#by stepping on them i'm assuming they meant all the more floor bits of the choreography and staging

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

Another thing I found in one article, a small interview with the creative team, Victoria was supposed to have even more and longer hair, but they had to shorten it cuz the actress was stepping on it too much

Which, Warsaw Vicky is already a long hair cat so I can only imagine how long it was supposed to be

Apparently quite a few wigs were supposed to be bigger/longer but ultimately weren't either cuz actors were stepping on them, they didn't fit the actor (Bustopher's was supposed to be way bigger but the actor had narrow face and it just didn't look good) or they just weren't practical/weren't working with that they had going on stage

[hisui-dreamer]

his cleaner shrimp

Pairing: Floyd Leech x gn!reader

Synopsis: you had only meant to help him once, but he attached himself to you straight away

Tags: fluff, comfort, humour(?), Floyd calls you shrimpy, mentions of blood, Floyd and Jade fought, bot proofread

Word count: 1.5k+

Notes: more floyd fluff! this fic was originally angst can u believe it anyways i was inspired to do a classic shoujo manga scene hehe

Masterlist

'I did nothin' wrong!' Floyd thought to himself.

In the shadowed back alley, Floyd sat curled up against the wall, his emotions roiling like a stormy sea after a heated confrontation with Jade. Anger still boiled within him, but the sting of his injuries dampened his spirit.

His left cheek was swollen and discolored, a vivid shade of purple and blue, with a raw, angry red spot where Jade's knuckles had landed with force. A small cut near his eyebrow oozed blood, giving his face a gritty and battle-worn appearance. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied as well, the skin was broken in places from the forceful punches he had thrown.

He nursed his wounded pride, nursing his bruised ego, and found solace in the alleyway alone, away from prying eyes. If anyone had dared to even look at him funny, they would be met with a fierce glare from his mismatched eyes, as if daring them to challenge him to a second fight.

But it seemed his glare wasn't intimidating enough, as your shadow started approaching him, prompting him to look up from the floor. You were a small thing in Floyd's eyes, not the best target for a fight, and definitely easy to throw around.

'Pshh... Just small fry...' he thought as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Uhh, hey there," you said hesitantly, holding out a plastic bag Floyd could only assume contained first aid supplies from the red symbols. "I couldn't help but notice you're hurt. Your injuries might get infected if you leave them untreated."

Floyd's initial gruffness wavered slightly as he glanced at you, surprised by your concern. But he didn't want anyone's pity or help, especially not from a stranger. "I don't need any help from small fry like you," he retorted, trying to sound tough and dismissive. "I'm not that weak."

Still, you continued taking steps closer, kneeling down next to him to stare directly into his eyes. "Even strong people can get infections, you know," you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. "It'll hurt more then, so it's better to have it treated now."

Floyd hesitated, torn between his pride and the growing realization that he did need help. Perhaps it was the adrenaline passing, but he could feel his bloodied hand throbbing in sharp pain. He cast a hesitant glance in your direction, taking in the softness and understanding in your face. In that moment, he decided to let his guard down, just for a little bit.

"Fine, whatever," he mumbled, begrudgingly extending his injured hand toward you.

Your touch was gentle and sure, and as you cleaned the wounds and applied antiseptic, you made sure to warn him of the incoming sting, though he seemed unaffected by it all. Despite his efforts to stay aloof, Floyd found himself feeling strangely comforted by your presence. As you continued to patch him up, he felt a warmth spreading through his body, a soft and fuzzy feeling that he couldn't explain. He wondered if that was the infection you had warned him about, but it didn't feel bad or painful; instead, it felt like a balm for his tired soul.

With your curiosity getting the better of you, you couldn't help but ask about the cause of the fight.

"So, what happened?"

Floyd looked at you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, he hesitated. However, the trust he had found in your compassion made him open up.

"Shrimpy's curious, huh..." he replied with a small smile. "Okay, I'll tell ya, but only cuz you're Shrimpy."

You blinked at the peculiar nickname, amused and intrigued. "Shrimpy? Is that... me?"

He nodded happily, a hint of mischief in his eyes. You couldn't help but smile wryly at the odd choice of nickname.

"I had a fight with my brother," Floyd finally admitted, his smile fading into a pout.

"It's Jade's fault!" he yelled, his frustration evident in his voice. "He kept using those weird ingredients in his cooking, even though I hate 'em! I kept tellin' him, but he didn't even listen."

He paused, his voice turning quieter as he continued, "So I broke one of his terrariums to make him stop, but he got really angry..."

You listened attentively, humming as you carefully cleaned the wound on his face. "And so you two fought... I understand how that could be frustrating," you said softly. "You know, cooking takes a lot of time and effort... I'm sure your brother just wanted you to enjoy it like he does."

Floyd glanced at you, his mismatched eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions. He couldn't ignore the gut feeling that maybe you were right.

"Yeah, maybe he did," he conceded, a hint of contemplation in his voice. "But it's still annoying he doesn't listen to me."

You nodded, understanding his frustrations. "Of course, it's not nice that Jade disregarded your feelings," you replied gently. "But you should respect his feelings too. Breaking his terrarium wasn't the right way to handle it."

Your words struck a chord with Floyd, and he felt a pang of remorse for his impulsive actions. He knew better than anyone else how much time and effort Jade devoted to caring for his cherished terrariums, often staying up late into the night to tend to them.

"Aww man... Shrimpy's right," he muttered, feeling the weight of his mistake. "Jeez, what do I do now?"

You offered a reassuring smile, glad that his anger had dissipated. "It's never too late to make things right. The best place to start is always an apology," you suggested. "There, all done," you murmured as you finished placing an island dressing bandage on his face, a smile forming on your face at the job well done.

Floyd, meanwhile, stared at you in a daze, your close proximity allowing him to notice all the little details on your face. He felt his cheeks warm as a gentle affection slowly bubbled inside him. Your genuine care and gentle touch had triggered something deep within him, and he found himself feeling drawn to your presence.

"Floyd!" a familiar voice broke him out of his daze. "There you are!"

Jade stood at the front of the alley, slightly panting as if he had been rushing around. You nudged Floyd gently, having recognized that the man must be his brother, and gave him a reassuring nod.

Floyd glanced at his brother, momentarily torn between his pride and guilt. But he took a deep breath and stepped forward, his voice steady as he said, "Jade, sorry... I shouldn't have broken your terrarium, and it was wrong..." He confessed. "But I don't want to eat any of those weird things again!" he exclaimed with a pout.

Jade's initial surprise gave way to a soft smile, appreciating Floyd's rare willingness to apologize and make amends.

"I understand, Floyd," Jade replied, his tone more understanding now. "And I apologise as well. I should have listened to you and respected your preferences."

Floyd's pout softened as he realized that his brother was willing to meet him halfway. "Really?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Jade nodded. "Yes, really. Though I do not wish to, I will stop using mushrooms for your meals."

"Wait..." you blurted, turning to look at Floyd. "This whole time, the weird ingredients you've been talking about are mushrooms?"

At he nodded furiously, your incredulous expression only intensified. "But mushrooms are so delicious! Why would you hate them?"

Before Floyd could even start to complain, Jade approached you and clasped both of you hands, his eyes alit with surprise and excitement. "I'm delighted to meet a fellow mushroom lover! Would you like to join me on a mushroom foraging trip in the mountains?"

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. As you tried to muster up a response, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you backward to meet his sturdy chest. It was Floyd, and you could feel his warmth and presence enveloping you, his chin resting on top of your head, his hair tickling your forehead.

"No way! Go get your own Shrimpy! This one's mine!" Floyd exclaimed, his arms tightening around you possessively to prove his point.

Jade's lips spread into a wide smile, his sharp teeth showing playfully. "Now now, Floyd, I do believe you've broken a precious terrarium of mine," he hummed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It's only fair that you give me something for reparations."

"Nuh-uh! As if I'd let you steal my Shrimpy!" Floyd said. In a fluid motion, he picked you up and started running off with you, while you scrambled to hold on tight to him.

You couldn't help but squeal as the unexpected playfulness unfolded. "W-wait! Floyd! Put me down!"

"Nope! You're my cleaner Shrimpy now! I'm not lettin' you go!" Floyd declared, his voice lighthearted and full of joy.

Maybe you should have been more concerned by his words, but you found yourself so captivated by his joyful and innocent laugh, that you couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles with him.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[modernimpressionism]

a higher power compelled me to write this

Swann Arlaud x Reader Fluff

(First meetings, art museums, slight awkwardness)

1285 Words

• ───── ୨୧ ───── •

Like the work of art she was, he first saw her at a museum.

More specifically, at the Musée d'Orsay. Standing in front of Olympia. He had wandered in on a walk home from a meeting with his manager, feeling a little stressed and pretty annoyed. He assumed a walk around an air-conditioned maze would calm his mind a bit, and this one was just the closest when he googled 'museum'. He recalls visiting it as a boy because being a child in Paris meant field trips to insane historical monuments and world-famous museums.

She stared at the painting as if trying to memorize every brush stroke, occasionally adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder or tucking her hair behind her ear, but not moving onto another piece. The relaxed nude figure seemed to entrance her like the woman was communicating something secret and sensual and womanly through 150 years of dried pigment.

This gave him plenty of time to memorize her as well, to notice the hair falling gently on her back. Her fingers, the nails neatly painted but the skin around them picked and chewed to bits. She wore a watch on her left wrist, a real watch that ticked silently with the seconds, he thought higher of her because of this but couldn't place why. Her clothes looked nice, but not excessive. He imagined her being picky with what she wore, and not caring about brands or fashion houses, which felt rare in Paris. The tote bag on her shoulder was obviously full, and he yearned to hold it for her, to take the weight off if only for a moment. She obviously carried it every day and thought little of the weight anymore, but he was willing to take it.

He paused his study for a moment to look around the gallery. He noticed the similarity between all of the paintings, and with how long she was staring at the one, he assumed she must be a fan.

Shit

He leaned over to check the name of the artist on a few of the paintings, Manet, Manet, Manet, ok. He pulls his phone out and quickly searches for him. If he's going to talk to this woman, he should at least pretend to have a reason to.

He was starting to regret not paying attention during those field trips.

He slipped his phone back into his back pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. It seemed like he was eternally trying to fix it, and if there was ever a time for it to behave, it was right now.

He took one confident step before she started moving and he lost all of his nerve. He snapped his head around before finding a random painting to pretend to stare at, hoping she didn't notice his extended and possibly creepy staring. He shoved his hands in his front pockets to try to look calmer than he was.

He heard the slight tap of her shoes against the stone floor but didn't dare to look where she was going. This is disastrous, he thought, deciding to leave as soon as she stopped moving. He was counting down the seconds when he felt a slight shade move on his left side and heard her movements more closely.

She stood right next to them, looking at the same painting.

His plan to abandon ship quickly dissipated, knowing this was the only opportunity he had to talk to her. If he ignored her now and followed her around the museum to talk to her later, he would look mental.

He scanned the painting in a panic, trying to understand 150 years of art history before opening his mouth. To him, it just looked like a couple of people standing on a balcony but he felt like it meant much more to her. He thought that if he waited any more, he would lose his nerve, so he opened his mouth and...

"J'aime le chien"

"Oh, I. I'm sorry but I'm still learning French, I'm not sure-"

"You're American!"

Shit!

In his anxiety-ridden brain, he forgot to shut his mouth and his words bypassed any filter he possessed. It's over, this was a total failure, he thought as he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

But instead he heard her giggle gently, before responding,

"I am! All of my life actually"

Oh god, and she's funny...

He smiled back at her with his signature goofy lopsided smile, too engrossed by her face, her mouth, her eyes to actually respond to anything.

"I like the dog too", she replies after a few silent seconds.

They both stared at the small animal painted in the bottom left corner, tucked into the petticoat of a figure. His eyes weren't visible beneath his fur, permanently hidden from the world. Looking at the animal and hearing her approval gave him the confidence to keep their conversation going a bit longer.

"So is he your favorite?"

"He's one of my favorites, i just love the choice of subjects, how average they were."

He's entranced by her voice. By the way her lips move to make the words, by the way her eyes light up as she speaks about art. He realizes that he must look silly, staring at her speak with a dumb smile, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Have you ever seen where he painted? In Giverny?"

She tilts her head slightly at that question, slightly confused.

Shit.

"Do you mean Monet? With the lilies? He painted in Giverny. This is Manet."

SHIT!

His mouth opens and closes like a fish, feeling like a deer in headlights, he can't possibly save this now.

So he just starts laughing. A genuine belly laugh, full of joy at his own stupidity. And then she starts laughing just as hard.

"Did you just google him a minute ago?", she asks, in between giggles.

"I did, it must have been uh... vérification orthographique.. spellcheck"

They look at each other earnestly, both admiring the other.

"I'm Y/N", she says, reaching out her hand.

He grabs it and is astounded by how comfortable he feels in hers

"Swann"

*One Year Later*

"Love I told you, I didn't want anything for our anniversary, just to do things together"

"Well this is a together present, sort of, it's for uh.. l'appartement"

He pulls a large, flat, wrapped present from the back of his closet, lifting it and placing it in front of Y/N, who's sat on their bed. He sits down next to her, leaning one hand on the bed behind her, subconsciously wanting to be close to her.

Her hands reach for the paper and start tearing, she makes a mental note of his gift-wrapping skills, assigning him that job in the future. Her were always horribly crumpled, but he was neat and untarnished, and she almost felt bad destroying it.

She quickly uncovered a gold frame with a glass pane, something familiar peeking out from inside.

"It's the Manet painting, The Balcony. A print of it, I mean. I thought it would be nice to hang out here since it's ours." he says, almost shyly... No matter how confident he was, he always felt the risk of gift-giving.

"Swann, I love it, It's perfect"

She places the framed print on the bed behind her, safely, before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him with as much love as she could muster. It was such a quick transition that he was almost surprised, but he soon caught up and reached his arm around her and grabbed her waist, pulling her tighter. After a while, he placed a hand on her cheek to pull her away and leaned in to kiss her lips gently and with love.

"Joyeux anniversaire chérie, I would get you the real painting if I could.

[fallenclan]

War with ShallowClan? Feels more like theres an internal war about to break out!! Raven’s public violence has been “excusable” so far but cold blooded murder of a cat who’s never not been loyal for roughly 8 years??? I can’t see how this could be seen as a fair punishment for Snap’s refusal to forget their past omg omg I’m so scared and excited to see where this goes!

So! Here's the thing.

(I'm gonna use this ask as a stepping stone to explain the clan's thoughts on all this)

Way back in moon 196, Ravenstar had just been given the name Ravenshade, becoming a warrior not one but TWO moons ahead of schedule, due to how talented and hard-working he was. The clan loved him--he was their newest little prodigy, charming and quick-witted, and pretty much everybody expected him to be a fantastic warrior when he grew up.

Then, that very same moon, Feathersight recieved an omen while he was out gathering herbs--a pawful of shiny raven feathers falling from the sky. Could it have been a natural phenomenon? Sure. But he knew instinctively (as anyone that close to Starclan does) that it was an omen, and though he couldn't parse the meaning of it, he, like most cats, assumed it had something to do with the freshly-named Ravenshade, and brought the message to Cherrystar. News traveled fast about the omen--naturally, it was assumed to be Starclan telling them "hey everyone! see this kid? he's going to be something special!"

Fast forward. Poppyfeather and Ravenshade go out on patrol, and only Ravenshade returns, with remorse written on every bit of his face. He tells everyone how hard he tried to save her, how he wasn't enough. He sits at her vigil alongside everyone else, head bowed and ears back. It's then that Flamefall, Ravenshade's friend and his old apprentice, shyly approaches Cherrystar to remind her of that omen. "Of course!" everyone thinks. "He's not just going to be a great warrior, he's going to be a great deputy! Maybe even a great leader!" And so Cherrystar appoints him as her newest second in command.

Ravenshade serves the clan well as deputy. He's smart, skilled, and good with the apprentices, who think that he's the coolest cat to ever grace Fallenclan with his presence. He remains deputy for many moons until one fateful day, when he goes to visit her in her den and she's dead on the floor. It's a tragedy, but still, the clan celebrates. Not just for Cherrystar's life, but for Ravenshade--now Ravenstar--'s leadership! He truely will be a fantastic leader, if he was chosen by Starclan.

And he is! He's a bit harsh, maybe, but he keeps a tight ship, and the clan has never had so much prey, or had so little trouble keeping rogues and other clan's cats off of Fallenclan territory.

And then... he kills Sandsnap.

Yes, it's... harsh. To put it lightly. But Sandsnap had said, in front of the whole clan, that he still considered himself a part of another clan!Such a thing just couldn't happen. It was unheard of, disloyal, and maybe Ravenstar was right to enact such a punishment. In fact, he almost certainly was! If he was Starclan's chosen one, that meant that everything he did was just an extension of Starclan's will.

