#but there's just the slightest plausible deniability

[cuntylouis]

I don't think the new spn fans understand what it was like to experience canon drowley in real time. Fans were talking about Crowley symbolically seducing Dean over s9 and correctly anticipated the demon!Dean storyline. Everyone expected Crowley to become the new big bad and use Dean as a weapon in his master plans. Then comes the next season and turns out all they've been doing together is hang around in bars and have sex. Because this is cw supernatural TBTB can't explicitly show or say there's gay sex happening but it's as blatant as it can be. People can't believe their eyes we're sort of asking each other is this real are they really doing this. This is anti-destiel, no one wanted this. Yet it gets more outrageously obvious every week and it's more canon than destiel is at this point. Dean breaks up with Crowley and Crowley falls into depression spiral spending all his time pathetically crying over him. Dean/Cas/Crowley love triangle becomes a legit storyline. When Crowley's humiliations build up we expect him to finally snap and become a true powerful villain once again yet it never quite happens. Crowley stays embarrassingly in love with Dean until the end and arguably dies because of it. Dean Winchester dick broke the king of hell's mind permanently. And again, because this is cw supernatural this all stays just barely subtext. Sometimes i wake up in a cold sweat thinking 'they really managed to no homo dean physically having sex with a man'

[cdroloisms]

if you're still taking hot takes: a large portion of "dsmp" fanfics (sbi fics in particular) are actually just rpf fanfics about the ccs in alternate universes that claim to be about characters because that part of the fanbase views rpf as inherently immoral and thus feel the need to justify their rpf fics by slapping a /rp label on it

oh my goddd this one fr like "c!sbi is an established unit and then they adopt c!tommy into their family" is the premise of so many fics and THAT IS CC!SBI FANFIC. C!SBI DIDNT EXIST ??????? STRAIGHT UP DIDN'T EXIST . WHAT. "techno, wilbur, and philza made up the joint unit of sleepy boys inc and they adopted tommy within their ranks" is literally what happened with the streamers in real life like my god people . and when did that happen in the canon server lore ... ? LITERALLY NEVER ??

oftentimes fanfic in this fandom just borrows whatever dynamics they want from either the rpf or rp side like. "c!sbi versus c!dream" where the entire Point of it being "characters" is so that they can use their c!dream caricature evil dude (who coincidentally behaves literally nothing like c!dream)--like i'm sorry but i was here in 2020 and know what sleepytwt was like at the time, yall aint subtle (even if you're just carrying on the legacy of fandom members before you and dont actually even know the history you're writing lmao.)

[thatfanfictionchick]

You're supposed to panic at the disco

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Epel and Leona

Rating: Everyone

Warnings: Panic attack;

Word count: 734

Notes: So yeah @insertsomthinawesome had yet again clobbered me with feels with a Whumptober piece that has languished in my drafts. Enjoy!

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

They had a joint lesson with the upperclassmen and Epel just wanted it to be over. Everyone else in his class always got so nervous, especially if it was a day Leona bothered to show up, and it had a way of getting on Epel’s nerves. Maybe it was because he was in the Spelldrive club and knew firsthand that Leona was way more bark, er, roar, than bite, but he got secondhand embarrassment watching the other freshman fall over themselves trying not to do anything that might be considered even slightly offensive.

The delicate melody of breaking glass drew his attention. Michael, another freshman, was clutching his hands to his chest and backing away from Leona with fear etched in every line of his face. It was pitiful, and Epel waited for Leona to say as much, but the words never came. In fact Leona was oddly still and quiet, his unfocused eyes staring at his hands. Epel shoved his lab supplies onto the closest table and moved closer, his concern quickly mounting. “Leona?” he said softly. Leona flinched, a low growl erupting sharply from his throat that made several students nearby scurry away. Epel paused and stared. Leona was trembling from head to foot, his ears pinned back and sweat beading on his forehead. He was still staring, confused and unresponsive, at his shaking hands. “Leona,” Epel took a slow step forward, holding his own hands out palms up. “Look at me?”

Finally he got the housewarden’s attention. Epel gently took one of Leona’s shaking hands in his own. “Can ya come with me?” He led Leona out of the classroom, away from the murmuring crowd, and into the hallway. Fortunately it was easy enough to get Leona to sit on a bench. He was still shaking, his body painfully tense and his breathing rapid. “It’s okay,” Epel said quietly. He kept hold of Leona’s hand. “Ah’ll stay with ya until ya feel better.”

What was the matter with him? Leona didn’t know, and that made him feel all the worse. His heart was pounding so hard. You never really think about your heart beating. You don’t feel it. Except he was feeling it. And he could feel how hard he was clenching his teeth. His back hurt from how tense his muscles were and as the seconds ticked by he realized he was probably holding onto Epel’s hand way too tight but Epel wasn’t complaining.

It seemed to take ages until he was calm enough to take a deep breath, until the roaring in his ears that distorted all the other sounds abated. Suddenly instead of feeling stiff his whole body felt too limp and he tried to shake the fog out of his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered. He’d never wanted a nap more in his life than at that moment.

Epel chewed on his bottom lip and responded slowly. “Ah think yer havin’ a panic attack.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Epel jumped. Leona was one thing, but how he didn’t notice Professor Crewel standing next to them was downright shameful. With a flick of his magic pen Crewel had their labwear replaced with their uniforms before fixing Epel with a sharp look. “Felmier, escort Kingscholar to the nurse’s office.” His gaze slid to Leona and though his eyes may have softened the tiniest bit his voice remained firm. “It is not a request.”

“Sure.” Leona was beyond tired. He was completely drained, an unshakable exhaustion settling into his body. He didn’t have it in him to put up a fight right now, even if he’d wanted to. He got to his feet feeling unsteady but shrugged it off; tails were useful like that. He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for Epel to stand and lead the way.

“Leona.” As he went to walk by Crewel stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “The mind is just as important as the body. There’s no shame in taking care of yourself.”

“Right.” Leona mumbled. He knew it was true, but that didn’t disperse the uncomfortable knot in his chest. From up ahead Epel offered him a small smile.

“We’ll get you through this, Leona.” Suddenly Epel’s face split into a wide grin, his eyes bearing a certain country-wild glare. “And ah’ll punch the snot outta anybody who gives ya a hard time!”

[dxxdhood]

show off

pairing: dick grayson x gn!reader

summary: after dick tries his hardest to get your attention, you finally give it to him.

tags: smut (18+), sub!dick grayson, dom!reader, teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering (m receiving), oral (m receiving), light bondage, hair pulling, body worship

wc: 2.2k

a/n: hey! sorry for disappearing! i don't have an ao3-author-almost-dying-excuse but i hope this fic makes up for it!

What made Dick Grayson so hot was that he knew he was hot. He was always walking around with an annoying amount of confidence that he managed to pull off anyway. Blame it on him being the poster child for a Good Samaritan or his relentless integrity– the guy was impossible to hate no matter how big his head got.

Luckily, you’ve lucked out as his official, number one supporter. Ever since becoming partners, you’ve gotten to spend more little moments together, even when life would ordinarily tear you apart. And of course it’s great! Dick’s arms around you as you try to catch up on some reading in the morning, forehead kisses even as you’re running out the door late for work– everything’s been adorable. But lately, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. 

Dick’s been stressed out, you can tell it in the set of his shoulders even if he’s been trying to hide it. The thing was, you’ve been super busy lately. Work and personal stuff kept piling up, and although you’re ashamed of it, you’ve ended up prioritizing other things instead of your relationship.

You told Dick that you were swamped with work and – as usual – he was nothing but understanding. But if dating Dick has taught you anything, it’s that he believes that being understanding means completely ignoring all his own wants. It’s very endearing, but you also feel like a giant asshole, especially as things finally start clearing up and he still keeps his distance.

Or well, at least it seems like he’s trying to keep his distance. That doesn’t explain him showing off for you.

Because that’s what he’s been doing! It started off when you came back from work one night to Dick, on his day off from patrols, cooking you an entire candlelit dinner. He was wearing a black button up with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was also loose, messy like he’d just been on a run. Oh, and he must not have shaved that morning, because he has the slightest amount of stubble– he was trying to kill you was what he was doing. 

Okay, he may have had plausible deniability during that night’s dinner, but that time you walked in on him working out was not subtle. As soon as you walked into the living room he switched to doing squats, the thin material of his gym shorts straining against his muscled thighs. After a couple seconds of you watching in awe, he had the nerve to turn around and smile at you all innocently, asking you how your day went. 

And then there was what happened yesterday. Once again you walk into your living room (clearly a trigger for these events) and you’re met with Dick on the couch, shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants as he snores softly. His head was leaning against his shoulder at an uncomfortable angle, so you grab a small pillow and maneuver it under his neck to stop him from getting sore. Even asleep, you feel how strong he is as your hands trace the outline of his neck and shoulder muscles. You can spot so many moles littering his arms and chest. It’s a shame they’re usually covered.

It’s not like Dick doesn’t usually lounge around the house shirtless, but wearing nothing – and you’re sure it’s really nothing – but gray sweatpants all stretched out on the couch? At this point he’s not asking for you to do something, he’s begging for it.

So, today you text him to “get ready for a surprise tonight!” while he’s out on patrol. He responds back something like “????😍🥳😘!!!!!” while you start getting ready. 

“Hey, I’m home!” he calls as he walks through your front door. “So what’s this big surprise I’ve been hearing about?”

“Welcome back,” you say, rushing from your bedroom to give him a kiss. He’s ready to break it off almost instantly, but you hold on for longer, placing your hands on his shoulders. Dick muffles a sound of surprise but he doesn’t pull away. After a second of not knowing what to do with his hands, he rests them around your waist and melts into the kiss.

