#because the only other option is laying on the ground & crying

[astralazuli]

I need new undergarments. Which is like. My personal hell as a fat enby with sensory issues & slightly hindered mobility. Spent some time today digging through page after page of google search trying to find something &...

Look, I'm just saying. Whoever keeps deciding to list their brands as "size inclusive" & "plus size" when their largest size is a women's 14?

I think fat people should be allowed to hunt them for sport.

[stargirlfics]

sneak peek!

The Gentleman Chapter 7: This Heart of Mine

Hey lovely people! I am still working on a big chunk of this chapter but wanted to give y’all a little peek at some of it because why not and I have sooo missed writing for this series so it’s been neat to dive back into it 🫶🏾 hope you’ll enjoy this next one, it’s one of my favorite chapters so far!

Alfred lay awake, a soft but worried concentration set on his face as he watched you sleep curled next to him in the haven of your bed.

Flashes of Scarecrow cross his mind, then of losing you in the street and having to leave you alone at The Tower, the anxiety as he searched for Bruce, it all crept in with the quiet of night.

You looked like an angel wrapped in his sweater so he focused on how glad he was you were finally asleep, the exhaustion of the day’s events had caught up now and he only hoped the release he’d given you tonight helped ease the sting of danger and chaos that occurred not even twelve hours ago. 

He knew it was wishful thinking, barely able to sleep himself, heart wrenched when he dozed off some time later and startled awake to find you out of bed, only guided by the soft glow of your bathroom lights that illuminated where you sat crying and curled in on yourself at the edge of the tub. 

Immediately he was at your side, hushing your apologies for the state he’d found you in, hoping the way he gently took your wrists in his hands would bring warmth or relief, anything at all to quell what he could only imagine you were feeling. 

Oh, my darling. 

It hurt to see you distraught.

The panic in your features made him feel sick but he kept the dread from showing as best he could, not wishing for you to see how quickly it was hardening into rage as he cradled your sobbing form against his chest and reassured you that you were okay, because he was here and the night terror still lingering behind your eyes wasn’t real. 

“You’re alright, just keep taking breaths with me, yeah? You’re at home, it’s safe here and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

The last few words slide off his lips in a quiet promise, one made with a clenched jaw and an icy conviction going straight down to his bones just as steady as the snow falling outside, the kind he hadn’t felt since those early days caring for Bruce on his own.  

Alfred didn’t let his mind drift too far into that territory yet knowing he needed to think, to come up with a plan. 

Christ, there was far too much ground to cover with so little information still, a ripple of stress threatened to cloud his mind but he needed to focus on you right now. 

It hadn’t taken very long to realize he needed to make sure you were okay in order to be okay himself, to calm down and think properly. 

Helping you get back in bed and snuggled in his arms again had worked to soothe some tension despite the pit in his stomach as he watched you blink away tears while your fingers curled around his and it isn’t lost on him that you had sought his comfort. 

“I’m almost scared to sleep again, what if I have another bad dream?” Your voice is tired, weary and it sends another pang through his heart.

“If you do I’ll be right here to shoo it away but you do need rest, lovely. How about I tell you a story to help you sleep?” He’s pleased when your eyes perk up at the suggestion, you have told him before that he could tell the best stories. 

Maybe he’d go for an old favorite, the one about finding what he thought to be old treasure on a trip he took to the English coast, a place he wants to show you one day if he could get you both through this madness safely. 

But even as he began to speak and you tucked your face into his shoulder he knew there was no other option for him now, it wasn’t an if but an outright certainty that he would do whatever was necessary to keep you from harm.

There may or may not be lots of emotions in this chapter so 🥹🤭 I’m really excited! This was only about 600 words or so of a sneak peek but I hope that’s okay because there’s a lottt more coming and I hope to be finished with this chapter completely by next month, so thanks for all the love and patience as I work on it. It’s really appreciated and I feel more excitement and anticipation than nerves or fear about delivering on chapters going forward even if I do take my time 💕 Thank you all!

<3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3

[brandwhorestarscream]

pleasepleasepleaseplease continue the d-16 sparkling fic it's not often that I see dee in such a vulnerable position it's the only thing that's been getting me through this week

Aw anon 🥺 I'm glad it's helped you get through the week. This isn't part 5, but an in-between mini-fic just for you ^-^ hope the days get better 💖

D-16 makes a soft, staticy noise of discomfort and rolls over. He's not used to sleeping lying down, but there's no recharge stations out here, and the only way to keep himself upright would be to lock his already-sore knee joints. Waking up to the sensation of falling followed immediately by the painful impact of the ground was not pleasant, so laying down was the only option.

Distantly, he can hear the others. Can hear their systems' idle humming. He wishes it was soothing, like it would be back home, but now he's just worried he'll wake them.

He grunts and rolls over again, time onto his side. It put uncomfortable pressure on his internals as the sparkling's weight followed gravity and nestled there, and he turns onto his back. The pressures lightens, slightly, but is now spread wider, pressing on everything and not just his toxicity screener. A ping shows up in his vision, warning that his qaste tank just jumped from 60 to 87%. He dismisses it because no, it didn't, it just feels like it did because of the unborn sparkling currently sitting on it.

Dee groans and rolls onto his other side. But now it feels like one of the sparkling's limbs is jabbing directly into his stomach, and he gags before he can stop himself. The silver mech scrambles into a sitting position, covering his mouth and squeezing his optics shut. Willing it down, no, no, don't purge, don't purge-

He hiccups, and burning bile hits the back of his throat. He leans forward, preparing to throw up- oh. Nope. It suddenly goes back down, leaving him with a nasty taste in his mouth. Dee shudders, and suddenly, his eyes sting. "No-!" The whispered hiss is paired with frantic scrambling to press the heels of his palms into optics, as if he could physically dam the tears back and keep them in. But it's no use, and a sob manages to claw its way out of his throat.

He stumbles to his feet and ambles away from the group. Primus, this really is the worst part: it's like his emotional regulation protocols have just completely vanished, and now his body's response to anything seems to be tears and waves of intense sadness. D-16 thinks he'd probably die of embarrassment if he woke everyone up with his blubbering all because he didn't throw up and the taste is awful and he can't sleep and-

He presses his back against one of the crystal trees and slides down to sit again, wrapping both arms around his knees and dropping his helm down. Muffling the sound of his sobbing as well as he can, he tries as hard as he can to pull himself together. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, it's not that big of a deal!" He flicks himself in the forehelm, hoping the pain will ground him. That just makes him cry harder. "Oh my Primes, stop!" He begs. "Please, stop, just stop, I just wanna sleep-"

This is miserable. He hates this. His optics itch. His joints are sore. The baby keeps sitting on all his organs and making him ache in all these weird ways and he's so hungry and everything is just way, way too much-

Something touches his shoulder and D-16 startles, jerking his helm up and flinching away. Above him, Orion's face is painted in sleepy concern, "Aw, Dee-"

His lower lip wobbles and he bursts into sobs once more, this time with renewed vigor. "I'm sorry-!" He bawls. "I- I'b sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, it just won't stop!"

"Woah woah, hey!" Orion drops to his knees to offer him a hug, and Dee all but collapses into his arms, weeping into his chassis. His EM field feels... scattered, is that the right word? Disoriented? It doesn't feel sad or scared, exactly, but rather guilty and tired and annoyed and uncomfortable. Orion hugs him securely, patting at his back. "Hey, hey, shh... shhhhh, it's ok! I-It's all gonna be ok, Dee, what's wrong? C'mon, shhhh, don't cry, I'm here. I'm here, ok? Talk to me, what's going on? How can I help?"

"I-" he hiccups, then sniffles. "I...!"

"You...?" Orion gives him a comforting squeeze. "You can tell me, it's ok."

"I can't sleeeeeep!" He wails, the words bursting out as if a dam has suddenly broken as he begins to ramble, sobs and wheezes interlaced with every other word. "I- I can't sleep and- and I almost purged but I didn't and now my mouth tastes gross and they keep kicking me and they were sitting on my fuel tank and I'm starving and I want rust sticks, and- and my back hurts and my knees hurt, everything hurts, and I can't stop cryi-i-ing! It's not fair!"

He feels pathetic and small, carrying on in Orion's arms. He knew mood swings were a bitch, but he didn't think it'd be possible they could hit this hard. Everything feels like such a big deal, and nowadays his emotional cortex mashes the big red button to trigger a meltdown at the drop of a hat.

Orion is a saint, letting him cry and blubber out all his stresses, rubbing his back the whole time and gently shushing him. Encouraging him to, "Let it all out, you'll feel better after."

And, blessedly, he's right. A few kliks later he begins to wind down, still huffing and wheezing, but the tears finally slow to a trickle.

"...there," Orion pulls back just enough to wipe his face. "All better?"

D-16 sniffles miserably and sags against him, helm dropping onto his shoulder. "No," he pouts. He still won't be able to sleep with all the discomfort, and they have to leave in a few megacycles. Orion seems to catch his meaning, and hums. Laying down to sleep is foreign for him, too, and none of the positions seem like they'd be very comfortable with a little weight tucked in his gestation tank.

"Here," he shuffles them around, putting his back to the crystal trunk behind them. He spreads his legs and pulls Dee flush against his chassis, both arms sliding around him to gently brace both palms on his belly. It's still small, only semi-noticeable, but has potted out nicely and is just the right size for him to cradle in his servos. "I read in the Archives once, having someone hold it can help." He begins gently rubbing across the expanse of his baby bump, carressing it in wide, soothing circles.

Dee melts into the ministrations, and for the first time all night, the sparkling stills. No fluttering around, no kicking, just peace and quiet. "Ahhh..." he heaves a sigh of a relief and nuzzles into Orion's chassis, pressing a kiss to the underside of his throat before tucking his helm beneath his chin and settling in. "That's good... thanks, Pax."

"Anything for you, Dee," Orion presses a gentle kiss to the top of his helm. "Sweet dreams."

[p0p33-k3da]

I saw y'all liked my SMG34 headcanons, so get ready to be fed >:)

Some of them are a bit intimate but yk

•SMG3 would most likely have gone through multiple emo fazes throughout his life. (Once a month or year, depends honestly) He would most likely wear some sort of dark makeup around his eyes, making them look like eye bags. The only person who could help him through his crisis would be (you guessed it) SMG4.

•Whenever SMG4 comforts SMG3 in general, he would have two main different ways to do so. The first option would be to spoon him, holding him tightly, ruffling his face into his hair. Another way he could comfort him would be letting him lay on top of him as he let's 3 nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck or his chest.

•SMG3 likes to sneak up behind 4 and just either tackle him to the ground while tickling him/kissing him and such, or grabbing his waist then kissing his neck. SMG4 would love this kind of treatment, and honestly would be excited for it everyday.

• SMG3 says he doesn't like holding hands, but he secretly loves it. The reason why he says he doesn't is because he doesn't like to admit things he loves (SMG4 can read him like a book though, so he knows he loves it) 3 just thinks he does it to make him mad

•At III's coffee and bombs, SMG3 and SMG4 have their intimate moments in 3's little secret room (when it is closed, also the walls are soundproof) that's all I have to say.

•They both like to tease each other by mentioning the igloo incident so much that they ended up going back just to recreate it. Though, it wasn't the same.

•SMG4 loves watching horror movies but he is genuinely so scared of them, that he needs to watch them with 3 or else he would not get through even 30 minutes if one, he would just bail out instantly. SMG3 loves horror movies though so he really doesn't care if he has to watch them with him because he enjoys spending time with his lovely boyfriend

•After they started dating, SMG3 began to invite 4 to his silly little tea parties that he has with his eggdog before bed. (4 loves them but honestly since it is usually late at night, he ends up getting extremely tired.)

•SMG3 and SMG4 shop at hot topic together because SMG3 is too much of an introvert to go out into the public alone.

•when they sleep in the same bed, they only sleep in their trousers. Since SMG3's chest is hairy (another headcanon) SMG4 is the one who spoons 3. But he can't complain too much if SMG3 does spoon him, because he really doesn't mind the hair much tbh.

•sometimes, whenever SMG3 hugs 4, he forgets that he is wearing spikey bracelets, so he accidentally jabs 4 with them. He regrets it a lot after and starts to cry his makeup off apologizing to him with all the love in his heart.

•They like to experiment and try on each other's clothes, SMG3 wears really baggy clothes while 4 wears relatively normal fitting clothes. Most of the time they regret trying them on.

I know this one is not as long as the other one was, but honestly I am running out of ideas.

Y'all should give some headcanons you think I should add to the list (I will cred if you do)

[noosayog]

[IT'S ALWAYS BEEN YOU] - ft. knight! iwaizumi hajime

warnings/content: princess! reader x knight/personal guard! iwa. fluff mostly, minimal angst in this chapter. unlike my other series, this will consist of longer parts, but less total parts. she's finally here and I'm excited to share! let me know what y'all think and thoughts on perhaps a taglist?

wc: 1.1k

part 1. directory here.

--

In the kingdom of Aoba Johsai, you live a relatively peaceful life with your brother, the crown prince, and his closest brigade of knights who all attended the Academy together. With Toru being the heir to the crown, your parents have always been lax in their supervision of you. That gave you free reign to spend your days lazing off with your brother’s goofy friends, Sir Matsukawa and Sir Hanamaki. Any time spent with them inevitably leads to trouble and while your parents are lenient, they are equally quick to remind you to exercise the prudence a princess would. To keep the mischief in your daily activities in check, they assigned their most trusted knight and Toru’s best friend, Sir Iwaizumi Hajime as your personal knight.

Hajime’s job almost entirely consisted of tagging along on your excursions with Mattsun and Makki to ensure that you were kept out of trouble, at least reasonably so. You parents seem to think he does a good job because this has been his job since your debut more than a decade ago. 

When you were little, you minded Hajime’s presence a lot. You only knew the same couple of phrases that would come out of his mouth. “Princess, you cannot,” “Princess, exercise prudence,” or even more often, a simple “no.” He was a terrible nag and forced you to eat your vegetables. 

It was a couple of months into his new role as your glorified babysitter, when you were just 12 years of age, that you had found yourself dangling off the ledge of your balcony with only your 10 stubby, underdeveloped fingers gripping the iron fencing keeping you from cracking your head open on the pavement below. Too embarrassed to call for help, you silently kept your grip on the fencing, desperately looking around for a decent exit path. Ironically, it had been this moment of danger that Hajime, who never leaves your side, was nowhere to be found. With a mule-headedness becoming of a 12 year old rebellious princess, you were actually grateful that your nagging, austere, and unsmiling guard was not here to scold you. 

But there was a limit to how long your little fingers could hold your weight so as they began to slip, your panic had set in. That was when Hajime had bursted out to the balcony above to find your entire body dangling from the ledge. 

Cursing, he had sprung into action, throwing his entire body off the balcony and plunging down to the ground below. You had yelped in surprise when the wind from his falling body swooshed past you, unable to twist your head enough to see if he had landed safely. 

But you had heard him. 

“Let go, princess.” 

You had shook your head frantically. 

You still remember the reassuring, gentle timbre of his low voice when he had reassured you he would be there. “I’ll catch you, princess. You have nothing to worry about.” 

With no other options, you had let go as he had commanded. Midair, you had braced for impact but when you landed gracefully into Hajime’s sturdy arms, eyes wide, Hajime’s existence inside your heart had morphed into something completely different than it was before. 

After allowing yourself a moment to catch your breath, you had scrambled to get out of his arms to brace yourself for the lecture that was sure to come. But Hajime had kept you in his arms, tightening his hold and walking you all the way back up to your room without a word. 

You remember him gently laying you in your bed and patiently leaning over you as your arms had refused to unwind around his neck, not even realizing when you had begun to cry into his shoulder. When you had finally calmed down, he gently pried your arms from the back of his neck and softly rubbed an icepack on your skinned palms and red fingers. As you fell asleep to his ministrations, you remember knowing that you wanted to marry this man. It was at the wee age of eleven that you had fallen in love with your personal knight. 

~•~ 

Now, at the respectable age of twenty-two and having completed your etiquette and political studies, you were still very much in love with Hajime. And while he has never explicitly expressed his feelings, you were quite sure that your feelings were reciprocated. Though he is the perfect picture of a dutiful knight within the walls of the castle, outside, he is kind, easy-going and relaxed. With the years, Hajime had begun to mellow, his once strict and short leash on you gradually melting away to keeping you just within his field of vision when outside the castle walls. When on your day trips with Mattsun and Makki, he would goodnaturedly tag along, being very subtle in the fact that he was obligated to follow you and instead being more deliberate in showing that he enjoyed spending time with you. 

His expressions would soften more easily, more often. He was unabashed about smiling, teasing, and even outright belly laughing outside of the confines of the castle. His tenderness when touching you, when you cut yourself along the bushes or bruised a knee from running in the underbrush of the forest, was bright and unapologetic. Even the jeers of Mattsun and Makki would not faze him. Outside the castle, he was not only your knight and guard, he was your friend and a-little-less-than-lover. 

With this, despite the occasional obligations to attend balls, greet foreign emissaries, and routine paperwork that comes with leading a kingdom, your days are spent in mundane bliss. With a very capable brother dutifully learning his role at the helm of the country and your parents very much occupied teaching him, you were allowed respite in frolicking with the knights when they were off-duty. Even Hajime would sporadically partake in pranking the old, greedy nobles when they visited the castle and dip in the rivers in the forest behind the estate. 

You have never questioned whether or not it was customary for someone of your royal bloodline and age to not be pushed for political marriage. Your parents had never even discussed the topic, not even for Toru as far as you are aware. Thus, while you were grateful, you took that for granted. 