Right?

[melanieph321]

will you make more robin fics or headcanons? 🩷

Ofc ❤️

Reader x Robin Le Normand - New Addition

Reader works for Alteltico Madrid medical staff, directing physical tests on the players. One of them being Robin Le Normand, the newest addition to the team.

Enjoy!

"Okay Y/N, we've got a couple of the U21 guys coming through to do their ECG's. I suggest you deal with them while we take on the players from the first team.

"Great." You muttered, as five years of studying physio therapy had all gone to waste in the name of male misogyny. Working for Atletico Madrid, arguably one of the biggest football clubs in Spain, was a dream come true. However, that dream was dimmed by the likes of your colleges, who only thought you were good for analyzing players ECG charts.

"Turn around." You said dully. "Now raise your arms."

"You mean show you my gun's." The young U21 player said, flexing the meat attached to his bony arms.

It was bad enough that you had to deal with teething football player's all day. It clearly boosted their already sky high confidence to stand half naked in front of a girl not too far off their own age.

"So what do you think?" Said the young player, stepping off the treadmill, putting his shirt back on.

"You're test results are fine. Pretty good actually."

"I told you I've been hitting the gym this summer."

You snorted unintentionally.

"What, you don't believe me?"

You pressed the boy's chart to your chest. "It doesn't matter what I believe Mr Garcia. All the team wants to assure is your fitnesses for the upcoming season."

"Well, am I?"

He looked so dumb, you thought. A sort of juvenile intelligence that came about young boys who spent most of their days running around a grass field with other mindless boys.

"Fit? Yes, that you are Mr Garcia. See you during our the next check up." A smile remained platsered on you face as he left the room. But once the door shut behind him you threw the young man's chart amongst the other's piling up on your desk.

"Ugh, I can't take it anymore more."

You slumped down against the nearest wall, your legs folding up beneath you. Jealousy, was the only right word to describe how you were feeling. You were jealous of your colleges, some of them fairly new at their jobs, just like you. Despite their incompetence, the team saw it more fitting that men should analyze men, leaving the boys to you. A woman.

"Hello, is anybody in here?"

There was light knock on your door. One that made you shoot up from the floor. You were met by a pair of glaring brown eyes. Belonging to a man whose height barley made him fit through your door.

"Are you...Y/N?" He said, invading your space by entering your office without your permission.

"Erm...yeah." Your hands were quick to dust off the dirt on your lab coat. "That's me, but who's asking?"

"Erm...I guess that would be me who's asking." He chuckled. "I'm Robin Le Normand. I'm new on the first team and was told to come to you for my ECG."

"Of course you were." You sighed, but made a gesture for the player to close the door behind him. He did so cautiously before stepping further into the room.

"I'm assuming that the first team wants a full body profile of you?"

"Yes. That's why they told me to come here. They've been running tests on me all morning." He said, sounding a bit exhausted.

"Well, prepare to do more running."

"Seriously?"

"Jupp." You pointed to the treadmill. "In order to track the electric signals of your heartbeat I'm gonna have you running to get your pulse up."

"Great." He sighed, but made his way over to the dreadmill located in the middle of the room. Several electro cords hung from the side of it.

"Should I just start running?" He asked.

You approched the treadmill and grabbed a bundle of the electro cords. "Yes. But first I've got to attach these to your skin."

"Oh, okay."

"Yeah, so just take of your clothes and I'll prepare some stickers."

You turned around in search for the stickers meant to attach to the players skin. However, the lack of movement behind you made you stop what you were doing and turn back around.

"Erm...is everything alright?"

Robin still stood beside the treadmill, a slight blossom to his cheeks. "You...you want me to undress?" He stammered.

"Yes. Your shirt and pants please."

"With all due respect," He coughed. "Wouldn't that be a bit uncomfortable."

"For who?" You frowned. "I can turn on the AC if it's the draft you're worried about?"

Robin shook his head, a sly smile on his lips. "I meant, wouldn't it be uncomfortable for you, if I took my clothes off?"

"Why, because you're a man and I'm a woman?" This was definitely a first. Non of the other players had hesitated to strip for a ECG. You dare say that some of the players seemed to look forward to the akward moment when your rubber gloved hands nipped at the twigs that they called chest hair. "I assure you Mr Le Normand, this will just be another day at work for me."

"It's Robin."

"Huh?"

His gaze diverged from yours. "Mr Le Normand is my dad. You can call me Robin."

"Well then, Robin. I'm gonna head out for a moment since it appears that we are out of stickers. Hopefully, that will give you all the privacy you need to get undressed."

He nodded. "Thank you."

It was odd, yet refreshing. A player with morals. It was easy to say that running Robin's ECG chart might have been the highlight of your career as a physio. Firstly, his profile was more than impressive. As a defeder, a lot was expected of you when it came to size and strength. For Robin to uphold a stamina similar to a left wing, really impressed you. Professionally, of course.

"There, all done." You said, removing the last sticker from Robin's bare chest, now slightly damped with sweat. To your suprise he was as hairless as an infant, his pecks large and defined.

"So...am I good to go?"

"Mhmm, sure. You can put your clothes back on now."

"Great" He chuckled. However, kept his eyes on you as he did. "Is this what you do all day, run players ECG'S charts?"

"Unfortunately, yes." You grabbed a spraybottle of sterilizer to hose down the treadmill with.

"Does some of the players ever give you a hard time about it?"

"I wouldn't say the players do. It's more so my colleagues. But you know..."

Robin stared at you blankly, a slight twitch to his brow.

You paused what you were doing, the spray bottle in your hand. "Why are you asking?"

Your words made him come out of it. His temporary trans. "Oh, I was just wondering." He ran a hand through his damped hair. "My sister was supposed to become a physio. I guess that's similar to what you do, no?"

"Physiotherapy? Yes. Yes it is."

Robin nodded, a disturbed look on his face. "She quit, though." He draped his Atletico Madrid t-shirt back over his head. The sweat on his body made the shirt glue to his skin. "She quit her studies because some of her male classmates were giving her a hard time during training. Making her feel uncomfortable, you know."

You nodded. Knowing very well of the terrible experience that a lot of women in a male dominated field had to go through. "I'm sorry that happened to her."

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose, appearing done with the conversation. Done with you really. However, as he stumbled towards the door, clearly exhausted from his morning full of testing, he stopped in the frame and regarded you sincerely. "If there's ever anyone giving you a hard time, I swear I'll help you deal with them."

You shoulders withered, the spraybottle pressed tightly in your hand. "Thank you Robin. I appreciate you for saying that."

"I mean it." He nodded. "Even the slightest joke thrown your way, I'll make sure that person never even tries to look your way again."

A shiver ran down your spine. It was either of terror or you were just tremendously turned on.

"I'll see you later, Y/N." Robin shut the door behind, with the same caution as the last time.

"See you." You squealed and confidentiality astablished that you were indeed tremendously turned on.

[ranticore]

Compilation of Cuinn POV Writing (part 1)

These bits and pieces are older than this blog but I forgot they existed until last night. First part is intended to be a direct follow up on Cuinn's initial capture by Mikalai, second part (in a different post b/c it's long) is a few years after that when he meets Ilya :) And I'm too lazy to put them in a google doc so it's going into the body of this post enjoy

-

He gazed dispassionately down at the sleeping human. What on earth was that strange one thinking? To bring him here to this madhouse flock of babytalkers and ground-bound humans who seemed hardly better. Nobody made sense when they spoke and nobody did what they meant. Why give food and bare your neck so respectfully if you were then going to tie your captor up like a piece of prey?

He tested the bindings again, an agitated ticking under his skin. Still tight, made of two leather pieces sandwiched on either side of a metal woven cord. Cuinn's beak still ached from his attempt to chew it. He'd sliced through a tiny bit of leather, triumphant, and that metal had immediately cracked a notch into the hook in his mouth. It would take weeks to grow out. Why hadn't they warned him? The baffling mix of hospitality and imprisonment made Cuinn's crop seize up and his feathers prick. Was he little more than a farm animal to these humans? Something to be cared for so nicely, right up until the moment of its slaughter?

Let that human come closer, and… and… Cuinn let out his puffed up breath, his feathers flattening again. The man had turned over on the furs he'd made into a nest, and the makeshift blanket fell off his front. Beneath there was a thinner tunic, something woven. His chest rose and fell slowly, in unhurried sleep. Killing someone in their sleep was not the action of a king, but the temptation was ever-present. Cuinn's mouth watered.

Yet the tether still held. Cuinn could not step closer. He instead hunkered down into the ragged nest as if to warm an egg and silently observed.

The human yawned and tipped his head sideways, away from Cuinn, and bore more of his pale throat. That was soft too, though Cuinn would have to step closer to confirm. He reminded Cuinn of the tiercels at the coast, the flightless ones and plump waterbirds, though he knew that assuming delicacy or weakness was a mistake. Cuinn had felt the iron strength behind the binding ropes.

He pulled one of the stripped sheep femurs closer for an early morning snack, gripping the bone with his talons while he used his beak and long, barbed tongue to scrape the marrow out.

A low grunt from the human stilled Cuinn briefly before the hunger became more important. The human said something and sat up. What an odd creature he truly was; close enough to a harpy that Cuinn could find him familiar, even attractive, but strangely proportioned, short-armed and blunt. Had he been smaller, the size of a hare, Cuinn would have not hesitated to rip him apart.

His monstrous captor opened the rear door and stepped out into the light. Other harpies craned their heads to see through the doorway before it shut again. Cuinn licked more marrow out of the sheep's long bones, waiting for the next indignity. Surely that human was preparing to drag him around again, the spoils of his hunt.

But no. The human returned with a hare and a pheasant, warmed but not fresh-killed. He set them on the floor and simply walked out again. He even left Cuinn his privacy, letting the door become a welcome barrier between himself and those chattering mudhawks ready to snatch away any food he got.

It helped Cuinn eat in peace but it didn't lessen the sensation of capture, of being kept like livestock. But he was still weak and likely couldn't have flown any great distance on his ragged wings, his heart in palpitations at the dual effort of pulling wasted muscle and digesting this new glut of food which would only weigh him down more.

The voices of men and the odd harpies pressed in from all angles. Dust shook down from the wooden roof as manicured talons settled upon it. The harpies spoke in exaggerated and strange tones, loud and dramatic no matter the subject, and oddly truncated in a way that flattened the meaning, the errors of a chick learning to speak for the first time. And at a permanently ear-splitting volume, no softer hisses or sibilant tones, only full throated screeches and peeping.

The effects of men on the harpy chicks they stole were legendary. Why would they care for anything, when their provisions were always guaranteed and their hunting little more than a swoop and catch, none of the hours-long stalking and waiting. Their flying skills, too, were roundly mocked by the harpies of Cuinn's flock. His ex-flock, he supposed.

And what hobbies did the humans deign to allow their captives? He'd seen no woven nests or bower walls, no artistic pursuits, nothing but these wooden man-made walls and straw.

The adorable human returned in the afternoon with a deep trough of some kind of liquid. Whitish and warm, the colour of an eggshell.

Although Cuinn had thought warmly about the human in his sleep, he was not so pleased to see the man in full wakefulness, wrapped in his heavy cloak, his face like iron. Cuinn saw again the figure of his captor, the source of his shame and indignity, and made a token effort to lash out at the man. He didn't expect to reach, and sure enough the tether snapped to shivering tension while his talons caught thin air, but it was the best way to send his message. He would not capitulate to this treatment. But the man shrugged it off so easily, sparking fury, and simply set down the container of liquid. He said something in his rumbling voice and gestured across at the trough.

Cuinn pointedly did not approach it. His hunger was dull for the first time in weeks, he would not debase himself for this lesser man. Cuinn was a king. A king of what? his mind said mockingly, and the resultant shame was enough to have him snapping and hissing at the man again, until he finally left.

Cuinn sniffed the liquid, but smell was not his primary sense and he didn’t learn much, only that it smelled somewhat like bone marrow. He slipped his tongue into the top layer and found it gelatinous as it cooled, a soft broth with bones at the bottom and other mysterious ingredients suspended in the tasty fluid. It was more sustaining than the dishes of water he’d been given but quenched his thirst just as well. As he lapped it up, lying on the awkward protrusion of his keel by the trough, he despaired that this was the best food he was going to be given. Lukewarm sludge, the type of food you might feed an invalid, or an elder. His talons flexed open and closed at the thought of real food, live food, something that struggled as it died. That way he could adopt its strength and will to live, not just the physical matter of its flesh. The broth, while nourishing, could not pass that vigour on to him.

Over the next few days, the man came and went. Cuinn heard enough from the others beyond the doorway to associate him with the sound ‘Mika’, which was likely a name. Mika was an odd prison guard. He brought food and water and showed Cuinn the midden hole under the nest platform at the back of the little den. He slept in the den every single night, no matter what, blithely revealing defenceless flesh and pale skin to the hungry gaze of Cuinn. Aside from that he did not seem to need or care to interact much with Cuinn. It was not respectful, not at all, but it was honest. It did not make any effort to convince Cuinn that he would be happy here, in his captivity.

As Cuinn’s exhaustion began to purge itself from his bones he grew restless. He managed to jump onto the elevated nest platform, where he ripped open the pillows and discarded the human fabric cases, rejecting its presence at his bed. He arranged the spilled-out straw and sweet hay in an oval, though it was not deep enough to make a depression in the middle, and tried his best to raise some walls in a basket-weave pattern.

The next morning, as Mika rose and pulled his cloak back on, his dark eyes flickered over Cuinn’s body. It was the first night Cuinn had retired to the platform, to higher ground.

Mika said something short and gruff, then opened the door and - rather than letting himself out, he left the door open. Cuinn roused himself, waiting for that opening to slam shut again, but Mika caught the tether instead. He clipped it onto the block just beyond the door, out in the gloomy morning sunlight. Cuinn did not follow. There was no point. What was he to do, stand out on that block perch, answering the human’s beck and call? Not at all. He stayed up on his platform, watching through slitted eyes the comings and goings of the falconers outside, the harpies flitting past. Horses appeared a few times, piquing Cuinn’s hunger, though that was a meal for many harpies to take at once, and he did not trust or respect any of the harpies around him enough to share a hunt with them.

He watched the younger harpies follow their humans around, gazing up at them with sickening trust and adoration. Some received food in reward for allowing the humans to inspect their talons, their keels. the anklets and bells around their legs. Mika moved among them, fetching and carrying but never interacting with a single young harpy long enough for Cuinn to link it with him.

Only when Mika had not been sighted for several hours did Cuinn decide to emerge. It was his idea, not Mika's. And he moved out slowly, hopping down from the platform and slowly emerging into the light. It made his eyes burn; he was already susceptible to bright light and this conspired with the time he'd spent in that den to almost blind him. He walked slowly, without revealing his lack of vision, and felt the character of the lawn change around him. The other harpies which had not flown off to their hunt that day grew quiet. His vision returned in patches, enough to guide him onto the block perch. He settled himself there and pricked his feathers against the wind. Snow swirled in the air but did not settle, not yet.

The dens were spread in a half ring that faced the large castle and smaller hall. Walls enclosed everything, even the lawn, though they were only tall enough to make a barrier to humans .

A brave harpy alighted beside him. A tawny spotted cob, jingling obnoxiously with bells. He displayed no signs of appeasement or peaceful greeting, his eyes making contact far too early for politeness. He stood straight, wings half open, and his tail fluffed out and high. He chattered something, a chick asking to play, and reached up a foot to try to snag one of Cuinn's white feathers.

Cuinn stepped away. The tawny followed. Cuinn hissed softly and this only elicited a surprised look before the tawny simply tried again. Cuinn's subtlety went nowhere and fell on deaf ears. As the inquisitive talons rose again, Cuinn spun and slashed, opening the younger harpy's thigh and scaly lower leg.

That got him. The harpy exploded into flight and fled to the roof of one of the halls, peeping obnoxiously in distress.

The humans returned one by one. They rode in on their horses and some had harpies perched behind them. Mika did not. He returned alongside the others and tied to his saddle was a coiled crawling beast. The monster's head hung limp and it lazily dripped blood and venom down its forked tail. Cuinn's feathers stood on end and he hissed at it as Mika took it past; what use would anybody have for one of those horrible things? Harpies killed them without eating for a reason! Mika rode past with his eyes forward, paying Cuinn no mind.

The harpies came in to roost. Mika was back, his burden set aside somewhere (in the fire, Cuinn hoped). This time he carried a pair of hares which he set down in Cuinn's reach.

The other humans looked uneasy, eyeing Cuinn as though he were as dangerous as the huge serpentine crawler. Why now of all times was he drawing their stares? They'd seen him on the block before he'd been fed.

