she had layers! If she remained a mopey scared mess, then that was what she would forever be! So if you want a friend, Vidalia, you got to go out there and take a chance!

She had never been more happy in a decision before, as it didn't take long after finally mustering the courage to talk to Alicin that the two hit it off. There was bonding over their similarities and all the rubbish they had to deal with through their life, but even as conversation moved past that, there seemed to be a strong connection. Alicin's bold and blunt attitude hid a sweetness of its own once she warmed up, and Vidalia practically melted every time she offered a comforting hug. Their friendship grew strong, but things really started to heat up when Alicin took an interest in cooking. Vidalia nearly passed out from excitement when Alicin asked to learn her ways! There was also a boost of pride when Alicin said that Vidalia was brave for dealing with fire so much! Her! Brave! That praise gave her the confidence to readily accept the role of teacher and begin cooking lessons immediately. To both of their surprise, Alicin was a natural at it and soaked up all this knowledge like a sponge. As Alicin practiced and Vidalia taught, the two grew even closer together. Some would say that it was the benefit of a cramped kitchen, where the two were in close contact with each other. It certainly had its positives, but sometimes it would wind up in a few burned meals due to both of them getting distracted. As their usual excuse for these scorched foods would go, things got a little too hot in the kitchen.

When Vidalia started teaching Alicin the ropes of cooking, she thought she was getting an apprentice out of the deal. But when it was all done, what she wound up with was a wife. Alicin proposed one day, and it was pretty much an endless shower of joyous tears from then until the wedding. Thankfully, it is socially acceptable to cry during a wedding, but Vidalia was sure she really tested the limits of that that day. From then on, life had been a dream. The two would eventually open up their own restaurant together, and be the famed chef couple. Their recipes were adored and their reviews amongst the greats. Suddenly the two were very much accepted and invited to countless events. Their appearance that disgusted others was now iconic, and their aroma was practically a calling card. Vidalia never expected there to be a time in her life when she was seen as such a beloved icon. It felt good, but not nearly as good as whenever her and Alicin were together in the kitchen. Those lovely nights of them trying out new recipes, figuring out the theme for a catering job, or just quietly baking each other little treats. It was a flavor Vidalia never expected in her life, but once she got a taste, she couldn't get enough of it.

Of course, after being married for years and running a successful business, people wonder when the two are going to start a family. With plenty already on their plate, both are in agreement that they aren't ready for such a thing. They are perfectly happy with the way things are now. However, Vidalia can't help but think, that if they did have a sapling together, Shallette would be a wonderful name...

-----------------------------

"Vidalia and Alicin"

You thought you could escape! Fools! Behold the ultimate flavor combination! In dryad form!

[howlingday]

Princess Nora's Arc AU, Nora was certainly a unique princess, she's not like princess Weiss who's a sticker for manners and rules, she couldn't care less if anything she just wanted to be herself and have fun. One day she sees a young squire jaune being picked on by the other squires so she scares them off and protects him. When their gone she asks if he's okay which he's not since he's supposed to grow up and defend her not the other way around which she refutes with how she can defend herself. They become friends, maybe noras first ever true friend outisde of politics and jaune promises to pay her back and defend her with his full might when he gets older

Princess & Squire

"And you say you beat them off with a stick?"

"A big one!" Nora said as she beamed at her neighbor princess, Weiss Schnee of the Ice Queendom. "And it was sharp, too."

"So it was a cudgel." Weiss said with a frown. Nora gave her an odd look. "A club." She tilted her head. Weiss, losing her patience, shouted. "A hitting stick!"

"Well, duh!" Nora giggled. "It's not like I had my heels for stabbing!"

"And where were your knights?" Weiss asked, her patience long since worn away. "Surely they would not leave their princess unprotected."

"Believe me, I don't need protecting." Nora chuckled, punching her open palm. "None of those punks will be bothering Jaune any time soon."

"Yes, and regarding Squire Arc-" Nora gave the odd look again, "Jaune. Was he not punished for his failure?"

"What failure?" Nora asked. "He got bullied by the other squires because they're a bunch of assholes."

"Princess Valkyrie!" Weiss stood and smashed her hands against the sitting table. "Your job as the Princess of the Jade Empire is to learn from your studies and become a proper leader for your people! How do you intend to become a respectable empress when you're sprinting through the muddied streets, swinging cudgel like a barbarian while you spout such profanities like a common wharf whore?!"