You eventually pull back and Dick starts talking again, “Well, that was a nice surprise! Guess I’ll just–”

“Shut up!” You shout through a giggle. “Just wait a second, it’s in here.”

You grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom, which you’ve lit with scented candles. Also – and this may have been going a little far – you bought roses to adorn your bedside table (and to sprinkle petals on your bed, of course). On top of the freshly washed sheets, through the dim lighting, Dick spots some suspiciously red rope. 

“Alright, I mean it this time, this is a nice surprise,” he says as he tries to fight against a smile. “But are you sure you’re okay to do this tonight? I don’t wanna worry you, and if you don’t have the time for–”

You grab both of his hands and pull him down so you’re both sitting on the side of the bed.

“Dick… It’s not my fault I’ve been busy lately, and I know that,” you take a deep breath. “But I’m so sorry I haven’t been spending enough time with you. I should’ve tried harder, you know, I should’ve done what you always do– find a way to pull through it.”

He raises one of his hands from where yours were covering his and is about to protest before you stop him, “Please don’t defend me, just let me say I’m an asshole for once.”

He exhales and relaxes back, placing his hands in yours again.

“So, let me make it up to you?” you ask, almost timidly in comparison to how solid the rest of your apology went.

As a response, Dick leans forward and hugs you so tight you think you may have crushed ribs (and you know Dick definitely has the strength to do it). 

“Of course I’m not going to say no to that,” he chuckles, breaking the hug so he can stand up and start uncoiling the rope.

“Hold on,” you say as you come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head toward you, confusion clear on his face. “I was thinking that tonight I’d do the tying.”

And you’re infinitely grateful that Dick turned around, because now you can see his cute raised eyebrows and the sweet way he tries to look towards the floor. He lets out a small cough and politely hands you the rope.

“Sounds- sounds good.”

“Great!” you nestle a hand in his tousled hair and scratch at the back of his scalp. “Go take a shower, alright? When you’re back, I’ll be here and we’ll get started, okay?”

He nods, and you give a gentle tug of his hair, “Speak, baby.”

“Right, yeah! Good! It sounds really good,” He manages, walking to the bathroom quickly and wasting no time to get the shower started.

You giggle as you watch him exit. Dick was usually so suave and self-assured, it always threw you to see how nervous he got when he was under your thumb. 

Preparing the last few things you needed, you lay on the bed, resting your head on your bent arm to watch Dick as he steps out of the bathroom. He didn’t even bother bringing a towel out with him, and you can see the drops of water run down his chest and abs before reaching his cock. 

You give him less of a smirk and more of a fond smile as you walk up to him, reaching to cup the back of his neck and bring his face close to yours.

“Even now, when I already told you you’re going to get what you want, you’re still showing off for me.”

“What?” He shakes his head, eyes gleaming.

“Lay down for me, okay? You say, and even though he wants to hear you finish, he follows immediately.

Rope in hand, you crawl on the bed so you’re straddling him. The sight of him, all lean muscles and thick thighs, laid out for you makes your face heat up. You take a deep breath as you gesture for him to move his hands up, and you tie him to the headboard.

“You’ve been craving my attention so badly, haven’t you? Just wanted me to drop what I was doing and show you how much I love you?”

“What, no, I–”

You move your hands from his tied up wrists to grip his jaw so he faces you, “Don’t keep anything from me now. Just tell me the truth, I want to hear it.”

After fighting past a blush, Dick lets out a shuddering breath, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I– I wanted you to notice me.”

“How couldn’t I, baby?” You say as you move down his body, nipping at his neck and the strong muscles of his shoulders. “You always look so sexy, you always want me to look.”

You lick at one of his nipples and you can feel his body twitch.

“You know you’re so handsome, right? You’re so hot, sometimes I think about you at work and get so distracted I can’t get anything done.”

He lets out a sigh as you scratch your nails down his side, leaving lines of red before you grip at his raised biceps.

“You’re so kind, too,” You whisper before kissing him deeply, biting at his bottom lip. Your other hand leaves to get the lube and begins spreading some around his hole. Dick’s breathing grows more and more uneven, but you kiss along his jaw and let him relax before you slip your finger in.

He squirms a bit at first, and you run your other hand through his hair to comfort him as you prep him using your finger. 

“You’re always so good, even when you don’t have to be– even when you have no reason to be. You see someone hurt, alone, and you help them– like it’s the most obvious thing to do.” You add another finger and Dick bites his lip at the stretch, trying not to breathe too heavily.

He starts gasping at every little thrust, sweat glistening at his brow and you angle your hand to reach that spot every time. Dick lets out a long groan, dipping his head to his collarbone before you pull him back up to look you in the eyes..

“You’re incredible, Dick. Such a gorgeous person inside and out.”

“Babe!” he cries, hiding his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder, and you gently cup his face to coax him out of it.

“It’s true, sweetheart, and you don’t get to hear it enough. You’re so good, you’re my good boy.”

He moans at that, higher than usual and you add another finger while he’s distracted. His voice breaks in the middle of the sound, and you can feel his chest working double time to try and keep up with your thrusts.

“Shit– shit, holy shit!” He cries, and you card your hand through his hair one last time before you run it down the side of his neck and across his chest. You never stop your hand movements as you kiss down the column of his neck and his pecs, following each spot your hand touches with your mouth.

You lick down his abs and Dick whines, trying to hide his face again while also keeping one eye focused on you, not wanting to miss a second of what you’re doing to him. The hand tracing down his body reaches his hard cock, and you run a finger across the length of it, rubbing in the bead of precum.

You take a second to make sure you’re keeping your thrusts consistent with your fingers before you take his entire length in your mouth. Dick rocks his entire body back and forth, trying to stay calm for you, and you breathe through your nose for a moment, letting him rest on your tongue as you get ready to move.

You slide on his cock at the same time your fingers hit his prostate, trying your best to line up the two so his tip hits the back of your throat when your fingers thrust against him. Clearly, it’s working, because Dick moves constantly, blinking back tears or trying in vain to hold back sounds as you work him even quicker.

His breathing becomes labored, so you move a hand to work his cock as you slide up his body, kissing him and sliding your tongue in his mouth. As soon as he tastes himself on you, you can feel the vibrations of a moan. His cum coats your hand as you work him through his orgasm.

Once you break your mouth away from his, his voice comes out all airy, “Oh my God, Fuck! Where were you hiding all of that?”

“The mouth?” You choke out, talking about how you just sucked him off, “Or the… mouth?” You mean the dirty talk.

“The–” He shakes his head, having trouble with the motion while still being tied up. “Yeah!”

The two of you giggle as you untie him, and you both cuddle for a while before hopping in the bath. 

[overtake]

Save a Horse | 11,425 words

divorced dosh, endgame maxiel, but they have a threesome about it first (there is about 7k of plot, but you can just skip to the end if you're here for the moshiel threesome of it all)

It's a good hour. The best hour, maybe. Daniel doesn’t bother paying the slightest attention to the lessons. He’s too busy telling Max elaborate, fake backstories about each of the horses. They’re halfway through a really bad bit about Olympic horse diving when a throat clears in front of them. “The lesson ended ten minutes ago, so I thought you might like your daughter back,” Josh says drily, but he’s clearly fighting back a knowing smirk. Max and Daniel are sitting thigh-to-thigh on the bench, knees knocking together every time Daniel does the loud laugh that pulls his handsome nose up into a minuscule crinkle. Their faces are closer together than is strictly necessary. Max could probably count every individual eyelash framing Daniel’s warm brown eyes. “Sorry,” Max says, reluctantly pulling back. Josh offers Max his hand and tugs him up like Max weighs nothing, biceps flexing the whole way. He lets his hand linger the same way he did with their handshake: short enough for plausible deniability, but long enough to make Max wonder.

[prince-jjae]

In My Imagination. ㅡ h.k. [ceilings. pt2]

pairing;

huening kai/gn!reader

genre;

FLUFF. so much fluff. smut. mdni!!! i know i said itd be angsty but im a liar.

tags;

barista!reader, implied jealous taehyun, barista!taehyun, beomgyu being a sassy mf, daydreaming, plushie humping, coming untouched, masturbating, facefucking(mentioned as a daydream), mentions of aftercare, so much fluff omg.

part 1. tyun ending. masterlist.

summary;

"but that look in your eyes, and that smile it makes me want to stay here in this room.. pretending youre pretending too."

hueningkai was never really one for intense, whirlwind romances, but he just couldnt help himself with you. you, who stared up at him with shocked eyes, as if his very presence was the answer to your every prayer. when you looked at him like that, how could he not fall madly in love with you?

Ever since that first fateful morning, Huening Kai made it a staple of his routine to order coffee from your shop every day. He would wait in line, an unknown antsy feeling clawing up his spine as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He was impatient, but blissfully unaware of the reason why. 

He tried not to read too much into it, but he knew you were the cause. How could you not be, when you stumbled over your words and actions whenever he got close? You lit up the room brighter than any sun, and he was firmly convinced that science had it all wrong. 

The world didn't revolve around the sun. it revolved around you.

You, with your cold exterior and sharp gaze that melted even the slightest bit, warmed by his presence, sizzled under his touch. He kept plausible deniability, at first. Just brushes of his fingertips against yours as he paid or when you handed him his drink with the same phrase as always.

“Have a good day.” And have a good day, he did. He doesnt think hes ever experienced days so good in his life until now.

It had been around 2 weeks of this routine and 4 days of relentless teasing from his roommate beomgyu, when it happened.

The dreams.

It started as nothing, really, at first. Just daydreaming of actually mustering up the courage to have a conversation with you for once. Something beyond just ordering egg tarts and a coffee. What were your interests? What did you like, dislike, love, hate? He wanted to know everything, so naturally his mind filled in the blanks.