He ate while continuing to peer around the place, eyeing up the sheer facade of the large building looming behind the hall. That place with its spires and many windows looked to house someone important. Maybe the lord of the land. Humans had leaders like everyone else, though Cuinn's mind wandered at the thought of what a human leader might actually do all day. Humans were lawless and uncontained, without any true king pushing them into their rank lines.

No wonder the place was so raucous and disorganised. They had food aplenty but no hunters catching anything but useless evil, and all sorts of harpies reduced to idle fluttering. The air of the place suggested a ruler but Cuinn had not seen him.

Mika's huff of breath sounded by his ear. Cuinn hissed softly, little more than a formality at this point. Mika paid it no mind, as ever. He unsheathed his fleshy pale hand from the thick furs he wore over it and touched it to Cuinn's front. The fingers delved under a tract of feathers, and the edge of one of the square fingernails dug in briefly. Cuinn's hiss was low and rolling, but stretched out into pleasure at the welcome scratch.

Mika felt the edge of Cuinn's keel. He made no attempt to hide it, not that it needed confirming at this point that he was trying to heal Cuinn's starvation for reasons unknown. The keel still made an uncomfortable shape through the skin, awkward when Cuinn wanted to lie on his front, but there was a new layer softening it just a little. Mika withdrew his hand and brought it up, briefly, to scratch under Cuinn's chin.

It was too much. Cuinn pulled his head away, straightening so that on the perch and with his long neck extended, he was not within Mika's reach. He brought his talonful of hare up higher to continue eating.

The meal was thoroughly mundane but the eyes on him sharpened until he had swallowed the last of the bones. After that there came a gradual lessening of attention, eyes turned away.

And Cuinn discovered why momentarily; the other harpies were fed similar meals and the yard was embroiled in a chaotic war. They mantled over their paltry meat scraps as if they would be attacked, and not even the humans they simpered over could come close. Hissing and screeching filled the yard, humans in thicker padding than usual ducking and flinching as their horse-drawn cart of meat was mobbed. The mudhawks behaved like infants, chicks who squalled and fought to eat before their nest siblings, as if the food would be yanked away. Cuinn slunk back into his den. No use in sticking around.

Up on his perch and with daylight still lying across his feathers, he found the will to preen for the first time in many moon cycles. He would not be shown up by those squalling chicks. Mika looked in more than once as he continued on his duties, at one stage bringing a bale of new straw for nest material.

While Cuinn wove the new straw into the downy depression of his nest, Mika shut the door behind him and bedded down against the door frame.

As darkness and cold gripped the den like ice crushing the outer bark of a tree, Cuinn's fluffed up feathers trapped more warmth than before, but not enough. The winter rolled in faster than he could recover, and after an hour or so hunched and shivering he dropped down from the platform. The swivel on the tether clinked softly as it dragged across the ground, but Mika lay still and on his side, ensconced in his thick furs. Cuinn stepped onto him, ignoring the grunt as Mika roused, and lowered himself down onto his front so that he lay on top of the human. Mika said something in a meandering, sleepy tone. Cuinn ignored him, perfectly satisfied to use the human as a massive heat source without being too sentimental about it. Needs must.

When sleep came he didn't notice it, drifting into a soft continuation of his waking state almost indistinguishable from it. In his dream, Cuinn's beak slid out of its holster on the roof of his mouth, and when morning dragged him back awake he was sharp and itching all over with mingled hunger and shame.

Mika nudged at him, a small, blunt hand that touched the curve of Cuinn's neck. He twisted and bit down on the hand, his beak piercing the skin, and Mika's other hand swung from nowhere to clout Cuinn hard on the side of the head.

Hissing furiously, Cuinn sprang up and retreated to the back of the mews, to the elevated nest. He sat there for the remainder of the morning, glaring at Mika and any human who dared peer in through the door. How dare they. He would batter them if they came close, and any overfamiliarity on their part would be their undoing.

But Mika's behaviour did not change. He returned with his hands gloved, setting down the usual morning bowl of broth, his eyes steady resting on Cuinn.

Wasn't he angry? Cuinn was angry. His talons had gouged tracks in the wood of the platform from his compulsive gripping and scratching. Mika simply set down his bowl and stood up again, leaving the door open once more so that Cuinn could go out to visit the block perch.

Cuinn went out, but not very soon after Mika opened the door. Whether or not Cuinn left his den was not the human's decision. The swirl of bracing air that twisted through the doorway beckoned Cuinn. He hadn't flown in so long.

Out on the block, he drank from the bowl of steaming broth. As ever the humans were bustling around with their horses and the harpies. Any time those creatures got even a scrap of food they became so oddly aggressive that the shrieks had Cuinn desperately scanning the sky for any signs of attackers.

One, a pale grey pen with scarlet eyes, alighted with a flip of her tail on the ground by the block. Her vivideyes fixed on Cuinn's bowl.

Instead of asking or indicating that she would like to share, she instead continued to stare at the bowl. She made a piteous begging noise. Cuinn turned away. He was not a parent and this overgrown chick wouldn't sway him.

His voice rose into a shocked screech but he was too slow to yank the bowl away in time. She caught it in one foot as she shot past him and up, into the grey sky. Broth spilled out over the rim and rained down over Cuinn’s back. The disgusting mess slithered down between his feather tracts as the harpy landed on the roof of the big house.

She sat there forlornly peeping until Cuinn's attention strayed. Mika had appeared on the edge of the yard, a straw fork over his shoulder.

A blur of stony grey, and suddenly the pen grabbed Cuinn's bowl.

He was stepping from foot to foot in his fury, gouging tracks in the block, when Mika returned from one of his unimportant tasks. Cuinn would have bitten him again, only Mika stepped away in time. He glanced down, saw no bowl, and cast Cuinn an expectant look as if to say where is it? Cuinn turned to glare at the harpy on the roof. She had managed to spill more of the broth down one of the shiny clear windows.

Mika hummed quietly and patted Cuinn’s front. He almost earned another bite for that, but Cuinn found it not unwelcome, after his initial shock. Mika was not here to steal from him, but to touch his keel again. It was still prominent, but no longer so pointed that it felt like a blade about to slice through Cuinn’s skin from the inside. Mika pointed at the female harpy and the bowl and said something in his low soft tone, diffusing the prickly agitation just a little.

Then he left to bring Cuinn another bowl. This was much the same as the first, and as Cuinn snatched it off him, Mika produced a damp cloth, and stretched out towards Cuinn. Distracted and satisfied by the broth, Cuinn tolerated the damp patting of the cloth against the feathers of his back and shoulder. Mika, it seemed, was grooming him.

Immediately, Cuinn lunged at her. Stupid creature, to have fallen for obvious bait. He caught her by the wing and neck and forced her down onto the ground by the block, under his talons. She was screeching, her wings thrashing, but she was uncoordinated, accustomed only to attacks from the crawling things on the ground and her flock-mates. Her voice shifted from angry screeching to piteous mewling and subjugated peeps, her eyes on him squinting with defeat.

After another sip from the bowl, the rustling movement on the roof again caught Cuinn’s eye. He set the bowl down, a little away from himself, on the very edge of the block. Mika queried it but received no response other than Cuinn turning away as if disinterested.

Talons scraped against slate roof tiles. The pen harpy was sweeping down and low across the lawn, her feet already swinging forwards in a practised snatch, reaching for the bowl. Mika’s voice rose into a gruff warning sound, telling her no, but he was no match for her speed. She caught the bowl.

Mika shouted something. Another human was running over, the pen harpy’s makeshift parent. Cuinn had no need to press the point. He folded his wings with a satisfied huff and hopped off of her, back onto the perch.

The second human, whose name was Yuriy, helped his harpy up from the sleety lawn. She hid behind him at first, still peeping in confusion, though when she caught Cuinn’s eyes she gaped her beak as if he were a hunting sphinx and not one of her own kind. As well he might have been, to her. Cuinn turned his back. She would not bother him again.

Mika had to speak to Yuriy about the incident. Yuriy was upset at the mistreatment of his harpy - they called her Mriya - and seemed to want Mika to do something. But Mika’s voice was so level and so calm, one hand still on Cuinn’s side as Cuinn sipped from his untouched bowl.

Finally Yuriy thew up his hands and walked away, with the pen, Mriya, trailing along beside him. Mika said nothing. Then, as Cuinn set down the empty bowl and began to clean himself, Mika abruptly reached out and caught the tether clipped to Cuinn’s anklet. It came loose, Mika’s dextrous fingers making short work of the mechanism. The heavy tether fell away, only revealing what a burden it had been in its sudden absence. Cuinn lifted his foot - his tarsus was still bound with an anklet - and cast Mika a long look.

Mika pointed at the sky.

Cuinn’s eyes widened. Another trap? No, it didn’t seem that way. Cuinn could rise into the sky and never see this wretched place again. Mika’s hand drifted close again and tapped Cuinn’s keel, as if to explain his behaviour. Cuinn was no longer on death’s door, the gesture reminded him. Mika had nursed him back to health, enough so that he could toss around the likes of Mriya.

Cuinn had not flown in weeks, beyond the hops up into his nest at night. He spread his wings, still shabby despite his improved health. The first leap into the sky was laborious, his chest muscles pulling down with not quite as much strength as he was used to. Well, he would recover. After a short horizontal drift he got a good few beats in, and the lawn blurred into a wash of grey and brown as he swung upwards. His wingtips clipped the wall of the big house and then he was over it, his wings spread to their full extent to capture what little glide material might remain in the wintry air. There wasn’t much, and he sank again to land on the slate roof of the big house, to more easily plan his next venture.

Mika stood by the den, watching curiously. It occurred to Cuinn that if he left, he could not take Mika with him. And even if that were possible, he could not go back to his own flock, not without unseating Thunder Strike on the Ama, but that would be an impossibility in his current state. The forest flocks would not have him either. Like it or not, he had to stay here, among this flock, at least for the time being. Mika would care for him.

The other harpies were deeply distressed by Cuinn's new sentinel post on the roof for the remainder of the day. They would flutter up clumsily, ready to perch, spot Cuinn, and then veer away with alarmed squawks. Very different to how it had been in the forest, where other harpies avoiding him would have been an immense improvement.

But it couldn't last, not really. As the evening closed in, the harpies had plucked up enough courage to land two wing-lengths away from him with their meals to eat. He ignored them; they were nothing to him. He had already evaluated the flock for any that might have posed a threat, any that might have thought themselves future kings, and there were none. They hardly seemed to understand what he was. This place had no king but him.

[levihandynasty]

Icy Heart Of The Earth

Word count 1189

Ship: MobuHan

Fluff? I don't know, a bit Angsty right off the bat ig.

This is my submission for the second of our discords bi-weekly writing challenge. Prompt: Character A drags Character B outside to build a snowman.

Who would believe that cold could hurt as much as the wind was now hurting him? Biting away at his skin and bruising it red. Moblit lifted his trembling hands to his lips in a desperate attempt to keep warm, at least regain the mobility of his joints so he could get out of here, assuming his gear still worked.

Beneath him were the bodies of fallen friends and comrades, spread out upon the icy wasteland that in the summers had brought comfort to many of their troops.

Now the fields where they would so often relax whispered to him a promise of death, nothing could survive this biting tundra.

Hange, his hange had already-

“Berner!” at least he was still there, they would figure this out under his command, he was sure. Moblit had long ago put his life in the hands of Erwin Smith.

He turned to face the voice of his commander, not hearing or seeing what had snuck up on him, now reaching out as he took the first step in Erwins direction.

“No! No let go! Stop!” The much too fragile human body was easily crushed, if only it wouldn't hurt so much. If humans were meant to die, then why had god forsaken them by giving them the ability to feel hurt? The gear that had for years helped the survival of the troops was now tightening around the man's body, squeezing his breath and his life out of him. It felt like the world stood still, holding him in a moment of forever to make sure he could experience it all. Yet it happened so fast, before he could even register it, he had lost his footing and found himself crashing, struggling, aching. Despite the pain however, there was no sound of a scream coming from the man, the cold only made it worse.

“I'm sorry! Sorry Moblit!” his shirt soaked in the icy water he had formerly stood upon, their body laid upon his, weighing him down into the hellish cold. “It's alright, Hange” his voice was a muffled mumble against the wet ground, for he hadn't even lifted his head.

“Put these on” footsteps had approached them, steady even upon the slippery disco-floor of hell. Levi had tossed something their way, chains, no- more like claws for their shoes, seemed the device was working well, for the short man soon after ran across the ice, not even slipping in the slightest as he moved from comrade to comrade in order to supply them with this gift to fight god's nature.

Finally back on their feet, the ever-apologising Hange would help Moblit with the gear that yet laid too tight around his body. Their hands, even though also undoubtedly freezing, felt so warm against his wet shirt.

It took them a moment to gain their balance even with the gear given to them by Levi, but slowly they managed to together make their way over to where Erwin and Miche were waiting for them. Immediately they had been offered a warm drink by the tall man, both warm and spicy, the heated wine was quick to warm them up from the inside and out. “Moblit” a woman's voice reached his red ears “your shirt is frozen stiff” she was right, and as her voice burst into laughter Moblit would take the time to assess the damage. His laughter however joined hers, when Hange reached to touch his frozen garment, and it let out a loud crispy crunch. “Good god”

The light-haired man enjoyed the good company of friends. Miche behind them with a fire was again and again stirring the pot of mulled wine. Erwin, now together with Eld and Armin were going over some papers that would surely aid them in their upcoming task. Life rarely felt good, but for once in his, he had a smile on his face, and a resting heart rate.

The calm beatings of his heart only lasted so long however, for as Gelgar had gone to grab himself another beverage, a loud thud had been heard from across the sea of ice. “Eren!” Hange called out for the large creature that had thrown a large boulder of snow down to the ground. “Thank you!”

Yet again looking over to Erwin, Moblit found himself wondering how they had even gotten here. “I'm not sure this is an appropriate use of our-” he had started, but he was soon interrupted by Hange's voice once more swimming through his now warm ears. “Strike a pose for us!”

Erwin was smiling, standing over the drawings showing the general idea of this snowy endeavour and the groupings assigned, Erwin smiled- Was he sick?

As the human-driven titan struck a pose, a soldier whose name slipped Moblit`s mind was given the paper and coal to begin sketching the figure. As the blond soldier sat to draw, other soldiers would be assigned jobs and positions by the three plan-makers, and before anyone could even begin to doubt this as Moblit had, the Snow-Titan building project was in full swing.

Squad Levi had taken upon themselves the job of guiding Eren to bring in more snow without accidentally burying any of the soldiers who with the help of their ODM gear had begun carving the creature into the snow, using both water and torches to help it settle.

This life-sized titan made out of snow had been Hange's idea, suggested to Erwin under the guise that it would boost morale and also help Jaeger take control over his abilities, perhaps they had been right?

Too cold to participate, Moblit remained by Miche’s booth, enjoying another cup of warmth. Hange had flown off some time ago, but he could no longer see them amongst the laughing joyful friends of theirs. Even those who fell meters down into the cold snow still helped bring laughter to the earth, kicking legs struggling with getting back up instead of out of a titans grip.

“Did you say something?” The question was from Moblit, aimed at the two men he was standing by, however, both Miche and Gelgar shook their heads, and even Nanaba who had just arrived to steal some of Miches body heat denied this accusation.

The answer came to him in the shape of a cold ball to the back of his head. As he turned around he finally laid eyes upon Hange again, now kneeling over with laughter. “Oh yeah?” he ran, ran towards his friend and threw himself at them so they both tumbled to the ground. Once atop of them, he had filled his hands with the soft snow and pushed it into their face. “Got you” their laughter only made his smile wider. “No.. got you” they replied with a cunning smile, before pushing a fist of snow up in his face in return.

As the man released them from his grip in order to remove the cold from him, they grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in close. Their breath and lips against his cheek burned like a pleasant fire. “I like seeing you smile, Moblit”

[doodlejoltik]

grass knot

[~4.5k words, read it here or on Ao3. tagged with Volo and Lance since they appear as prominent characters; Rei-centric]

Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

Rei, caught in the stirrings of a new arc, tries to rise to its call, but trips over the past at every turn.

A full rewrite of that Mysterious Stones chapter where Volo first shows up, from Rei’s POV, plus a bit more. Written mostly before the Arceus Arc began.

(Setting expectations: a lot of this fic is just Rei Thinking About Stuff haha. Love getting into his head! His characterisation is a little bit different/more nuanced compared to the other Rei oneshot I wrote; hopefully you'll still be along for the ride if you've read that one!)

-

“Show me thy bond.” It echoes inside Rei’s skull, down to the very bone, the same as in his earliest memories. He nearly buckles under its weight, but it's a welcome feeling.

After so long without direction, this is a relief. Arceus has finally spoken.