That is why when your parents summon you, on the eve before your 23rd birthday ball, you waltz into the throne room, merry and bright from your day’s escapades with Hajime, blissfully ignorant of their intentions. You are caught by dreadful surprise of the announcement of your future engagement.

[drama--universe]

Adopted

Requested by anonymous: Heyoooo! So I'll try the children's reader 😊 headcanons Zewu Jun, Lianfang Zun and a trio from Yi City started caring for a homeless child?

Pairing: Untamed boys x child!reader

Lan Xichen:

he's in a town when he finds you

the juniors were walking through the market, smiling from ear to ear when they passed the stalls

Xichen just trailed behind them, a soft smile on his own face

until he noticed something

rather someone

you were a small child, your frame thin and covered in dirt and your hair long and unkept

he pauses, looking around to find a possible parent or guardian

when unable to find one, he approaches you carefully

he's careful to not spook you and kneels down to show that he means no harm, holding out his hand

you looked scared, but also curious as you took a small step back

Xichen could see the wheels in your head turning, knowing full well that you were weighing your options

you choose to take his hand

and Xichen felt shivers up his spine as he realized how thin you actually were

your hand felt thin, almost like it just bones

the first he does is get some food, more specifically some bread

not too much, just enough to make sure that your stomach would stop growling

"eat slowly"

you nodded as you grabbed the bread from the man's hands, slowly munching on the treat

Xichen took the chance to ask your age

you held up seven fingers

and Xichen feels bad again

because you definitely didn't look seven

rather four or five years old thanks to your small frame

when he asks you about your parents, he watches as your expression drops

before tears start running down your face

he comforts you before explaining that he lost his parents too

he doesn't know if it helps, but you push yourself against him while crying in his robes

he doesn't care for the looks of others as he carries you into the inn and to his room

you're fast asleep already

he takes you to Gusu Lan

although some don't agree to just bring in a child that had no known origin, Xichen is always quick to refute them by listing off the rules

"help those in need if possible"

the first thing he does is clean you up

he makes sure that the dirt is scrubbed off your body, your wounds are cleaned and your hair is back to normal

(he assumes it to be normal anyway, he doesn't know if it is healthy or not since he doesn't know the last time that you washed your hair)

when you're fully clean, he dries and dresses you

the robes are slightly too big, but it was just for now

you're asleep by the time he gets back to his room

laying on his bed, curled up in the pillow

Xichen just covers you with a blanket before making his own make-shift bed on the ground

when he wakes up the next day, you are curled up against his side

he can't help but hug you softly, watching as you just cuddled closer to him

he didn't know where you came from or who you exactly were, but he'd take care of you

Jin Guangyao:

he found you when he was kicked out of the brothel

you were two, maybe three years old

left behind

normally, he wouldn't care

but he saw himself in you

left behind to rot by your parents

he basically adopts you as his younger sister

takes care of you, even if it means that he has no food for the evening

surprisingly, he really does care for you

in his own way, of course

when you get older, he is quick to teach you some useful skills

lying, manipulating, stealing, etc.

he's also quick to teach you to only use it on others, not on him

you're a quick learner, using your age as an advantage to get what you wanted

Guangyao feels proud as he saw what you could achieve on your own

be sure that you get roped into his own plans for the future

but all that aside, he is really attached to you

he is often by your side, no matter where you go

and he makes sure that you are accepted by others

but with his own reputation, this is rather difficult

you don't seem to care, you're a loner at this point

so he focuses on his plan instead of you

but every night, he'd come back to take care of you

he'd make sure you would be safe until the end of his plans

he didn't mind risking others, but you were not just someone

you were his sister and he'd die for you

Yi City Trio:

it had been the three of them for awhile now

nobody else was around while they stayed in Yi City

until one day, someone was dragged into the city

courtesy of Xue Yang

how did you get there?

once again, thanks to Xue Yang

he had found you during a walk around the market

you were laid down on the ground, thin form covered in dirt

your hands were bleeding, scrapes and cuts littering your skin

and you were unconscious

he watched as a man lifted you before carelessly tossing you aside to clear the road

he watched carefully, waiting for anyone to help you

but no one did

he inched closer with care, almost like a lion stalking its prey

when close enough, he softly pushed your form with his foot

you don't stir, so he assumes your dead

then he notices that you're breathing

and for some reason, he can't seem to walk away

so he throws you over his shoulder before setting off

weirdly enough, no one actually stops him from doing so

when he gets back, he approaches Xingchen before laying you down

"Help them."

Xingchen is kind enough to follow the request

Xue Yang is a bit surprised once again with how easily Xingchen does this task while being blind

A-Qing notices you later and her eyes widen slightly in shock

she's not that good at acting like she's blind, or at least Xue Yang thinks so

surprisingly, she lowers herself and gently raised her hand to your head

you wake up in a few hours

when you do it is quite a sight to behold

your head is laid in someone's lap, when you look up you spot a woman who is asleep

raising yourself up from her lap, you noticed two men

one dressed in white and one in black

the latter one was clearly asleep, head thrown back against an empty wagon

the one in white was not asleep

not that you could really tell thanks to the cloth on his eyes

it was only due to the fact that he was slowly pacing

you didn't mean to startle him as you spoke, but he did flinch slightly before relaxing

he turns around, face turned in your direction as he nodded for you to continue

when asked by where you were, he was quick to give you an answer

and when you asked if you could stay with them, he was just as quick to tell you yes

you basically are a family from that point on

a happy family of four

you just hoped this wouldn't change...

[eluxcastar]

*slaps my brain* this bad boy can churn out so much angst. Greetings, i arrive with pantalone x male reader : -- reader + a group of agents are sent on a mission. They're ambushed by the enemies (some rebellion group against the fatui) and everyone is killed except the reader. -- reader begs for their life and agrees to join their side and give out info about the fatui (But in their head, reader just comes up with an improvised plan to use this opportunity to lie and double cross the enemies) -- (un)fortunately, one agent survives... and delivers the news that reader has betrayed the fatui... to both Pantalone and Arlecchino. -- Poor banker man has a short breakdown before realizing that the Knave would be sent out to hunt down the traitor. (ouch) -- Perhaps it was just a few crumbs left of his love and trust for you, that convinced him to take over the duty of hunting you down. Perhaps he just wanted to see you one last time. -- He faces the brunt of Arlecchino's mockery and amused pity when he tells her that he's gonna kill you himself. -- Reader thankfully succeeds in escaping the enemy's headquarters. So imagine their panic and surprise when halfway into returning, pantalone pulls up and aims a gun at their head and demands an explanation (congratulations! both of them have trauma now! Reader is now paranoid in every way to never disappoint Pants every again! Pantalone now has paranoia for betrayal!) -- for roughly a month, reader moves out from their shared bedroom and occupies a guest room(fun!)

Super (un)happy (un)fun times with Pantalone ❤️

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: an expedition gone wrong as you are attacked by a group of rebels who win only by catching you off guard, they wipe almost your squad out, at least so you thought, and will little other option you decide it's best to choose the humiliating one and get on your knees to grovel and beg for your life like some poor dog

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader, mentions of blood, injury, death, reader does technically get kidnapped, the root of their problems is a lack of communication fml

୨୧﹑words :: 7.2k

nom nom nom this THIS this has eaten my brain since it was sent to me, this little thought that I wanted to do right away but was in the middle of Capitano and didn't wanna make that anon wait longer than the like two months they already had which was like two months BUT I SAID IN THAT ARLECCHINO POST that it was coming directly after Capitano so now I am LEGALLY obligated to do it (I have literally put off the Pierro request I said I would do since December) (I just want an excuse)

there may not be a post tomorrow because I'm tired and in pain so if that's the case the requests will resume either Monday or Tuesday

I also just liked that this request was like "These events, this order" cause it's so easy hmu anytime this literally ended up my longest post. also this kinda seems like it could even be the predecessor of the events of the previous post if only for a few details which tbh is an interesting thought

Somewhere along the road, you got to the point where you were surrounded by corpses; those used to be your comrades. You stare through bleary eyes at your weapon tossed aside on the ground. If only you could move freely, you could reach it. You might be ok if that was possible, but it's not. You lay surrounded by enemies who kicked at your comrades' feet to finish off whichever of them wasn't already dead. Quickly you have to think, lest you become the next one to get a sword to the back of the neck.

Ignoring a nasty knock to the head and some shallow scrapes, your health is the least of your worries. You have a splitting headache and a bit of trouble focusing. You can make out your weapon enough to reach for it; it's close enough if you're not mistaken, but if you're wrong, you'll likely end up as a red stain in the snow. 

Your hand finds the hilt of your blade as a boot crushes the backs of your knuckles, barely able to cry out when the weight leaves your head. There's a relentless kick to your ribs, wedging a foot under and flicking you onto your back. The tip of a sword finds your throat, sharp like a prick against your skin; the wielder is clearly not worried about making you bleed as you are.

"Do you believe you've achieved something?" You ask, slowly smiling up at the man who looms over you. His foot rests on your stomach just enough that it doesn't hurt, though you suspect it will change quickly. "Killing only grunts, you're so impressive."

He knows you're mocking him; you can tell he knows as he presses his foot down until you grimace from the pain and then some.

Your ribs still hurt, and they'll probably bruise later.

You just aren't thinking about that because you don't want to die.

You don't understand why you're, for some reason, not as willing to die as you promised you would be. When you set out on this mission, you were prepared for the idea that you would be happy to go out in the name of the Tsaritsa, but...it felt much different when faced with the situation.

It would be the end. Never again would you see anything you love in this world. You would never see your lover or your family. You'd never get to train another new squad of rookies and never go home to eat a warm meal, to feel how stupidly soft Pantalone's hair is, or get to kiss him. You already know you won't see your squadmates again, and they wouldn't see you no matter how shameful you become for the sake of your life.

If nothing else, you would escape, and with all hope of saving everyone else long gone, that much is all you could ask for.

Your dignity isn't worth dying for.

"Wait," you speak out, placing your aching hand around the blade of the sword to stop any sudden movements, not fully registering the choice as strange. "If you spare my life, I'll give you information about the Fatui." You're relieved to feel the sword pull away ever so slightly, though the sting doesn't subside.

The man looks sceptical of you, rightfully so, considering your actual plan. "How do I know your information will be worth sparing you?"

"I'm the captain of this team, I'm very useful."

He appears to consider your offer for a moment before abruptly snatching the sword away, running a shallow cut across your palm, making you once again cry out as that poor hand has seen much better treatment. Immediately it blooms with fresh blood that pours down your hand as you roll yourself over to clutch it with your good hand.

Tears prick at your eyes, your vision blurring, no doubt the result of the cold making your wound hurt like hell.

"I'm not convinced you're really so dedicated to living since you seem to be able to run your mouth so much." Now he's taken to mocking you, wearing a smug smirk like he came here to see a fatuu on his knees kissing his boots for a chance at redemption. He wants to watch while his comrades just watch him pull the poor little fatuu's strings. "Get on your knees and beg for it."

In your mind, you know this is what survival demands, but you resist solely because of your stubborn pride, which tells you that it is not something you are willing to do. You tell yourself this is necessary for your plan to work, for Pantalone to not receive the news that you've been killed in an ambush attack on your squad. If you can prevent even just that, you will gladly get down on your knees in the snow to prove a false promise that you will supply information to them, if only to buy time to find an escape plan.

You push yourself onto your knees, crawling a few feet ahead before placing your forehead to the snow and trying to ignore the burning pain in your palm that tells you to move it now. You can't, so you must endure it with a shaky voice.

"Please spare me… I don't want to die. I'll do anything you ask if you spare me, I swear, I'll betray the Fatui, give you any information you want! Please just spare my life."

someone grabs you by your hair, and when you're jerked up to see who it is, a different person from the man who was previously hurting you, this time a woman. You doubt she's eager to let the chance to beat a poor little fatuu slip away, either. How she smiles down at you so tenderly yet so sadistic tells you so. At the very least, you seemed to please her, and what more could you ask for? If even just one wanted to, they would likely spare you.

"He's so eager to please…." She lets go, and her hand travels down to stroke your cheek, making you fight the urge to pull away. "Let's keep him."

Those weren't exactly the words you aspired to hear when you joined the Fatui; you won't complain now that they're saving your life.

It was only supposed to be a simple mission. Many hours of silence proved that to be incorrect. Some time since your team set out, only one fatuu returns to Pantalone's awful habit of pacing like the floor owes him money. Worse still, that fatuu isn't you. It's not exactly a sight you see every day, Pantalone stuck in discontented thought as he stares blankly through everyone he looks at. You're supposed to be working under him. Why is nobody telling him anything? He doubts that it's as simple as not knowing.

Everyone must be aware of the undeniable fact that, right now, your life is in grave danger. The second thing everyone must know is that you will remain in danger for as long as he is not given the route you took when you set out to— 

"Pantalone, a skirmisher from the expedition team has returned." Pantalone startles, his thoughts interrupted as Arlecchino approaches. She is tailed by a slow and trembling man, freshly home and the victim of severe frostbite. Blood still clings to his clothes from the wounds he bears. She brought him so quickly that he didn't even get a chance to have his condition treated. "He says that the news he came back for is important, so I've spared ending his life for desertion. It still doesn't explain why he chose not to die along with the others."

"Is that important?" a part of him is filled with dread as he knows you would never allow yourself or anyone else to turn tail and run away, meaning it does matter. it's a sign that on the other side of all the chaos, he will likely arrive at the site where this man last saw you all to your bloodied corpse. "Where did your Captain go? He was supposed to be leading this team."

"H-He…" clearly hesitant to explain, Pantalone assumes he's about to say you had died in the heat of battle. "He betrayed the Fatui so the enemy would spare him, and agreed to give up important information in exchange for his life."

Something about that strikes him cold. However, he turns searing hot as the worry sets in like dread, and he realises everything will end here. the Knave will be sent to kill the traitor, and in the end, he will never hear your sweet voice again like music to his ears. It was for nothing to have held out hope you were alive because he was right. In the worst way possible, Pantalone was right. As he stands here pacing in worry, you probably don't care. Rather, you are spilling every secret Pantalone has slipped you about the Fatui he wasn't supposed to. Somewhere out there, you're betraying every ounce of trust he ever put in you as you take advantage of whatever you have to save your skin.

if only he could go back and be there, you probably never would've had to do such a thing, but what if this is the Tsaritsa's gift? To know that you would be willing to betray all that the Fatui stand for? that is a cruel way of thinking. He can't force Arlecchino to unhear that, meaning he can't keep it a secret. Pantalone certainly can't stop this information from getting out as he might've liked to. You will be hunted by the Knave to the edges of Teyvat for your crimes.

"Pantalone." he looks up to Arlecchino's stone-cold glare like she knows the deliberations going on in his head as the more significant part of him questions your innocence. "He's a traitor. Don't spare your thoughts on him, just pretend that he died and I'll bring his corpse back and call him a hero."

"No--" At that moment, Pantalone's voice sounds so strained. he thinks he's on the verge of tears even if it doesn't feel like he is. Pantalone speaks without thinking, and he can't tell if it's because he wants you to come home or to ask you why. maybe he just doesn't want you to die, even knowing you probably betrayed them. "No, I'll go. I'll go, and I'll--" he hesitates momentarily, "kill him." 

he can't even believe he just spoke those words out loud. Something about the entire situation is surreal, though he feels like someone has wrenched his heart from his chest and run off with it. That 'someone' would probably be you, off to present it to a new master on a silver platter. you took a piece of him and stole it, and now only an aching lingers. something in that aching longed for you to pay for your actions, but it also demanded an explanation. that part of him wants to hold you down and wring the life out of you with his bare hands so you can feel the pain he wants you to. it wouldn't be enough to let the Knave kill you, no matter if it was slow, drawn-out torture. he wants to see your face as you die, to watch the life drain from your eyes, and see if you hold any remorse as you see the point you've driven him to. 

worry fades away into anger, frustration too, but mostly anger. 

Pantalone is angry about many things, angry at you. He's angry that you made him fear for your safety. He isn't sure he can ever forgive that you had so carelessly become a traitor. He can't forgive that you would even betray him.

"Will you really kill your own loverboy?" He's angered that Arlecchino would say such a thing. The lilt in her voice makes it painfully obvious she isn't extending her greatest sympathies. "I thought menial work was below you."

he opens his mouth to retort but decides not to dignify that with a response.

it's cold out. it would be far too hard for you to survive without help. Pantalone is accompanied only by the skirmisher who returned from your squad with the news of your betrayal, though unbeknownst to him, he is taking his last steps as he has orders to kill the man once he has fulfilled all of his use. he also betrayed the mantra of loyalty, but perhaps he hasn't realised such a thing yet.

he and Pantalone arrive at the remnants of your last squad, the last place where you were seen alive and where enough blood was spilled to dye the snow red. he sees almost the entirety of your team strewn about and abandoned, only one of the attackers amongst them having succumbed to his injuries as he lay face down and lifeless.

this is far enough. he can die amongst his comrades.

"Lord Harbinger, they went in this direction." Though he has already begun to draw a blade, he turns his attention to see what the skirmisher is crouched before, noticing vague impressions left behind. It's been a little over half a day since he returned alone, meaning these would be your last traces. however, no matter how far you've gotten, he should tend to the bodies first. by the time he attempts to follow those tracks, they'll be covered in a new layer of snow. for now, he must deal with this skirmisher who decided that his fleeing was not a disgrace to the Tsaritsa's name.

Pantalone draws the knife he had tucked away out of sight. In the second it takes to turn around, a deep slash is carved into the fatuu's throats. He topples over himself to the ground, where he lands atop his slain comrades, struck by the shock more than anything. 