He daydreamed, nearly constantly. Always about you, always about how your voice felt like heavy whipping cream, drowning him in the sweetest of marshmallow fluff. He could listen to you talk for hours. He supposed he had, in a way, since he fantasized about you so often.

It was around a month after your first meeting with him that the dreams became more than just conversations he wished he could have. They morphed into romantic fantasies. Your hands were so soft, the few times he barely ghosted his fingers to your skin. He wondered what it'd feel like to hold them properly? To warm them after a day of playing in the snow? To swing between your bodies after watching a movie at the cinema?

And your lips.. the plushness of them, the way they formed around words and made them sweet no matter the context. God, he wondered how sweet they would taste. How soft would they feel against his own? Would they make him sweet by sheer contact?

He sat, sipping his coffee, egg tarts long since finished as he stared out the café window. He desperately wanted to stare at you, instead, but anytime he caught himself, your intimidating coworker was glaring pure death directly at him. It was startling enough to deter him.. but only physically. Mentally, he couldn't be deterred by God himself, he thought. Your being haunted him in the sweetest of ways, clinging to his skin and singing in his veins like a poison. 

“This cannot be healthy, dude. Just fuckin talk to them? Why drag me here if you're just gonna gawk?” Beomgyu huffed, bottom lip pulling into a dramatic pout as he slumped in his seat. He poked at his empty coffee cup, scowling at it with disdain. The two had definitely been here too long, and Beomgyu was itching to go home already.

Kai frowned, taking another long sip of his cold coffee, letting the silence between them stretch until Beomgyu shifted uncomfortably. Satisfied, Kai opened his mouth to reply with a hushed whisper.

“I'll talk to them, eventually.. I just wanted to treat you to coffee.” Came his reply. It was a lame excuse, if it could even count as an excuse to begin with. Beomgyu's eyes narrowed in challenge as he sat forward, pointing an accusing finger at Kai.

“you need to stop being such a pussy. You didn't drag me here to treat me and we both know it.” Kai's shoulders sagged in defeat, stealing a glance your way only to catch your coworkers eyes again. He promptly broke eye contact and blinked at Beomgyu, a nervous blush rising to his cheeks. Beomgyu just smirked at the pathetic reaction, head tilting to the side cockily. “See? Pussy.”

It had been four months after your first interactions when his dreams shifted.. again.

No longer were they sickeningly sweet, bringing a pretty flush to his cheeks. No, now they brought a flush to his cheeks in a different way. Now he buried his head in his hands, desperately willing the thoughts to go away when in public. But in private? He reveled in them. 

He had always collected plushies, adorable varieties of characters piled onto his bed and shelves, but now he viewed their innocence in a.. different light. Now, all he could think of when he saw the black cat plushie was you. Your initial indifference, your subsequent innocence and sleek beauty. 

He couldn't help it. You did this to him, after all. He was desperate, whining and puffing out meaningless apologies to the black plush below him as he rutted into it. He was desperate. Every movement was fueled by a different memory of you. The way your glasses slid down your nose, the way said nose would crinkle when you laughed. The way you would roll your eyes at a lame joke your coworker told you, the way youd poke your tongue out of your mouth when you focused on making coffees.

God help him, that tongue. That was what he fantasized about the most, these days. How would it feel to tangle your tongue with his? How would it feel to become so intimate with you, so sloppy that drool pooled and spilled over your lips and chin. He wondered how talented that tongue would be when he stuffed your face with his cock. God, what a thought. Choking on it, your pretty whines.. Would your eyes roll back? Would you moan around him? Would you get so aroused by the action of him fucking your pretty mouth that youd drip all over the floor?

His hips stuttered, pretty whines and a long, drawn out moan falling from his lips as he came. It matted the fur of the poor plushie under his hips, but he couldnt focus on that. No, he was still deep in his daydreams, imagining how hed take care of you, how he'd be so gentle with you.. guide you to the bathroom to clean you up, perhaps even carry you if you asked-

Twenty minutes later, he decided the stickiness was too much to bear. Once he was clean, he took the walk of shame to the laundry room, plush cat tucked in his arms to hide the sin he had spilled on them. But when he looked up at met Beomgyu's eyes in the living room, Kai knew his secret was no longer his own.

It was six months after your first meeting when he finally got the confidence to talk to you. God, he was right. You were everything he dreamed youd be. You were hilarious, your deadpan humor making him laugh harder than he ever had before in his life. He chatted with you while you washed the counters, swept the floors, made coffees. You had a closing shift today, and he had been there since the morning, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He spent the whole day talking to you, about everything he ever wanted to talk to you about. He learned your hobbies, your likes, dislikes, hatreds and passions. You were perfect. 

The two of you had been so engrossed in one another that the store was closing before you both realized. Not even the glare of your coworker – Taehyun, he learned – could sway him. He smiled, bright as ever when he glanced outside, seeing it was dark out. You were locking up the store, Taehyun was already halfway to his own car when he spoke up.

“I could walk you to your car, if you'd like? it's dark out…” He trailed, eyeing you for any potential discomfort. It melted into a pleasant smile after you nodded, inviting him along for the short walk. You two walked slowly, however, not yet wanting to separate just yet. He was infatuated, worse than he initially thought. Maybe Beomgyu was right, he was in love with you. He was entirely, wholeheartedly in love with a perfect stranger. And perhaps it was selfish of him when he asked for your number, clinging to hope that you were just as enamored as he was. 

And maybe it was the look in your eyes when you handed his phone back to him, your number saved in his phone with a pretty typed out heart next to your name; maybe it was the sweetness of the coffee still on his tongue.. but he really hoped you were dreaming of him, too.

[itsabouttimex2]

Monkiefam: Part One

Transformation Troubles

(Part Zero) (Part One) (Part Two)

“It’s for your own safety, kiddo.”

Those words ring in your mind as you stare out of the window, watching as your “father” trains your “brother”. You idly watch them clash, deftly swinging their staffs, blocking, counter-attacking, and breaking through each other’s defenses. Wukong stands leagues above MK, even though the kid is learning fast. You’ve gotten used to the sight of the monkey demon correcting his mentee’s stance, shifting his arms and legs, hauling him off the ground and dusting his clothes off when he knocks him down. Once, you would’ve stood in wide-eyed awe, caught on every fluid strike and powerful swing. Now, it’s become so commonplace that you barely bat an eye.

You only really start to pay attention when they start rapidly shifting between several forms from the 72 Transformations technique.

Although your “family” had allowed you to partake in basic training exercises like stretches and warmups, anything beyond that was strictly off-limits to you. As MK mastered skill after skill and bolstered his arsenal of techniques, you were stuck inside, only able to watch him grow. All to keep you safe, in their own words. One was a monkey demon and one was an inheritor to the legacy and powers of said monkey demon. They were powerful and mystical, and you were a regular human, short-lived and fragile. Weaker, slower, squishier.

But more than smart enough to learn a few of their tricks.

And brave enough to try one out.

“If you wanna change your body, you gotta change your thinking first, bud.”Wukong had instructed MK with these words not too long ago. From a hawk to a tiger to even something as small as a butterfly, Sun Wukong had already mastered all 72 and MK was well on his way to learning to do so himself.

You only had one in mind to start with. If you wanted to ever escape the smothering clutches of these two warriors, you weren’t going to be able to do it with any kind of mindless force. Being able to take the form of a hawk might’ve sounded useful, but the Monkey King could easily outspeed you. A tiger? Both of them could take the same form, and were much stronger to boot. Picking something like a spider would easily keep MK away, but wouldn’t deter Wukong in the slightest.

So instead, you settled on the monkey. Then, you had plausible deniability on your side. You could shrug it off as ‘wanting to be more like him’ or ‘wanting to see what it was like’ if Wukong asked you why you’d been practicing transformations at all. MK wouldn’t need any sort of explanation from you, because he’d probably just get excited about you learning such a technique.

You have your plan. And your reasoning, if things go poorly. All that’s left to do is to get started.

Change your thinking.

Wild, exuberant energy. Skillful jumps and leaps. Dexterous limbs and powerful bodies. Unbridled curiosity. Devotion to your troop.

An innate desire to revel in freedom.

At first, you had worried that the transformation might hurt. But then the whole world flashes gold and your body shifts and reshapes, and you feel better than you ever have before. A burst of adrenaline rushes through you, glowing sparks of white hot energy coursing your veins. You lie there on the floor for a few minutes, trying to regain your composure as the searing ecstasy of success flows through your shifted body.

And then there’s a knock on the door. You try to scramble to your feet, only to trip over your unfamiliar appendages. You slip and lightly thud against the floor, which only worries your captor more.

“You doing okay in there, bud? Training ran a little long, huh?”

You can’t respond. You try to respond, but nothing akin to speech comes out. Only silk-soft chittering. Then it hits you.

You aren’t a gorilla, a chimpanzee, an orangutan.

“Are you still mad that we won’t let you train with us? Am I getting the silent treatment now, kid?”

No, you’ve shifted into one of the little monkeys that flourish on Flower Fruit Mountain.

“Aww, don’t be too upset, alright? Hey, I’ll have MK bring us some of those noodles the two of you like, okay? The three of us can eat together.”

And you don’t know how to turn back.

“Y/N?”

You only have a few seconds to register the concern in his voice before the door between the two of you flies off the handles, broken down by a single kick from Wukong. He crosses the threshold into your room, looking around not only in worry, but tentative anger. If you had broken out again, he was going to…

You look up. He looks down.

There’s only a couple of seconds where he’s confused, head tilted curiously to the side at the sight of the little monkey in front of him. Then, recognition writes itself across his face.

His eyes widen in adoration as the end of his tail curls into a sort of heart. He dashes forward and snatches you off the ground with a huge grin, holding you up to his face. He nuzzles you against himself, brushing his cheek against your own. He only pauses to call out to his student.