The words fit perfectly with the half-remembered fragments Rei had received some weeks ago in the middle of the night. Why hadn't they been intelligible then? What makes now different? The sync stones ultimate are one factor, of course. Maybe Arceus draws power from them, which is strange to say of a deity, but from what he knows of the Plates, it might not be so far-fetched.

Prince Lear disperses the murmuring crowd; so, the audience all heard it too, not just those on the arena floor. Professor Bellis congratulates Bettie. Cynthia, Lance and Steven whisper among themselves. And his mind still whirls with new theories as they gather together.

What does Arceus want? 

‘Seek out all Pokemon’ had meant completing the Pokedex. At least, that’s what he’d assumed. Now, this time, Arceus likely means for them to showcase bonds with their Pokemon, given the context. But what does that actually entail?

Cynthia’s words cut above everyone else's. “Rei. Was that voice…?”

All eyes are on him. He breathes deeply, steeling himself, as the familiar weight of it settles in. Things are moving, now. 

“Yes. I'm certain. That was —”

“Indeed! That was a message from Arceus!”

His words catch in his throat. Off-balance, suddenly, as all his thoughts fall away, replaced by a swooping feeling he can't quite identify —

He whirls around.

Volo is here.

He takes a few steps back, an involuntary half-stumble, before remembering himself. 

Those flashes of movement he's been seeing, the feeling of being watched, a Togepi, unattended: they’re all now terrifyingly validated. He'd half thought them a product of his overactive mind.

“Excuse-moi, pardon me… but who are you?” Professor Bellis ventures. 

“I'm Volo — a humble merchant who loves history and mythology!” With that, he flashes a winning smile. Rei could laugh at the sheer audacity of it all, but his thoughts are still strewn across the dusty ground, scattered, and they slip from his grasp as he tries to gather them up. Whatever sense of gravity he’d felt upon hearing Arceus’ voice has completely lifted.

“But more importantly!” Volo continues. “When the arena shone brightly, I also heard that voice.” He brings his hand up to point at the air with enthusiastic emphasis, a gesture still so terribly familiar. Rei clenches his fists, feeling the nails dig into his skin. Not really out of anger. More as a reminder.

The last time he’d seen Volo had been. Well. Memorable. But that isn’t the image that smiles back at him now, tripping him up. He's in Gingko uniform again, complete with ridiculous oversized backpack, which Rei had thought discarded, up there on the peak. Apparently not. Had Volo returned later, still seething, to collect his things? The concept is strangely hilarious.

“I wonder… these sync stones ultimate… might they be some sort of test from Arceus? If we could show him that ‘bond’ he desires —”

“Sorry, test? Arceus?” Cynthia interrupts with a frown, holding a hand out. “What makes you say that?”

“Why, it's quite simple. Arceus' presence was summoned by these stones, in this exhibition, and he requests us to further show our bond. What else could he desire?” Volo says, gesturing widely. 

Rei finally pulls himself upright — scrapes his thoughts together into something resembling coherence. The initial shock has drained away, settling into a distant sort of apprehension. He watches silently. Volo’s not really saying anything too unreasonable, but where is this leading? 

There’s so much he doesn’t know. What has Volo been doing, all this time? How long has he been on Pasio? What does he hope to gain, approaching them like this?

He’ll let Volo continue, then. It's an opportunity for some of those questions to be answered.

(And it gives Rei time to think of what to say.)

“Well, put that way, that does make sense,” Steven nods along. “Should we organise for more trainers to try the stones, then?” 

“Oui, I would love to gather more data!” Professor Bellis answers. “However, the stones are still quite volatile. There is progress on this, yes, but for now, I would like to limit their use, capisci?” 

At this, Bettie speaks up. “Yeah, it was weird.” She runs a hand through her Pikachu’s fur, the mouse curled up lazily in her arms. Nobody in Hisui was quite that affectionate with their Pokemon. Certainly not Akari, though she'd grown closer with her own Pikachu over time. As for himself, Decidueye had been standoffish, averse to being carried even as a baby Rowlet. Well, actually — as his distracted mind digs deeper into memory, he recalls — there had been Volo and his Togepi. 

He casts that errant thought away, buries it deep once again. Bettie is still speaking.

“And it was like nothing was there, at first, and Pikachu and I had to concentrate really hard. And then — whoosh! Wow! Overwhelming,” she shifts Pikachu’s weight to one arm to gesture with emphasis, “and all at once.”

“And this is when Arceus spoke,” Lance asks. 

Bettie nods, now subdued. “It was a rush! I think you guys could handle it, but I dunno if everyone could.”

“If I may,” and all attention returns to Volo. “It seems the stones can currently be used by trainers with particularly powerful convictions, and bonds with their Pokemon,” he gestures with a smile to Bettie. She blushes. 

At the casual flattery, Rei can't help the small frown that twists onto his face. It seems innocent enough, but compliments and niceties can so easily mask true intent. 

Especially with Volo.

Volo continues. “Perhaps we might solve this by way of a tournament, of sorts. Allowing Arceus to witness our talent and dedication, with the victor bestowed the honour of using the stones! Of course, the winner of such a competition would have the fortitude necessary to handle such power.”

Well, taking that to its logical end… Volo wants to win, and be granted this ‘honour’ he so conveniently proposed. But why go to all this trouble? The stones appear out in the streets quite often — apparently, found even by preschoolers. Volo should have no trouble obtaining them.

Does he know something they don't?

“Bettie here led the first winning PML team, did she not?” At this, the girl in question smiles Mareepishly. “And that is why she was the one to demonstrate the stones, I presume,” Volo inclines his head towards the Champions.

Informed guess, or something more? He thinks back on half-seen, furtive movements, and wonders. 

“That's right,” Steven confirms. “Bettie is a shining example to us: a leader of the next generation. We decided there was no better choice.” 

“So you suggest we hold another tournament,” Lance says thoughtfully. “Well, there is precedent. Prince Lear,” he turns to the Prince, whom Rei had honestly half forgotten was there. “What do you think?”

Before Lear can reply, Volo reinserts himself into the conversation. “It would be a grand tournament, truly fitting of Pasio's reputation. Why, perhaps, the deity Arceus might even be compelled to descend —”

Ah. So that’s what he intends. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself there?” Rei interrupts. He means to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more incredulous. Not at the idea itself, but at how brazenly it’s admitted.

“Perhaps,” Volo says with a careless shrug. He doesn’t acknowledge Rei any differently than the others, still maintaining their inadvertently shared ruse. “It's only speculation, of course, but it is exciting to think about!”

“Hmph! I believe I was the one being addressed,” Prince Lear declares, arms crossed. His red shades flash dangerously, eyes hidden under their glint. Directed at him, it's almost like the full glare of an Alpha Pokemon.

Rei’s face flushes with heat to the tips of his ears. Great time he picked to enter the discussion. He quietly ducks his head down; the Prince is in charge, here, after all. He'd rather not test his patience. 

Meanwhile, Volo just smiles, seemingly unfazed. 

There's a part of him that really wants to know how Volo does that. It's just — he's so confident. How can he be so sure that everything will work out in his favour?

“A grand tournament,” Prince Lear ponders, tapping his foot. “And what could be grander than the second Pokemon Masters League?”

“Indeed!” Volo beams. “I'm sure the audience would love to see the clash between a king and a deity, would they not?”

Lear's tapping stills. His guarded stance loosens; he's taken aback. Volo emphasised king, and oh, Lear's official title is Prince. Hm.

There's something more deliberate about it beyond just casual flattery. 

Lear uncrosses his arms and seems at a loss, for a moment, on where to put them before straightening up with his hands on hips. “Is that so?” He laughs. “I like the sound of that!” A pause, unnecessarily dramatic. Nobody breaks the silence, not even Volo. 

The Prince looks around with some satisfaction and continues. “Very well, then. The winning team of the second PML will be granted the honour of using the sync stones ultimate.” He grins, sharply, red shades flashing once again. “Which will include me, of course. Hahahahaha!”

“You have a real gift for making quick decisions!” Volo says cheerfully. The tension breaks. Chuckles arise from the rest of the group, and Rei can only stare in disbelief. That — that has to be mockery, right? But everyone else seems to take it as light teasing, even the quick-tempered Prince himself. 

Against his better judgement, his gaze catches Volo’s. 

He doesn't know what he expects to see: amusement? Satisfaction? Triumph? And there's some of that, but it's a wry, knowing sort of look, like a joke shared only between the two of them. 

Already the others are starting to animatedly discuss between themselves. Bettie makes a teasing comment to Lear, who scoffs. Professor Bellis says something about checking in on the sync stone technology. Cynthia, Lance and Steven form their own little group again, speaking in low tones, and he can't quite follow their discussion. 

It seems like he's the only one who notices Volo quietly slipping away, and he's got half a mind to do the same. 

Would it be incredibly ill-advised to follow him? Probably. But he still has questions. And it’s possible that Volo will let his guard down when they're alone. 

(Even to him, that seems incredibly optimistic. But there’s things between them that he himself would rather only unearth in private. Maybe Volo feels the same way. And even if not, perhaps he'll gloat, or tease playfully, and let on something of use hidden in the thorned barbs.)

It's not like he has much left to contribute here. Tournaments and competitions and organised displays are foreign to him. The Neo Champion Stadium had felt so different from the kind of battles he’s used to… which, in part, could be why he lost. 

He needs to train. If everything rests on the result of this tournament, he has to be ready. 

The group seems to be naturally dispersing, at least — Professor Bellis just excused herself — so he won't be missed. With some quick words, he, too, turns to leave. They can handle this part, and Rei will do his. 

Prince Lear had mentioned a winning team, and Pasio battles are generally three on three, from what he's seen. Who could he ask? There's Akari, of course. And the clan leaders, but it would feel strange to team up with only one and not the other. A little bit too reminiscent of another time. 

His steps carry him nearly to the edge of the arena.

Besides, he's getting ahead of himself. He still has to… well, he should explain everything to them. About Volo.

Even all these months later, it still aches. He had buried it all, hoping to let it rot away, to be free of that thorny mass of contradictory feelings that arose every time he dwelled on it. 

But the longer he waits, the more impossible it seems to explain — to explain not only the events of that fateful day, but also his own, confusing silence on the matter. Though he’s tried to plough the field, turn it all over and start anew, it still lies just beyond the surface, and a single misstep is all it takes to snarl him all over again. Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?

(Akari is unquestionably the one person he's closest to. But there was a time when that singular title wasn't so clear cut.)

There’s a sort of tunnel that leads out of the stadium, a long darkened archway that passes under the audience stands. He's about halfway through when he hears footsteps from behind, swift and purposeful strides. 

His breath catches, for a moment. But Volo left first, and the arena had been flat and wide, with no corners to lurk in. Besides, it's too loud. Clearly telegraphed.

Cynthia, maybe? 

He turns. The face that greets Rei is slightly less familiar. “Lance,” he acknowledges the Champion. 

“Rei,” Lance greets in turn, stopping a few paces away. Arms crossed, silhouetted against the light of the arena and framed by the tunnel’s dark, arching walls, his tall figure is — intimidating. 

He can’t help but wonder whether that's deliberate. 

“You left before I could ask,” Lance says, and there's a pause. “As someone who has prior experience with Arceus, what do you think of all this?”

A fair enough question. But the way it's said… sounds a little too carefully worded. Casual, but purposefully so.

What sort of answer does Lance expect? 

“It sounds reasonable enough,” he decides to say. As much as he hates to lend credence to Volo’s proposal, he can't think of anything better. It somehow seems to suit their needs perfectly, which he's sure is no accident. “Back in Hisui, I was told to seek out all Pokemon, so I helped with the Pokedex. In the same way, I guess this could help fulfil Arceus' new request.”

Lance nods along, but his brows furrow. “You sounded more sceptical, earlier,” he points out. 

Ah. Not really his intent, but… “That was about the more…” he casts about for the right word, “speculative part of it. I don't know if it would really call Arceus down, or anything like that.” Though honestly, he doesn't know that it won't.

“What do you think will happen, then?” Lance asks, with clear curiosity, and, well. He doesn't really have a good answer to that. 

“... I don't know,” he admits. “I never actually completed the Pokedex, so I'm not sure what happens after Arceus’ request is fulfilled.” He had been close, but there had still been so many minor tasks that needed finishing, things to busy himself with, to arrange and get in order before he had to face Giratina again. 

He hadn't been ready, yet. Maybe Arceus had grown impatient, and brought him here to confront his problems directly. Maybe it cared. Maybe it didn't. 

(Seeing Giratina with Cynthia had felt a little like he was the punchline of some divine comedy.)

Lance purses his lips and looks off into the distance, out of the stadium, past Rei. He wishes he could read the man’s expressions better; as it is, the set of his brows calls to mind Kamado, and everything else tangled up with it. 

Finally, Lance’s gaze turns directly to Rei once again, and he speaks. “That Volo… you two know each other.” 

It’s not a question, but even then, the expression of unguarded surprise he can’t hold back might be answer enough.

Lance has one hand on his hip, the other, at rest, is framed by the drape of his cape. He looks down at Rei as he states plainly, “His clothes aren’t of modern make, so the logical assumption would be that he’s from Hisui. Cynthia confirmed my suspicion. And, historically, Hisuian communities were few and quite tightly knit. It’s more likely than not.” 

He tries to keep his expression carefully neutral, as logic digs deeper, dangerously close to things unexplainable. And the earth is already recently disturbed, soft, friable. He can’t offer much resistance. “I've seen him around,” he concedes.

“But why did neither of you acknowledge the other?” Lance looks confused; frustrated, even. “Even a passing acquaintance would be notable, with both of you being here in the future.”

And here — this is familiar. The accusations. The questions he can’t answer. But it’s different; it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers. He just can’t seem to put them in an order that would make sense, to anyone else.

(Does he really understand, himself?)

But eyes are on him, and he needs to explain, in whatever unsatisfactory way he can. “Volo and I… it's complicated,” he laughs weakly, tugging at his scarf. “He genuinely does love history and mythology, you know. I guess I wouldn't be that surprised if he was right about Arceus.” All those times they’d pored over ruins together, Volo excitedly babbling on about whatever legend this one related to — there had to have been the seed of something real, something genuine, in that. 

It’s not really an answer. Lance can obviously tell, because he crosses his arms. 

“Is he bad news?” he asks bluntly. 

There’s no twisting his way out of this one.

Some of the panic he’s feeling must bubble up onto his face, because Lance’s expression softens, just a bit. The man sighs. “Look, Rei, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but us Champions need to have all the relevant information. This tournament, the stones,” he gestures around them, “affect everyone here on Pasio. So I’m sorry about involving myself in your business, but it's necessary. Should we be keeping an eye on Volo?” 

It’s obvious what the correct answer is. And every second he delays responding makes him seem all the more untrustworthy. He questions, a little hysterically, why this of all things is what he stubbornly roots himself for, risking this place he’s made for himself in another unfamiliar land. 

But his jaw works, and all that slips out of his throat, past the thorny tangle, is a “Maybe.” The most ground he can concede. “Volo’s… passionate about Arceus.” Which is perhaps the biggest understatement of both this century and the last. 

There's an expectant pause. He almost leaves it at that, but it seems it's too unfinished a sentiment for Lance. “He wants to be seen by it.”

“The same way you are?” Lance says sharply. Arceus, he picked up on that fast. Rei hopes he leaves it at that. A rivalry fallen apart, twisted into bitterness and jealousy, nothing more.

Nothing world-ending. 

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Cynthia, and by extension the other Champions. It’s just… he can deal with it himself. It’s what he was probably brought here to do, anyway. The thought of someone else turning him over, and finding him lacking — fighting his battles for him — makes him uneasy. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he answers, with a painful swallow. 

Besides, he hopes he can resolve this peacefully. He’d beaten Volo before, even after he’d flipped the rules of battle on their head. And this time Volo can’t upend the script; one good thing about tournaments, he supposes, is that the rules are rigorously upheld. A different sort of battleground.

He wants to laugh at that. Suppositions and wildly optimistic thoughts are his only foundation, and yet it’s enough for him to reject all possibility of outside help.

Then again, if he can’t even bring himself to tell Akari, what chance does he have of breaking that self-imposed silence, here, on less familiar ground?

Lance hums, assessing this. He uncrosses his arms. “If that friend of yours does anything drastic, tell us, alright?” he says. It’s said warmly, but there's something serious to it. An undertone. “Our job is to help out wherever we can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Rei tries for a smile. “Understood.”  

Lance nods, and looks Rei up and down, though it's only a subtle flicker of his eyes. His gaze lingers on the scarf at Rei’s neck, which Rei realises he’s been fidgeting with unconsciously. He lets go with faint embarrassment, feeling caught out. 

The other man sighs. “You can go, you know?” There’s resignation in his voice. Maybe even something apologetic. In that moment, he seems more like Kamado than ever.