"Tsk tsk, and to think this was a mere decoration piece." 

Already another day and a half out, he stumbles upon the camp of rebels, as dead as your squad. They are all just as carelessly tossed aside as the last corpses he found, and much like the last group, only one is missing. it seemed to be the same one missing each time as suspiciously, you're nowhere to be found amongst the people you were betraying him for. gone with the wind just as you were the first time you hadn't come home. moreover, this certainly is not their primary base of operations as it lacks any semblance of permanence. It was put together in a hurry to survive the night without succumbing to exhaustion, not for a long-term stay. there's a freshly lit fire still burning by their sides, surrounded by the people who had likely been sitting by it for warmth before their lives were snuffed out by the sole survivor he knew of.

the cherry on top is that the bodies are still barely warm — you're nearby. You can't get far in that amount of time, and the snow gives you away quickly, even with the night falling. you're so close it's as if he can see you already, as the memory of your presence is left behind In the form of footsteps. most noticeably, however…droplets of blood trail beside those footsteps. 

in the place of your footsteps, Pantalone begins to walk along the trail you make for him, following behind you like a dog that chases the scent of blood to find its master amidst danger. stepping directly into the divots left behind is the only way to feasibly track you in the dark, with no source of light yet coming into view. the wind is picking up, however, and as he focuses closely on the direction he walks, he begins to hear the faint sound of life at last. the singular life who managed to escape certain death not once but twice and who will not be so lucky the third time. 

the glow of a lantern appears in the distance.

somewhere out there, the light ahead of Pantalone glows brighter as the distance between you grows shorter, and the silhouette of a man enters his view.

it's you, carrying a lantern you had likely stolen, bloodied bandages crudely wrapped around your hand, dripping bright red into the snow. more than anything, you seem ready to collapse from exhaustion from how slowly you move.

"Is someone there?" You must hear Pantalone as you turn back, hands shaking audible in the clattering of the lantern, a cut across your cheek.

You make eye contact with the gun he points at you. You are trapped in the middle of nowhere with no backup, little food, and barely any water, but you know it's him. if not for the gun, you might not worry, yet something about it sends chills up your spine just from the coldness of his eyes. You're not used to such a gaze on you. It's like steel and raw feelings cloud together into one terrifying man who feels the most profound form of betrayal a person could know. Even in the line of work of the Fatui, this is something different. Not due to circumstance but because he is a Harbinger. some shivers dance across you, spiking goosebumps into your skin, and you feel like you could collapse, but you know that if you do, all will have been for nothing.

"Pantalone--"

"I want to hear a thorough explanation for the things you've done."

You want to provide one, but…but how do you tell him you still betrayed the Tsaritsa's trust in you to die for her cause when the time came? Every lie that spilled from your lips, masked as information you provided, was shared out of self-preservation, not loyalty. That alone was enough to get you hunted and killed, especially in your position. 

Now you stand small and weakened by circumstance before a man burning with rage, only a lantern slowly draining away as the minutes pass. You can't blame him, only able to imagine how he could've possibly heard that you hadn't returned and what it must've looked like to see you gone so many times from places you should've died. Does he think you killed your squad to desert the Fatui? Or was there someone who told him you had betrayed him? Maybe he just decided that for himself upon seeing the very place where you had thrown away your dignity for him thinking you could do it all alone.

"I wanted to see you…" you try to say, throat rough and voice quieter than you'd like. "I didn't want to die so I lied. I was just coming back, everyone else is dead! Everyone was killed, but there was a way…a way that I could live and come home." Without meaning to, you begin to tear up, met with only unwavering disbelief, not of shock but of an unwillingness to believe you aren't a filthy liar. "I didn't want you to hear the news that I had died." You choke the last part out on the verge of breaking down.

"Was it me you lied to or them? How am I supposed to trust you're being honest now when everyone you've come into contact with has died?" You didn't think you'd ever hear such venom in his voice, but more than that, he was hurt more than you could be by his words alone. You just can't think of a way to prove to him you're being honest, not when you're so tired and worn down and working against what is likely an order to kill you for your actions.

How are you supposed to tell a man overcome with grief and emotion that he's wrong? There's no way he'll see reason.

"You can observe the wounds," you say slowly, unsure if he would buy such a story, "they weren't made by a weapon like mine, and you know what I'm like — hopeless with other weapons." 

will he wait that long? you doubt that, but you can make him wait even a moment for you to explain yourself.

"They were a hopeless rebel group who thought of me like a dog. why would I be loyal to them?" 

"You were supposed to be loyal to me!" like a rubber band pulled to its limit, it's as if something snaps, the boiling anger bubbling over. "I thought we were trying to stop lying all the time; I thought we agreed not to run off and try to do things on our own. Maybe only I had agreed to those things because you seem to be fine doing both of them."

His words anger you, but you know that denying them will only anger him instead. You have spent the past few days lying to him whether you meant to or not, the past few days have been hell, and yet he has experienced greater suffering in the form of overwhelming grief. for the past few days, Pantalone has believed you were dead, then that you had betrayed him in your most excellent schemes. it was what people told him. it was what the evidence pointed to.

But your body, appearing so small and trembling from how cold you are, wrapped in the now tattered clothes you had departed in, tells a different story. Blood spilled over your collar, the furs of your overcoat matted, your hair tangled, and your skin bruised. The sight brings pity to Pantalone for you, such a pathetic little thing still begging for only his forgiveness, not even your own life.

Pity reasons with the side of him that, even now, holds his love for you close. You are closer to his heart than anything else has ever been. He finally asks what should've been an obvious question that whole time: when did he start believing Arlecchino over you?

With the possibility considered, more questions flood his mind: why were you walking closer to where the Fatui gather most if you were betraying them? What use would you find in killing them if they were your accomplices? there would be far more benefit in allowing them to cart you out to the edge of Snezhnaya then betraying them. even you would know that and which direction you were walking before he caught you — back to where you came from. when your shaking form is back in focus, he realises his gun shakes with the faint clang of metals like the bullet rattles in the chamber.

You are returning to Snezhnaya, he realises, you are coming home.

Slowly, he forces his hand to lower alongside his gun. The tension in his body runs high; he's surprised to hear the gun slip and fall to the ground, landing somewhere in the snow with a dull sound that he ignores. there are more important things. Pantalone moves, forcing his feet to comply with what he wants — you are cold and need a warm coat wrapped around you tightly.

Pantalone freezes in place rather quickly, however. He realises you are shaking violently, and not just from the cold. the look on your face spells sheer terror as if you're a little child face with the big scary monster in the dark. you don't know. Unable to hear his thoughts, you have no idea his intentions. Inching back to put some more distance between the two of you for your safety, your sense of self-preservation acting for you. would you believe a word he says if he tries to reassure you? or would you suspect his habit of using flattery to get the things he wants? either is a reasonable assumption on your part.

There is a silence that spells nothing but decisions for both of you, thoughts running wild with possibilities. It drags on for so long that it feels like an eternity before you move. Both of you impossibly still, too afraid to do anything lest you provoke the other with even the slightest wrong move.

the first to act so happens to be you, lips quivering and eyes watering as they sting with tears you've been holding back far too long. The lantern is lost to the snow. You crash into Pantalone's chest, almost toppling the both of you. You finally break, your emotions overflowing before you get a chance to catch up with them. you're terribly upset and worn down, exhausted, anxious and, most of all, more afraid than ever. Still, you are so happy to finally have a single taste of home back in your arms, even if he's gone stiff as a board, and you're scared he'll toss you aside. just a moment, and you'll be satisfied to have your love end then and there in a single gunshot because of your stupid decisions.

However, as soon as the action registers, your embrace is returned awkwardly at first. you soon both relax enough to hug so tightly you might suffocate before you make it home. you would be more than glad to spend your last moments that way, but thankfully that isn't the case. you will go home safe again tonight.

the guest room is a lonely place, even in your own home, but once your wounds were carefully bandaged and placed in front of the fire to warm up, you had more time to think than you should've. each time Pantalone approaches, even just to offer you warm tea and an extra blanket, you would flinch so violently it was as if he still held a gun to your head. 

you tried so hard to spend the first night back in your shared room, but even with all the warmth and assurance you could ask for, you found yourself on edge. you've spent every night of the past three weeks sleeping in the guest room by yourself. can your relationship ever be repaired? from something like that, you're not sure. you desperately want to believe there is something that can be salvaged, even when you have seldom spoken to each other since your return. The two of you exchange little more than curt greetings before Pantalone leaves to carry on his work. Still unfit for active duty, you remain alone in the silence of your shared home. you thought the silence might make it better and give you time to think, but you know at heart that you would much rather be distracted.

You doubt in this state that you could convince even the ever battle-hungry Tartaglia to agree to spar with you and that plants you firmly in bed, unwilling to get up. If you got on your knees and begged, you might be given some paperwork to complete. You choose to ignore the helping of papers on the desk in the corner of your room, blank if not for your name. you were supposed to write a report of everything that happened during your stint as a rebel. spending several days AWOL isn't something the Fatui looks past, even when it's a Harbinger's lover doing it, though it certainly helps to have that kind of reputation.

In your mind, you've had thousands of interactions with Pantalone where you tell him anything and everything. In her fantasy, you say everything you want him to hear and spill all your thoughts and worries. However, when you come face to face with him, you freeze up and choke on your words until he's gone. Pantalone leaves the house earlier than he used to and doesn't return until later. Maybe he's shutting you out to think, or perhaps he's shutting himself away from you to let your physical wounds heal before thinking of your psychological ones. Clearly, only one of you wants to talk, and Pantalone's sudden turn to pulling away only worsens that.

You want to tell him that, but even that conversation gets stuck to the confines of your mind when you can barely say a quiet good morning to him. 

All at once, it seems you've lost everything. First, your team and now your husband; next will probably be your job, and your life will follow suit if that happens. The Tsaritsa's benevolence must include letting those under even harsh scrutiny for their actions get medical care before they die. Otherwise, you're sure you would've heard something horrible about the verdict on that investigation Arlecchino threatened you with. Supposedly you would receive a letter including the conclusion, though you were warned it may take months to conclude. If a letter arrived, you certainly don't know about it.

You're not entirely sure what possesses you to check Pantalone's office. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach like he may have hidden it or innocently collected it and has yet to read the mail from this morning. Both options have you looking through the mail in search of the letter. Is it even there? Probably not. You simply convinced yourself that is it, and now you must find evidence to prove or disprove that idea.

You sort through the stack of envelopes left aside on his desk. You started with the unopened ones, but, finding nothing, you forced yourself to move on to the letters he had most definitely already read. You can tell by the way the ends have been cleanly sliced with a letter opener.

In no particular order, you restack them as you go, thinking there are too many envelopes for him to memorise their order.

Before you know it, you're staring down at the seal used in official — mostly only important — letters from high-ranking officers of the Fatui. You want to open that letter to be a request from the Jester. You'd also settle for a nag for funding from the Doctor or a written apology from Tartaglia for blowing an exorbitant amount of the Fatui's funding during his stay in Liyue.

However, you know that seal too well; it is used only by the Knave. Harbingers have customised variations of the official seal; some you've memorised more than others, as the differences can be slight.

Forget your words. Your breath catches in your throat as you reach into the opening to pull the neatly folded paper out. Please don't be a verdict. Your mind races with dozens of possibilities. As you read through the words as quickly as possible, the worst of your thoughts seems to be coming true. First, details of the investigation, including the validity of your initial testimony being validated by the evidence. Your men were killed by the blades carried by the enemy. Arlecchino then goes on to discuss the logic of your actions and the order the events took place. She mentions the physical state you were found in and examples of your injuries, noting many couldn't have been self-inflicted. She does not entirely dismiss the idea you may have had help, but you can probably work with that mindset.

Finally, however, she notes that, in all likelihood, your version of events is correct.

Arlecchino won't release the final verdict until she's sure, not one to put half-baked conclusions on official paper, but the fact Pantalone didn't even mention this much to you fills you with a rage you didn't expect. How could he hide the most crucial thing since you returned from you? He knows how much you've been fretting over this, even in the absence of proper conversation between you — the few words you managed around him were to ask about it.

You're unsure if your hands shake from weakness or a new influx of emotion you're not ready to handle. It's tiring being shut out; you're sick of being shut out. Even if you did move to the guest room, you still live in the same damn house. You still share everything but the bed you slept in, so why? Why is Pantalone keeping so much from you? Why did he suddenly stop speaking to you? he was the one going on about you lying, so what about— 

"What are you doing in here?" 

a voice from the doorway catches you so off guard that you jump at the sound, looking up to find Pantalone with a nasty look on his face. Judging by the state of your emotions, you imagine the look you're giving him to be equally rotten, pissed off, maybe. You didn't hear him come in; he must've done so quietly.

"The hell's wrong with you?!" Without meaning to, you raise your voice, half due to frustration and half the fault of that pent-up desire to communicate, spilling over in the heat of your breaking point. This is it. This is all you can take. This is where your patience and ability to keep your emotions in stops. "Three weeks! Three whole weeks I have waited for any sign that maybe, just maybe, I won't have my head sliced off my shoulder, and for—" you glance down at the letter to find the date, knowing Arlecchino marks the date of everything she sends as a precaution, "oh, about four days now— guess who has had an idea of how that investigation into his own husband is going?"

You barely even noticed you had blown a gasket until you were done, stood from the chair Pantalone should be sitting at, hands resting on the table. Your palms hurt; you must've slammed them down at some point, as the sting is dull but still there. More than anything, your breath is laboured, and you might start to cry again if you don't get a hold of yourself. You're so mad it makes you feel dizzy, like you might lose your footing if you're not careful. 

Ah. That's not your anger. The realisation hits you hard as you lose your balance and topple back into Pantalone's chair. You got so tense and behaved carelessly, worsening your health. You're not used to being so fragile.

"Don't get yourself too wound up—" Pantalone made his way to your side at some point— "you'll make it worse."

You don't care if you make it worse. You really don't, but you know that throwing a tantrum is childish and solves nothing but making Pantalone worry for you more. It only pushes him further away from you and helps no one.

But Archons, you're just so irritated, your emotions at an all-time high. You've spent three weeks forcing them into a tiny box they don't fit in. You've spoken to nobody about it, said nothing of the kind of thoughts you had stranded out there alone, the only survivor of your squad. An overwhelming abundance of guilt tells you that you should've died along with them; you were a coward for how you acted following their deaths. You're just a filthy coward, aren't you? Cowards are of no use to anyone, let alone the Tsaritsa. Maybe it would be best if it was declared you weren't fit for duty. Arlecchino should just decide you've tarnished Her Lady's honour.

At last, you understand. You understand why Pantalone has avoided you for three straight weeks — you are not the man he married. You are some imposter of that man who would brave even the strongest foes without an inkling of a thought he might lose. You are a cowardly and pathetic excuse for that man. You bury your face in your hands, rubbing harshly at your face in some attempt to outlet that frustration. It seems so stupid you didn't realise it before. It's terrible to divorce an injured man, so he must be waiting for you to recover enough for him to leave you—

"I'm sorry."

Out of all the anticipated responses, that wasn't high on your list. You bite your lip, waiting to hear what comes next, chewing at it nervously.

"I thought if I kept that from you…" he trails off suddenly like there is more. Maybe he lost the words to say it, or maybe he didn't have very nice things to say in the first place. "I thought it would be easier to focus on your recovery if you weren't aware of how far Arlecchino was delving into your private life. I didn't—" 

When you look up, you see a man with a look in his eyes like a kicked puppy, the visible distress you're in like a kick to his gut. He realises everything he's done to contribute to you ending up this way. You need him, truly, more than anything right now.

"You want to divorce me now, don't you?"

What possessed you to say that is far beyond both of you, but it's not any kind of accusation. It's just a question.

"No?" Still, he seems to think that's absurd; the look on his face is nothing short of pure confusion, like you just said the most ridiculous thing he's heard, and you had. "Why would I— No, I don't want a divorce."

"Then why are you avoiding me so much?" You shrink in your place, making yourself small as you were that night, and it raises the same pity in him that he felt then. "Why won't you talk to me? Why aren't you ever home?"

He is terrified. He is terrified to be close to you, even when he knows you need him.

A voice in his head asks what if you're still tricking him? What if this is only an act to gain his sympathy? He knows it's not, but the feeling, the paranoia, rings so clearly in his head he struggles to see you on the verge of tears. He doesn't want to trust you yet, even though he knows any comrades you had on either side are long dead. Even Arlecchino corroborated your story to some degree; she had yet to confirm the rest. So far, however, you were being liberated of any fault piece by piece. So why? Why does he feel so anxious about allowing you back into his home?

You live there; your entire life is in that house. He has built his everything up here, you by his side. It was hard to imagine that a singular mission gone south could cause this amount of damage. Yet, you are curled up in his chair while he stands beside it, taking your bandaged hand to squeeze it tightly and reassure you. He wants so desperately to believe that you told the truth. The nagging voice in the back of his mind constantly pushes the idea that you lied, trying to convince him your words didn't make sense. Everything makes sense. Arlecchino would not lie about that.

On the other hand, you've got such horrible anxiety, unlike the silly little thoughts you had before. It's not about whether Pantalone likes the flowers you get him or prefers silver jewellery or gold. It is about whether or not he secretly plans to divorce you. Your failure and the worry you caused him weigh heavy on your mind, all boiling down into one conclusion. You have caused him nothing but grief for what? A month now? Probably more than that. Who's to say you weren't a bother to him before the mission? What if you've always been a bother, and this is just his excuse to justify it?