“MK, bud, you gotta come see this!”

Once you hear excited footsteps pounding down the halls, you know that you’re in for a long day.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ MIDNIGHTS — track one : lavender haze

summary. you're dragged to a house party by your best friend, and subsequently meet two men that will change your life, all in one night.

featuring. rodolfo 'rudy' parra + alejandro vargas

warnings. nsfw, alcohol consumption, modern au, implied drug use, f/m/m, mutually under the influence, partying, slight peer pressure, public sex (?), bathroom sex, oral, degradation, strangers to lovers

series masterlist.

"Jesus christ," you murmur, wincing at the sudden and overpowering smell of weed, cruisers and sweat. Not exactly an appealing mix, but not revolting, at least. Better than vomit. Too early in the night for that, you supposed.

Valeria mutters something under her breath, and with a roll of her eyes, drags you by the scuff of your neck to the kitchen.

Bodies litter every open bit of room on the floor, grinding against each other, neon lights casting vibrant colours over the sheen of sweat on their skin. It's oddly enchanting.

The glitter littered on your collarbones and cleavage shine in the cascading lights, and you hope that you look somewhat confident, even if you feel anything but. You weren't one for house parties, hell, this was one of your first, but Valeria had convinced you to 'let loose' and 'have fun'.

You didn't say how you knew that this party was an excuse to get business done, but then again, that was why the two of you were so close.

Plausible deniability, and all that.

A drink is slammed into your chest, a little bit splashing onto your skin. You shoot an unamused glare Valeria's way, to which she just replies with a small shrug. "Drink."

"If it's drugged, I'll kill you," you say. ...Only half joking. You knew -- hoped -- that she wouldn't, but again, it was Valeria.

Another roll of her eyes and a scoff. "You can try."

You wouldn't, because at the end of the day, you did enjoy being alive and functioning. Both things were quite useful.

Valeria's eyes catch on something, or someone, behind you, and her glare narrows even further, her mouth hitching up into a hardly discreet scowl.

You turn, but she quickly grabs you by the hair to stop you from doing so. "Don't look," she seethes, venom in her tone.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Valeria," a man's voice chimes from behind you, snarky and impatient.

Your closest friend's lips pull into a cruel, cunning smile, void of any warmth as she glares at whoever's behind you. "Alejandro," she snarls, her voice bitter.

Swallowing, you nervously try and think of a way to get out from between whatever the fuck is going on here. You didn't exactly feel like getting involved in... whatever Valeria did under your nose.

"And who's she?" The man asks, sounding just the slightest bit closer. His tone has taken an interested, more curious tone, not nearly as harsh or abrasive.

You play with the necklace around your neck in nervous movements, trying to quell your growing anxiety.

Valeria huffs a cold laugh. "Not apart of this," is her only answer, accent thickening just the slightest, like it did when she was pissed off, or... scared. Which had only been once, in all fairness, and that was because of a spider.

"Vamos, necesitamos hablar. Sácala de aquí [Come on, we need to talk. Get her out of here]," the man spits out, vitriol heavy on his tongue like some kind of poison.

"Tócala y morirás, Alejandro [Touch her and you will die, Alejandro]," is Valeria's hiss of a reply, her hold tightening in your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut, nervous and completely out of your element, and scared shitless.

The man behind you -- Alejandro -- murmurs a bunch of curses under his breath, before he replies once more. "Rodolfo will keep her safe."

"¿Crees que confío en ti? [Do you think I trust you?]" Valeria's eyes burn with rage from what you can see in the dim lighting, and it sends a shiver down your spine. "Bien. Si ella tiene un rasguño, ambos moriréis [Fine. If she gets a scratch, you'll both die]."

She looks down to you, her hand falling from the fist it had in your hair. "If he so much as breathes at you wrong, yell for me," she mutters in a low tone, before pushing you towards someone without so much as another look in your direction.

Your breathing comes out in short, quick pants, when a warm arm slides around your waist. You flinch in surprise, looking up into warm brown eyes.

"Rodolfo," the man says, an introduction. His head gestures sharply to the man following after a fuming Valeria. "Alejandro."

You nod, albeit with confusion, and pray that your embarrassment isn't obvious on your face when you say your name in a way of greeting.

Rodolfo nods, and there's a calmness to him that settles your nerves and overall antsiness.

"¿Quieres bailar? [You want to dance?]" He asks, and you tilt your head slightly to the side. He raises a brow, taking in your appearance. Your black dress is completely and utterly slutty, but you had wanted to try and be a different person for a night.

...You were maybe, slightly, regretting it.

"I..." you start, unsure what to do or say, before he simply drags you towards the loungeroom, where everyone's packed like sardines.

His chest presses against your own, his arm still around your lower back. Your hands, nervously, rest at his chest, and you have to crane your neck a little to make eye contact.

You are so, so, so screwed.

His mouth tilts into a small smirk, obviously aware of your uncertainty. "I'm protecting you, hermosa [beautiful]. You're safe with me," he whispers, leaning in close to your ear, and you just about melt. His voice is velvety and smooth and so fucking attractive that you can't believe that you're even here right now.

Swallowing, you nod slowly. "Okay. I'm sorry," you tack on the last part, the words familiar on your tongue.

Your eyes go slightly wide when his hand comes up to direct your chin back up to meet his gaze, his eyes almost sparkling in the deep purple lights hung in this room. "No. None of that."

Your mouth is as dry as a desert.

But something else certainly isn't.

"How do you know Valeria?" You ask, because, really, you can't keep your mouth shut, can you?

Rodolfo seems to think for a moment, his features highlighted by the lights. The bass of the music thrums in your chest, and you can feel it from where your feet hit the floor, all the way to your fingertips, where they sit on his chest.

"...She's an old friend," is his response, and you can tell that there's a lot of heavy lifting behind the 'friend' title.

You nod, however, appeased with the answer. At least for now.

"You're not aware of her work?" He asks, wincing slightly at the last word. He's a solid weight at your front, oddly comforting for a man you had met not even five minutes ago, and who is clearly not in a white-collar kind of career path.

"No, um, not really my business," you say, deflecting.

A crease forms between his brows, and the swaying slows down. The two of you are surrounded at all sides, and it's hard to think, let alone breathe.

He's about to open his mouth to continue, when a sharp bark of his name makes his gaze instantly flick from you, to the other side of the room.

"Nosotros vamos [We're going]," The voice from before calls out -- Alejandro's voice. Rodolfo's arm at your waist tightens, if only slightly.

His gaze flickers back to yours, something swirling in their depths. Something that has your thighs squeezing just a bit together. You are so unbelievably parched -- from physical or mental thirst, you're not sure.

"Come with me," he says, voice lilted with an undercurrent of lust and desire. "Por favor, mi niña [please, my girl]."

Valeria had said to have fun, hadn't she? And you hadn't gotten all dressed up just to not get laid tonight, right?

So, like the 'new you' you are, you nod your head.

Rodolfo's returning smile is nothing short of vivaciously wicked, and tingles shoot up your spine as his hand rests heavy on your hip as he guides you out of the thick stream of people.

When your eyes meet Alejandro's, and you're standing mere feet in front of him, the man's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He directs a look to Rodolfo, and although you can't see the man's expression, you can tell that they're silently communicating.

Whatever the conclusion to their voiceless debate, it seems to weigh in your favour.

a/n. a teaser for the midnights series!! i have not forgotten about my plans for this one folks. taylor swift did infact intend for the album to be used as titles and vibes for call of duty fanfiction, in case u didnt know!

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC (Batfamily)

Birdwatch11 by smilebackwards

Tim hadn’t actually meant to start a popular Batwatch blog.

He hadn’t meant to start a blog at all honestly but by the time he turned eleven he’d accumulated hundreds of pictures of Batman and Robin on his Nikon DSLR and it had just seemed inefficient to go through the trouble of printing them and storing them in a box under his bed when BlogSphere had a perfectly adequate platform.

lost treasure by adelfie

"Dad, I don’t want to do this.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. This is why we brought you here,” Jack hisses. “So we can get paid.”

Or: When a cozy night out with his parents turns into a night of captivity and torture, Tim is forced to seek protection from his worst nightmare - the Red Hood.

Hey There Demons by hitthedeck

Treating magical threats lightly is never an option, especially when that threat tears holes in realities. To combat this danger, a good hero must remain vigilant and in peak physical condition at all times.

Too bad Red Robin never got that message.

Or, in which even demons can't comprehend why Tim Drake is Like That.

Stranger Things

Tell Me "Don't", So I Can Crawl Back In by KiaraMGrey

When Steve finds himself alone and without friends, following his breakup with Nancy, he decides what he needs is a distraction. Maybe some new friends who don't remind him of the bullshit life he gave up. When he literally runs into Eddie Munson, school drug dealer and self proclaimed freak, an idea begins to form. Who better to show him what life outside popularity can be like, than someone who doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks?

And Eddie? Well, Eddie is just bracing for impact.

Everybody's Friend by AmethystUnarmed

"Hey Harrington,” Eddie calls, as Steve books it to the Beamer.

Steve stops, and is only the slightest bit nervous when he says, “Yeah?”

It almost makes Eddie feel bad.

Almost.

“How’s the character creation going?”

The absolute dread on Steve’s face confirms Eddie's worst fears.

“I... I'm not going to be able to play Thursday.”