Rei doesn’t want to turn his back to him, but he wants to be here even less. So he nods, stiffly, and turns himself around, continuing the dark walk through the tunnel and out the stadium at a steady pace.

He doesn’t run.  

(But his hand hovers by his satchel, where Decidueye's Pokeball rests.)

It’s only when he’s walked for a good while, out into the harsh sunlight, through the town outskirts and to a more forested spot, that the tension drains from him. He sits at the base of a large tree, feeling a little lightheaded.

That was… an interrogation, to put it bluntly. And he can’t really fault Lance for it. To anyone, he's sure, his actions are confusing at best.

Unfortunately, he’s found that he’s less than clear headed when it comes to Volo. He turns over Lance’s final words. That friend of yours. It’s not surprising Lance phrased it that way; everything Rei had said had been carefully woven to lead him to that conclusion.

Except it hadn’t been misdirection, not fully. He does still think of Volo as his friend, despite everything.

He slumps backwards, against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark dig against the base of his skull. 

What is he supposed to do with that?

Apparently, one of the worst days of his life isn’t enough to uproot over a year of growing camaraderie and budding friendship. Too many memories knot together, a stubborn tangle impossible to pick apart. He’s tried not to think about them too hard, but they tighten their hold once again, from where they lay dormant and buried.

Many of them have been forcibly recontextualised. He’s second guessed every helpful gift, every directly admiring word, every coincidental and fortunate appearance, as something deliberate and cultivated. But some of it, it seems, doesn't fit so neatly with that singular goal.

One day, they’d watched Togepi use Metronome for an hour, ostensibly for Rei’s surveying purposes. Important documentation of a seemingly random phenomenon, and all that. In actuality, they laughed the entire time, with no useful or coherent records to speak of, as the results became all the more improbable. 

They’d camped together, those last months, as the search for the Plates got wilder and more exciting. He knows Volo’s favoured way to build a camp-fire, and how he wakes up unreasonably early in the morning, and that he prefers sweet foods over savoury, unlike Rei himself. A hundred mundane familiarities shared, taking root in fallow ground.

Once, Volo had been his only friend in the entire world.

Is it surprising, then, that he can’t lay this friendship to rest so easily?

He wonders what it means, that the hand offered to him at his lowest point was the same one that always meant to drag him back down. And what it means that he still wants to reach for it.

Had any real feelings been sowed there, on Volo’s part? Or was the entire thing a carefully constructed weaving, an intricate field of grass knots laid around Rei, ready to catch him in their snare? 

He can’t quite strangle the hope that something of their friendship still exists, even if neglected and overgrown. And that’s the part that scares him.

He has Akari, and Adaman, and Irida. He has Professor Laventon and the Captain, though they’re far away. Then there’s the Wardens, more friendly faces: Mai, Sabi, Ingo, and all the others; there's Zisu and Pesselle and Beauregard and everyone else in Jubilife. New friends here on Pasio, too. 

He pulls out Decidueye’s Pokeball from his satchel, and rolls it around in his right hand. He has his beloved Starter.

He has friends. He has bonds.

Why can’t that be enough?

The Pokeball he’s holding isn't the original. He'd had to break that well-loved possession in two, and recapture Decidueye in this modern device. It's a distant echo of its predecessor, wooden grooves and clunky iron replaced by smooth metal and near imperceptible seams. The weight of it is all wrong. 

But despite that, it's still his partner, and that's what matters.

(The two broken halves sit in his satchel, too, carried on his person at all times. It's yet another thing he can't bring himself to let go of.)

He sighs, tracing formless shapes in the dirt. His hand finds one of the sparse clumps of grass that grow here, directly under this wide and mighty tree. Deprived of proper sun, it’s a miracle that there’s any at all. 

It seems more and more likely that he’ll end up looking for Volo on his own. To get answers: not only about the stones, and the tournament, and Volo’s intentions with Arceus, but also for his own ends. 

Maybe there’s still something there. A single glimpse of life in this scorched earth between them.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

Where he sits, what little grass there is has grown long and ragged, as their leaves stretch and reach for the sun. He sets Decidueye’s ball down and plucks two long blades. With a few simple loops and twists, they’re deftly woven together into a knot. He considers it, looping it around his fingers; tightens it, pulling on both ends, until he can feel the entire construct threaten to snap from the force. He stops. 

The thing is, no matter if it was never meant to be real, deliberately sowed, intended ultimately for harvest — it’s all the same, to Rei. He wants to keep it alive. He’s hopeful. Naive. Selfish.

For a single, impossible moment, he wonders whether this is what Arceus meant by bonds all along. 

The knot goes in his satchel, where it will turn dry and brittle with time. But kept safe, unbroken, regardless. Maybe his future self will laugh at his sentimentality. Maybe, he won't remember why it’s there. 

Wouldn't that be for the best?

He tucks Decidueye’s ball away, with care, then hauls himself up, both hands braced against the dusty ground. There’s dirt under his fingernails. From under the tree’s darkened canopy, he squints into the afternoon sunlight.

There’s a lot that needs to be done. He needs to train for this tournament, for one. Learn more about modern battling. Pull together a team. With that, ask Akari, and perhaps Adaman or Irida. Confront Volo, somewhere in all of this. 

After that? Only Arceus knows.

One step at a time. 

He finds his footing, around gnarled roots. The grass crunches underfoot. And he steps into the light.

(So maybe I was just snared by the grass knots you laid in my path. But if I wove my own, would you fall for it too?)

[captainsophiestark]

The Best Night Ever

Tristan Flynn x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Fandom: Crescent City

Summary: After Ruhn and Dec discovered Flynn was hiding a secret human girlfriend, the obvious next step was introducing her to the rest of the friend group as soon as possible

Word Count: 2,479

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: Requested by anon! Functionally a sequel to Presentation Problems and Nosy Best Friends, but it can also be read independently! Also this is just vaguely set in Crescent City, it doesn't fit very well at any specific point in the timeline lol

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"How's this?"

I stepped out of the bathroom, turning in a little circle so my boyfriend, Tristan Flynn, could give me feedback on the outfit I'd chosen. After a bit of leadup and delay thanks to my grad school course load, I was finally meeting his extended friend group tonight. To say I was nervous might've been an understatement.

Tristan's eyes raked up and down my body, a hungry light to them that I knew well.

"You look amazing."

I huffed and put my hands on my hips, fixing him with a look, but he wasn't fazed.

"Of course you think that. You're biased as Hel."

He shrugged. "I can't help it if I have good taste."

I snorted and rolled my eyes, but I'd been dating Flynn long enough to know he probably hadn't missed my heart speeding up a bit in my chest. I did my best to ignore it as I headed back into the bathroom to finish my makeup.

"You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart," called Flynn, his voice getting closer as he came to stand behind me at the bathroom counter. He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned his head on my shoulder. "They're gonna love you."

"...I hope you're right."

He kissed my cheek, pulling me even tighter against his chest. Some of the tension relaxed out of my shoulders.

"Don't worry. I am."

****************

Just about an hour later, I walked hand-in-hand with Flynn up to a fairly normal looking house near the Old Square. Definitely not a place I expected a fae prince to live, but then again, Tristan and his friends didn't seem anything like what I expected from fae nobility.

"So this is home sweet home, huh?" I asked as we walked up the drive together. Flynn grinned.

"Yup. Bryce likes to call it the frat house."

I laughed, but realized what she meant the minute we stepped through the door. From the vaguely sticky floor to the gaming setup and the pong table painted with a giant fae dude eating an angel whole this place would've fit right in with frat row on CCU's campus.

I snorted. "Holy shit, 'frat house' is right."

Flynn grinned at me, having the dignity to look at least a little embarrassed. Before he could defend himself, however, we were joined by a group who I assumed were Tristan's friends, all coming from the kitchen with bright smiles on their faces and warm greetings on their lips. I squeezed my boyfriend's hand a little tighter and pasted a smile on my own face, but when a female with beautiful red hair, who I assumed must be Bryce, immediately wrapped me in a tight hug, the smile got a little more real.

"I'm Bryce," she said, confirming my suspicions with a smile when she pulled back. "It's so nice to finally meet you. I thought Flynn was making you up."

I laughed despite my boyfriend's indignant "Hey!".

"It's really nice to meet you too."

She gave me another smile, another level of tension easing as she did, before turning to the tall angel behind her.

"This is Hunt, my mate." The guy in question gave me a nod and a small smile of his own, which I returned. Bryce gestured to the two fae males to her side, who I recognized. They'd trailed Tristan to my apartment, curious about where their friend kept disappearing to, and were a big part of the reason we were having this dinner in the first place. "I guess you already know these two."

"Sup," said the Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae with a chin nod in my direction. I had to work not to laugh, especially as Bryce elbowed him in the ribs and he shot her a glare. Still, he cleared his throat and turned back to me. "Uh, sorry for... how we first met. It was probably a lot, but honestly, we were just shocked Flynn had a steady girlfriend."

"Hey!"

Tristan's shout went ignored again as I laughed and the other fae male—Marc—nodded emphatically to back up his friend's story. I just grinned.

"It's okay. Tris basically told me the same thing, that your reaction was down to shock that he had a relationship and not, you know. That I'm human."

"No way," Ruhn assured me.

"Maybe shock that he actually got you to agree to go out with him," agreed Dec. I laughed as Tristan cleared his throat and draped his arm across my shoulders.

"Alright, I think that's enough of that shit," he said. "Where's the Pup?"

"Running late, but on his way," answered Dec. I raised an eyebrow as he turned to me. "You want a drink or anything while we wait?"

"Sure, I'll just take a beer or something. Thank you."

"No problem."

The rest of us settled into the living room as Dec went to get himself, me, and Tristan a drink. I ended up perched in Tris' lap, largely because I didn't really want to sit on the frat furniture in this place. Bryce clocked what I was doing, and her nod and wink told me she totally got it.

"So who's 'Pup'?" I asked, twisting around a little to look at Tristan but addressing the question to the group.

"He's one of the other members of our motley crew," answered Bryce. "He actually went to CCU for a while."

"Oh, really? What did he study?"

"History."

"Hm. I wonder if we overlapped? Maybe I've seen him around."

As if on cue, I heard the front door open. I turned with the rest of our group to see none other than CCU's most recent star sunball player coming through the door, a six pack in his hand.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. He came to a stop in front of our group and fixed me with a smile when he noticed me. "Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Ithan."

"Hey," I said, returning the smile right as Dec returned, handing me my drink. "It's nice to meet you too."

Then, I turned to Flynn, not bothering to hide the outrage on my face.

"How could you not tell me you're friends with Ithan Holstrom, CCU's best player in the past decade."

Flynn groaned and threw his head back, smacking his hand against his face. I could hear the rest of his friends laughing at his pain, but I ignored them.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" asked my boyfriend as he finally picked his head up and looked at me again. "You're not actually a fan of his, are you?"

"Of course I am! My friend goes to the school he almost single-handedly stomped into the ground in the championship a couple years ago, and I still use that game to win arguments with her. Like, at least once a month." I turned to look over my shoulder at Ithan, who looked half amused and half embarrassed at the attention. Everyone else looked absolutely delighted by the interaction they were witnessing. "Thanks for that, by the way."

Ithan gave me a nod and a thumbs up, and Flynn practically growled.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he said as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tighter to him, until my back was pressed against his chest. He buried his face in my hair as he grumbled, "Just please tell me you don't have his jersey."

"Well..."

"Fucking Urd."

"I'm kidding!" I laughed. "I don't have his jersey. Sorry Holstrom, but I always liked the goalies best."

Ithan grinned. "No hard feelings. I could probably set up a meet and greet for you with the goalie from that championship game, if you wanted it."

"You're all terrible people and friends," groaned Flynn, scowling at us all. We just laughed, but I rested a comforting hand on his thigh all the same.

The rest of the night passed quickly, and way more easily than I'd thought it might. Tristan's friends were funny and absolutely wonderful, and they made me feel welcome every second of the night. I don't think any of them even realized how much it meant to me when, after dinner, we had a few impromptu games of pong and none of them were anything but excited about how good I was, without a glancing comment or hint of mention about "for a human". Instead, I'd gotten impressed whistled from Bryce and Hunt, cheers from Ithan, and ridiculous, overcomplicated handshakes from Ruhn and Dec. Tristan beamed at every interaction, smiling and supporting me every second of the night, and I got a warm glow in my chest every time I looked at him.

I never would've imagined falling in love with a Vanir, but I'd realized about a month ago that that's what was happening with Flynn. To also be falling in love with his friends, his community, and the energy of being around them despite the fact that the group was full of mostly male, powerful Vanir? I'd basically won the lottery.

Apparently I'd still missed meeting one member of the core friend group tonight, a mer named Tharion who worked in intelligence for the Ocean Queen, but everyone assured me I'd love him, too, even though he could be ridiculous sometimes.

"I mean, if you can put up with Flynn, I think you'll be able to put up with Tharion just fine," said Dec. Tristan scoffed.

"Thanks, buddy."

When the night finally ended, way later than I had ever been expecting it to, it was with hugs and plans being made to get together again as soon as possible, especially so I could meet Tharion. Tristan was leaving with me, both to walk me home safely and because he'd been spending more and more time at my place lately. Hunt and Bryce left with us, taking off into the skies as Tris' frat brothers waved us all off from the doorway.

I smiled as I waved back at them, Flynn and I heading down the street hand in hand. A peaceful, happy feeling had settled in my chest as the night came to a close and Tristan and I stepped into the cool night air, and it wrapped me up like a blanket as we walked together in comfortable silence.

"So... what did you think?" asked Tris after a few blocks. I smiled.

"I think I love your friends. I wasn't expecting them to be so... cool. But they were, and I'm really happy I got to know them. Thank you for sharing them with me."

"Seriously? Thank you for putting up with them."

I huffed a laugh as we finally made it to my building, pausing to search for my keys. I found them after a moment, but Flynn stopped me before I could open the door with a gentle hand on mine. When I met his eyes, I found his face in the rare expression of open vulnerability that I loved so much.

"I mean it, you know. I- thank you for coming tonight. I know how nervous you were about it."

I gave him a little half-smile. "Of course, Tris. Anything for you. I... I love you."

My heart leapt into my throat, threatening to choke me out as I registered the soft surprise on Tristan's face. I'd figured out what the feeling in my chest meant whenever I looked at him a while ago, but I hadn't actually said it yet. If he didn't feel the same way, or if this somehow scared him off-

Tristan closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, moving faster than I could really register. He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close, his breath ticking my ear as he spoke.

"I love you too," he said, voice breathy and soft, like he couldn't quite believe this moment was real. I knew how he felt. "So much. I don't... I don't think I've ever felt this way about someone before."

I giggled—actually giggled—the bright, happy sound bubbling out of me involuntarily. I wrapped my arms around Tristan's neck, leaning back just enough so I could look him in the eye. The soft intensity in his look almost destroyed me on the spot, and I beamed at him before leaning back in to kiss him, hard.

We stayed like that for a long, long time, locked together, lost in each other, making out on he front step of my apartment building. Tristan's hands roamed my body and I tangled mine in his hair, the door key still clutched in one hand, neither of us caring who might see us. We were both breathless and grinning like fools when a car horn at the other end of the block finally snapped us out of it.

"This... might've been the best night ever," I said, grinning at my wonderful boyfriend, who grinned right back.

"Damn right it is."

I let out a breathy laugh, finally returning my attention to the apartment keys and the door in front of me. Tristan's hands found my hips as he hovered over my shoulder, and I knew the best night ever wasn't quite over for either of us.

"You know, I just realized something," mused Tris as I wrestled with the door.

"What's that?"

"You told me you loved my friends before you said you loved me."

I huffed a laugh and fought an eyeroll as I finally got the stubborn lock to work, throwing the door open for both of us.

"Trust me," I said, fixing him with a look as we stepped inside. "I love you in a very different way."

"Really?" he asked, that spark of mischief I loved so much creeping into his eyes and his voice.

"Yes, really."

"I don't know, sweetheart. I think I'm feeling a little insecure about it."

His voice and posture told me he felt anything but insecure, but I just put a hand on my hip, playing along with the male I loved.

"Oh yeah? Anything I can do to make you feel better about it?"

He let that cocky grin that I knew so well slowly spread across his face, fixing me with a look that definitely meant trouble.

"I can think of a few things."

With that, he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, just laughing at the noise of surprise I made. I regularly forgot about his super fae strength, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make my heart race.

Tristan took the stairs two at a time, and I couldn't help joining him with a laugh of my own. I was ridiculously, deliriously happy with him, and had been basically since the first day I'd met him. I don't know if it was fate or Urd or some other cosmic force that threw us together, or even just plain, stupid luck. Whatever the case, I would never take it for granted for a single second. I planned to enjoy every moment with this wonderful idiot love of my life, and even better, I knew he felt exactly the same.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

[littlemissaddict]

This had probably been done before and if it has I'm sorry but the idea has been stuck with me for a while but I just can't stop imagine how funny it would be with Rockstar!Eddie's reaction to his wife attempting the tiktok trend where they drop the towel off camera just to see their partners reaction.