That would explain why he pulled away so suddenly. Maybe it is about the flowers and the jewellery, perhaps he preferred flowers your money couldn't buy. You know he's not that materialistic, but it's the only way you can make sense of it. Maybe, for a Harbinger, you will never be enough. Perhaps he expected you would have taken Tartaglia's place as Eleventh before he got the chance. You were content and happy as a measly Captain under Pantalone's sector and never seemed to strive for more. You thought that would take your time away from him, but you also didn't want more than you needed. Were you meant to strive for more than that? Is that it?

Your deliberations are only working you up more, the opposite of what he warned you not to do. The tears start rolling down your cheeks again, warm and unable to be stopped by simply wiping them away as more only take their place. Maybe Pantalone doesn't want a crybaby for a husband. Then what? You would still be failing him even now.

You hiccup your sobs out for a moment, trying to force yourself to breathe so that you'll calm down. "I want you to tell me why you've been avoiding me and why you keep leaving so early and coming home so late." You quickly wipe your tears once again, the roughness of the bandages binding your hand quite unpleasant against your eyes. "Can we just talk? A-And be honest with each other like we promised we would."

Your pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Pantalone wants to listen to everything you have to say and tell you everything as long as you're willing to be as honest as you say you will be. He has faith you will, even with the voice that tells him you won't. If Pantalone never hears you out, then it doesn't matter how much truth you speak, as nothing will save your marriage from him refusing to believe it. If he wants to mend this as you seem to, he has to do his part. It should've been obvious it would be difficult after the heights of emotions you both experienced in a few days. 

The two of you must work through this eventually, preferably sooner rather than later.

"We'll talk for as long as necessary, my darling, and be as honest as possible with each other." Pantalone takes your other hand and brings it to his hands, warm and soft against your skin — just that much puts you at ease. One of his hands brushes your hair from your face and wipes your cheeks, a gentle, affectionate motion that is not lost on you. 

A man that did not want to be married to you would not be so tender toward you, would he? He would be cruel and taunting in your weakest moments. Pantalone is not sympathetic towards those he does not care about, and his idea of feigning it is vaguely veiled mocking. This is different — it's genuine. You nod in agreement.

"I don't want it to end," your words mumbles as you try to keep yourself together, "I don't want to break up over this."

"We won't," his reassurance comes hastily but is not insincere in the slightest, "we'll work through this. I promise we'll talk about it."

With confidence, you can't say everything you both have to say will be said, but you know that you intend to try to get as much as possible out. If that's all you can manage for a day, then that amount of progress is better than none. It's better than pushing and pulling forever; that is enough for you to know it will be alright.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[whxre-bxby]

Fanfiction further down! Scroll!

Recom Mansk x Recom f. Y/N 

Masterlist

"Greeting Death With A Smile"

Summary: Mansk is present on the boat for the last fight against Sully and Neytiri. He gets wounded and thinks he’s going to die alone. Luckily you find him in time, but you don’t know if it’s already too late.

WARNINGS: uhm TEARS, ANGST, Death, Blood, Violence tiniest bit of sad fluff, I’M BALLING MY EYES OUT WHILE WRITING THIS I THINK THAT SAYS ENOUGH

(Like, read at your own risk cuz I’m in pain I miss him sm)

Word Count: 4102

If u wanna feel even sadder i recommend you listen to (When it‘s cold I‘d like to die alone) it helped me cry my eyes out to the point that the tears burned my skin :)

Quaritch was giving instructions while, Lyle, Z-Dog, Prager, Mansk, and I stood close and listened. We were the only recom’s that I knew were alive. All the others had since been killed but since new things always kept happening, we couldn’t let our guard down and there was no time to mourn. 

I had to run past Ja who lay lifeless on deck and it made me feel sick. I felt the urge to at least pull his body somewhere else but I knew we didn’t have time. 

We had two of Jake’s kids hostage here with us and the Colonel was trying to get him to turn himself in for his daughters. 

I sighed, not knowing whether I would live to see another day. I wasn’t even sure why I was doing this or whether I thought it was right. But as a marine, you’re taught to listen to orders, even if you don’t agree with them. Listen and obey. That’s how you become a good soldier. And definitely never doubt your superior because they know what they’re doing. 

Deep down, I did doubt it though. Not just Quaritch’s plan but this whole mission. Our existence. It was all still a big mess to me. 

“Hold fire!” Quaritch orders as we watch him and Spider dive back into the water. 

“He’s comin’.” he added, turning to me and another human soldier. 

I pin my ears back and hold back a shiver from the cold. My clothes were wet but ignored the feeling and focused on holding my weapon ready. 

“Let’s get this guy.” Quaritch said like it were the easiest thing in the world. My ears perk up. I listen even though I doubt. Even though I don’t understand, I listen. 

“It’s what we came here for.” the Colonel keeps talking, looking at everyone around him. 

I notice how all of us are no longer fully with him. Prager and I exchange looks but with no expression because we are both in denial of our doubts and worries. Pretending they aren’t real. 

Even Lyle doesn’t nod along to his superior's words like he usually would. He would always back up everything Quaritch said but now he just stared at the ground, holding his gun and letting the Colonel’s words go in one ear and out the other.

Mansk looks at us and I can tell he has the same problem. We aren’t convinced but what option do we have? We’ve already done so much harm here. Once again. There’s no turning back because we’re marked down as the enemy for every single Na’vi on this planet. 

We aren’t wanted here so we must listen. 

To be completely honest, when I look at Quaritch one may think he knows what he’s doing. But I also occasionally catch a glimpse of doubt in his eyes. As if he weren’t sure why he would want to do this. Maybe he isn’t. I know damn well most of us hate the humans we used to be but we can’t do anything about it. 

He claps his hands together and his confident expression returns. He tells us to take our places and I look at the ground before going to cover my area of ground. 

We waited in silence for Sully to arrive and within the next few minutes, something exploded on the top deck. Prager and Z-Dog ran up the steps while I stayed on the lower deck with the rest of the team which is also where our hostages were. 

My ears flick in multiple directions as I hear screams and I see Neytiri land on her Ikran. Her presence here meant death to many. Perhaps it would be me too. 

Bodies start falling and I run over to pull a few soldiers out of the fire. Quaritch retreated to take cover close to where the two kids were while Lyle and Mansk continued to cover their ground. 

Someone shouted ‘Eyes up’ and I saw Jake and Neytiri land on the lower deck now. That meant they wiped out the entire top deck already.

I see Lyle and Mansk still standing and am about to go to them when I hear a scream of agony behind me. An injured soldier covered in flames. Without thinking, I run to him, pulling him away from the oil-covered metal pole and helping him put out the fire on his leg. He’s missing his other one. 

He lets his body fall back and sighs a little in relief, seeming to not feel the pain of his missing leg due to shock. I know he won’t make it through this. There is no one here to help. Everyone is trying to live. 

Quickly, I turn around and that’s when I see Lyle get pushed over the rail by Jake who turns in the opposite direction of me. Mansk is no longer in sight. 

I leave the wounded man behind because he passed out and I wouldn’t be able to help him anyway. I also just happened to care slightly more for Mansk and Lyle. 

I jog over to a large red metal pole, keeping my gun raised an looking around. Maybe a recom was injured and needed aid or perhaps I could spot either Jake or Neytiri and get at least one of them down. 

I press myself against the side of the column, looking over my shoulder at the rail which Lyle fell down. His body looked limp as it fell, making my gut wrench. Probably nothing I could save. 

Suddenly I hear a distant shout. 

“Y/N!” the voice of the Colonel echoes through the blood-stained walls of the ship. 

I flinch and just as I go to turn around, my knee is kicked in and I’m hit in the head with the base of a gun. 

I fall forwards and my body summersaults over a rail. My movements stop for a split second until my weight rolls to one side and suddenly I’m falling again. I land on the hard ground with a big thud which sends immense waves of pain through my body. 

In a state of shock, I look up at the hole I was pushed in but no one is standing there anymore. 

Slowly I get up, holding my side. I can’t move properly. I think I broke or at least cracked a rib. The lights in here are broken and since only a few work, it’s very dim. 

I look up and notice I’m not alone. 

Mansk couldn’t comprehend what happened fast enough. His heart dropped when Jake pointed the gun at him but luckily he ran out of ammo. In the next second, he lost his balance and hit his head on a metal pole next to him, falling over it. He saw Jake take his gun and launch it away before his upper body started tilting back. 

His upper body was resting over what seemed to be a dent in the ground but as he slowly turned in pain, he realised it went further down. Mansk felt as though he was slowly falling through the ground but he couldn’t prevent it because his eyes kept blacking out. He saw how he slowly fell into darkness and his feet lifted into the air, falling with him into the void.

The sound of gunshots and shouts was distant now and he lay at the bottom of the hole he didn’t see before. Light reflected inside from the fire above but it wasn’t strong enough to help him see. 

He groaned in pain, slowly lifting his injured body off the ground and pushing himself against a wall so that he was sitting upright. Mansk saw his shades on the ground next to him and noticed they were broken. 

He once made a joke that he would die with them when Lyle teased him about constantly wearing them. Maybe it was time. 

His head would drop in the direction the ship tilted as he lay limp against the cold metal. 

Mansk shouted for help, calling out the names of the people he thought might still be around but there was no answer. No one heard him.

His vision became blurry and when he looked down he saw his abdomen was covered in a small puddle of blood. Whether it was his he didn’t know. 

But he wasn’t afraid he would die. This is how he imagined it. He knew very well that one doesn’t mourn death in the military on Pandora. Mansk was ready to close his eyes for the last time and die alone, in peace. After all, it was his fate. Even though he hadn’t accomplished his mission, this is what always awaited him. 

He lost track of time and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness every few minutes. What woke him up was a scream which came from right above him and a thud of a body which landed a few feet from Mansk. His eyes managed to open and he saw a blue figure. Blood pumped through his veins as the feeling of fear returned again but once he noticed the U.S uniform, he dropped his head back in relief. It wasn’t Jake or Neytiri. 

I whine out in agony as I straighten my posture and see Mansk sitting and leaning against a wall. My face brightens and for a second I forget about the pain. 

“Mansk!” I shout, leaning back down on all fours and hugging my waist while looking up at him. He lifts his head and his eyes widen when he sees me. 

“Y/N?” he asks, but his voice sounds weak. I smile, feeling relieved he’s alive and that I’m not alone. 

“Oh thank god, I thought everyone was-” I say, crawling over to him before my hand comes in contact with a small puddle of fluid. I want to shake if off my skin but when I glance down I notice its colour. It’s not water, it’s blood. And it’s not mine but his.

My heart sinks when my eyes move higher up Mansk’s body, noticing how his blood has drenched the clothes on his stomach. When I look up at him he’s gazing at me with half-lidded eyes. Just above them, a new trail of blood is forming and slowly drizzling down the side of his face. 

“Oh, Mansk…” I whisper, ignoring my own pain and kneeling next to him. His eyes follow me as I move around him and he looks weak and exhausted. I don’t think he can move much more than his head. 

“Where are you hurt?” I ask, gently lifting his arm to check whether the blood is coming from his side.

“I don’t know…” he whispers, barely moving his lips or jaw. His eyes occasionally close while I apply pressure to check where the pain is coming from.

I hear him hiss through clenched teeth and I gently return it to its previous position. “Sorry,” I whisper.

He breathes heavily through his nose, looking down at himself. I notice how the blood doesn’t seem to stop. 

“Come on, we need to get you back.” I softly say, lifting his arm over my shoulder. But I didn’t know how to get out of here, I was just hoping that the darkness would lead to a door which could lead us outside.

“No.” he breathes out and his body tenses. I freeze my movements and look at him. 

“You can’t stay here Mansk.” I say, trying to motivate him to see if he can get up. 

“I can’t move.” he whispers, biting down on his teeth as he tries to pull his arm from my shoulder. 

“Y/N, I can’t feel my legs…” His jaw trembles and his voice breaks a little. His words go straight to my heart, seeming to tear it in two.

I look away, furrowing my eyebrows together while I convince myself that there must be another way. Quickly, in hopes of helping him, I lean over his body and apply pressure on his big wound to try and stop the bleeding. 

I feel the corners of my eyes sting and my nose itch. The common sign that showed me I was about to tear up. 

Mansk sighed and when I looked up at him he was softly smiling at me. It wasn’t a happy smile, but an appreciative one. 

Mansk knew that what you were doing wouldn’t save him, but your attempt made him smile. Knowing you cared enough about him not to leave him behind warmed his heart as it slowed its beating. 

“Stop looking at me like that, I’m gonna get you out of here.” I say, having to look away because otherwise, I might just break down. But my words didn’t seem to convince Mansk at all. They just refreshed his fading smile. 

Even if we would somehow make it out of this room, our chances of dying were probably worse on deck because Jake and Neytiri were still there. And if they weren’t, there was no way we could get off this ship. We were both too wounded to fly our Ikrans. It wouldn’t work.

With the next inhale he tensed up and coughed while I steadied him and kept him sitting upright. His legs were motionlessly laying on the floor in front of him while his chest heaved. I noticed him cough out a few drops of blood which is what did it for me. Mansk wasn’t doing well and my hopes of him surviving were dying out. 

“Thank you…” he whispered as his cough finally retreated. I look up at him through glossy eyes, wondering what he meant. I wasn’t going to let him see me cry, because crying would be acknowledging that he wasn't going to make it. As long as I held them back, there was still hope in me. 

“I thought I’d-” he said, being cut off by gasping for air. “...die alone.” 

A smile formed on his lips again as his eyes remained fixed on my face. 

Mansk knew all recom’s were something close to friends but he didn’t think he ever had anyone close enough to him to stay with him through his last moments. He expected to be left behind somewhere, injured and no longer deemed as useful. 

“Come on Mansk, don’t give up on me.” I say, my forced calm voice breaking as I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver. 

“I’m glad you’re here…” he struggled to say, forcing the words out of his pained chest while keeping his faint smile. It was slowly fading again.

I gasp, pressing my lips together to not lose it. I reach for his limp and blood-stained hand and hold it between both of mine. Feeling how cold it is has me fighting back tears. 

I shiver from shock and pain. My broken rib was poking me and it hurt like hell.

"I can't save us." I whisper to myself, my voice trembling.

Suddenly, I feel how my legs are wetted and I look down, dreading to see blood but this time it is water. The room was slowly tilting to one side and the water was flowing in from the other side of the room. Mansk had noticed it too. 

“You-” he said before coughing up more blood and I lost it. “You need to go.” he said, his voice sounding pained and forced. I knew he was suffering but I couldn’t let him die here. 

“I’m not leaving you, Mansk.” I whisper, pressing his palm against my cheek. The tears blur my vision before spilling down my cheek, burning my skin a little. 

“You can- live.” he says, swallowing back a cough while he struggles to breathe. 

I clench my eyes closed, not wanting him to leave me as well. I knew Mansk for a long time and even though we were never really close, he had been a part of my life since I arrived on Pandora. We rarely talked but we knew we had each other's back and it didn’t cross my mind that I could lose him during this war. Now that I was face to face with the aftermath of violence, I was crumbling down. He meant too much to me, I couldn’t let him go. 

“Don’t worry about me.” I whisper, forcing a trembling smile onto my face. I point to the opening of the hole we fell through. “I’ll get out there.” I say and his eyes slowly drift from my face to the opening in the ceiling and then back to me. He doesn’t seem sure of it but he doesn’t question it any further. His movements become so faint that I notice his presence slowly fading away. Mansk’s eyes slowly unfocus from my face and I reach out and cup his cheek while tears continue to spill from my eyes. 

“Mansk-” I sob, trying to stay composed in front of him. He blinked, opening his slowly closing eyes a bit more and looking at me again. 

“... stay with me, come on.” 

My fingers gently tap his cheek while the water on the floor mixes with his blood. 

Mansk opens his mouth to say something but he can’t push out a single word and instead, he slowly struggles to inhale before closing his mouth again. 

I hold his palm against my chest, roughly where my heart is as I try to keep his attention on me. 

“Please, don’t do this to me…” I sob, clutching his hand. He stares at me and his eyes look sad but he can’t say or do anything. 

“Mansk, please you’re all I have left.” I cry out, dropping my head down before looking up at him. 

“Thank you…” he repeats and ever so faintly whispers. He was grateful I was by his side because in truth Mansk did want to live. Mansk wanted to wake up to the morning the next day and be with everyone else. But that wasn’t possible. Not only because he was slowly dying, but because everyone has had since probably died.

I rub my thumb over his cheek, trying to comfort him. He’s looking into my eyes and furrows his eyebrows together a little as if he were confused about whether my tears are actually for him. Like he didn’t think he was worth my pain. 

Mansk looked at me almost apologetically and his lips parted while he tried to get more air into his lungs. I couldn’t see his chest heaving anymore but I felt so mild air fanning from his mouth with small exhales. 

I bit down on my lip, watching him and needing proof of life every few seconds. 

He’s staring at me, grateful he wasn’t left alone and I notice how his eyes start to unfocus again. I gently tap his cheek, waiting for his eyes to readjust like they did last time but this time Mansk’s head is slowly falling to the side and into my palm. His eyes fade out and stare into nothing as they move from my face to the empty space behind me. His soft breath stopped fanning against my hand and his face was no longer contorted in pain or sorrow. It was blank and relaxed. 

Mansk’s hand slowly drifted off my chest and loosely fell on his lap.

I wanted to scream and call his name but all words got stuck in my throat and I held onto him while my mouth gaped open. Tears fell from my face onto his now lifeless and numb body. 

His blood continued to colour the rising water around me red. It had already overflowed his legs and reached up to his waist. 

I held on to his body, pressing my face against his shoulder and crying my eyes out. 