God. Dammit.

~~~

Steve's budding friendship with the Hellfire Club hits a few snags and Eddie wonders if all of this was even worth it.

Clone Wars

Standards of Professionality by Trixree

"Are we going to pretend I didn’t just find you fucking your General, vod?” Rex hisses over private-comm.

Cody doesn’t even turn his head to look at him. Rex can hear the smile in Cody’s voice when he replies, “No, because I am not fucking my General, Rex’ika. I am fucking Obi-Wan. We are professionals.”

5 times Cody and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain plausible deniability regarding their affections for one another + 1 time they decidedly Did Not

Shadowhunters

prosper matrimonium by smilebackwards

"Gorgeous, sweet, community-oriented,” Magnus ticks off the positive attributes on his fingers. And he’s sure he’ll find plenty more to like about Alexander Lightwood. “I imagine suitors are beating down his door. Please tell me he’s not actually dating Lorenzo.”

Cat hesitates. “Well, if you’re really interested in Alec, you have interesting timing to say the least.”

“How do you mean?” Magnus asks.

“Alec just put his name in for the prosper matrimonium.”

Or: The disaster with the Circle swings the Clave a little more progressive. And if Magnus wants Alec’s heart, he’s going to have to compete for it

The Umbrella Academy

To Be Where You Are (So Very Far) by bobee

He'd thought he'd seen it all.

Forty-Five years in a wasteland and two weeks saving the world, only to be taken for a year by a man guided by his own self-interest. He'd seen the horrors of what this life has to offer. It's all he's ever seen.

He just hadn't known that there was one out there meant for him.

(or, Number Five, the end of the end of the world, and the start of a new one.)

On My Terms by CivilBores

"I did what you asked,” he tells her. “Now, the briefcase.”

Her eyebrows raise in mock-surprise, red lips curling up her face in a sadistic smile.

“You didn’t think that was all, did you?” she asks.

AU: The Handler gives Five a slightly different deal.

[eowynstwin]

same anon who sent the ask abt price: MW3's writing was embarrassing tbh. i agree 100% that narratively, its the most logical and sensible for price to be the one who takes the fall. what you wrote i flat out completely agree with, and its deeply disappointing that we are stuck with an extremely poorly written and rushed story. the game was a hot steamy pile. everyone was slightly out of character, they all growled their lines like mad dogs, and the missions were ass. i cant believe no one talks about the mission where you get anti arab hate crimed. what was that??? what was the reason??? (the only thing i liked about that game were the 9 minutes of nikolai. i just find him entertaining.) i was replaying mw2019 while super high and got to the mission where you threaten the butchers wife and son and just thought to myself; that lady and that kid are gonna have nightmares about price for the rest of their lives. that room is going to come back to them again and again and again. they literally did nothing wrong except the crime of being the butchers family. what price and gaz did is never going to leave them, and gaz was right to question price on that. of course, the game doesn't care at all. they're disposable NPCS for a shock value scene. i dunno, the fact that the game doesn't really give a fuck, and seemingly even condones what happened, just kinda hit different and i had to put the game down for the evening. i guess that hit at that moment bc i had also read a fic a bit earlier where the reader was price's civvy gf and gets kidnapped by his enemies. it bent my brain a bit bc, the thing in the fic is literally a canon event perpetuated by price, portrayed as a good thing by the source material, that now price is the victim of. it was a very weird feeling for my weed addled brain to try and process. think i blue screened actually. i wanna put price in a jar and shake him vigorously. pin him to a board like a entomology insect. i want to bite him. i do love him i swear. but maybe make him actually face a single real consequence for his war crimes? (disappointing that it will never happen on screen bc these games are all gas no breaks outright propaganda. not to mention real war crimes are happening constantly in front of everyone's eyes and going completely unpunished) sorry this is really long, i have no one to talk to abt these games and i dont understand my feelings toward that British man

Yeah. The thing about Price is that he's not a good person in the slightest. We write fiction about the kind of man he can be--the best version of himself, a version we can all stomach--but the real Price is distinct from that, and the best people in this fandom recognize that.

Soap and Ghost have some plausible deniability simply because we haven't seen them doing anything other than action movie stuff. Gaz is on the road to becoming Price--Price is doing his damndest to turn Gaz into himself--but he isn't there yet. (@391780 did a GREAT analysis of the driving scene in mw19 and how Price subtly manipulates Gaz, but I can't find it.)

EDIT: Early kindly provided.

We, as the audience, are not actually supposed to worry that much about the Butcher's family, because Price is one of the Good Guys who would never let something Bad actually happen. Infinity Ward does not take the Butcher's family seriously, and does not want us to take the family seriously, because they are just a convenient vehicle with which to move the plot along. Their presence is, in the end, shock value. We are meant to stare, wide-eyed, wondering is Price really going to go that far? while in the back of our minds knowing of course he's not, because he's our hero. He's just doing whatever it takes. The family is not meant to be anything other than fodder for Price's characterization.

Same with Samara. We are not supposed to care all that much about her, personally--we're supposed to marvel over Makarov's canny brutality, his bRiLLiANcE in recognizing the obvious fact that an Arab woman would make a perfect scapegoat for a plane bombing. Samara does not matter to MW3. Only the shocking way she dies. None of these Arab characters matter to Call of Duty--only the entertainment value of their pain.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am reminded of when Price threw a man restrained into a bomb jacket off a balcony, with not a shred of remorse afterword. I'm forced to ask the question--who would Price scapegoat, then, if he felt justified enough?

And yeah, he's never going to suffer the consequences of his actions, because Infinity Ward doesn't think he's actually done anything wrong. We throw the word propaganda around a lot without actually defining it, but Price is emblematic of how the propaganda of Call of Duty works. Price does something reprehensible, and is shown to be justified in doing it--implying that real men like him are justified, too, because don't you understand how little choice Price had? Don't you get that there's no good choice to be made? This is how he has to act, and this is how all soldiers have to act, because war is a dirty business, and someone needs to be willing to do it for the benefit of the ignorant public.

The question of why any of this should be happening at all is never asked.

[heylittleriotact]

Spiked (A Senna One Shot)

Rating: M

Summary: Takes place during Senna's adventuring days prior to them becoming archfey. Once upon a time, the party's cleric - a spirited but naive cleric of Sune - bargained away her soul to a devil to save her companions. As they work together to try and devise a way to get her out of the contract, Senna has a realization about the wording of said contract and comes up with a plan of their own - a plan that must be kept to himself if it has any hope of working. She might never forgive him for it... but at least she'll be free.

As is tradition, chaos ensues.

Read on ao3 or under the cut

@allofthebarks - Thank you for bringing Nayeli into the world. No hard feelings, yeah? 😘

Should the promisee, at any time after entering into this compact and in perpetuity, through any action, inaction, spoken or unspoken word, thought, feeling, or other such gesture, interfere with the promisor claiming the immortal soul of the promisee, the promisee shall be found in

breach of contract.

The hellish jargon ran through Senna’s head over and over, only one of many clauses designed to make escaping the contract impossible but easily the most damning of them: despite knowing the importance of breaking free of her contract, any interference on Nayeli’s part would be an automatic breach of its terms and the young cleric’s soul would be automatically forfeit. Though he’d discovered in studying the contract, that in and of itself presented an opportunity.

This could have been avoided entirely of course had she not bargained away her soul to a devil to save them from a grisly death at the vicious claws of a Bone Devil.

He wished there was another way, but as he considered the clause backwards and forwards until he could repeat it by heart, Senna came to terms with what the solution would require. 

Unfortunately the nature of his solution meant that he couldn’t disclose his plan to Ennic or Kali. Kali could likely be trusted if worst came to worst, but Ennic lacked subtlety, and if it turned out badly… no… it would be better for their hands to be clean… better that they had plausible deniability.

He came to a stop on the street corner under a lamp whose light fell just short of the opposite corner. He looked across the intersection and waited for the glint of a pair of eyes in the shadows and the slightest inclination of the head they belonged to before crossing casually, vanishing into the darkness. 

“Having a hard time sleeping. What have you got?” Direct and to the point - that was the best way to manage these transactions. Little did the thin, pale pusher know that there wasn’t a substance in the world that could conk Senna out. Not anymore. Elves couldn’t be magically put to sleep, but naturally occurring substances could do the trick - at least they could before Senna developed his immunity to poisons. Drinking had certainly lost much of its appeal since…

“Look well enough rested to me, feyling,” the pusher snorted, picking his ear with one hand and digging around in the pockets of his well-made but street-worn jacket. Beautiful golden haired Eladrin with tanned skin and pristine clothing were likely not this fellow’s typical clientele. 

“Bad memories,” Senna claimed curtly, following the pusher’s lead and sinking further back from the shadows. “Haven’t tranced in days. I’d rather sleep and deal with nightmares if it meant I caught a couple of hours of rest.” 

“Yeah, you and every other broken heart in this city I’d wager.” The pusher withdrew a small vial from his pocket at last, holding it up in the dark - he was half elven, he knew Senna could see it just as well as he could. “Milk of the poppy. This’ll send you off to dreamland faster than you can say ‘Menzoberranzan’ - two gold for this, got halves that’ll cost you one.” 

“I’ll take this one,” Senna said, reaching into his tunic and withdrawing the coin. 

The gold was extended but not released until the pusher dropped the vial of white liquid into Senna’s waiting palm. It vanished inside the gaudy jacket and the pusher licked his lips. “Good business, sir.” 

Senna dipped his chin in a polite nod to the pusher and turned to set off before pausing. “What is the ideal dosage for this? I would hate to overindulge… I just want to sleep.” 