As always 18+ please, no actual smut but it is alluded to.

Word Count: 731

It wasn't until after her shower when she was dry and had just shrugged on one of Eddie's t-shirts that she'd stolen beforehand that the idea came to her. A trend she'd come across on tiktok that she knew would make his fans go wild and well, who was she to deny the ones that supported her husband and his band, that meant they could have the life they were living now. It was little tidbits like these that she liked to share because god knows Eddie's dislike for any social media meant they were deprived of Eddie content unlike the rest of the band that had picked it all up rather quickly.

Dropping her towel in the laundry basket on her way out of the bathroom, she made a beeline for the bedroom where she could hear the annoyed groans from Eddie, who she found crouched down in front of his record player that he'd had since the early eighties, who was adamant that he didn't need a new one even in times like these when it was refusing to work. Giggling quietly to herself so that he wouldn't catch what she was up to, she set her phone up on the nightstand so that it had the perfect view of where he was before she pressed the record button.

Smiling into the camera she brought a finger up to her lips as though she was telling them to be quiet, then she followed it with a wink before moving out of view so all that could be seen was Eddie. She settled herself on the bed and began to pull his shirt off so that she was bare and somehow, he still hadn't noticed her presence so she called his name but all she got was a 'yeah sweetheart' in response so she decided to take it a step further by throwing the shirt at him. It landed on his shoulder and he merely picked it up and dropped it on the side next to the record player without a second thought and she figured he must have assumed she was trying to tell him to put it away.

The thought made her laugh because here she was naked on the bed and he wasn't paying her a blind bit of notice when usually he couldn't keep his hands off of her. At the sound of her laughter, he finally turned his head and whatever response was about to fall from his lips died the second he laid his eyes on her as he stared at her slacked jaw and wide eyes as if he hadn't seen her naked before.

"Fuck, baby, what're you trying to do to me" he sighed dramatically before jumping up from the floor and practically diving onto the bed in a rush of wild curls and manic laughter that she couldn't help but join in with. "You're a dream baby" he spoke amid kisses that he was trying to pepper over every available inch of skin, kisses that were like a drug to her, pulling her under the spell of her touch and making her forget that her phone was still recording.

"Eddie, Eddie" she tried to get his attention but he ignored her because even she had to admit they sounded more like noises of pleasure than actually trying to get his attention so she tried again this time pulling his head up so that he could see she was trying to tell him something. "My phone is still, still recording a tiktok" she revealed, enjoying the wide-eyed surprised look that she didn't get from him very often.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me" he groaned, dramatically as always, and rolled of the bed until he was knelt in front of the phone still propped up on the nightstand. "Sorry guys but the next bit is for my eyes only" he smirked, winking mischievously at the camera as she gasped his name in surprise at his words as he hit the stop button, double checking it was really off before it was forgotten again.

"Now where were we" he smiled smugly as he crawled back onto the bed until he was hovering over her, "ah, I know" he spoke before kissing her full on the lips, the video forgotten about for the moment as she let him cloud her mind with pleasure.

[kpop-stories-21]

Keeper of The Keys | A Wild Encounter

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, Lovecraftian Monster AU, Smut

Content & Trigger Warnings: Cthulhi!Seonghwa, Human!Reader, eldritch creatures, dirty talk, degradation kink, use of the words "whore" and "slut", breeding kink, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up kids), tentacle sex, monster fucking, deepthroating a tentacle, orgasm denial

Summary: You've obtained all the keys from the Guardians and brought them to Seonghwa. Now you must get a key from him, but he's certainly not going to make it easy for you.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @trashlord-007 @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @yoonguurt @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @sanjoongie @bxffietheblxxdy @scuzmunkie

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

MDNI banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

A/N: the Lovecraft vibes are strong with this one hehe. For those who might be wondering I just wanted to explain that the Cthulhi are the Star Spawn of Cthulhu. I'm still new to Lovecraftian stuff so I don't know all about them, but I do know that they can be called shapeshifters to some small degree (Seonghwa will explain this to Y/N in a bit more detail). That's all you should need to know, so I hope you enjoy!!

Event Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Upon reaching the front desk you were surprised to discover that Seonghwa was nowhere in sight. Puzzled, your eyes scanned your surroundings, looking for somewhere that he might've gone. That was when you noticed a small spiral staircase behind the desk that led to a second floor. Odd, I don't remember that being there. You mused, slightly confused. Nevertheless, you shrugged it off and began to ascend.

Once at the top, you found yourself in a hallway with a single door branching off of it. Taking a deep, calming breath you walked forward and cautiously knocked on the smooth wood.

"Who is it?"

"I-It's me, Y/N. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

There was a beat of silence, then the door swung slowly open.

"What do you want?" He asked, tone flat and emotionless.

"I wanted to apologize for my actions after coming out of the Adventure section. I had no call to act that way towards you, no matter what I just experienced."

Seonghwa eyed you without saying anything for a moment, and just when you thought he was going to shut the door in your face his features softened and he opened the door wider, inviting you into his room.

You stepped in and he closed the door behind you. The silence hanging between you was thick, but not unbearable, and you weren't about to push him to speak after having just apologized for angering him. To give him time to sort through his thoughts you looked around his room, curious what it might say about his personality.

The walls were a plain greyish-white, unadorned save for a smattering of framed photographs that you assumed he'd taken himself. A singular window looked out on a gorgeous mountainside view, the setting sun filling the room with golden light. In one corner was a double bed covered with plain white sheets and a black duvet with a grey geometric pattern. Opposite the bed was a small desk with papers scattered all over it, some of them blank except for a single hastily scrawled sentence in some language you didn't recognize. Moving closer, you attempted to read it aloud to yourself.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

The words felt strangely heavy on your tongue, as if they weren't meant to be uttered so casually. You began to wonder if this meant that Seonghwa wasn't actually human.

"It's a chant." The pink-haired man's voice came from behind you, making you jump in surprise. "Most often it is uttered by a cult dedicated to my creator. In your language it reads, 'In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.' "

You looked at him in confusion. "Cthulhu? You mean like those weird stories from H.P. Lovecraft?"

Seonghwa shook his head. "They're not stories at all. Those are all true accounts disguised as fiction for the sake of your fragile human minds."

A spike of fear shot up your spine. You remembered reading a couple of Lovecraft's works in highschool and being terrified for weeks afterwards. It was so frightening that you vividly remembered the titles so you never had to read them again: The Call of Cthulhu and At The Mountains of Madness.

Seonghwa chuckled. "So you've read some of them then?"

You stared at him in shock. Had he just read your mind?

Again he laughed. "Yes, I am reading your mind, but that is not important just now. I am more excited by the fact that you have read about me."

Your confusion intensified, leading him to explain what he meant. "I am called a Cthulhi, a Star Spawn of the great Cthulhu himself. It was myself and my kin that you read about in At The Mountains of Madness."

Horror dawned upon you and you backed away from him.

"Please Y/N, don't be afraid. I have no wish to harm you."

"Why do you look so…human?" You asked, unable to contain your growing curiosity despite the fear. "Shouldn't you have tentacles or something?"

A crooked smile rose into place. "We Cthulhi have what you might call a…malleable physicality. In essence you could say we are shapeshifters, but really we are so much more than that. And to answer your second question…."

He flexed his shoulders and the air around him seemed to shimmer for a moment. Then, as if you had blinked, there was suddenly an innumerable mass of writhing tentacles protruding from his back.

You froze, staring at them in awe, unable to help feeling somewhat aroused at the sight before you. Your mind wandered to all sorts of wild scenarios involving Seonghwa and his…attachments.

"I see you're amenable to the idea. Saves me the trouble of having to ask you."

You cursed quietly, having forgotten that Seonghwa could read your thoughts.

Looking up, you saw that the tentacles weren't the only change that had manifested. His eyes, previously a warm chocolate, had shifted to a shimmering purple colour; the round pupils now slit like those of a cat. You recalled the two times you had seen a flash of purple while talking to Seonghwa, and realized that must've been his true eyes slipping through his disguise.

"I know you didn't come looking for me just to apologize. What else did you wish to tell me?" He had moved forward while you were lost in your thoughts, now close enough for some of the tentacles to grab gently at your clothing.

Flustered, you stumbled over your words as you spoke. "I, um, I came to tell you that I had obtained all the keys and was r-ready to proceed."

A smirk curled the corners of Seonghwa's mouth. "That, my dear human, is not entirely true."

Another step closer. More tentacles came up to curl in your hair.

"As I told you when you first arrived, I am the Keeper of The Keys. And in order to access the Restricted Section, you must obtain the Master Key from me. Without it, the other keys are useless."

"What must I do?" You asked pointedly, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

"That, my sweet one, is fairly straightforward. You see, the Cthulhi have no creatures similar to us with which we can mate. In light of this we have often turned to humans for a means of reproduction."

His hands were resting lightly on your shoulders now, a larger tentacle placed under your chin to keep your eyes on him.

"What I want from you is to let me have my way with you, breed you, fill you up with my young. Then you may have the Master Key."

Your brain was on overdrive, thoughts going a mile a minute. You couldn't deny how much his words had sparked a dark desire within you, arousal beginning to soak through the fabric of your panties.

"What do you say, little Y/N?"

"P-Please!" You all but fell to your knees with the sudden need coursing through your body. You wanted so badly to know what being bred by him felt like.

Seonghwa closed the distance between you with a pleased smile on his face. Warm hands cupped your face and his plush lips pressed against yours.

You kissed him back without hesitation, muffled moans escaping you as a small tentacle slipped in beside his tongue to explore the wet cavern of your mouth.

"Let's take this somewhere more comfortable." He murmured, breaking the kiss. A string of saliva stretched between you, the tentacle still in your mouth.

You nodded, watching curiously as the air around you began to shimmer and the plain bedroom was replaced with a seemingly endless nebula that floated all around you.

Your situation forgotten for a moment, you gazed at your surroundings in utter fascination, eyes shining at the blues, yellows, purples and reds that wove through the blackness of space.

"Like it?" Seonghwa's voice broke through your admiration, reminding you why you were here in the first place, the pleasant weight of a tentacle still on your tongue.

"It's beautiful!" You breathed softly, joy dancing through your racing heart.

His arms came to wrap around you and hold you against his chest tenderly. "Not half as beautiful as you, sweet one."

Touched by his gentle words, you turned, standing on your tiptoes to capture his lips in a soft kiss. Arms and tentacles held you close, carefully lowering you onto some cold surface that was invisible to your eyes.

"I could see everything, you know." He murmured as his lips dragged across every inch of your skin, tentacles pulling your clothes off at the same time. "Every time you faced a Guardian, I was right here watching."

You felt your skin burn whenever he brushed across one of the marks. "S-So you saw when they-"

"DO NOT speak of them. I will fill you so full you'll forget they ever touched you."

"Surely you're not jealous?" You teased breathlessly.

At this the tentacle in your mouth delved further without warning, tickling the back of your throat and effectively cutting you off from speaking as your lips stretched wide around it.

"I am an extremely jealous creature, Y/N, and I wish to have you all to myself. If not for him and his hold over this place, I'd have whisked you away from here long ago."

You struggled to speak around the tentacle filling your mouth. "Him? Long ago? What do you-"

"Shhhh." A long finger pressed against your lips. "Do not concern yourself with these things. Just focus on the pleasure."

At this you felt two fingers slip inside you as another tentacle teased your clit. All while the appendage in your mouth began to fuck itself down your throat, muffling every moan that came out of you.

You'd never felt so full, and Seonghwa wasn't even in you yet. A shudder ripped down your spine as he added two more fingers, spreading you open.

"Look at you, so full and pliant already and I've barely done anything to you. You like being used like this, don't you, sweet one? It's all you're good for, isn't it? Being stuffed and bred like the good little whore you are."

You clenched around his fingers, needy cries leaving you as his filthy words brought your climax ever closer. Your thighs began to tremble, and when Seonghwa noticed this he stopped his ministrations immediately.

"You are not allowed to cum until I say you can. Do I make myself clear?" You nodded vigorously, and a lustful smile appeared. "That's my good little cockslut."

He slipped his fingers out, watching the way your hole fluttered and tried to keep them in. He quickly rid himself of his clothing before coming to hover over you, the thick head of his cock smearing precum against your thigh.

"Are you ready, sweet one? Shall I fill you up and have you carry my offspring?"

The tentacle retracted slightly so you could speak and the words came spilling out all at once. "Please, Hwa, please! Need you to breed me until I'm so full I can't help but get knocked up!"

A growl left his lips and he slammed into you, setting a brutal pace while the tentacle in your mouth resumed its own objective, sliding down so far your throat bulged as it moved in time with Seonghwa's thrusts.

Your mind was growing fuzzy, making it hard to focus on holding back your orgasm. Your keening wails echoed in the star-speckled space as this Eldritch creature pounded you into oblivion.

Just when you thought you could hold back no longer, his lips brushed your ear. "Cum for me, sweet one. Cover my dick with your delicious essence."

A cry left you at his words, so loud it almost didn't sound muffled, and your entire body shook as your high hit you like a nuclear explosion. Your walls squeezed Seonghwa so hard he cursed aloud, bringing about his own climax much quicker than he had expected.

"Fuck, sweet one! So tight, gonna make me fill you up already. Can't wait to see your belly swollen with my little ones, looking absolutely heavenly. "

His hips stuttered as he buried himself deep inside, spilling his seed into your womb until you felt you might burst from how much there was.

You were a complete mess at this point, limp and boneless with tears on your cheeks and drool on your chin. A broken whimper escaped your raw throat as Seonghwa slowly slid out of you. He was quick to pull a plug from thin air, nestling it firmly in your cunt to ensure that not one drop of cum leaked out.

He cleaned you up and dressed you before gathering your lethargic form into his arms and returning to the upstairs room in the Library. He laid you gently on the bed and placed a golden key in your hand. It was bigger than the other six, set with a mixture of deep purple amethyst and pale pink rose quartz.

"You have more than earned this, sweet one. I only wish that we could stay like this forever."

A heavy sigh left him as he turned and walked toward the door, leaving you sound asleep on the bed.

"Damn you Hongjoong." Seonghwa hissed as the door clicked shut behind him.

[melindaaskblog]

SMI received a new assignment without much fanfare. 

Another contact testing, as the researchers call it. It was nothing new: An entity was deemed either too dangerous or otherwise difficult to handle, and the researchers wanted it off their hands. The contact was for testing the waters, see if SMI could take over some of the more hazardous work. It made sense - they were designed to handle things human employees feared.

Melinda. SMI very soon learnt the name of the amorphous inky, from the thin, heavily redacted document that offered minimal information for things to work. It’s sentient. Easily agitated. Prone to lashing out. To the surprise of no one, cannot be allowed near human proximity, for reasons unspecified. SMI chalked them down to the usual complications of being kept at Blacksite.

The near-zero toleration towards light was new. It meant SMI’s screen would have to be shut off for the duration of the contact. It’s strange, having to communicate without a face, but they supposed that make them and Melinda to be on equal footing.

— — — — —

“Just do what you do best. Go in there and make a friend.” Was the dry comment SMI heard from the supervisor, before they were sent into the airlock. A list of questions was already downloaded into their mind. SMI was permitted to go off-script, if only slightly; so long as it doesn’t set the entity off.

The inner containment door slid open with a hiss, and the cold air hit immediately. The temperature of the cell was far too cold for a human, but comfortable for SMI. Their internal fans whirred lazily, the cool air a relief to the overworked systems. They stepped inside, and the door sealed them in.

The cell was shrouded in almost complete darkness. SMI scanned the cell, and soon their sensors locked on the only moving object in a room, a pile of blanket. They called out carefully.

- Hello, Melinda.

(Hi hi! excited to finally interact with Mel, hope this is comprehensible and not too wordy.)

(@voice-o-fallacy)

(NONO ITS BEAUTIFUL AND I LOVE IT)

[Melinda would startle from their nap as soon as they heard the faintest noise of the researcher speaking, it's eye rings popping open as it hesitantly peered out from its blanket pile.]

◇... Am I talking to a computer-? You know what? I'm not one to judge. Anyone can be sentient if they want to be.◇

[Melinda's expression would go from mild surprise back to drowsy quickly. Shuffling a bit before sliding a note across the floor.]

`I'm surprised you even came inside the cell. Most scientists are too scared to even go into the first door of the airlock.`

[The void mass would raise up a bit to appear more present, their eyes tilting to the side like some strange cat.]