At this point, I had lost absolutely everyone and everything. We couldn’t return to family on Earth because we were Na’vi and now we had all lost each other. 

Z-Dog lay on the top deck with a bow in her hip and one in her face while the ship started to slowly sink. 

Prager lay on his side, motionless with a spear through his chest. 

Lopez’s body had now sunk to the bottom of the ocean after he was shot by an arrow. 

Walker, Zhang and Fike both had been shot down by arrows too.

Warren and Brown got an axe in their body.

Ja I had left behind after he was killed by the Tulkun. 

Lyle was floating in the water, struggling to stay above the surface.

I didn’t know where Quaritch was but I knew he couldn’t help me. 

And Mansk… lay bleeding out in front of me, lifeless and cold. His head was tilted to the side and I knew that he was gone. I could never talk to him again. I would never see him again. I know even if I survived, they wouldn’t retrieve his body and he would stay here and sink with the ship. 

The water was filling the room more rapidly now but I still clung on to Mansk, crying his name. 

I noticed his broken shades floating in the water and picked them up. 

Remembering how much he liked to wear them I steadied his head and carefully put them on him after closing his eyelids. He would have thanked me if he could have for this.

My body was shaking but I knew I was going to die here too if I didn’t leave soon. I get up and the water reached up to Mansk’s neck already. It was gushing in from a half-open door on the other side of the dark room. 

I look up, making sure the exit is still there but suddenly I see the water start flowing in from the top. The entire room is slowly turning over and the water flowing on deck has managed to push over the door which now completely closed off the hole we were in. 

The room gets a lot darker and the water is leaking in from the side and from the top. 

I groan out in pain through my sobs. I have tears staining my cheeks and my nose became runny and stuffed. This isn’t how I wanted things to end. We were finally starting to enjoy being alive on Pandora and now we died because our past selves made us finish something they couldn’t. 

I look back at Mansk and see that he is fully submerged in the water now. I cry out, hating how helpless he is and how helpless I feel now. My side aches even more and I clutch my broken rib, trying to bite back the pain. I wouldn’t be able to swim in this anyway. 

Within minutes, my feet are no longer touching the ground and my head is bumping against the ceiling. I’m crying out for help in pain but no one can hear anything over the noise of the flowing water. I wonder if anyone is still alive but I highly doubt it. There is a crack in the wall which is letting the oxygen in the room be replaced with water. I struggle to swim and keep my head above the surface. 

(Art)

But then I ask myself, why I’m fighting? There was no use to it. Everyone was gone and I was stuck and injured. 

I deeply inhale one last time before the entire room is submerged in water. My eyes open and I peer down at Mansk, who is lifelessly half laying at the bottom. 

Since I’m going to die I might as well join him there so neither of us has to be alone. 

I swim down with the last of my strength, watching how the last few bubbles of air escape his slightly parted lips. My hand once again reaches for his and I hold on to it for some form of comfort before I face upwards and let all the air I have to escape my lungs. 

I start choking and look at Mansk. The light specks on our skin were slightly illuminating the water but his were more faded. I looked closer and watched how the light slowly vanished from him, one dot at a time. 

It wasn’t long before I started drowning and a few minutes later, my lifeless, artificial blue body sunk down and joined Mansk on the floor of the ship.

Our bodies would stay here, most likely forever since all the death here was just a failed mission. 

The lights from my body had now disappeared too and we were dragged down to the bottom of the ocean along with the ship. All because some humans wanted us to finish what they couldn’t.

So there I lay, greeting death with a smile once again, in hopes of meeting Mansk someday and somewhere far from here.

(I'm going to try and make some art to this)

Tag List: @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @number1gal

[whump-card]

So... this is not whump. this is just porn. decidedly silly and wholesome porn. It brings me a lot of joy. There will be more of it. Leandro is a variation on Leannan!

I'm gonna post with minimal tags because I'm honestly not sure WHAT to tag this with. but I do want to know my silly joy reached other people, so I'd love to know what you think!!

Leandro and Krysa: Chapter 1

3218 words

NSFW, object insertion

Masterlist, Next

~~~

Frogs and crickets sang in the reeds. Water lilies floated serenely. The midday sun glanced softly off the palace roofs. Prince Leandro lay basking in the sun on the lawn by the pond, his black curls shining, switching the cross of his round legs with every new request.

“Krysa, order some tarts.” His fingers interlaced over his belly.

“Krysa, get me some shade.” His light brown nose wrinkled against the bright light.

“Krysa, tell me about the weather tomorrow.” He opened his gray eyes and fluttered his lashes.

“Krysa, get rid of the shade.” He lifted a hand to wave away the parasol and closed his eyes.

“Krysa,” the pause in the prince’s voice made the bodyguard’s ears perk up, “Would you ever fuck me?”

Gladly, if it would make you shut the hell up.

Oh, I can not say that.

“You’re hesitatinnnnng!” Leandro sang, that horrible grin on his face. At least his eyes were closed against the sun, he couldn’t see Krysa’s flush, his jaw working, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No,” Krysa said quickly. Whatever game the prince was playing, he wasn’t interested.

“Well, you know, I only ask,” Leandro spoke with suspicious sincerity, “Because out of all my bodyguards I know you’re the only one who’d be able to say no. I don’t want to ask someone who can’t say no.”

Krysa narrowed his eyes. He’d been assigned to Leandro, daytime duty, for two months now. Nothing about the prince had ever communicated any level of self-awareness before. Leander was firmly fixed in his mind as a foppish fool – one with a great ass and gorgeous eyelashes, but that was beside the point.

“I can order you a courtesan,” Krysa suggested. It was a game they played often, where Leandro would ask for one thing and the bodyguard would counter with a more realistic option.

“Mmm,” Leandro scrunched up his face, “They’re all… perfumey. I like you,” his grin returned and his eyes cracked open, lashes low, “You smell like sweat and horses.”

The way the prince sensually intoned it, ‘sweat and horses’ might as well have been ‘roses and silk.’ Krysa felt a bead of perspiration crawl down his back. He wasn’t used to being looked at, not the way the prince was looking at him right now. Discomfort wasn’t the right word – incongruence, perhaps. This was out of order in a way the bodyguard didn’t know how to correct. Krysa was not the kind to be looked at; he was pale and red-haired, of average height, and his bearded face was not ugly, he had been assured (but only by his sisters and mother); his build was intense, large, well-stomached, a body built from good food and good training, but rough and hairy and calloused, outfitted in quilted armor and leather straps. He was a far cry from the eye-candy courtesans, slim and smooth and hairless, all silks and delicate embroidery.

They’d been staring at each other for far too long. Leandro cracked first, bubbling into laughter.

“You should see your face, Krysa!” he cackled, “Have you never been flirted with in your life?”

Krysa ground his jaw shut. So it was a joke at his expense – but then the prince carried on.

“You are the most unapproachable man I’ve ever seen!” he wiped a mirthful tear from his eye, “Oh! How terrible. But I will respect your wishes, Krysa, I won’t ask again.”

Again, the irregular sincerity, as if his question was legitimate and the weight of it had been considered. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the situation that made Krysa slip, but he was speaking before he realized it.

“I’ve never seen you respect anything in your life.”

Leandro’s head lifted, his eyes wide, staring at Krysa. The bodyguard’s stomach sank, more annoyance at the berating that would surely follow than anxiety – but the prince just smiled once more.

“So,” he slid a foot closer to his body, lifting a knee in the air and blatantly showing off his leg, “I can ask you again?” He finished the question off by biting his lip in the most infuriating way.

Krysa tore his eyes away, scanning the gardens around in the vain hope that there would be an assassination attempt, just to save him from this situation.

“You can do whatever you want,” he said flatly.

“That’s not a no-o!” Leandro hummed delightedly.

Krysa glanced at the prince one last time before committing to watching the perimeter.

I suppose it isn’t a no.

~~~

It would have been a lie to say that Prince Leandro’s suggestion didn’t haunt Krysa. The prince wasn’t exactly his type – petite, chubby, full of shit – and even if he were, not that Krysa was spending his evenings imagining it, the bodyguard was just that: a bodyguard, and it would bring down hell on himself to do something as foolish as fuck a prince.

Yet: the haunting.

Things came to a head again at the jousting tournament.

Colorful banners flew; sunlight gleamed off of armor; the stands were as crowded as they’d ever been. This put Krysa on high alert, never straying from Leandro’s side, his eyes constantly darting across the faces and hands of the people around them. The vigilance and the heat were one thing – Leandro was another. Dressed to the nines in a blue and silver doublet and slashed sleeves, he lounged in the stands, his retinue taking up a whole row. He was supposed to sit in the royal box, but he insisted the view from the stands was better.

“Krysa, place a bet on the red rider.” He pointed impetuously.

“Krysa, find out when Uncle’s knight is up.” He tugged on Krysa’s sleeve.

“Krysa, shade!” He fanned himself.

“Krysa, fetch me another beer.” He shoved his empty stein towards Krysa.

“I cannot leave your side, your highness.” Krysa did his best to keep the sigh out of his voice.

“Get a servant to do it!” Leandro argued.

“Lucy’s placing your bet, Maurice is looking for your Uncle’s knight, and Akar is holding your parasol.”

Leandro blinked at Krysa for a moment, and it occurred to the bodyguard that the prince might not know the names of his personal servants. The idea added a trickle of rage into the growing pool in his gut.

“Can’t you go?” whined Leandro, “It’ll only take a minute.”

Krysa didn’t even look towards the beer stand; he knew it was a crowded frenzy.

“No.”

“No, your highness,” Leandro corrected him, “Mother says you don’t say that often enough.”

Krysa closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, feeling the rage rise a little into his lungs.

“No, your highness, I cannot leave your side by command of the Queen. You will have to wait until Lucy or Maurice get back.”

“Huh!” Leandro slumped and pouted childishly. He looked into his empty stein and then, rather than setting it aside, dropped it through the slats of the stand. Krysa bristled.

“People have to clean that up, you know!” he barked.

Leandro looked up at him, big-eyed and open-mouthed. Then his lips spread into a dizzy smile, his cheeks flushing.

“Should I go get it then? Crawl into the filth under the stands on my hands and knees? Would you like that?” he asked eagerly.

“Very much so!” Krysa growled.

It was only Akar’s horrified face, hidden from Leadro by the parasol, that made Krysa come to his senses. He found himself looming over the prince, and took a step back, clearing his throat. Leandro burst into a fountain of giggles.

“Can you imagine! Me, crawling around under the stands! But I bet my ass would look good on all fours, don’t you think so, Krysa?”

Krysa scanned the crowd, begging someone to make a move.

“I asked you a question, Krysaaa.” the prince sang.

“Yes!” Krysa snapped, “No! Will you just sit quietly and watch the damn joust?” Little shit.

Leandro’s lips curled into a distinctly cattish smile.

“Yes, Krysa.” The prince sat up in his seat properly, folding his hands in his lap.

The relief of actually being listened to was immense. Krysa relaxed a fraction, returning his focus to the people around them. His eyes caught Akar’s, and through a series of animated eyebrow wiggles the manservant communicated his shock and amusement. Krysa snarled at him.

Maurice and Lucy returned shortly, with the news that the Duke’s knight would not be jousting for another hour or more and the rider the prince had wanted to bet on had already lost. Leandro yawned and stretched in his exaggerated way.

“Then I see no reason to stay. I have so much work to do, I can’t watch a joust all day.” This was a lie. Leandro had spent many a day frittered away at the parade ground. “You’re all dismissed, Krysa can escort me back to my chambers.”

So it was that Krysa found himself alone with the prince in his sitting room, a space swathed in silk and damask and tapestries. There was no real need for Krysa here, not with the guards outside the heavy door. He could make his escape.

“Do you have any further need of me, your highness?” Say no say no say no.

“I did have a question, actually.”

Damn! But Leandro’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, which caught Krysa’s ear. He waited for the prince to continue, watching him lean against the back of a settee and play with the rings on his fingers. He almost looked nervous.

“Would you, um. Have you given any thought to what I asked you? At the pond the other day?”

More thought than is wise.

“What of it?”

“Well,” Leandro smiled, almost shy, “Can I hear your answer again?”

Krysa started to formulate a response, something to turn the prince down without igniting a tantrum – then a shallower instinct took over. It was a gamble, but he wanted to scare Leandro off for good.

“I do want to fuck you, actually,” he snarled, stalking closer to the prince, “I want to rip off your foppish little clothes and stuff you so full of my cock that you won’t be able to speak or walk for a month, and everyone will finally get some relief from your incessant, inane yapping!” his voice rose to a shout.

Leandro’s eye grew ever wider while Krysa threatened, but rather than shrinking away he leaned forward, his hands lifting like he might touch Krysa’s chest.

“Really?” he breathed.

Fuck, Krysa thought.

“You know how stupid that would be?” he hissed, “If I get caught fucking you I’m dead.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t allow it,” said Leandro, “I wouldn’t let any consequences touch you, ever.”

“What about you? Won’t it damage your reputation if it got out you were letting your own bodyguard top you?”

Leandro laughed brightly. “As if my reputation is a shining beacon!”

“What about your mother? She’d make your life miserable.”

“Already does,” the prince dismissed, “It would be fun to see her try harder.”

“What about…” Krysa’s eyes raked down Leandro’s body. “I don’t want to hurt you, not really.”

“Ah,” Leandro’s hands finally settled on Krysa’s chest, “But I like being hurt.”

“What about…” Krysa’s hands found Leandro’s elbows, fingers sinking into soft flesh, barriered by silky cotton.

“You could kiss me now,” suggested the prince, grinning up at him in a terribly annoying way.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Krysa growled, and pressed his mouth over Leandro’s, capturing the prince’s stupid smile. For a moment they were all lips and tongue and needy grasping hands, but then Krysa broke away.

“I’m not fucking you.”

Leadro looked up at him, breathing hard, and the bodyguard expected a fit, but instead the prince nodded.

“That’s fine, I um… I actually had this idea, that maybe, um…” He was leaning back now, reaching over the settee and rooting for something among the pillows.

“Spit it out,” Krysa ordered.

Leandro straightened, pressing on object into Krysa’s hands. “Here! Here.”

It was a hairbrush, very clean, made out of polished hard wood. Krysa looked back and forth between it and the prince. He’d said he liked being hurt.

“Do you… want me to hit you with this?”

“No – well, you could, but, well…” Leandro was in a complete tizzy, bright red, twisting the rings on his fingers. Krysa made the connection.

“You want me to fuck you with this.”

“Yes please,” Leandro answered instantly, and it was first time Krysa had ever heard the word please come out of the prince’s mouth.

“You got oil?” Krysa asked.

“Yes, but…” Leandro’s teeth were practically chattering with excitement, “I don’t think we’ll need it. I’m, um, I’m really wet.”

Something about that admission tipped Krysa over the edge. He was in it now.

“Open,” he ordered. Leandro just blinked at him. “Open!” he barked, and Leandro opened his mouth. Krysa shoved in the handle of the brush.

“Hold this.”

Leandro looked like he might pass out from delight as his mouth closed around the handle. As soon as he had it Krysa widened his stance and scooped the prince up into his arms. Leandro squeaked. He was heavy, but it was a short walk into the next room, the prince’s bedchamber. Krysa dropped him unceremoniously onto the massive feather bed, overflowing with blankets and pillows. Then he set to work on Leandro’s clothes; he did desperately want to rip them away, but he also had a great deal of respect for seamsters and so only popped a few buttons as he pulled away Leandro’s trousers, along with his shoes, throwing them aside. He stood back and viewed the prince, now naked from the waist down. His arms were akimbo, gripping fistfuls of the blankets beneath him, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. His lips were parted, the brush held between his teeth, giving him a sort of desperate look. His legs were pressed together, some scrap of shyness catching him. Krysa climbed onto the bed, sliding a hand under Leandro’s knee, callouses brushing against the silky smooth skin there.

“Let me see,” he commanded, quiet and low.

Leandro allowed Krysa to lift his knee and lower it to the side, revealing the folds hidden in the soft bush of black hair between his legs. Krysa shifted closer, gently sliding two fingers between them; as Leandro had promised, they were completely slick. His fingertips circled Leandro’s opening, gauging its looseness, before sliding inside slowly, easily, his eyes flicking up to the prince’s face to catch his reaction. Leandro was watching him through hooded eyes, still breathing hard. Krysa found Leandro’s clit with his thumb and circled it, and smiled when the prince tightened around his fingers.

“Just a bit of talk and kiss,” goaded Krysa, “That’s all it took to get you this wound up?”

Leandro made a small noise, but with the brush handle in his mouth he couldn’t respond.

“I bet you come easy, too,” Krysa murmured, and as much as he hated to give Leandro his mouth back he leaned forward and plucked the brush out with his free hand.

“Krysa!” Leandro spoke immediately, “Krysa!”

“Something wrong?”

“No, I-”

“Then shut up, or I’ll put a stocking in your mouth.”

“Really? You would do that? Because, that would, um, oh!”

Krysa yanked his fingers out of Leandro and climbed off the bed, sorting quickly through the discarded attire and extracting a stocking. Leandro propped himself up on his elbows to watch.

“You’re really going to put a stocking in my mouth? That’s so-”

By then Krysa was back on him, looming over him on all fours.

“Open.”

Leandro giggled wildly and obeyed. Krysa stuffed the sock into his mouth.

“Take it out if you feel lightheaded,” he directed, and Leandro nodded with great enthusiasm.