Nora blinked at the outburst, then proceeded to laugh at her friend. Weiss' face only grew more and more red as Nora continued her guffaw. It was at this point that Jaune poked his head in, only to then retreat back out the door when Weiss' snarling visage turned to his direction. As she calmed down, Nora did what she did best.

Be herself.

"It's easy, Weiss!" She stood up, then turned to the window. "I just have to keep being me. Ren is already the emperor, so all I have to do is just stay alive until he decides to give me the throne. Until then, I'll keep being the toughest princess out having fun. And Jaune'll be right there with me, looking out for me when I can't look out for myself."

"You really are a child." Weiss shook her head with a sigh before falling into her seat. "You're lucky your brother is the emperor, otherwise you and I wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Well, duh, the only reason we're talking anyways is 'cuz your dad wants us to be friends so he can have good relations with our empire." Weiss blinked. "What? Just because I like having fun doesn't mean I can't be aware of the political intricacies of the realms both inside and outside the empire."

"No, I... I guess not." Weiss flushed a bit at being so callously shown up. "Still, your knights should be doing the fighting for you. Squire Vasilias is already showing great promise as my personal guard!"

"I dunno," Nora swayed her lips side to side, "I'm pretty Jaune's already won against him at rock, paper, scissors."

"What?" Before she could answer, she watched Nora tip-toe to the door where their personal guards stood by. She pressed her ear to the door before flinging them wide open. Jaune had his palm flat while Neptune held a fist. Paper beats rock. "NEPTUNE!"

"Um..." Neptune gulped, the squire caught in his charges deadly, icy gaze. "I, uh, won at least two."

"Uh-huh, out of how many?" Nora asked, looking to her squire.

"Uh, I lost count at fifteen games, No- I mean, Princess Valkyrie."

[dapperbasil]

OC Kiss - Day 6 (Forbidden)

Within a town with many strange occurrences that are certainly explainable and not in the slightest supernatural, a secret romance blossoms between two members of the Miskatonic University Skeptics Society.

It couldn't be an oc kiss week without Tammy and Zacharias, of course. Our Call of Cthulhu AU is the star of today's fic, and this isn't the last you'll see of them ;)

Correspondence hidden between pages of textbooks, within stacks of papers to grade, under doors and slipped from one to the other. They never lasted long, how could they with how damning of evidence it was? The professor held one of these envelopes in his hands, glancing over the blank front before flipping it over to see the letter sealed with a bright red kiss mark over the flap. Loathe as he always was to break the small gesture of affection, he popped open the envelope to retrieve the loving letter left for him in the book his student had returned earlier this morning.

Professor,

As I write this I think back to the time I last saw you, dressed immaculately as you attended the homecoming ball. Though all the attention was supposed to be on the festivities, I found my attention wandering back to you. The way your blue eyes were strikingly beautiful against your crisp suit, the way you stood to the side observing, still as a statue… I like to imagine this visage was for me and me alone. It is another in a set of visions of you that I will treasure for the rest of my days.

My classes have been rather busy as of late, I find less and less time to write. I promise I’m not delaying any coursework to write this, I am keeping my word that I will not fall behind in my studies. Even still I regret having such little time to devote to the things and the people that matter to me. My previous leave of absence left me far behind where I should be, but I am slowly catching up. I have you to thank for that, I believe. Your words and promises are ever present in my mind, motivation to work harder than I ever have before to live up to the potential you say I have, and to perhaps even become useful to you.

Two years feels like an eternity to wait, doesn’t it? I suppose when you’re as experienced as you are, two more years is nothing. But to me, it is more than torture. I understand the reason, but that does not mean I like it. It pains me so much to hide my feelings from everyone around me, but I know it is a necessity. The name that aches to breach my lips, the feelings that I wish more than anything to show, all stay hidden within these pages. At least one person can read them, for now that will have to be enough.

You are in my most beloved thoughts, my wildest dreams and my most fervent prayers. Until the day I can finally be truthful to myself and the world, do take care of yourself. My love will be with you, wherever you shall go.

The professor catches himself smiling as he folds the letter back up, slips it into the envelope and releasing a soft sigh from his lips he tosses it gently into the roaring fireplace before turning back to his desk and searching for a sheet of paper of his own.