`I can't tell if you're some kind of computer-based experiment, or just some guy with the least protective mask in the world. Though it doesn't really matter. I'm assuming you're just here to ask another round of pointless questions I won't answer.`

[The blob would cross two tentacles like arms.]

`It's getting painfully dull, you know? Children's toys only go so far, be sure to tell your researcher buddies that.`

[The void mass would gesture to the various toys scattered across the cell floor. A drum, xylophone, colorful rubber ducks, blocks, even a rattle, which seemingly had the most use of all considering the several dents in it. Actually, no, that was probably just from angry throwing.]

[reddogf13]

Pride & Ruin CH 5

on A03 as well

Alcina X Ethan

summery: Determined to find his daughter Ethan Winters, an omega, storms the castle of Alcina Dimitrescu, an alpha. While fleeing her three beta daughters Ethan has the unfortunate luck of being snagged on the alphas claws. Slipping out a yelp, Ethan fears the worst. Instead, luck will be in his favor under a prideful alpha and Miranda’s plans will fall to ruin.

Status: Incomplete

Rated: M - fowl language and gore

Previous chap: Ch:4 Splintered

Next chap: Ch:6 Before the Storm

___________________

~Ch:5 A Bitter End~

Karl looked at Alcina while his mind shot through calculations. She'd never made a go at him past verbal insults. To be so physical meant only two things. An order from on high to deal with him or a revolt and one was far more likely than the other.

“I warned you, Heisenberg! You can't afford any mistakes right now!” she roared him into stepping back.

“you and that witch ain't taking me down!” shooting up chunks of metal toward her.

It was swiftly dealt with by clashing claws. Untouched metal sliced through with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Forced back he called more and more to his side for an encasement of armor. “you don't stand a chance here, I got way more! Even if you take my ass down, I'll gladly take you with me!” facing off with her on a narrow railing. “What did she tell you, huh? What's the ceremony about? She ordered you to get rid of me, what about you? Or your daughters? You don't think they'll be next?”

Her furious expression shifted to indifference, then a smile. She laughed, claws retracting to cross her arms. “I'm not following Miranda.”

Karl lowered his fists, gathered metal drooping, but stayed close in case of another attack. “... dropped the mother title, aye? ... what are you here for?”

“I want Miranda dead.”

“why?! After all this time, what changed? You expect me to assume you switched out of the blue?”

“the man-thing and his child, never escaped. I've always had them. my daughters were the ones to steal her from Salvatore.”

“What's so important about them?”

“He's an omega.”

his shoulders fell as chunks of metal clattered to the floor. “oh.” building a nervous sweat that he had injured an omega under not just one alpha, but two.

“I used to be unwavering in my loyalty, you know it. Despite it all she showed how much trust I truly have. While she's around, she threatens both their lives. You have some brains, right? The ceremony, an omega, a stolen omegas child used to lure him here.”

“I get it. … is he … close to uh-”

“I just got him back on suppressants. Donna has been acting as his beta in an agreed traditional courting.”

“so, he hasn't agreed yet?” holding in a laugh.

“no.” grumbling. “I didn't realize at first, our meeting after escaping your hands wasn't the most pleasant, to put it lightly. I've been having to rebuild and despite his answer, Miranda must fall to ensure his safety. I'm done with submitting, which is why I'm here. To talk business.”

shedding the metal. “mm.” floating pieces falling down. “alright, I'll bite, what you got in mind?”

She reached into her waist band to pull out a long rectangular black box. “this I feel will be perfect for you. Take extreme care when handling it.”

The business meeting was longer than expected without being too overly drawn out. Leaving his factory she pulled out a silver case from her waistband. Slipping out a cig to tap into her long black holder. Flicking it alight by a snap of two claws, to take a deep inhale. Pluming smoke the whole way home to crush the last bit under her heel before the front door. Right as she stepped through, Bela came to greet her.

“Did it go well?” interested to know since her mother left toward the factory. Her sisters were just as interested, but knew that harassing their mother for details would get them nothing. Forced to wait for Bela to return with the news.

“a bit of yelling, but things are settled.”

“what next?”

“arrangements with the duke. Then we wait for the inevitable meeting. … see where things land.”

“arrangements for a suppressant schedule?”

“no. … if i- ...”

the cheerfulness her daughter had disappeared. “... can I join?”

“yes. Try not to tell your sisters too much of what you hear. They don't show it, but I know they're anxious. Especially Cassandra. I'd rather save the news for tomorrow after we've all rested.”

“Yes, mother.” walking closely at her side into the duke's room.

A cheerful tone spoken on a puff off his cigar. “ah, wonderful to see some visitors. How may I help you two ladies?” happiness lacked from the two sitting down. “need lifting of a burden?” he figured out before they spoke a word.

“The next meeting Miranda calls won't be very pleasant. I need insurance if Miranda walks out and I don't.”

He nodded. “I'm not a fighting man, as you can tell.” waving a hand over himself. “I can offer many other services. Special requests to be carried out to full customer satisfaction.”

“I need an evacuation plan for my girls, Lady Beneviento, Mr. Winters, his daughter and … Heisenberg.” nearly gagging on the last name. “if he manages to escape the meeting.”

“that I can do. Where to?”

“I've recently fulfilled an arrangement of purchasing vineyards in the southern part of Spain.” slipping out a paper detailing everything on the property. Bela was most interested in the wine making there as well as the housing. Not as big and grand as the castle, but well adorned in local styled luxury within its tall arched halls. The land being wide open beautiful expanses in the countryside far from snooping neighbors. “far enough it may escape Miranda's eye. The temperature of the area will give the girls room to run without suffering drops like here. A whole business to earn a living that they've been raised to learn all about.”

If it weren't for the reasons why, Bela would be excited to move to Spain. Being able to freely go out all times of the year instead of only half was freeing. A whole new world to explore with culture and foods not like the miserable village left to rot.

“Wonderful taste as always.” complimenting Alcina on her choice. “Any luggage coming with?”

A lot of talk back and forth went into what could be carried. Many things would need to be left behind. Then to where they would gather as the meeting was held. What would happen depending on which IF came true. Bela hated each point brought up, but wanted to hear it. Ultimately being the eldest, she'd be the lead in taking over. The reason why her mother allowed her in on this deathly serious meeting. It went on long into the night before payment was handed over. Following her mother to her bedroom for another discussion. Being the eldest, most responsible of the three, she was entrusted to take over most the estate. Accounts, ownership, to business dealings were handed down. Bela went off to give her sisters something to placate their hounding for updates. Telling that mothers meeting at the factory went smoothly and now it was a waiting game. Leaving out the meetings between them and the duke to keep the peace. Satisfied by what they got, everyone went to bed. A mix of fear and anxiety looming over the fast approaching storm counting down the days.

The next morning Donna was cooking in the kitchen. A simple broth she had to stand a few feet from as Angie kept launching bunches of chopped vegetables in it. Expecting details to be shared later on the final set up between Alcina, Heisenberg and the duke. In the meantime she'd been keeping a close eye on Ethan after yesterday's fiasco. Sending Angie down to go check on him as she cooked. Refreshed from a bath Ethan was stitched up again. Many smaller injuries were just about gone with the bigger ones no longer a worry. His fever was the biggest concern now. A second crisis almost happened in the night when he woke up to Rose still missing. Busting the elevator gate before being tackled down by dolls. Donna had to up the meds she forced him to take until he calmed down enough. Chugging down the herbal tea every few hours to stay ahead of his sickness.

Coming down from it had him feeling isolated down below. Alone in bed, Donna appeared only to give him tea every few hours. Rosemary was up top with her, so close yet so far. The separation was having him feel horrible. After his fighting panics he didn't blame her for taking Rose. Taking a chance he left the room to meet his guard.

Angie back at her post on a chair out in the hall. “you're supposed to be in bed.”

“I know. Can I come up?” hoping for a yes, but expecting a no.

The doll was quiet for an awkwardly long time. “what do you want that's up there?”

“Rose. … not being down here in the dark.” there were no windows down below. Only a few aged lamps that weren't very bright.

“fine. You have to stay seated up there. You're not allowed to get up unless we say so.”

“alright.” knowing they were taking a risk letting him up. If he panicked and ran outside the Lycan's could nab him or worse, mother Miranda would see him. Going up stairs had him feel a bit better already. Seeing sun for the first time in a couple days he basked in it down the hall. Given a moment before Angie ushered him forward to the living room. He sat on the long couch, by the fireplace, to curl up at its end. Resting half himself on the arm rest he closed his eyes. Coming to by Donna lightly waking him. He looked at the grandfather clock for the time. About ten minutes had passed since he closed his eyes. Looking to a cup Donna handed him full of more herbal tea.

“Foods coming.” Angie informed.

Ethan chugged down the medicinal tea with a disgusted face off the taste. Swapping the empty cup for the soup Donna brought. A warm broth swirling with thinly shredded veggies. Without using the spoon he took to drinking it straight from the bowl. Light pounding in his head went away after the first few gulps. Donna took the bowl when he finished, more was offered, but he refused for now. On the verge of sleep again when he heard a familiar giggle. Snapping his attention to it he saw Donna carrying Rosemary over. Handing him his baby girl to hold with a blanket to wrap them both in. snuggling down with Rose in his arms left him content. Smiling at his precious child who smiled back. Holding onto his hand to playfully patting at his face. She was making baby babble, a noise of comfort, rather than staying quiet. An instinctual safety measure for hiding if anything felt off. Since Ethan fell sick she had practically been playing dead. Quiet, unmoving except for when it came to eating. Looking for her missing dad since the separation yesterday. Wanting to be with him as bad as Ethan did. Handed a bottle he happily fed her and by the time that was finished he was notified of visitors.

Angie was by a side window. “they're coming if you want to hide back down.”

thinking for a moment, he shook his head. “I'm fine.”

“she's going to be here for a little while.”

“its okay.”

“if you're suuuuure.”

He pulled the blanket up to wrap them deeper. A minor claim of space where he sat to feel more secure. Hearing the front door open, some light conversation in the distance then a buzzing noise coming into the room.

“you're up?!” It was Daniela, far too excited to see him. “ooh, can I see the baby?” zooming over she heavily leaned above him far too close. Agitated by her attempts at a look he growled at her. She backed off a bit puzzled over what she'd done wrong. Another buzzing swarm entered the room.

Bela yanking her sister away. “You can't invade his space like that!” scolding her away from Ethan. The alarming growl attracted everyone's attention to come check on him.

Alcina's face shifted from concern to interest. “He's up here?” glancing at Donna.

“We told him you were coming, he wanted to stay.”

She was careful when looking toward him. Doing her best to avoid making him nervous enough to hide back downstairs. A minor meeting by his choice was a big step in the courting. Annoyed that Angie confiscated her gift today as punishment for that small kiss. Oh well, least he's doing better. Crossing the room she took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. Preserving the required space between them. Cassandra sat on a separate chair next to her. Donna across from the two while Daniela explored the house and Bela was wrangling her for the meeting.

Peeking through the doorway, Bela wasn't the most enthusiastic when asking. “Lady Beneviento, may we have some soup?” shooting a glare at Daniela giggling out of view.

Angie waved her arm up then dropped it. “yeah, yeah, take it before it gets cold. No reason to let it go to waste.”

A happy screech from Daniela was heard. a swarming buzz chased by Bela complaining about her behavior. A moment later they returned with bowls of soup on trays for everyone. Donna handed a cup instead for easy eating under the vale.

Angie started the meeting off officially. “So what did Dr. Frankenstein say?”

“as gun ho as I thought he'd be. He argued about trying to wait for his experiments to be ready. But knowing the circumstances, he knows there's no waiting. All that's left is for Miranda to trigger one final meeting between us.”

“what then?”

“Me and Heisenberg will go. The rest of you will meet with the duke by the old train tunnel. Wait there until one of us returns, or it's been too long. When one of us does come, we've decided a password to let you know right away who's approaching. The duke has been paid to take you all to Spain if-”

“we're going to Spain?!” Daniela's excitement getting ahead of her.

“... we'll see. Don't interrupt.”

“sorry.” slumping down in her chair.

“... I bought a lot of property in Spain. Another winery the girls will know how to run. I've given Bela the accounts. She has all the paperwork to get started on-”

Cassandra sat up to cut her off. “What do you mean?”

“don't interrupt.”

“No. What do you mean? Why is she getting everything?”

“she's the eldest who's the most-”

“no! That's not what I'm asking! Why is she getting it at all?! Why won't you be managing it anymore?!”

their mother sighed. They had to know at some point. “Cassandra, if i-”

“no! There's no if! There can't be an if! You'll-”

a knock at the door silenced them all.

Angie looked to Alcina to whisper. “you expecting?”

She shook her head. Donna went to calmly answer the door with Angie staying behind. Alcina looked toward the door next to them that led to the elevator. Too noticeable. The sound of the elevator leaving for no reason would be suspicious. They watched Angie for a cue as to who was at the door.

Snapping forward the doll warned immediately. “hide him.”

They looked around to where they could stuff him away. Useless spaces of behind the couch or under a coffee table were the only options. Thinking fast, Alcina shifted over to sit as close as possible. “don't move.” covering him entirely in the blanket. She leaned herself over him and crossed her legs. Blocking the view of him almost entirely. What wasn't was hidden by the blanket blending into the couch. Bela stood closely at their side to block another view of him if Miranda got close. If they played this off as a normal meeting she wouldn't suspect a thing. Alcina scented the air in a deep breath. Wincing at the pharmaceutical smell. Good, she won't smell him. Putting on a big smile when the grand ruler herself stepped into the room. Decorated in her golden crest down to a matching mask of a curved beak. Accented by chains to sharp talons ending each finger. “Mother Miranda, lovely seeing you join us.”

“I wanted to speak with you, but the castle was empty. What's the occasion of this meeting at lady Beneviento's?”

“to discuss where the man-thing could be. Lady Beneviento hasn't seen a hair of him and neither have my girls or that clod Heisenberg.”

“you spoke with him too?”

“tried to.” rolling her eyes. “a child as always who never takes anything serious. Do you have any news?”

“no.” stepping around the couches with Donna not far behind. “I was going around to speak about this.” shooing Cassandra from her seat to take it over. Donna sitting back in her original spot. “You've all disappointed me.”

Great, A long talk is just what we need. Holding herself together as Miranda sat within reaching distance. She could be here for hours talking about every minor detail. “ah, I'm sorry we haven't been up to par-”

“What have you discussed so far?”

“mm, he's not in the village. Heisenberg hasn't seen him. The Lycan's haven't given a call since his first appearance. Nor have Beneviento's watch dolls.”

Angie threw out a bone for Miranda to gnaw at. “Salvatore's reservoir is the only place left.”

“haven't your girls checked there?”

“no.” Cassandra answered. “We can't afford to get wet in this weather.”

Bela spoke up next. “We've only done flyovers. Never entered the cave system.”

Angie added on. “Maybe he never left after getting that brat back. The whole place is rotten and falling apart. Are we sure they didn't drown?”

Miranda's gaze flecked away then back in a second. Alcina knew she was questioning that as a possibility.

“she's right mother, what also of the child? It has to eat doesn't it? He certainly can't do that.”

Her relaxed face contorted to a hint of anger. “by outsmarting all of you he's proven to be capable of keeping her alive. The black god has shown no recent changes if he had fallen. My disappointment in you grows each day. I've waited so long for this and you all lounge in your houses. This ceremony should have been done days ago!”

“is- is it too late?” part of her hoping to hear it was. Was she expecting Ethan to pass his heat by now?

“no, a minor bump in the road. That should have been solved if you all weren't so lazy!”

“mother, please.” Alcina was about ready to claw into the couch. “if we knew we would-”

“It took you this long to bother searching the reservoir! Why didn't one of you search days ago?!” locking onto the tall lord. “I know why. Don't want to mess in the muck. So you send your daughters out, who are absolutely useless. But what do I expect from flimsy experiments? Should have had you dispose of them, they've only been a distraction to you.”

Each insult was a coal thrown into the dragon's heart. A raging fire readying to unleash itself in this very room. Snorting fire past a maw of gnashing teeth demanding blood to slate its thirst. Everything gained a red hue, voices distorting to deep rumbles of air. A gentle bucket of ice doused the boiler threatening to explode as Ethan's hand rested on her back. Grounding her down into holding it together in reminding her why. Retracting her claws seeping into the couch unintentionally. Breathing out the fire and brimstone filling her gut.

“I don't tolerate slackers.” Miranda continued her verbal lashes. “the man-thing slipped through your grasp after only a day. Did you bother to do anything at all? Perhaps you left a door wide open for him to be someone else's problem?” each one another coal that soon Ethan couldn't cool.