Krysa shifted back to settle above Leandro’s pelvis, finding the hairbrush where he’d set it aside. With one hand he spread Leandro’s folds and with the other he positioned the hairbrush, the end of the handle just touching the prince’s entrance. Again he checked in on Leandro’s face, looking for any sign of discomfort – but the prince looked delighted, annoyingly so. In that moment Krysa decided to fuck the smug look off his face.

Krysa inserted the brush handle, a little faster than he would have ordinarily – not that there’s an ordinary form of operation for fucking with a brush handle. It slid in easily with how soaked Leandro was, and the prince’s hips twisted a little. His breathing picked up again, and Krysa half-worried he would hyperventilate.

“Breathe slower!” he ordered, “Relax.”

Leandro visibly struggled to get his breath under control, but after a few moments it slowed, and he visibly relaxed.

“Good,” Krysa clipped, and started moving the brush. Out, in, a slight upward push. Again, again. Leandro moaned through the stocking. His hips twitched eagerly.

“You want more?” Krysa teased, “If this is how hot you get for a hairbrush I can’t imagine what my cock would do to you.”

The idea was there – Krysa was hard, and had been for a good minute: but they’d agreed on the hairbrush, and Krysa wasn’t about to alter course while the prince was this… vulnerable.

Strange, to think of the prince as vulnerable. He was an overpowered little ass, he got everything he wanted, but here he was being putty in Krysa’s hands. Krysa certainly could fuck him, if he wanted to, and he realized he did very much want to; and yet, they’d agreed on the hairbrush, in that frenzied way the lustful agree on things. It was better to honor that.

Leandro whimpered with ecstasy at Krysa’s words, and in response the bodyguard moved the brush more forcefully, pressing it in deeper. With his other hand he found Leandro’s clit again, engorged and desperate, and massaged it gently. Leandro sighed in time with his breath, an ah, ah, ah that made Krysa’s blood rush. The vocalizations grew in volume and the prince’s hips curled up, inviting the brush handle in farther still. Krysa maintained his rhythm, carrying Leandro over the edge. The prince’s hips bucked and his body shuddered, falling silent as aftershocks and tremors ran up and down his limbs. Krysa slowly extracted the hairbrush, Leandro making one last small noise as it slipped wetly out of him. Krysa moved over him, pulling the stocking out of his mouth.

“Are you-”

“That was incredible!” Leandro rushed out, “You really, you know what you’re doing, I mean, you could have been rougher but-”

“Are you alright?” Krysa spoke forcefully over him.

“What? Of course! Why wouldn’t I-”

“Open.” Krysa lifted the hairbrush.

“Huh?”

“Open!”

Leandro opened his mouth and Krysa shoved in the hairbrush handle, still slick with the prince’s fluids. Then he sat back on Leandro’s thighs.

“I like you better when you can’t talk.”

Leandro giggled, muffled by the handle.

“I’m going now,” declared Krysa, climbing off the bed, “I will be seeing you tomorrow.”

With that the bodyguard strode out of the room, out of the prince’s chambers, making haste towards his own. His own body was desperate for some attention, and while his lustful mind sang with delight, his rational mind reeled. That was dangerous. That was out of order.