The pusher threw his hands up in the air, “Oh yeah! Gotta get it right with this stuff or you might never wake up. There’s four doses in there - little lines on the side of the glass shows you how much is in a dose. Now this is really good shit, so a strapping statue of a man like yourself would find the best sort of relaxation in two doses, I’d risk three if you’re really in the mood to sleep for a week, but I wouldn’t down the entire vial in one go - like I said: you may never wake up if you take too much of this beautiful substance, sound good?” He clicked his tongue and threw a crooked snarl that Senna could only assume was a smile his way. 

“Perfect, thank you.” He bowed his head again, pocketed the vial, and walked out of the shadows into the well lit street, fiddling with the waistband as if he’d innocently stepped out of view to take a piss. 

The next evening, Senna sat at a table in a secret demiplane with Kali, Ennic, Nayeli, and her father, Malek: the hulking Efreeti they had freed from the dreadful prison in the fire plane where he had languished for the entirety of his daughter’s life until very recently. 

Upon his return to the inn the night before, Senna had spoken with Ennic and Kali while Nayeli was doing her evening prayers and the three had hatched a plan: bring Nayeli to her father’s safehouse and somehow talk her into staying with him while they ventured to the hells to deal with the matter of her contract… do everything they could to hang the fact that she had a lifetime full of memories to make with her absent father over her head and hope that it was enough to guilt her into sitting this one out. 

It was a terrible idea, and arguably opened her to knowingly breaching the contract if she agreed to it - which she wouldn’t, judging by what Senna knew of the stubborn cleric by now - but no one else needed to know that. 

All that mattered was that they were here, around this table, sharing a sumptuous feast from Malek’s magical pantry as father and daughter continued to acquaint themselves amongst cheerful company. Wine was poured, truths were told, jokes were made and memories too. 

Timeless as this plane was, hours flew by in effortless enjoyment. It was hard to come by guiltless laughter and frivolity for the four thrown-together adventurers these days. Senna found himself enjoying the novelty of well-wasted time with others… a feeling he hadn’t felt deserving of in centuries. 

But there was still work to be done. 

He flipped his silken golden hair over his shoulder with one hand and reached over the table, making to nudge Ennic’s scaled hand away from the plate of massive olives - one of the many delectable treats on the table. “S’cuse me, your lordship.” A jesting mockery of the white dragonborn’s proud noble heritage. 

“Hey now!” Ennic chided, the air around his nostrils clouding as he huffed with indignance. 

Senna popped an olive in his mouth, meeting his scaled companion’s glacial eyes purposefully as he slid the fruit over his tongue and delicately gnawed at the soft flesh, stripping it away from the pit with his molars. 

Kali was pouring herself another glass of wine. Nayeli was speaking loudly to her father, her hands flashing through the air as she regaled him with some tale. Malek stared at her, attention rapt - taking in every word, every motion, every breath of his daughter as if she might vanish into dust any moment. He clearly adored her, and that fact made Senna more nervous than anything. The love of a father… not a feeling he knew anything of, of course.

“You seem… tense,” Senna said, lifting his hand up to draw the naked pit from his mouth, watching the dragonborn’s eyes follow the path of his fingers all the way from his lips to the bowl where the other pits were piled up. His left hand popped the cork from the vial he had procured the night before and as he dropped the pit that was in his right hand, his left extended over the table in a precise, fluid movement. It passed over Nayeli’s cup of wine - one, two - then back to him, his fingers snagging another olive, the half empty vial secreted in his palm and briskly tucked back into a pocket. “Want to talk about it?” He flashed Ennic what he knew to be a devastatingly coy smile. 

Ennic squinted then rolled his eyes, picking up his cup of passionfruit juice and swirling it with dignity. “Ha-ha. Mister I-Hate-Rich-People-And-Look-Good-Doing-It-Because-I’m-A-Pretty-Elf trying to bully me around because of my upbringing. Soooo predictable!” He took a sip and pursed his lips defiantly at Senna. 

Senna arched a brow and chuckled. “I only wanted an olive. You’re the one that made it personal.” He made a point of drawing his lower lip through his teeth, earning a faint rush of pink that sashayed over Ennic’s snout. Next to the dragonborn, he marked the movement of Nayeli taking a big drink of her wine - she was well in her cups and well past the polite sipping she’d been doing earlier. She slammed it back on the table, spilling a few drops before launching back into her story. 

“Look, I don’t know you three the way you know each other, but sometimes I get the sense that you’re not telling me everything.” Ennic said.

Senna smiled drolly around the second olive, eyes lidded as he stretched his bare arms up over his head luxuriously. “How does one put a definition to something as inescapably broad as ‘everything’ though?” He worked the meat from the olive once more and maneuvered the pit with his tongue to the front of his mouth where he gripped it very, very gently with his incisors. 

Ennic’s rose-pink blush deepened, and his eyes darted away. “Stop that.” 

The pit fell into Senna’s waiting palm and he chucked it effortlessly into the bowl. “Stop what? I’m only eating olives… I wasn’t aware that’s a crime in this demiplane.”

Ennic’s neck frills flared, quivering slightly and throwing off flecks of frost as his claws dug into the table and he leaned over the banquet to Senna. He opened his mouth to retort at the exact same time Nayeli very loudly declared, “There were orgies in Sune’s temple, but not as many as you would think!” She shot to her feet, downing another mouthful of wine and pointing at nothing somewhere over Malek’s shoulder. “The lookie-loo tourists were verrrrrry disappointed… buncha perverts…” She frowned, swayed, looked directly at Senna as confusion flashed across her face, then comprehension. Then the frown became an expression of rage. “You fucking dare–” she spat at Senna, and then she collapsed back down to the bench and folded face first onto the table. Her goblet rolled from her hand, its contents staining the weathered wood. 

The room turned crimson, then white. Steam billowed off of Ennic as the windowless sanctuary they occupied became unbearably hot in an instant.

“WHAT?!” Malek was on his feet, fists the size of swans slamming onto the table. “MURDERERS!” He roared, white flame blazing from his eyes and curling up his brow.

Huge. He was huge: his arms were easily as wide around as Senna and he towered over his daughter’s so-called friends, sparks spilling from his mouth as he looked at each of them in turn as if deciding who to roast first.

At the sudden sound of Nayeli hitting the table, Kali had sprung away from the bench, pressing her back to the wall and holding her daggers before her defensively, lip curled in a fanged snarl as her pointed tail cut through the air around her. 

Ennic was staring with an awestruck expression at Malek, and Senna clambered over the table to stand between the enraged Efreeti and the dragonborn, hands held high. Between his own considerable height and the added height of the table he was nearly eye-to-eye with Malek.

“No! No murder! She’s fine - just sleeping. I swear it.” 

This. This was why Ennic and Kali couldn’t know of his plan: better he be subjected to a molten ass-kicking at the hands of an extremely pissed off Efreeti than all of them if he couldn’t talk him down. 

Senna ducked under the fiery fist that was barreling towards his face and nudged a pile of rolls off of a silver platter, kicking it up into his hand as he straightened. “She’s fine, see?” He knelt on the table and with deliberately exaggerated tenderness turned Nayeli’s head so she was no longer facedown on the table. He held the platter in front of her mouth and angled it so Malek could see her breath fog the polished surface. 

This appeared to at least somewhat quell Malek’s rage as he appeared to be gripping the edge of the table in a concerted effort to restrain himself from throwing another punch at Senna. The wood under his fingers sizzled and blackened. 

“I would very much like to know why you think you can come into my home and poison my daughter in front of me and leave this place alive.” Sparks flew from his mouth with each word. “Explain.” He demanded in a tone that promised painful death should the explanation not satisfy. 

“Not poisoned either - it’s Milk of The Poppy - I ensured the dosage would do her no harm. She’s sleeping and will be in perfect health when she wakes.” Not giving Malek time to think longer or ask more questions, Senna said, “And they had nothing to do with this, let’s make that clear.” Senna pointed at Kali and Ennic. “This was entirely my idea, and they had no foreknowledge of it, so whatever consequences are earned are mine alone. If you decide you want to melt my skin off or wear my guts as a necklace you’re welcome to, but you have to let these two go.” 

“Why?” Snarled Malek, and Senna had the presence of mind to put some distance between himself and Nayeli. 

“I brought her here because I knew she’d be safe. Here. With her father.” He tossed the platter down onto the disarrayed table with a hollow clang and straightened, lifting his chin and pushing his shoulders back. “You’ve read her contract - Nayeli can’t knowingly do anything to interfere or tamper with its fulfillment.” He repeated the clause in question word-for-word for Malek to underline the fact that anything done by Nayeli - passively or actively - that involved any provable knowledge or participation in events that concerned the contract would immediately and unequivocally put her in breach of it, condemning her soul instantly to the hells instead of at the time of her death. 

Malek swore.

“So when she wakes up and the three of us are gone, you’re going to explain everything to her: tell her how relieved we were when she passed out, and how we knew you’d be furious, but we’ve been trying to find a way to shake her dead weight for awhile now, and dumping her here with you seemed like the best possible option. Really sell it - make us sound like assholes who secretly hated her and only put up with her for as long as we did out of necessity.” The words were cruel and untrue - he quite liked Nayeli and was grateful to know her - but Senna’s feelings about the matter were inconsequential. “We have a world to save - the Queen of Chaos to foil - we don’t have time to squander away in a dangerous attempt to get one naive, impulsive cleric out of an idiotic contract she made with a devil.” 

“You are going to the hells without her… to break her contract without her knowing.” Malek said quietly, the fire in his eyes guttering and then dying out entirely. “To save her.”

“And she cannot learn the truth of that under any circumstances.” Senna said, deadly serious now. “Even if she becomes suspicious or guesses the truth of it - you must not tell her where we’ve gone and why… no matter how persistent she is… and I am familiar with her incredibly tenacious spirit: my sympathies in advance.” 