“We'll find him.” Angie jumped in to block. “Let us-”

“we?! What we?!” Miranda shot up from her seat. “you're an inanimate object. That I shouldn't expect a high lord to use for basic talking!” her cold glare switching to Donna shrinking in her seat. “a mistake that should have never been a lord. If only your sister survived. She had potential. You never leave this place unless it's to mess with your pointless garden. You'll never find winters, even if he came here I doubt you'd handle him at all. All the power to make an army kill itself under hallucinations and what do you do with it? Nothing! a wasted gift of new life after sparing you of a decaying brain! Ungrateful wretch!” hand lashing out in gleaming gold. The sound that came wouldn't be forgotten. Fabric torn away as did the flesh underneath. separated as two parts of velcro. white skin revealed changed to a vibrant red instantly. Blood fell as a waterfall onto the couch to stream down onto the floor into a fast growing pool.

[dirtyhippypoet]

I turn 21 today

I obsess over the same thing every year on my birthday, time is a bitch.

I’m about to start my 22nd year but calling it my 21st, simple math, a very small difference, only 12 months. But those 12 months matter to me. It feels like I am always one step ahead but I’m constantly trying to catch up. I can feel my organs start to fail and my skin start to sag as I write this, but I can remember my 10th birthday party and how it felt to be there, I remember telling everyone I had been alive for a whole decade and how proud I was of that achievement, I remember the dreams I had then that I am still trying so hard to make come true 10 years later. It hasn’t been easy. I haven’t been easy.

Mom always told me I was a difficult teenager, she says this with the implication that she would rather burn in hell than have a conversation with me at 16. I don’t blame her, I have always had to be told not to do something twice or learn it the hard way.

It’s a problem with authority or a self-destructive pattern, I haven’t figured that one out yet.

When I was a kid I had a first communion, I didn’t understand what that truly meant, all I knew was that I could now eat the church cookies and that was exciting to me. I was gifted a glass angel after the event and was given very specific instructions to take it upstairs to my room and place it on my shelf away from the pile of books and clothes that I refuse to acknowledge, though the most important instruction was to simply not break this fragile gift. I didn’t understand what my mom was so worried about, it seemed like thick glass to me, I hadn’t yet discovered that I didn’t have the most gentle hands.

It’s not like I wanted to defy my mother, but I did want to question her, for some reason I always have.

I tapped the angel against the hardwood floors in our dining room and its head chipped off, it broke, just like my mom had told me it would if I was not careful with it. As its halo rolled across the ground, I began to understand my mother a little more. This is the first time I remember hearing the words “I told you so”, words that would follow me into adulthood as I continued to chip more and more pieces off of my angel, this angel being metaphorical but just as fragile.

I'm not particularly religious in any sense, and neither are my parents, but I did go to a catholic elementary school and attended church on special occasions. I think this was a means for my mother to please her mother rather than an attempt to have me follow God's plan. I don’t think I’ve experienced real religious trauma but rather religious defiance.

I heard all of the things you are not supposed to do, things god forbid and I made a list in my head and then I did all of them, you can probably assume this is what led to the hell fire rain of “I told you so”‘s and the acid shower of lessons I had to learn the hard way.

I’ve never been a natural at anything but being a little too emotional and a little too curious. I can tell what anyone is feeling just by the tone of their voice or the way they are holding their coffee mug because it’s a little bit different than they held it yesterday, it’s a little more angry and ridged and I’m scared if I say anything to them they might yell at me but I have to ask if they are mad at me or if I can do anything to help them feel better.

Sometimes I feel every emotion at once and it over-stimulates me. It makes my clothes itchy and my skin feel tight, it makes me very aware that my toes are touching and whatever that noise is in the next room can you make it stop because it’s driving me fucking crazy.

This is why I have to write everything down. I fill overpriced journals with poems of debt. I sit on a middle-aged man’s leather couch, pick the fluff off of the pillows, whisper to this stranger my life story, and let him dissect where all my sadness, rage, and dramatized reactions stem from.

The truth is, I am terrified to show my weaknesses, as if I don’t I wear them on the long sleeves that cover my scars and regretful tattoo decisions.

The truth is, I know where my poignancy comes from, it comes from my aversion to moving on and growing up. My refusal to get over anyone I’ve ever loved or anything that’s ever happened to me. The feeling of nostalgia eats me alive, but I choose to keep the details of those emotions between the scribbles of my notes and the cracks in those leather couches and I will never let anyone but my mother know that I am only being held together by cheap glue.

With every year I age, I feel this passion of defiance and curiosity grow stronger, yet I’m much better at controlling it, maybe that is self-awareness creeping in or just my frontal lobe deciding to make an entrance after being hot-boxed with green distraction most of my youth.

The truth is, I am still 16 years old yelling at my mother because she doesn’t understand me or my love life.

I am still 10 years old telling everybody I know that I am so proud to be getting older.

I am still at my first communion, eating those dry cookies, wearing a pretty dress, and breaking everything I touch.

I am glad I am here, at 21.

I am glad my mother told me so and I am glad my angel's head is only chipped and not shattered.

[casspurrjoybell-27]

In a Heartbeat - Chapter 41 - Part 2

*Warning - Adult Content*

Simon

Vince had been acting weird the past week, often holed up in the council room working on his computer or filing paperwork.

Michael would often give him things to work on but it seemed like Vince's workload had grown exponentially and a couple of nights, I had stayed up to wait for him but I'd end up falling asleep and waking up alone.

On the rare occasion he had left the council room, he'd avoid me like the plague, insisting he had things to do.

Had it been weeks earlier, I would've thought nothing of it but even my wolf was feeling restless as if sensing Vince's discomfort.

I couldn't think of any reason why Vince would feel the need to avoid me.

Most of the time I spent my time with Xavier, Aspen or Michael, assuming Vince needed time and space for his work and yet, it felt like his distance had something to do with me.

I tried to ignore it, for days I pretended to watch movies late at night, hoping things would get better.

Hoping it would feel a fraction of normalcy like that time we spent cooking at Xavier's.

It didn't help that Sam's messages on my cell-phone were tempting to respond.

He had been updating me on Belle, the pregnant wolf we helped, posting pics of her pups and him sleeping next to a couple of them on the floor still in his silly scrubs.

I was sure Clara had taken the picture of him and I nearly laughed at how ridiculous they looked as one of the pups looked like it was trying to suckle milk out of his nose.

That picture had been the last message he sent and for a moment, I was tempted to text him back.

In fact, I had hovered my finger over the send icon, a previous message I had meant to send still there.

[I miss you too] it had read.

I had typed it a week ago after I had cried into Vince's chest when I had been in the bathroom.

I was having those dark thoughts again, the memories replaying in my head and it had only gotten worse when I saw Vince's suppressants on the counter.

For a split second, I had been tempted to take them, to make it all stop, when Sam had texted me randomly a picture of him and his staff at Cindy's.

He had been typing for what seemed a while, those three dots appearing and disappearing for a while before a simply three words appeared.

[We miss you] and like that, those thoughts had gone away and I was reminded of my time there.

Clara's homemade lunches were always a hit or miss.

Ava's stern but motherly advice and of course, Sam.

How could I forget?

Even after running into his truck and nearly dying, staying at the clinic had been the most fun I had in years.

I had typed my message so instinctually, with so much truth but I couldn't find it in me to send it.

After the way I left, it just didn't sit right with me.

What would that message even accomplish, aside from more hurting in the end?

But now, when the person I'm trying to make things right with by leaving Sam wanted to ignore me, sending Sam that message just seemed like the right thing to do.

So just as I pressed the send button, Vince came through the doors, almost startled that I was still up.

He had frozen in place, blinking for a bit before moving towards his bedside table, rummaging through it. In the lamp's light, I could tell he hadn't been sleeping.

His eye bags were more pronounced, his hair a disheveled mess and maybe it was the light but he looked pale.

Now that I thought about it, I don't think I've ever seen him grab food.

He grabbed a long black cord before replying curtly...

"I forgot my charger."

"Wait," I said before he could turn to leave, I moved onto his side of the bed, reaching for his wrist.

"Did you eat?"

"Huh?"

He pulled his wrist away.

I set my cell-phone down, before trying to reach for his arm again, which he stepped backward.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

He blinked.

"Um, yeah... I think so."

"Vince."

"What?"

He frowned.

"Look, I'm in a rush, alright? My laptop's dying and I have a lot of work to do."

I pursed my lips.

"It wouldn't hurt to take a break and eat."

He shook his head before stepping back again.

"I'm busy with work. I don't have time to eat."

"What is it with you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're acting so weird," I exasperated.

"Since when have you had this many things to do? Can't the other betas do it, I don't see them staying up all night."

His jaw clenched, before he finally sighed, setting the charger on the edge of the bed.

"Michael gave me more work."

I tilted my head slightly.

"Is that really all that is?"

"Yes," he replied but it sounded more like a question.

I gave him an inquisitive look before he ran a hand through his mop of hair, before sighing.

"No but it doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

I frowned.

"You look like you haven't slept or eaten for an entire week."

He gave me a droll look before replying...

"I have. It's just... I've been feeling off."

"Off?"

He fiddled with his hand, clenching and unclenching them.

"Did Aspen say anything to you? If he said something awful, please, he didn't mean anything by it," I said.

"That's just how he gets because of Cedar and myself."

"No," he shook his head.

"He didn't."

"Then what, Vince?"

I practically sat at the very edge of the bed, reaching out to grab onto his wrist again.

"What's happening?"

He looked at me for a second before his eyes trailed down to my hand, his eyes seemingly softened.

He blinked a few times and I was slowly realizing that his arm didn't burn to the touch.

It still felt warm but not nearly as hot as it had a couple of weeks ago,or a week ago when I had sobbed my eyes out to him on the couch.

He exhaled, before saying...

"I've lowered the dose."

"You what?"

I looked at him incredulously.

"Didn't you just lower it last week?"

He hummed and I couldn't fathom how he would think that was a good idea.

"Vince, why would you lower it again, so soon? What milligrams are you at now?"

"Two-hundred."

I blinked, anger coursing through my veins.

"Two-hundred? You were just at six-hundred. No wonder you're feeling off."

"Isn't it better that I'm off of these anyways?" he sounded upset.

"Isn't this what you..."

"Gradual," I interrupted.

"Gradual, Vince. Chase told you there'd be side effects. That's why you needed to slowly lower the dose."

"But..."

I squeezed his wrist in my hand.

"No buts and don't tell me you don't have time. That's ridiculous. Why are you even rushing the process?"

"It's just Micheal..." he faltered before chuffing.

"But that's not the point. Now, I can feel the..." and at that exact same moment, my cell-phone pinged.

We both stared at it, as it rested on the comforters.

Sam had responded.

Vince quickly looked back at me, trying to hide his obvious interest in the message.

I reached over and flipped the phone over.

"Was that Michael?"

So he hadn't seen who it was but...

"Michael?"

He frowned.

"It was Michael, wasn't it?"

He quickly flipped rolled his hand over to grip my wrist tightly when I didn't answer.

"Stay away from him."

"What?"

"Stay away from Michael," he repeated.

There was a ferocious look in his eyes, almost as if his wolf threatened to jump out.

One minute he's talking about his dose and now he's getting heated over a text?

I shook my wrist out of his grip, before scoffing.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't trust him," he said sternly.

"Just... stay away from him."

He seemed so serious but it didn't make any sense.

"He's been nothing but nice to me. Why shouldn't I trust him?"

"I don't..." Vince sucked in a breath.

"I don't think he's here to help us. It's just suspicious, don't you think?"

I shook my head.

"He's your brother, Vince. He cares about you. If he really wanted to hurt either of us, he would've done it already."

"But that's the thing, Simon," he seemed to plead.

"He's never cared about me before, why would he have started now? Especially after what I've done? I mean he threatened to kill you."

"He had plenty of opportunities to do so but he didn't and you're wrong. He does care about you. You're brothers."

I could sense the anger roll off him but for once, I didn't seem to be threatened by it, more enraged that we were arguing about something like this.

His jaw clenched, a few muscles twitching from the pressure.

"You're wrong," he told me.

"He's said some things earlier,and I think he really wants to destroy the pack. You have to understand that..."

I was standing now, infuriated that he would accuse his own brother.

"Why does it seem like Michael and I are the only two people trying to make us work? Why does everything have to be about someone else? Why must you accuse everyone else but you of things?"

"Simon, you have to believe me," he implored, looking hurt at my words.

"My brother is not a good person."

"You should be grateful you have your brothers... alive," I spat, looking him in the eyes with as much ferocity I could muster, despite the angry tears threatening to spill out.

"Some of us don't have that luxury."

He stepped back, taken aback by my words.

"Why-why can't you just believe me?" he said softly.

"Why should I?" I said quieter, still staring directly at him.

"When all you ever did was lie?"

"Of course you don't believe me," he breathed out so quietly I almost didn't hear him.

He let out a shaky breath before quickly grabbing his charger and stumbled out, letting the door slam behind him and within its echoes that seemed to reverberate for the remainder of the night.

I let the tears fall again, my heart hurting, so much that I refused to even check Sam's reply.

Instead, I curled up in bed, letting the deafening silence swallow me whole as I ended up falling asleep on Vince's side of the bed.

[casspurrjoybell-19]

Does it Matter? - Chapter 42 - Part 1

*Warning: Adult Content*   

Dara knocked on the door and waited and after a few seconds Bug opened it. 

Dara peered into the room behind Bug.

"Did Brayan not stay with you?"

"He stayed the night but he left this morning to start work," Bug said as he stepped aside to let Dara in.

"And don't worry. I kept things chaste."

"I appreciate that," Dara told him.

"Maric has given me his approval to finish what I started, if you're still interested. He gave me oil, so hopefully it will be a little more comfortable for you." 

Bug's teeth worried at his lip.

"Is he really okay with it? He's not still angry with me? I don't want him to hate me..." 

"He doesn't hate you, Bug. Not even a little bit. He was jealous because he misunderstood the situation and feeling a little ignored in general but he's fine now and he doesn't blame you for any of it."

Bug looked down at the ground and twisted his fingers together.

"That's what Brayan said too. I believe you, both of you but... I guess it's hard to process the idea that someone with power over me would choose not to blame me for everything they could. Especially someone as important as a prince." 

Dara gave him a soft smile.

"He tries to be a good man." 

"I'll try to work on being less afraid of him, but..."

Bug gave a helpless shrug.

"Can you tell him next time you talk to him that I do respect him? Not just because of his position but... I respect him." 

"I will do that."

Dara held up the bottle of oil.

"Ready to finish this?" 

Bug took a slow breath in and nodded.

"Yes."

******** 

Brayan had been downstairs with Maric and all of his men, eating a slow breakfast, for about an hour by the time Dara and Bug finally came downstairs. 

Dara immediately went to Maric and Maric pulled him close and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

Raedon did a double take and his brother smacked him on the back of the head.

Garrod surrendered his seat without being asked so that Dara could sit next to Maric. 

Bug looked a lot less sure of himself and his place in this group.

Brayan didn't blame him.

He was no longer sure himself where the slave belonged in the order of things.

Maric seemed to regret having treated Dara the way he had when he thought him just a bed slave but did that sentiment extend to Bug? 

Brayan leant in close to Maric and murmured in his ear.

"Do you want the slave on the floor?" 

Maric shook his head.

"I'm tired, Brayan. Just treat him like a person." 

Brayan wasn't quite sure what that entailed.

He'd met many people in his days and he certainly hadn't treated all of them the same.

For now, though, Brayan assumed it meant letting him sit on a chair. 

Brayan made eye contact with Bug and nodded to the seat next to him. 

Bug immediately hurried over but then he hesitated, hands braced on the back of the chair. 

"Sit," Brayan said and then, before there could be any confusion, added...

"On the chair." 

Bug shot a worried look in Maric's direction but he complied with the instruction.

He clenched his hands together under the table and stared down at his lap. 

Thayne came up behind him, a bowl of stew that he'd just gone to get from the bar in hand.

"Hey, I was sitting there." 

Bug startled and immediately started to scrabble out of the chair but Brayan placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

He held eye contact with Thayne. 

"Oh, never mind, guess I was sitting over there, then," Thayne said and went to sit down at the other end of the table. 

The men were confused.

So was Bug.

They were forging a new path and nobody knew what the new rules were.

Brayan wasn't sure Maric even quite knew himself or if he was just making things up as they went. 

But... maybe that was okay.

Maybe there was no way to create your own path and immediately have everything figured out and maybe creating their own path was necessary.

Maric certainly seemed to think so and it was his opinion that mattered. 

Bug had already eaten breakfast, Brayan had made sure of that but Brayan gave him some bread drenched in honey anyway.

Not much because he wasn't sure Bug would turn it down even if he was too full but he wanted to get more food into him at every opportunity. 

They headed out once they were done eating, Bug in the back of the wagon and the rest of them on horseback.

It felt like they were just waiting for Bug to see something that would send their lives careening wildly off course but for now they were just continuing on with their lives.