Yet, lust won out: that was hot.

~~~

Masterlist, Next

Thank you for reading!!!

[visceral-reject]

How I Think The Boys Love Pt.2

Paul:

Paul’s love is greedy and uncouth; he doesn’t care about people’s opinions or thoughts about his style and personality, why would he give a flying fuck about his relationships?

He loves to love, but his version of ‘love’ isn’t considered quite normal. He’s playful, his romantic relationships almost never leave the honeymoon phase. He loves the feeling of anticipation he gets whenever you do something unexpected or say something he finds cute.

He’s rather attentive, someone bothering you? He’s dealing with it as you speak! Want something outside of your price range? Don’t worry that pretty little head of your’s! He’s stealing it while you play some rigged carnie game! Paul loves to shower you with gifts, it’s his way of marking you and bragging to other people that you’re his

He’s possessive, he wants his things to not be shared, but with three other brothers and being the ‘middle child’, that means he doesn’t get much exclusivity with his possessions So the few things that he’s been able to hide away he’s deathly protective over. He’s fought tooth and nail (probably literally) over you! Why would he be willing to share whats his?

Paul’s love language is physical touch and gift-giving. He tends to love bomb without meaning to he just wanted to know that his Sugar knows he loves them.

He bites, not to draw blood necessarily, which he does on occasion, but to let you know he’s still there. He likes to nibble on the tips of your fingers, drag his teeth across your neck.

All and all he just doesn’t give a fuck, he’ll show everyone in Santa Carla that you’re his and his alone.

Marko:

Marko’s love is certainly…something. His affections are brash and rushed. Hardly anything is taken slow, so if you aren’t a slow lover he’s your best pick of a partner.

He wants everyone to know you’re his and only his. He’ll throw a shirt and a worn jacket at you and expect you to wear it, his scent heavy and a pleading look in his eyes. ( no babe, that tee totally goes with your pants! Ps, it didn’t)

He’s Italian, so you have many nicknames that roll of his silvery tongue; Cuore mia, gioia mia, cerbiatto, topolino. So many nicknames..

He loves giving you love bites, but he’s a prick and leaves them in obvious places. Thighs, neck, wrists, anywhere that can be easily forgotten about and noticed by a surf n*zi.

Marko can takes things slow some days, even an erratic shark-toothed bloodsucker like him has his days where he just needs to be grounded by the safety of your arms.

Marko doesn’t crave to control your every movement like his older brothers, he wants you to have as much freedom as you possibly can before he turns you eventually; because none of them had that option when they were changed.

He does try and get your body used to their schedule while it’s still mortal. Baby bats require training, he’ll gladly provide!

Nests in the higher parts of the cave, but only lets his brothers up there once in a blue moon, so feel free to hide up there when they get on your nerves, and trust me, they will.

You’re his muse! There’s so many pictures, paintings, sketches, etc of you laying around the cave. He wants you to remember what you look like after you turn.

Love language is word of affirmation and quality time! Sometimes Marko doesn’t like the feeling of his own skin, so you just sitting there with him and letting him vent/cry makes him fall harder for you.

He likes to hold you and smell you, he just likes your shampoo+conditioner combo.

Marko has non-verbal days, he just copes differently than some and nobody questions it, just spend some time with him and leave him alone when he needs self-care time.

A/N: So sorry for the inconsistencies in my writing schedule, I’ve been dealing with a lot family wise, nothing bad just some changes! I’ll probably end this series with Michael and Star since there’s barely any content for her outside of sisterly and platonic stuff (no hate, but she needs to reject me so i can move on)

Pt.1

[monstersandmaw]

Male werewolf x female character (Gabe & Odessa) - Chapter Twenty Two (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Well, folks, we finally did it! This is my longest-running story on here, and it’s finally come to an end. Kind of. This is the end of ‘Season One’ (for want of a better term), and I have a short interlude planned from Gabe’s POV, followed by a ‘Season Two’. I also asked you what other ‘non-humans’ you’d like to see for 2023, so I’m going to be working on some other stories too since my workshop is currently flooded and out of action for the forseeable future. Thanks for your input and ideas with that - I always welcome prompts and ideas, even if I don’t guarantee to write them!

Anyway, enough waffle. Here’s the wrap-up to G&O (if you have any ideas for actual titles for this story, please tell me - I did ask ages ago but my dumb brain cell forgot them!).

Content: After two blissful weeks, Odessa has to say farewell to Gabe and Pinewatch, and return to the city, but once she’s there, things turn out to be not quite so bleak... Wordcount: 4367

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw) Part Seven (sfw), Part Eight (sfw), Part Nine (sfw), Part Ten (sfw), Part Eleven (nsfw), Part Twelve (sfw), Part Thirteen (sfw), Part Fourteen (nsfw), Part Fifteen (nsfw), Part Sixteen (nsfw), Part Seventeen (sfw), Part Eighteen (v. light nsfw), Part Nineteen (nsfw), Part Twenty (nsfw), Part Twenty-One (nsfw)

Odessa woke the next morning and for three full minutes, she didn’t think about having to leave.

The moment she did, she began to cry.

Silent tears slid from the corners of her eyes to melt into her hair as she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling while Gabe slept on silently beside her, curled on his side and facing her. His chest rose and fell with the regular, quiet ease of someone deeply and contentedly asleep, and she tried to focus on that instead, letting her mind drift along with each steady inhale and exhale. Memories of her fortnight in the forest scudded across her mind’s eye like little boats in a flotilla of happy snapshots: walks to the lake, shy flirting, drinks at the pub, new friends, discovering fairytale creatures were real, more mind-blowing and affectionate sex than she’d ever had in her life, pancakes, blackberry cupcakes, waterfalls and werebears, adorable wolf-dogs, Gabe’s hazel eyes and dimpled smile…

Somehow, her last day in Pinewatch had dawned, and the idea of leaving all that behind just seemed more painful and unfair than anything she’d ever experienced, even if it wouldn’t be for long. For a long time, she couldn’t move so much as a muscle as the sudden, sharp grief crushed her and buried her beneath its weight.

Beside her, Gabe inhaled deeply through his nose. “Hey,” he mumbled, coming awake sharply and reaching for her with a frown. He blinked back the bleary remnants of sleep from his eyes and brushed the tears from her face with his knuckles. He kissed her temple, shuffling closer to her and tucking the duvet up around her. “Come here.”

With Gabe wrapped around her body from behind, holding her tightly enough that she felt a little more grounded, she began to feel marginally better, and with a deep sigh, she tried to let it all go. “I know it’s only temporary,” she said, kissing his hand before he moved it to continue stroking her hair. It was too wildly curled and tangled for him to comb his fingers through it, but the way his palm skated over the contours of her skull calmed something deep within her.

“Still sucks though,” he said and she hummed. “Could I come and visit you there?” he asked after a pause.

She frowned. She hadn’t even considered that as an option. “In the city? I thought you hated it? And what about your family? And the dogs?”

She felt him smile and he kissed her again. “I hated it there because I thought I had no choice about my future. The dogs will be fine on their own in the enclosure for a few days. I’ll take them for a long run when I get back, and Tala or Carys can feed them for me once a day.”

“And… your family?” she asked when she realised that was the only thing he hadn’t answered.

Gabe gave a big sigh and Odessa rolled onto her back to look up at him properly. He had a pillow crease on his cheek that she wanted to kiss, but she just smiled privately and let him talk. “When a wolf enters the territory of another pack, unless they’re literally just passing through that day, it’s custom for them to announce themselves to the pack leader and state their intentions. If I’m staying longer than a few hours, I’ll need to go to them for permission to stay.”

Her heart rate picked up and she bit her lip. “Is that something you’d be… comfortable doing? You said your mother literally exiled you… They won’t… I don’t know, turn on you?”

He shook his head. “It’ll be… strained, for sure. I can write to my brother about it. We’re still vaguely in touch at Christmas and sometimes in between. He knows where I live and what I do for work and stuff. I could ask him if I could come and present myself to the pack in order to visit my — to visit you,” he said, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling.  

“Would he advocate for you then?”

Gabe nodded. “Yeah, probably. I think he’d stand up for me. We used to be very close.”

Something sad stabbed just below her ribs at the way he said it. “Do you miss him?” she asked in a tentative whisper.

“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes closing for a second. “He’s two years younger than me, but we were inseparable from the moment he was born. Until… til I left…” He paused and let his thumb play distractedly over her shoulder joint. “He has cerebral palsy but it’s never really hindered him doing whatever he wanted to. We did everything together: went climbing at the sports centre, running in the park, kayaking and camping in the school holidays… he played soccer after school and I’d go to watch…”

The image of him as ‘devoted older brother’ only made it more painful that they were now so distant, and she didn’t miss the way his breath caught and his throat tightened as he listed everything they’d once shared. The loss of contact with Raph — the gulf which Gabe’s actions had opened up between them — was clearly as raw to him then as on the day he’d caught that bus out of the city.

Instead of offering him some empty platitude about how sorry she was that it had turned out that way, she squeezed his middle with all her strength, and he grinned through a wheeze and looked down at her with a grateful flash of his golden eyes. She was learning to speak werewolf pretty well, she thought.

“How did the pack react to him becoming your mother’s Second instead of you?”

He shrugged, jostling her slightly. “From the impression he’s given me from his emails, they just accepted it. Mother’s word is law, after all,” he added dryly. “Raph’s thriving on it, the pack is as strong as it’s ever been, and mother got a willing Second, so it all worked out in the end.”

“So what happens if… if you ask to stay and she says no?”

A beat of silence stretched until he exhaled heavily. “Then I’ll have to leave. By werewolf law, they could kill me if I stay without their permission, but I highly doubt it’ll come to that.”

She gasped, going cold all over. “They’re your family, Gabe!”

Again, he shrugged and reached over to lay his palm on her hip. The action calmed her a little, but her heartbeat still galloped wildly. “Pack law is pack law,” he said. “It’s archaic, and while they’re probably traditional enough to give the English aristocracy a run for its money, I don’t think they’d escalate things that far. Killing a family member as a punishment is a huge taboo; no one’s done it for centuries. They’d probably just run me out of town.”

“Would I have to meet them?” she asked with no small amount of trepidation. Honestly, his mother sounded terrifying, but Raph didn’t seem so bad if he was anything like Gabe.

Gabe’s eyes flashed and a short, instinctive growl escaped his throat. “No. I don’t want any of them anywhere near you,” he finally managed to spit out around the sound that took a while to stop and die away.

She half-suspected that the approaching full moon stoked a little of the protective fury in his tone, though probably not by much.

“You’re human, and I don’t want you mixed up in werewolf politics. It’s a minefield, and they already think the worst of me for turning my back on my own family. Settling down with a human is… well, to them it’d be another insult, put it that way.”

“Oh.”

For a while, she just lay there in his arms until he kissed her. “Hey,” he murmured. “Don’t stress it.”

“I don’t want to put you in danger, or more at odds with your family,” she said. “It’s, what, a five hour drive from there to here on a good day? I can do that to come and see you. You don’t need to risk all of that for me.”

Another growl rumbled in his chest like a fading thunderstorm. “I don’t want it to be all on you,” he said. “Until we figure something out, I want you to know I’m there for you. That I’m… invested in this. In us.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I know that.” Vague, half-formed plans for the future resurfaced, and she began to mull them over again as they lay there in affectionate silence.

“Hey,” he said, and she twitched back to the present moment. “You want to come over to mine for pancakes before you go?”

She nodded. “Yeah, and say goodbye to the dogs, if that’s ok?”

“Don’t blame me if they corner you and refuse to let you out. They’re very intuitive…”

“I won’t be complaining if they do,” she mumbled and hugged him for a while longer.

Their sombre mood didn’t match the morning’s weather at all. Sunlight finally decided to come pouring in through the curtains following days of grey skies and rain, and after lying there anxiously for another half an hour, Odessa huffed a sigh and got out of bed.

The moment she was upright, she felt every ache and stretch from the night before in every corner of her body, and she smiled. She could still feel the way his knot had filled her utterly too, and the way he had come — eyes rolling back, his body submitting completely with a great, heaving shudder as he gave himself to her — was something that would stay with her forever. She’d have to see if he was willing to have shifted sex with her again in the future too, she mused with a bashful smile, and caught herself blushing in the bathroom mirror.  

In the privacy of the bathroom, she popped a couple of ibuprofen to help her aches subside, and showered briefly. Gabe seemed in no hurry to get up, and he watched her dress from the warmth of the duvet before finally crawling out of bed and heading for the shower himself. He emerged ten minutes or so later to find her making a cup of tea in the kitchen of the cosy little holiday cabin.

“At least you’ll have good weather for driving,” he said as he came up behind her and put his arms around her middle. The gentle pressure eased the soft ache and she hummed in pleasure.

“I think I’ll pack up my stuff here and drive over to yours,” she said, dunking the teabag a few more times to get it to the right colour. “Then I’ll just go home from there.”

He nodded and said, “I’ll let you finish up in peace then. Just come over whenever you’re done.”

Odessa deliberately didn’t watch him walk out the door, and while she did feel the urge to cry when she heard his truck tyres roll out, she pulled herself together long enough to get her belongings in order. Packing up after a holiday was never going to be a long job, and she carelessly stuffed all her clothes into her rucksack and her hold-all, slung her hiking boots into the back of her little VW, and stumped back to the cabin to make a final check.

It still looked like a fairytale.

The newly planted flowers outside had had two weeks to settle in, and they sat in the beds at the base of the log walls waving merrily in the breezes that scudded around the clearing in the wake of the previous day’s rain. Little birds flitted and twittered in the branches around the cabin, and she could hear the stream trickling along the gully behind the house. Her breath billowed in the damp, cold air, and she shivered.

With the cabin left in order, and the bed linen already stripped and stuffed into the dedicated laundry bag in a corner of the bedroom by Gabe, Odessa locked up and drove the short journey up the road to Gabe’s house.

She found him sitting outside on the back step with Axel’s head in his lap. Mia yowled at her the moment she shut the car door and walked towards the gate in the enclosure fence, and Gabe looked up and smiled without disturbing Axel.

Thunder paced slowly towards her as she slid the latch back on the gate. “Alright to come in?” she asked and Gabe nodded.

She closed it behind her and turned to find Thunder standing immediately behind her. He looked like an emperor awaiting an audience, and she held her hand out shyly to him. He sniffed her knuckles and then licked her skin gently, exhaling with an audible rumble. “I’m gonna miss you too,” she said and glanced self-consciously over at Gabe.

He smiled and said, “He can smell that we’re both kind of stressed,” he said. “He doesn’t like it. Neither does Ax,” he added, stroking the white fluff between Axel’s tense ears.

“I’m sorry buddy,” she said, gently chucking Thunder under the chin while Mia finally gave in and harrumphed over to her. She jabbed Odessa in the thigh with her pointy husky nose, and yowled like a broken car alarm. “I’ll be back to steal all of Gabe’s attention before you know it,” she laughed. “I promise you’ll barely have time to relax before I’m back and you have to chase me off him again.”

Mia growled but it was all play, and Odessa sighed as she crossed to sit with Gabe and Axel for a minute or two before her butt got too cold on the damp step and she stood up again.

Gabe dusted her backside off affectionately and she chuckled. Then he stood up too with a little grunt and said, “Come on. Let’s make some pancakes. Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please.”

Having forced herself to be at peace with the knowledge she was leaving, she leaned her hips against the kitchen counter while Gabe cooked, and they ate together at the dining table with their feet intertwined underneath.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” Odessa asked apropos nothing.

Gabe gently speared a strawberry with his fork and pushed it through a small tidal wave of maple syrup. “Nothing adventurous. I usually spend Christmas Day on duty at the centre, just in case,” he said. “A few people like to go camping or hiking in the snow, and sometimes they get into trouble. If I’m not working, Carys has been known to ask me over to her place,” he added with a smile. “In that case, I’ll give the dogs a frozen hunk of venison to keep them busy and I’ll have lunch with her.”

“Is she with anyone?”

He shook his head. “No. Sometimes we go for a hike if the weather is nice, but mostly we just share a meal and swap a few presents. It’s all very low-key. What about you?” he asked. “What were you planning to do this year?”

She shrugged. “Hadn’t got that far ahead, to be perfectly honest. In the past Jake and I each went back to our parents’, but if you’re around, maybe I could come up here and spend it with you and the dogs instead?”

“Your family won’t mind not seeing you?”

“No, I don’t think so. We’re fairly close, but not so close that they’ll kick up a fuss if I don’t go this year.”

He tilted his head. “Would you rather go and see them though?”

After giving it a second’s thought, she shook her head. “No. I want to spend it with just you, if that’s ok?”

Gabe’s smile lit her up inside. “Alright. We’ll do something here. But can I still come and see you before then?” he asked, hope ringing quietly in his voice.

She nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think I can get through the whole of November and December without seeing you at all…”

With that decided, they moved on to other things, but after a while it became obvious that they were just prolonging the inevitable. She ducked outside to say goodbye to the dogs, and discovered Axel standing with his front paws already up on the back step and his big, blue eyes round with worry.

“Hey, buddy,” she smiled, dropping gently down into a crouch and letting him put his fluffy little face in her hands. “I’ll see you soon.”

He whined and licked her tears and wagged his tail, and after a moment or two she felt a second nose nudge up against her elbow, demanding to be let into the cuddles, and was surprised to find Mia’s icy eyes glaring at her. The half-husky snorted, sat down heavily, then threw back her head and howled like a fire alarm directly in her ear.

Odessa lurched back to spare her left ear drum, Axel complained, and Thunder trotted over to tell everyone off for behaving like hooligans. He snarled at Mia and bowled her over with his massive size, and the two began to play-fight in the dirt while Odessa and Axel just looked at them with a mix of bafflement and amusement.

Gabe’s hands squeezed her shoulders a minute or two later and he leaned down over her. Axel looked at him and gave a soft ‘woo’ as if to say ‘I didn’t start it’, and Gabe snorted, ruffling Axel’s soft fur. “You all set?” he asked Odessa, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah,” she sighed, standing and dusting off her jeans.

After a final bathroom stop, during which she adjusted her hair and wiped beneath her eyes where her eyeliner had smudged a little, she stepped out into his living room and gave a tense exhale.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered when Gabe joined her from the kitchen.

“I don’t want you to go,” he smiled. “But it’s not for long. I’ll be here.”

“I know. And I’ll come back,” she said, because it suddenly seemed very important to make him that promise.

Gabe inhaled, held the breath, and as he let it go, he stepped in close and hugged her. He held her until she felt the stress melt away a little, and she swallowed and stepped back. “If I don’t go now, I never will.”

“Mmm, don’t tempt me,” he whispered with a smile even as he let go of her and cuffed vaguely at his nose with the back of his wrist. His eyes were glassy and his expression open and vulnerable. “Safe drive.”

“I’ll call you when I get there,” she said.

She didn’t remember much of walking out of Gabe’s house for the last time that holiday, and for the first few miles of driving away from Pinewatch, all she could see was Gabe standing on his wooden veranda, his right arm raised in farewell, his left hand dug deep into his pocket, and the muted sound of howling coming from the wolf-dogs at the back of the house. She felt like her heart made the same desperate sound for miles, and she wondered if they’d kept it up as long as her chest had kept hurting.

The drive back was uneventful, and with a sugary breakfast and too much coffee in her veins, she made it easily without even having to stop to rest.

The volume of traffic slowly built as she hit the suburbs, and as she wove through the mounting afternoon traffic, she felt hemmed in and stressed in a way she never had before. The city had always felt lively to her — buzzing with vibrant activity and people — but now it just felt over-crowded and hectic. She drew up in the street outside her apartment block and as she cut the engine, the dull hum and roar of the city beyond immediately pressed in on her.

With a sigh, she got out, dragged and struggled her bags up the stairs and opened her apartment.

Everything was exactly as she’d left it, but her light, airy flat no longer felt all that comforting. It felt empty. She ached for the barely-there tread of Gabe’s feet as he moved over the hardwood floor in his adorable woolly socks, or the sounds of wolf-dogs scrapping and playing outside; for the hiss of wind through pine needles and the ceaseless trill of birdsong in the trees. All she had now were sirens and car horns and engines.

She texted Emma and Dandy first to let them know she was back, and as she hit ‘send’ on the latter of those, a message from Gabe popped up.

>>Missing you. Hope your drive back was ok. G xxx<<

Swallowing thickly, she smiled and texted back.

A week later, Carys sent her a text asking for her email address, and the next day Odessa opened up her inbox to find a message with the subject ‘—Forwarded message— RE: Legal Policy Officer/Legal Adviser - Part-Time Post @ Three Peaks National Park Service’, and her heart leapt. She had never opened an email quicker in her life, and she hardly took in anything the first time she read it. Forcing herself to calm down, she sank down into her office chair in the bright, sunny morning sunshine and bit her lip.

Dear Odessa,

Hope you’re well and that it’s not too much of a culture shock being away from the woods. This came through to me a few days ago and I thought I would forward it to you. I haven’t mentioned it to Gabe, as I thought you’d want to have a look at it first.

All the best,

Carys

P.S. It’s obvious to all of us just how much Gabe misses you, but he’s putting on a brave show for the rest of us. For what it’s worth, I thought you make a great fit and the two of you are clearly made for each other. I hope you find something that works out for you, even if it’s not this. X

— Forwarded message —

The Three Peaks National Park Service is currently recruiting for a Legal Policy Officer/Legal Adviser to form part of their legal team, focusing on how strategic, legally sound and ecologically significant measures for nature can be delivered. This ambitious and challenging work provides an opportunity to be at the forefront of environmental conservation and recovery. The legal team is part of the… (read more)

Hardly daring to hope, Odessa clicked the job description and read it through three times. The pay was significantly less than she’d been on before, but it being part-time certainly had its appeal, and she had more than enough saved up for the time being anyway. Having no social life to speak of and a high paying job in the city had been good for at least something.

Odessa spent the rest of the day ignoring her mounting pile of household chores, and sent in her application the very next day. She did not tell Gabe, deciding to wait and see if she was asked to interview first. She didn’t want to jinx anything, and she didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or hers.

That afternoon, her phone buzzed with a message from Gabe, and she nearly dropped it with a laugh of surprise when she found a photo attached to the message which read: >>Gabe and the dogs move into the 21st century… (we have wifi and a smartphone now. Expect daily photo updates)<<

Attached was a selfie Gabe had taken crouching outside in the wolf-dog enclosure, with Axel’s muzzle tucked under his raised arm, Mia, clearly mid-lunge into the frame and little more than a blue-eyed blur, and Thunder staring over Gabe’s shoulder with a look of cautious disdain on his noble face.

Odessa cackled another laugh and sent a selfie back of her sitting on her cream coloured sofa, bathed in soft, city winter sunlight, beaming.

>>God, you’re gorgeous<< Gabe messaged back instantly. >>I was not prepared for that<<

<<Just wait til you experience the wonders of the video call, Gabe. It’s like a picture, but it moves and talks…>>

>>ha ha very funny<<

<<You love me>>

>>Yes I do.<<

[Incoming video call: Gabe Kirkbride]

She and Gabe called morning and night for another week after that, but she still didn’t tell him she’d applied for the job with the park service, even after the interview, which had turned out to be the most relaxed and almost enjoyable job interview she’d ever experienced. Her hopes were high, but until she had a confirmation email, she was determined to keep silent about it. She also begged Carys not to say anything, to which the older woman agreed without argument, on the rather preemptive condition that when Odessa surprised Gabe with the news of her inevitable success, Carys could be there to witness it in person.

One Saturday morning in early November, Gabe called her while she was still in bed, and she could tell the moment she answered it that something was different. “What?” she asked blearily, blinking and searching his hazel eyes for any kind of clue, all the while trying not to fumble and drop her phone onto her own face. He looked a little apprehensive and a fair bit excited. “What is it?”

After a tight, shy smile, Gabe said, “I’ve been emailing my brother.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “Raph said he’ll advocate for me. I’d… I’d like to come and see you… if that’s still alright?”

“Alright?” Her heart leapt wildly and she laughed, scrambling to sit upright and letting the covers fall down a little way. Gabe’s eyes dipped briefly down to take in the sight of her bare collarbones as her pyjama top slipped down and he smiled. “Of course it’s alright! Yes! When? I was going to suggest making a trip to see you soon, but that works too, if you’re sure about it?”

“I’m sure,” he said. “How does next weekend sound?”

___

And there is where we leave Season One! A HUGE thank you to everyone who’s got involved in this, be it with asks and comments or reblogs (special shout out to anyone who screeched and flailed at me in the tags, you know who you are and I see you and I think you’re wonderful!). I know 3rd person werewolf romances aren’t every monster-lover’s cup of tea, but to those of you who’ve fallen in love with these goofballs along the way, thanks for sticking with it to the end!