Malek considered Senna, crossing his muscled arms and cocking his head as he did so. “Fate is unkind in the fact that you have known my daughter for more days than I have, Eladrin, but I knew her mother and the cruel, small-minded family she was born to. I know that they rejected my child when her mother and everyone else in Sune’s temple died and I was locked away, unable to be there for her. I know that their refusal to accept her created deep wounds in her heart, and for a long time she believed there was no one left in the world who would care for her - about her. She told me this, you see.” His eyes landed on the snoozing form of Nayeli and they softened further as they filled with love as he stared at the girl with hair that smoldered and danced like flame. “But one does not need to be her father to know that the price of your deception is not cheap: if I lead her to believe that you and your companions joyfully abandoned her…” blazing eyes returned to Senna’s. “She will never forgive you for it. Not even if you are successful in your journey and find yourself in a position to eventually reveal the truth.” 

The room was brutally silent - the only sound was the soft rhythm of Nayeli’s breathing as she slept, blissfully unaware of the arrangements being made without her knowledge.

“Little love lost there to begin with, I think,” Senna smiled joylessly. “I never really got the sense she cared much for me anyway. May she lead a long and healthy life and hate me until her dying day without having the destination of her immortal soul lurking in the shadows of every memory she makes.” 

Malek appraised Senna’s defiantly cool expression again and said, “You are a good man, Eladrin,” and Senna knew he was no longer liable to rip his head off and use his skull as a teacup. 

It would be polite to respond in gratitude to the compliment, but Senna couldn’t bring himself to, so instead he climbed down off the table and started righting bottles and cups and trays that had been tipped and flipped when Malek slammed his fists into the table. 

Apparently the Efreeti took Senna’s silence as an invitation to continue. “Do you want to know how I know that, Eladrin?” 

“Do tell,” Senna said nonchalantly, setting a candelabra upright. Ennic and Kali silently began assisting with tidying the table.

“No daughter of mine, no daughter of hers –” He pointed at the portrait on the wall of a stunning woman with rich brown skin and thick, wavy black hair that draped over her shoulders and chest. “- would make a deal with the Archduchess of Malbolge to save a trio of strangers from a Bone Devil unless she saw something worth saving in them.” 

Traditionally, whenever the Bone Devil business came up, Senna enjoyed teasing Nayeli by reminding her that he was never actually in any danger from it because he was busy sprinting through the network of tunnels underneath the town of Rhalden in an attempt to locate and disable the stockpiled explosives set at various points that would blow the town into the sky if they were detonated. Little point in slaying the Bone Devil if they were going to be blown to bits for their trouble, he figured. 

Nayeli preferred to assert that he was actually running away because he was a coward. 

Of course, he wasn’t about to share this ongoing bit of repartee with Malek, so he capitulated, placed a hand over his heart, and bowed his head in silent thanks. 

“How’d you spike her drink?” Ennic grumbled, scooping mashed potatoes back into a bowl with his hand. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice: I am very hard to pull one over on.” 

“Evidently not when there’s flirting and olives involved,” Senna quipped, burying his heavy heart under self-congratulatory taunting. Just because he came up with this plan knowing full well that Nayeli may never find it in herself to forgive him for it, didn’t mean he had to feel good about it. “‘T’was far from my first time slipping a substance into someone’s drink undetected.” 

“Well you’re terrifyingly good at it,” Ennic declared in his jaunty brogue - less silken than Senna’s, with perhaps a bit more flourish on certain consonants. “A fine reminder that it would be in the poor interest of anyone to piss you off.” 

Clever dragonborn. 

“Speaking of pissed off: aren’t you worried she’ll come after us?” Ennic asked Malek. “There are people on the Prime that want us dead very badly. If she goes off on her own trying to track us down and she dies before we can end her contract, she’s hellbound.”

Not so clever, perhaps: Malek immediately stiffened at the mere hypothetical mention of his daughter dying under his watch. 

“I am confident that I will be able to convince my child that she must remain here with me for the time being,” he rumbled, his tone cautionary. Senna wished he’d had the foresight to spike Ennic’s juice too. 

“Look, I know you think you can, and you haven’t had as much time to get to know her the way we have, but as Senna said: she can be wildly recalcitrant, and–”

“Ennic.” Kali barked, speaking for the first time since dinner had gone awry. The pretty tiefling was more of an actions over words person, and Senna admired that about her. “I think he knows how to deal with Nayeli better than you,” she drawled. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t!” Ennic said defensively. “I just think that rather than running the risk of her coming to any harm, it would be better to take… precautions.” 

The fire returned to Malek’s eyes at the implication of the word, and his voice was a dangerous rumble. “Are you suggesting that I imprison my own daughter?” 

Ennic’s neck frills ruffled, but he barrelled on. “You have that fancy closet that Dezzy was locked in. Would it be so bad if you knew she was safe?”

Senna knew what this was. Having joined their group unexpectedly part way through their adventure, Ennic had needed to earn their trust - and he had - but it was no secret that he still felt like an outsider whose ideas were given less consideration than they deserved. In this case, he obviously felt personally slighted that Senna hadn’t deemed him trustworthy enough to share his plan with him, so now he was trying to tack on his contribution… clumsily.

It came from a place of hurt, not malice, but Senna felt no regret about his choice not to involve him. Hells, if Ennic wanted to hate him too, so be it.

“I am not condemning my daughter to the same unearned punishment that I was subjected to for her entire life!” Malek vowed.

“I think we’re all on the same page in regard to the best approach with Nayeli’s delicate situation,” Senna said, his voice taking on a deliberate edge as he stared down Ennic: hurt feelings or not, he hadn’t orchestrated this plan and personally assumed the risk of being on the receiving end of Malek’s rage only for the druid to undo his work. “I do not think we need to meddle further.” He placed a hand on Ennic’s forearm: a gesture of comfort… and warning. 

Ennic shook free and opened his mouth once more. “Listen, let me just–” 

Before anyone could interject, Ennic brought his hands up and there was a brilliant flash of starlight that turned the room white. When it faded and Senna could see again, his eyes were immediately drawn to the place where Nayeli had been sitting. 

Where she had been resting at the table, there now snoozed a turtle, its shell the same fiery shade as Nayeli’s hair.

“You absolute fucking idiot…” Senna breathed. 

“Ennic! What the fuck?!” Kali snapped.

“There! Now she’s a turtle and can’t escape on you!” Ennic hurled the declaration at Malek, belligerence clear.

Senna hardly considered himself a father - that title belonged to people who actually deserved it - like Malek. But despite that, and despite the fact that he’d never actually met his child who he knew to be alive and well, Senna knew precisely one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt:

If someone had taken it upon themselves to transform his flesh and blood into a different creature in front of him without said flesh and blood’s consent… it would most certainly be the last thing the caster of the spell ever did. 

Malek seemed to share a similar mindset and the temperature in the room rose once again, along with the Efreeti’s voice. 

Senna blocked it out and picked up his own wine goblet from the table, refilling it before raising it in silent toast to Ennic, who was understandably not looking at him, but if he had been would have been met with a wry expression of: you’re-on-your-own-with-this-mess-friend. 

He drank deeply and found what appeared to be a relatively safe spot against the wall where Kali lingered. He leaned against the stone and observed as the dragonborn sought to undo the damage he’d done, and as his eyes lingered on the slumbering turtle, he found himself missing his son in that moment. He became caught up in wondering what his hair was like, or if his laugh sounded like his mother’s. 

Guilt turned his stomach as he fabricated an image in his mind of his child - a grown man by now, more likely than not - and he couldn’t let go of the sense that the indulgence was greedy and undeserved. 

He may be on the same level as Malek when it came to knowing what a father would put on the line to save their child, but Malek deserved a relationship with his child in a way that Senna did not. 

He probably does laugh like her… I bet it sounds beautiful.

[tomwambsgans]

so many ppl wanna characterize a potential legit love confession or even just general loving behavior between tomgreg with greg being weirded out and unable to return tom's affections but like.. do yall fr not take into account that the reason greg reacts to tom's affections in the show without the same passion is bc the way tom delivers them is INCREDIBLY ambiguous - and purposefully so, for safety through plausible deniability - at best??? they're literally batshit. even when it's the least ambiguous don't you think for greg it would still consciously echo one of the first things tom EVER does to him.... like please think rationally for a sec. HOW is greg supposed to know that tom isn't just razzing him again?

if tom were to ever just flat out, clearly in full seriousness tell greg that he loves him, what would actually happen is that greg's own damned up surplus of love (just an abundance, an embarrassment of love) to give would start flooding out right back at him. the guy is so fucking lonely and needs to be loved so bad and very overtly looks to tom for approval so much already, it's genuinely SO fucking bizarre how much you people either don't notice or flat out ignore all of that. and in favor of what? the idea of greg just not being attached to other people at all? tell me, what part of greg being so starved for intimacy that he attaches himself to the hip of anyone who offers him the slightest morsel of it screams "incapable of love" to you???? either that or, if what's actually canon is somehow so uninteresting to you that you'd rather willfully misunderstand characters' core traits why don't you just make an oc or something. or watch a different show goddamn

[fallingsatellive]

Can't stand time travel or Mandela effect type media where the character KNOWS they're in a different time/universe and doesn't know which one but still makes stupid mistakes that ends up with them getting outed like they aren't expecting things to be different at all! You've gotta learn the plausible deniability of knowledge! The plausible deniability of knowledge will save you! You HAVE to realize the most important thing is to sus out what is common knowledge that you are already expected to know, and the second most important thing is how to not know it without appearing like you don't know it.

A sentence finely crafted that it could be, by any perception, either a question of clarification, a statement of fact, or a joke, and benefit of the doubt is on your side when someone thinks you just seriously said "Tubi is like a social media right" and it wasn't a joke. Of course it was a joke silly (don't then elaborate on what Tubi is). Or it was a statement because it was true but not everybody knows that. Or it was a question because it was false but not everybody knows that. Or it was any of the above because I actually meant "like" as in similar to, not is!