In the ‘interlude’, we will see Gabe’s visit from his POV, and we are going to meet the pack... Who are you most excited to meet? Oh, and Odessa’s gonna find out exactly what Gabe’s been studiously avoiding saying in exact terms...

As always, take good care of yourselves please, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this. Thank you, and Happy New Year!

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[friends-to-lovers-tournament]

Friends to Lovers Tournament: Round 2, Side B, Match 1

propaganda under the cut!

Chrobin:

Imagine finding a stranger on the ground, picking them up, and saying ‘you are one of us now!’ That’s Chrobin for you! Chrom quite literally found Robin laying in a field unconscious and decided to bring them along on his little routine mission but one thing leads to another and Chrom is never without Robin. The two fight off medieval zombies, travel the continent, suffer and heal together as their story goes on. The core of Robin and Chrom’s relationship is their friendship but the game gives you the option to have them get married and wow, Chrobin real!!! I could ramble about their tragedy or their silliness but it all leads back to their friendship and how they stick together no matter what life and death throws at them. In a later game in the series their souls are imprinted together in an ancient weapon. What’s more romantic than being a powerful magical bracelet together?

KidKiller:

Submission 1: Listen, I know their romantic relationship is not technically canon, but they obviously care so deeply for each other! They would they would kill for each other and they would die for each other. Killer didn’t hesitate to eat that SMILE for a chance to save Kid, and Kid was obviously heart broken when he noticed what had happened to his partner, so much that he gave up his just refound freedom for it. They are PARTNERS (canon) and you know how they mean that. They’ve been best friends for ages, their relationship just couldn’t help but bloom into something more.

Submission 2: They’re best friends, they grew up together, they’re in love. They need each other more than anyone else, would do anything or fight anyone to keep the other by their side.

Submission 3: They aren’t lovey doves, but the loyalty! Kid and Killer were children they had a friend named Victoria who they both had a crush on, but years later they both became gang leaders and Victoria got killed by the most powerful gang in their country. In revenge, Kid joined together all the gangs and took down those that killed Victoria, and later formed a pirate crew with all the former gang leaders, with Killer as his right hand man.

I love the LOYALTY these two have, because Kid is always like “Imma do something so stupid!” and Killer is like “You shouldn’t do it, but go ahead none the less, I’ll be right next to you”.

2 more reasons why I love them, but they are a spoiler just so you know.

That time Killer ate a fruit the permanently deformed his face into a smile and made him able to express his emotions only through laughter in order to protect Kid, Kid got furious because he knows Killer has always been insecure about his laugh and smile.

Killer taking a hit that could’ve killed Kid, keeping them both alive but badly hurt.

Submission 4: They’ve been friends since childhood. Kid’s been through some tough things throughout the show (eg. losing an arm) but the only time we see him cry is when Killer has been tortured and experimented on. Killer goes a bit mad from said experience but only begins to calm down when he’s reunited with Kid. They call each other ‘partner’ or ‘my partner’. I can list more but think I’ve made my point 😆"

[theoverseerau]

Uber's Hard Mode Part 6

we open in a peculiarly laid out room of the RUINS. it's an open room for the most part, but two thin walls come down into the middle of the room, leaving only a smaller gap to travel through with a pile of leaves across the gap. FRISK and CHARA enter the room, noting the layout and spotting a lone figure blocking the pathway though the gap in the walls, a translucent figure with no arms and legs, to all appearances, a cartoon ghost. FRISK: "Well, here's Napstablook. should we just get this over with?" CHARA: "Probably, the save point is right behind us, we can afford to jump in." FRISK: they throw a glare at Chara "It's not exactly pleasant to die you know." CHARA: They go pale, and look away with a mixture of shame and painful recollection. FRISK: They wince "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ask-" CHARA: "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking abou-" Both of them stop talking and stare at each other, simultaneously giving forgiveness in complete silence. FRISK: "I'll just go to the ghost now." Frisk stands right in front of the spirit laying on the ground.

NAPSTABLOOK: "zzzzzzzzz... zzzzz.... (they're talking to themselves) zzzzzzz... zzzzz.... (are they gone yet) zzzz.... CHARA: "This ghost keeps saying 'z' out loud repeatedly, pretending to sleep... ... move it with force?" FRISK: They do what Chara suggested and try to shove the ghost out of the way, the moment they do that, Napstablook floats up and opens their eyes, the color drains away and a FIGHT begins. CHARA: *Here comes Napstablook. Same as usual. FRISK: They go into the ACT menu and see that the options are the same as normal, they tentatively select Check in order to gather more information, when they do this, Chara bursts out laughing. Frisk appears confused, until Chara speaks. CHARA: *Napstablook, AT 10 DF 10. Missed the memo and is the same difficulty as normal. FRISK: "Ok, that's funny."

NAPSTABLOOK: "oh, i'm REAL funny." FRISK: After speaking, the ghost begins to cry, and large tears start spraying around, Frisk dodges them easily because compared to the rest of what they've dealt with in the Ruins this time around, an attack like this is practically a breather. CHARA: *Napstablook is wishing they weren't here. FRISK: They've done this many times before, selecting ACT and then Cheer. CHARA: *You gave Napstablook a patient smile. NAPSTABLOOK: "heh..." after this, Napstablook starts crying again, but their tears don't act as an attack, instead, they bend and shift into a set of words, 'REALLY NOT FEELIN UP TO IT RIGHT NOW. SORRY.' CHARA: *Napstablook looks just a little bit better. FRISK: They repeat the same actions as before, choosing to Cheer on Napstablook. CHARA: *you told Napstablook a little joke.

FRISK: "Why did the ghost go into the elevator? ... ... ... To lift their spirits!" NAPSTABLOOK: "heh heh..." Yet another bout of crying, this time, the tears snake around the room erratically until they slide around the roof of the room and rain down on Frisk, this one is a lot trickier then the other attack, but Frisk still dodges it, just with significantly less ease then the last. CHARA: *Cheering seems to have improved Napstablook's mood again. FRISK: Second verse, same as the-wait, this is the third time. eh, either way, Frisk cheers once more. CHARA: *Napstablook wants to show you something. NAPSTABLOOK: "Let me try..." Chara's right, of course. Napstablook starts crying, but the tears flow upward and form into a shape, not letters this time, but rather a very fancy top hat. "I call it, "Dapper Blook." Do you like it...?" No attack comes after this. CHARA: *Napstablook eagerly awaits your response.

FRISK: They hover over the cheer option again, before swapping to flirt for kicks and giggles. "A gentleman like you could court me any day." Chara struggles to hold back laughter after that. NAPSTABLOOK: "oh no..." The colors return to the room as the fight ends. "i usually come out of the ruins because there's nobody around. ... ... ... oh, i'm rambling again. i'll get out of your way." And with that, Napstablook floats off. FRISK: "Well that was a nice breather." CHARA: "Yeah, I doubt that trend will continue though. let's go to the room behind us and save before continuing." FRISK: "Agreed." Frisk does as Chara suggested, and then ventures into the section beyond the Blooks battleground. the room is smaller and empty other then a single sign and two large spider webs. Frisk takes a look at the sign, noticing something extra on it this time around. CHARA: *Spider Bake Sale. all Proceeds go to Real Spiders. something's scratched into the bottom... note: spiders are very competitive. FRISK: "hmm... competitive? I guess we'll just have to see what that means." Frisk walks up to the smaller of the two webs and leans down.

CHARA: *Leave 14G in the webs? FRISK: "fourteen?" CHARA: *that's right. FRISK: They shrug and place the money in the web, some spiders crawl down and hand Frisk two donuts. Frisk nods, before a voice comes from the other web. SPIDERS: "hey hey HEY! you aren't just going to buy from them are you? come here. CHARA: *Some spiders... took 18G from you. FRISK: "wha-" A jug of cider is placed in their hand, before the other web speaks up now. SPIDERS: "hey, the donuts are much better, here, have a double order!" CHARA: *some spiders snatch 28G from you FRISK: Frisk gets four donuts afterward, but is quickly getting confused and angry. "now hang on just a secon-" SPIDERS: "what? no! the cider is better, here, have a double order from US!"

CHARA: *some spiders try to take 32G from you, but you don't have that much money. SPIDERS: "what? oh, you don't have anything left. in that case, we're closed! spiders pour out of the webs and swarm Frisk, the human closes their eyes as they're carried away, when they open their eyes again, they're back in the place that they battled Napstablook, and the doorway to the spider bake sale is barred by a giant web. FRISK: "what. the heck. was that. CHARA: "I don't know, but how about we don't go back there?" FRISK: "yeah, I agree with that. I don't think we could go back even if we wanted to. guess Muffet taught these spiders this time around." Frisk turns and, instead of returning to the bake sale, heads upward. the room is larger then the last two rooms combined, and very open. a sign is one one side of the room with a line of three Froggits next to it Frisk takes a quick look at the sign, finding it unchanged from normal, Chara still reads it out for the principle of it all. CHARA: *Did you miss it? Spider Bakesale down and to the right. Come eat food by spiders, for spiders, of spiders! FRISK: "Already did that..." While things seem to be normal, Frisk still leans down and sees what the Froggits have to say, just in case.

FROGGIT: "Ribbit." CHARA: "Oh hey, they're saying something new. ehem... 'to get out of this room, you need to find the fourth frog.' FRISK: "to get out of this room?" Frisk looks around the room and to their shock, the far exit is barred by spikes. "well that's not normal..." They then go to talk to the next Froggit. FROGGIT: "Ribbit. Ribbit." CHARA: "Ehem... 'be warned, they can be a bit skittish'" FRISK: and on to the last of the Froggits in the line FROGGIT: "Croak, Croak." CHARA: "That translates to... 'Ribbit Ribbit'" FRISK: "pfft." With that out of the way, Frisk recalls the comment about the fourth frog. from previous runs, Frisk already knows that an ant sized frog is hidden in a crack in the wall of the room, so they waltz up to the crack and peer in.

MICRO FROGGIT: Instead of just waving, the Froggit makes a fly underneath them with magic and soars off; bolting away from Frisk FRISK: "W-wait!" and the chase is on! Frisk frantically runs around, trying to catch the tiny frog riding the fly. CHARA: "Wooo! you can do it! yay!" FRISK: "What are you doing Chara?" CHARA: "Cheering you on." FRISK: "Can you not? it's distracting me." CHARA: "No, and good. I was trying to be annoying." FRISK: Frisk finally catches up to the frog, this only seems to trigger a fight though, as color vanishes from the area. CHARA: *Micro Froggit is within your grasp. FRISK: As is the norm for meeting a new monster, the first thing Frisk does is Check, the other two options happen to be Snatch and Complement CHARA: *Micro Froggit, AT 12 DF 3. though they be but little, they are fierce.

MICRO FROGGIT: "Ribbit." Flies start to appear and charge in from every which way, trapping Frisk in a fairly random bullet hell that actually scores a hit, dealing a lot of damage. CHARA: *Micro Froggit is Shimmying around FRISK: "Ow..."After taking a bit to shake off their injury, Frisk goes for the Snatch option. CHARA: *You prepare to snatch the Froggit... Right as Chara says this, the Micro Froggit creates five more flies that all line up around them, the flies then all start to swap places with each other over and over again until stopping, Frisk wasn't expecting this, and snatches a random fly, which doesn't seem to have the Micro Froggit on it. MICRO FROGGIT: The remaining five flies all circle Frisk and charge all at once three times in a row, before the fight ends, and Frisk is left having to chase the frog around the room again. FRISK: "Oh come on!" Another frantic lunge, and the fight starts again. CHARA: *Micro Froggit is within your grasp... again. FRISK: Not bothering to waste any more time, Frisk goes straight for the snatch option. CHARA: *You prepare to snatch the froggit... Once again, the Froggit makes more flies and starts to swap them all around, but this time, Frisk knows what's going on and follows the fly that they know has the Froggit on it. They reach out and snatch up the fly, the battle ends again, but this time, there's no more chasing. MICRO FROGGIT: "Ribbit" CHARA: "Ehem. 'Ok, you got me! I'll let you proceed if you just let me go! Frisk complies with this and the spikes on the far end of the room retract. FRISK: "at first it was funny, then it was scary, now it's just obnoxious." CHARA: "Hey, at least it's not boring." FRISK: "I'll give it that." And with that final quip, Frisk goes past the retracted spikes and into the room beyond.

first: Here!

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prev: Here!

the comic this blog is actually about: Here!

[kowaindar0u]

[dated sometime 3rd year of high school]

Hi again...

I've been hanging out with Himeko a lot more lately. She's so outgoing and really not afraid to say what she wants. Very direct. So she doesn't really ask me if I want to hang out or go somewhere with her, she just says "We're going here" or "you're coming with me to there". It's... kind of stressful, but I think it's good for me. If she asks then I have the option to chicken out. This way I have no choice but to socialize.

She brings me along to hang out with her friend group too. I think some of them go to other schools, some of them might be older, I'm not sure... They're kind of intimidating. They ask me a lot of questions I don't know how to answer. I wasn't sure why they even were my friends. Now I'm not sure that they were at all.

Today after school Himeko brought me back to her house. She said she wanted to give me a makeover. I didn't think it was really a good idea-- there's only so much one can do with makeup and stuff after all. But she insisted.

I can't say she didn't do a good job. I looked... really pretty. But I didn't feel like me-- even the me that I already hate so much was preferable to the way I looked. It felt so wrong, and I don't know why. I'd never looked better.

I stared at myself in the mirror the entire time she got done up herself. I was so confused and unnerved I didn't even process that she was clearly getting us ready to go out somewhere. By the time I got the picture we were already out the door.

It was already getting dark by the time we met up with her friends, and then we all went to the park-- not the one near where I live, one I'm not even familiar with-- where a bunch of other kids were having a party.

I already wanted to go home so bad, diary. There were so many people there, some of them were classmates, some of them I'd never seen before... I told Himeko I thought I might and she just gave me a beer and told me to calm down, relax, but... It's never that easy.

I tried to stay around the outskirts away from everyone but Himeko kept coming back to pull me with her. So every time she stopped to talk to someone she knew, I just felt this... agonizing stress, it was awful.

And then she and her friends told me they wanted to 'set me up' with someone. I didn't know him, but he's a 4th-year at my school. I tried to say 'no, you don't have to do that' and such but... they just pushed me toward him and stared at me.

I didn't know what to say! I didn't want to say anything! But he leaned in and I don't know if he was trying to kiss me or just speak to me without the others hearing but I just froze and burst into tears. Either way I don't think he had any bad intentions. I think he was led on by someone other than me. But I was so scared of him, and of Himeko and her friends. They laughed at me, and when I tried to step away, they pushed me back to him. He caught me by the shoulders because I almost fell, but I panicked and just ran.

But I didn't know where I was going, and I was crying and it was dark so I couldn't see, so at some point I just tripped and fell and ate absolute shit.

All my life I've... never had a good reason to point to in why I'm so afraid to be around or with people. It's always been so... just in my head. But now, I thought... Maybe I had a reason.

I was honestly so tempted to just lay there on the ground and become one with the grass. But that would take too damn long, wouldn't it?

Instead I heard another voice. My heart nearly dropped right out of me. I recognized that voice. Endou Tatsuki.

Of all the ways my crush could have found me-- crying, dirty, scraped up, and still honestly scared.

"████ ?"

I didn't even know he knew my name.

He...asked if I was okay, if I needed help up. I said no, I got up on my own. I was afraid to get too close to him. I always thought he was sweet, but I didn't want to take any chances after what had just happened.

He had seen it. He'd watched my pathetic self get thrust into that situation for what was apparently comic relief.

And he apologized.

He said he'd had bad feelings about Himeko and the way she talked to me, but he wasn't sure it was his place to say anything and didn't want to scare me off or put me into a worse situation with her-- but now he regrets not having said anything.

I regret it too. But I don't think I can hold that against him. I should have known better, I guess. I just... thought it was my own brain, my mind telling me things were wrong as it so often does for no discernable reason.

He sat with me for a while, kept his distance.

It took me forever to stop crying. But then he asked if I wanted him to walk me home.

I said yes.

And he did, and I felt safe the whole way.

He dropped me off at the door.

And now here I am.

I feel...awful still. I thought I had friends for once. I was stupid enough, or deluded enough, to think these girls cared about me. I should have seen it coming but... I don't know. Maybe I was just that fucking desperate. Never again though.

But ... I guess the night wasn't all bad.

I can't wait to see Tatsuki at school again.

[captaincaptainfisher]

Growth records entry 13.

It has been one cycle since Socks disappeared, and still no word.

NSS has been attempting to contact me. I have ignored these attempts. I will not take my eyes off that portal.

I have two leading theories. Either this is not a two way portal as I thought, and they are in some unknown third location... or the first few hops destabilised the portal, to the point where this time... they were destroyed on entry.

I hope that this is not the case, but as I've said before... If he is dead, I can simply create a new specimen.

...

That... Feels much crueller to say now than it did last time.

I do not want him to be dead despite the ease with which he could be replaced.

From what I've learned over his lifespan, if I recreated him, I could even create a better version... And yet... I don't want a better version. I want this version to be safe.

I hope he is safe.

Recording temporarily ends.

Recording resumes.

It has been three cycles.

NSS's call attempts have ceased. SRS has begun.

Rude and taboo though it may be to turn down a call from a group senior, these attempts have been ignored as swiftly as any other. I do not care.

My data pearls lay dormant on the ground. The gravity is off in my chamber- it is wrong to have it on without Socks catapulting himself around the room as if he is still a pup. My work is suffering. The unfinished machine is cold and still, and I have not worked any further on it. I don't care.

The portal lays still. It is unmoving, taunting me. Sometimes I swear I sense movement, but if Socks is in there, he cannot reach me. I care. I care so very deeply. It feels as if the wait is pulling me apart, undoing my screws, loosening my bolts and letting me float aimlessly around my chamber in useless pieces.

...Recording temporarily ends.

Recording resumes.

Five cycles.

Nobody is attempting to contact me. I am alone.

I am sitting on the floor of my chamber staring at the footage of the portal. It is still and silent. I care for nothing else.

...I have new theories.

If I am correct that there is some kind of third location, then perhaps he has decided to remain there. Perhaps he, too, has seen my inadequacies and abandoned me for something better. I would not blame him.

Perhaps he even conveyed a desire to leave me to NSS, and they falsified the footage of him re-entering the portal so that he could stay there without a fight. What a state I am in, to suspect my most loyal friend of such trickery...

...I really am quite pathetic, you know. I complain that I have been abandoned, but is there any wonder when I would dare to say such things about someone who has stuck with me through thick and thin?

I did not mention this before out of sheer embarrassment. But... when he was young, I would often forget that he was a creature of flesh and blood. I would block out his cries as an annoying noise, ignoring that they might indicate a need.

There was one night that he stopped crying, and I could not understand why. He was weak and almost dead. It was only then that I recalled organic creatures... They tend to need food to survive. I stayed up all night slowly feeding him and bringing him back from the brink of death. At that age, the cycle had not taken hold of him, and he would have been permanently lost... Because of my stupid, stupid scatterbrain.

I have been a neglectful caretaker and a terrible friend. If he has chosen to go elsewhere... I only wish I, too, had the option to abandon me.

Recording temporarily ends.

Recording resumes.

It has been ten cycles. And I am giving up.

I see no reason why Socks would want to return to me. I wouldn't want to return to me.

I cannot yet bring myself to turn the footage off, but... I am giving up. On everything.

I give up on the idea of bioengineering as an art form. I give up rejecting my purpose. It has caused me nothing but trouble. I don't know if I even have the facilities to work towards ascension anymore, thanks to the ancients and their modifications, but I will try my best for sheer lack of anything else to do.

If I do not... Then I am useless. I cannot do not I want, nor what I am supposed to do. I am beginning to regret ever-

....

...Ah... I thought the portal flickered.

It has been flickering since it spawned, I don't know why I'd think this one would be any different.

...

...W-wait...

N-no, it's- He's actually-

He came back.... He actually came back to me..! He is making his way to my chamber with more happiness than I have ever seen on him before... He... He appears unharmed. Just happy.

I don't know what to make of this... The more practical part of me is telling me I need to study this, to figure out where he's been, if it altered his body or brain... But the part of me that threatens to burst from my chest when I look at him is telling me that tests can wait. He is home... My friend is home.

At this moment, he is running towards my chamber as if every predator on the island is chasing him... is his haste really to get back to me..? I believe NSS may no longer be my most loyal friend.

The gravity is back on in my chamber. I'm bringing in many gooieducks for his return. I'm going to switch off the recording for now... There is something more important to attend to.

Recording temporarily ends.

Recording resumes.

That was... Possibly the happiest evening I have ever spent.

Socks ignored the food and treats I set out for him and made a beeline straight for me.

He would not let me go for a long, long time.. I will admit, I struggled to let him go, either.

Eventually, he ate. He drank. And for the first time, I accepted his invitation to play. This consisted only of me tossing a pearl around my can and watching as he ran after it and brought it back to me. A useless activity... but it brought me a simple joy that my art has failed to for many years.

I was wrong to strive to make life into art. Life is already art. I was simply failing to see it.

And now, my masterpiece, my magnum opus... my best friend... he is asleep on my lap. He is too heavy for me, and I cannot move or work in this position. I wouldn't have it any other way.

On a slightly more serious note, I suppose I should add... He came back with something stored in his pouch. Three tufts of fur, one a dirty white, one a light grey, and one dark, vibrant blue. A quick scan shows me that they are genetically different, coming from three different creatures... he made it clear what he wanted me to do with it.

Tomorrow, I will be back to work on the machine. He will have no need for loneliness soon... he doesn't deserve that.

Recording ends.

[spyxangst]

⚡ ALONE: A Tonitrus Bolts Interactive Story - Final Part ⚡

It looks like you were just as torn as we were about which option to choose. After compiling the votes, we had a perfect tie!

Read below to see how our story ended...

Missed part 3? Read it here!

⚡⚡⚡

Anya felt Papa’s anger reverberate through the room. She knew it was her telepathy, but it wasn’t a thought–or if it was, it was far too strong for her to register it as such. It was steely, its weight crushing everyone in the room. And Anya was pretty sure–no, really sure–that Mama felt it too.

“I didn’t expect a complication like this,” he spoke, words bearing burdens so sharp that Mama winced from across the room. “But it’s clear that this isn’t safe.” Anya watched as he put emotion over himself like another disguys of his, making sure there was enough so Mama didn’t forget that he was still human, even if he was Twilight. But he also was thinking, thinking about how he was so close to having a chance at feeling some sort of human connection, trying not to recognize how he cared about Anya and Yor, trying to figure out what all of this meant. And he was also scared, something that Anya didn’t think Papa could feel.

“No… it’s okay. I understand.” Mama collapsed onto the ground, her tears silenced. She had given up. She was questioning everything, wondering what was real and what wasn’t and if any good could ever come out of this. She was regretting becoming an assassin, even though it kept Yuri alive, even though it kept her alive because she had killed so much in the process, and now she had slashed through her one chance at normal, stabbing it in the throat like any other victim.

Anya didn’t even realize she was shaking at first. She stopped paying attention solely to Mama and Papa’s thoughts when she felt tears land on her hands. Bond was crying, low and mournful whines unspooling like a tapestry falling apart. She was crying too, now, just like Mama had been earlier, her whole body breaking down, the world was being ripped apart, Papa knew this was dangerous Mama had given up Papa knew Operation Sticks was too dangerous Mama had tried so hard yet it was her who tore everything apart Papa Mama Papa and Mama–

“Anya?”

She blinked her tears away, rubbing her eyes blearily. Wait, why was she sitting? And why did it feel like she just had sat up?

“Borf!” Bond was laying on top of her like he did each night. He was her favorite blanket as well as the only one necessary. Sunlight was pouring in from the blinds in her room. But she wasn’t just in her room, was she? She was–she was doing something, she couldn’t remember, but it was bad and–

“Anya! My goodness, I could barely wake you up!” Mama smiled warmly, as if (I’m so sorry Loid I didn’t know I understand) she wasn’t doing the horrible thingy Anya couldn’t remember a few minutes ago. “Unless you hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

She seemed a bit frazzled, but she was acting normal. Was it all just… a dream?

Anya got out of her bed, giving Mama a hug. It caught her off guard, but after a moment, she hugged Anya back (and Anya knew she was making sure not to hold her too tight). 

A few footsteps preceded Papa looking into the room. “Ah, breakfast is–”

He sucked in a breath, and Anya felt her heart speed up, because it was just like (this isn’t safe why did I do this– a child shouldn’t be part of this) what had happened during the don’t-remember. But after a scarifying pause, he walked over to them, gently wrapping his arms around the two of them.

“We got each other, ‘cause we’re the best family!” Anya whispered.

She didn’t need to look up or listen to thoughts to know that they both smiled in response.

(This is all my fault Mama and Papa were just fine I’m not good enough)

Though no family was forever, as fleeting as a dream–or perhaps, a nightmare.

END

⚡⚡⚡

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