But you know what I would never say? "Twitter is a social media right." Because I have understood from context clues (IE, the WAY people are talking about it, for one example everybody seems highly familiar with it) already that this is basic knowledge and IF it's incorrect then an insane thing to say. How? By shutting the fuck up and not saying anything until I know even if takes hours. And then keeping a flat totally neutral tone and expression so what I said could go either way. Wouldn't work in universes/times where some of the method itself is seen as bizarre but then I'd have bigger problems probably so.

Ergo I can say "1998 was like 20 years ago right" and if it's around the late 2010s to early 2020s then it's just generally right, and if it's 2001 or 1997 then it was a lame, maybe weird but intentional joke. Quick tip: round, even numbers are key. 20,10, 5 and 1 are your friends, but so are numbers very likely to be wildly wrong but with the slightest possibility they might be right—200, a thousand, etc. because that really leans into the "if this is wrong then it was a joke" thing. Elden Ring is about 400 hours to beat, yeah. A car costs like a million dollars doesn't it

Keep close to vagueries—"like" "right" "sort of" "around" and avoid definitive statements about oneself or others regarding preferences or lifestyle or anything like that even if it's someone you know very well. You THINK you know your friend is really into (thing) but if you assume and this universe's version hates it then you're fucked. Recognize when a stranger seems to know you or a close friend doesn't.

Also if you're making a habit of getting stranded while time travelling you're not going to want to be making any assumptions about levels of scientific understanding/achievement either forward OR backward cus that's the nail in the coffin. Remember the vagueries! Have we landed humans on Mars yet? No, don't ASK—"ask." We've gone to Mars already right. That's more like it

[potionwine]

the thing about suffering a microaggression, right, is that it gives you no good options. if you point out that they've been insensitive, you sound crazy and oversensitive, because it's micro, it's not a big deal, it's ~plausibly deniable. there are so many excuses they can default to—they're just sharing some thoughts, it's harmless, it's not that deep, it's meant to be interesting or funny—and in the face of that deluge of denials there is literally only one (1) sad quiet thing to say, that most do not even consider valid: what about the slightest shred of consideration that could have been shown to me?

and if you stay silent, if you hold your tongue, you will stew in it for longer than you care to, probably at least a week, feeling inexplicably angry and hurt and extremely annoyed at random idle points during the day. respect for them plummets to zero and comfortable interaction becomes that much harder in the future. but worst of all is that self-respect takes a hit too, because of the choice made between letting it pass or kicking up a fuss, and disgust rises like indigestion at everyone who enjoyed the comments in plain sight, whether or not those enjoyers could ever have logically come to the realisation that the response was utterly tone-deaf to one from this background. great.

it'll pass in a week. or two. faster if i get my hands on a really good croissant...

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2023 - Day 7: Noisome

The Azure Dragoon surveyed the Churning Mists with a sober, razor-sharp focus. From his perch atop a spire on a high-floating isle, he could see it all: the majestic, somber ruins from ages past, clearly of mankind’s make. The graceful, lily-like structure that marked Hraesvelgr’s lair. The drifting white spherical flowers that peppered the dwelling of those… rodents. And the violet, storming clouds in the distance that enshrouded the refuge of his ancient foe.

Nothing had come or gone from it in the few days he had been keeping watch. This, of course, was ideal. Were Nidhogg to approach him here and now, he would by no means stay his blade. But he would be a fool indeed to charge in without the Warrior of Light. He could not give a fig for having the glory of the kill to himself. He just needed to ensure this would end.

Those manacutters could not come fast enough.

Estinien was used to keeping lonesome vigils malms away from civilization. Truth be told, he rather preferred it. He could not yet say that he was entirely at ease serving as bait to keep Nidhogg’s attention off of Ishgard, however. But neither did he regret it. It had been his idea, after all. 

And it worked. Nidhogg’s gaze was fixed on him with a seething resentment. He could feel it, like a burning hot shackle that hooked him through the ribs. It watched with a patient hatred, like a coeurl pacing about in a cage, staring down its captors whom it would gleefully dismember if given the slightest opportunity. It was scandalized by his audacity to bring the Eye so deep into Dravania. It haunted him, taunting him without words. Daring him to give in to the rancor, to let his guard down for even a moment.

How long ago was it since his last encounter with Alberic, now? Not long enough for him to lose that healthy fear of what he almost became—of what he did become. Recent enough that he knew better than to surrender to that relentless pull on his heart. The Fury only knew if he would be able to recover a second time.

He shut his eyes and drew a deep breath, steeling his resolve again against the will of the dragon. For his parents. For his brother. For Ferndale. He would see this through.

“Still up here, kupo??” the squeaky voice loudly chirped in his ear.

His soul momentarily left his body.

When he came to his senses a half-second later, his lance was in his hands, his every muscle primed into a battle stance and ready to strike. The moogle who had startled him hovered expectantly, seemingly oblivious to his own very near brush with destruction. 

“What do you want?” Estinien asked through clenched teeth, requiring his every onze of self-control not to throttle the creature.

“Just making conversation, kupo!” he replied, somewhat offended. “After all, it is not every day we have men walking in our midst! At least, not until you lot showed up.”

“Speaking of, will your friends return soon?” another moogle asked, fluttering up behind the dragoon. 

“I am busy,” he growled, easing out of his stance, an angry heat burning around his ears beneath his helmet.

Yet another voice sniffed, “Busy doing what? You’ve done nothing but stand here like a statue, kupo. Trust us, if Nidhogg were to do anything rash, we’d all know. Not stealthy, that one.”

Estinien stared at them, flabbergasted. He did not know their names—just that they started with “Mog”, ended with something he didn’t care enough about to remember, and he could not tell them apart even should he wish to. He whirled around as he felt something prodding against his armor, only to see yet another of the foul, fluffy white beings. ‘Twould seem he was the entertainment of the hour, and he was starting to gather a crowd.

He glanced down at his lance. For plausibly deniable reasons, he began contemplating the mental image of marshmallows roasting on a stick.

These things had best count themselves lucky he had allies whose good graces he hoped to maintain.

[airplanned]

Work in Progress Monday!

Presenting: The first scene of A Me for You spin off with Robin, who's trying her best not to be an unhinged, eldritch grief monster

Or: wait, wait! I think I have a plot/structure for this! (Which is funny, because it needs to come after the Nami spin off. Oh well!)

--

Three months after Marineford

Robin waits by the sloop, standing on the ruined dock facing a ruined town.  The smell of smoke still hangs in the air, and she  breathes through her mouth and ignores the images flashing through her mind.  Her hands ball into tight fists, because she doesn't allow them to shake.

She has always been good at keeping it together.

By the time the figure strides towards her, pausing just three steps onto the dock to tilt his head at her, she has the most perfect bored posture.

"Dracule Mihawk," she greets with dispassion.  This man could kill her, so she'll have to be ready to kill him first.  That would be unfortunate.  "My name is Nico Robin."

"Demon Child," he says.

"Yes."

"I've never heard of you."

The corners of her mouth twitch, something in her chest stuttering as it loosens.  "I'm looking for information regarding Roronoa Zoro."

He blinks gleaming gold eyes at her.  "Roronoa Zoro."

"He is first mate of the Strawhat Crew, and a swordsman of some renown."

He sighs as if the conversation is vexing, and in a bored voice says, "My understanding is that the Strawhat Crew went into hiding for their own safety.  Such deep hiding that even their own crewmates are unable to find them."  His eyebrow twitches.  "Or perhaps I've been misinformed."

"You have not."

"Then I wouldn't have the slightest idea."

"I know.  I'm not asking where he is.  I just want to know if he's alive and well."

His eyes narrow slightly.  "How would I know that?"

"There's a legend.  When you hold someone's life in your hands and show mercy, a debt is formed on a spiritual level.  You would feel the release of that debt upon his death."  (He would feel the ripping, the tearing, the blinding shock of pain--)

The story is nonsense.  There's no such legend, and if there was, even she wouldn't be desperate enough to believe it.

It's nonsense.  And Dracule Mihawk will recognize it as such, and with any luck, he will take it as the opportunity for the plausible deniability that it is.

Because Robin knows that Mihawk and her swordsman are soulmates, and Dracule Mihawk is the only person she knows who can tell her if Zoro is alive.

"That is absurd," he says.

"Perhaps."

He hums and lazily steps forward.  "I have felt no such release of his debt.  So by your logic, I would assume he is alive."

She holds herself back from sagging in relief.  Alive, alive, alive, alive.

"You want to know if he's doing well."  He's closer now, and getting closer.  "Roronoa Zoro is determined and loyal to a fault.  After being separated from his friends and watching his captain suffer such a bitter defeat while wrestling with the guilt that he failed to be there to help...No, I imagine he is not faring well at all."

A shudder runs through her.  Pain and regret and sympathy because she knows what Zoro feels.  It's a part of what she herself feels.

Mihawk comes even with her and keeps walking, passing her to head towards his sloop.  "But he is strong," he says.  "I'm sure he will recover and return to his usual, irksome self."

She hums in agreement, her eyes locked on the ruined town in front of her.

Then his footsteps pause.

He heaves a put upon sigh.

He does not turn around as he says, "I know I'll regret asking this.  But how many other Strawhat Pirates have you managed to track down?"

"One."  She looks over her shoulder and meets the corner of his eye.  "Our sharpshooter seems to be doing as well as could be expected.  Perhaps better than most.  It seems he didn't watch the broadcast."

"A blessing."

"Indeed."

He turns and easily hops aboard his small ship, untying the moor lines and tossing them away.  She offers a few quiet hands to push him on his way.

As he drifts off, he gives her one final look.  "My condolences, Nico Robin."  His sincerity sets something aching in her chest.  And he sounds sincere with his next words as well.  "Do not contact me again."

She bows her head in agreement, and he turns away.  She watches until his ship is nearly out of sight.

Then she allows herself a single moment.  She hugs herself as tightly as she can and heaves the deepest breath she can mange.

Zoro is alive.  Alive, alive, alive. 

This time, her family will survive.