#chill out drawing after posting that last chapter

[cursegirlrabbit]

Spin the sweet wheel and its DUDLY!!!

Ive never had a reason to draw my version of Dudly duck other then the duck family tree i did. so. WATERMELOM DUDLY

Isn't he just adorbs.

[the-writer-ofthe-fandoms]

Silent Cosmos (Edward Cullen) (Ch. 3)

Pairing: Edward Cullen x GN! Mute!Reader

Words: 2.8k+

Warning(s): Two gross dudes, sexual verbal harassment (not towards reader), swearing,

A/N: omg chapter 3 is finally here. I apologize for the wait. I thought my semester this time around would be forgiving but NOPE. I had so much to do and read, I could hardly write for fun or draw either. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I last posted. I want to try a new method when writing series. I tried with my kpop writing blog, and its where I write a few chapters at a time then periodically post them. Helps keep the flow and motivation going, but that may have been a one off there.

Series Masterlist

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"O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain; Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand, And I am strong again... The Star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Light of Stars"

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Edward hasn't been in school for the past few days.

You admittedly felt a little lonely without his presence, though Emmett and Alice have made it their mission to become your new best friends. Jasper tried but he still kept his distance from you, which you didn't mind. Rosalie helped when no other Cullen was around, although she kept a lot of conversations at a minimum, which you also didn't mind.

Alice had told you Edward had gotten a bad cold, so he is staying home. You had offered to bring him your notes the first time so he could copy them down, but Alice told you their father has him basically on lock down until he is deemed healthy. So, after you've done your homework, you've been making copies of your notes to give him when he comes back.

It's the start of a new day and once again, Edward wasn't there. You were at your locker with 15 minutes to spare. You placed the spare folder with Edward's notes on the shelf while your mind went back to that moment you two shared at the welcoming party for your uncle. You felt happy telling him all the stars and constellation you could see, and even happier when he seemed thoroughly interested in your rambles. However, you feel an inkling of guilt when you remember he gave you his jacket. Maybe he got sick from that?

"Dude, I got this weird spot on my dick."

Well, there goes your musings of guilt. You glance to your left and see two guys near you, just chilling against the lockers. You've never met them, though you do remember sharing a class or two with them separately.

"Are you really airing your business out when someone is standing right their?" The shorter one, with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes gestures to you.

"Relax, Mark. That's the deaf student." The taller one with deep brown eyes and brown hair says with a laugh. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and choose to just focus on the inside of your locker. Maybe you should get more decorations- "Anyways, I have this weird spot on my dick. It almost looks like I have a weird mole there. I'm hoping it's just a new mole and Cindy didn't give me something."

Gross.

"I'd get that shit checked out then. You don't want it to turn into something worse if it is an STD." Mark says with a sigh. "I told you not to sleep with her, Tony. She made my balls itch like crazy. They still fucking itch."

"I think its just a weird mole. You wanna look?" He cackles while his friend fake gags. They both push off the lockers and walk away to who knows where.

You let out a deep sigh and close your locker. At least the ignorance of other allows you to hear some gossip.

"What's with the sigh, Tiny?" Emmett calls out as he and Rosalie approach you. He has very quickly taken to the nickname Tiny for you. You suppose anyone shorter than him would be considered tiny in his eyes. Rosalie simply opened her locker as you and Emmett conversed.

"Oh, just overheard two people talking about something that should have been a private conversation." You respond with a slight shrug.

"Gah, Forks High is full of a bunch of weirdos, huh?" He grins and raises his brows a few times, crossing his arms while leaning on the locker next to you. You silently chuckle and nod, though you wondered if there was an underlying joke there.

"No Edward today?"

"Nope. Carlisle still hasn't cleared him." He sighs with a sympathetic smile. "Between you and me, Tiny, Edward is still shitting his brains out." He signed that last portion to you.

You gave him a scandalized look and playfully slapped his arm with a small chuckle. You were surprised to feel just how hard his muscles were.

"What was that for?" He gripped where you slapped and pretended to be hurt. "It was a private conversation, no one else here except Rosalie knows sign."

You roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile. You could always count on Emmett to get you to smile.

"C'mon, Rose and I will walk you to first period, like always." He grins and gestures you to follow him. Rose simply came along since she and Em were in the class next to yours. You nod and follow, happy to have good company.

---

It was a passing period and it was just you and Rose at your lockers. You grabbed a new pen and pencil since the last two you had broke and ran out of ink. Rosalie was fluffing up her already perfect, blond hair in the mirror of her locker. She and you didn't converse much, but you still liked her presence. Like the rest of the Cullens, she didn't tiptoe around you or treated you differently. She acknowledged your presence and would answer you if you had questions.

You were about finished in your locker when you heard two familiar voices keep up their gross conversations behind you.

"Dude, Rosalie has the hottest ass." Tony practically jeers, his voice intentionally loud. You glance to the blond next to you and she still keeps fixing her hair, though you can see her brows are a little more furrowed and her lips are more in the shape of a frown.

"Her tits, man, her tits are where it's at." Replies Mark and when you shift just enough to see him in the corner of your eyes, you see him make an obscene gesture.

You hear the slight creek of metal and when you look to Rose, you see her grip is so tight on her locker door that her fingers made indents which made your eyes widen for a moment. She closes her locker and you can see by her side profile she is pissed, and rightfully so.

So, you do what you think would make her laugh at the expense of those two guys.

You tap her arm to get her attention and she looks at you with a glare. You don't let it faze you. If those two are going to be gross about your friend, you'll just air out their business that they so willingly aired out by you this morning.

"You know those two jackasses?" You intentionally look to them as you sign and look back at her. "Well the brown haired one has a spot on his penis that he isn't sure if it's a mole or an STD. And his buddy likely doesn't wash right since he's had prolonged itchy balls."

Rosalie looks almost scandalized until her eyes widen for a moment as she looks at the two dudes and then back to you. She covers her mouth as she laughs when she realizes what you're trying to do.

You were about to sign some more when the two dumbasses approach.

"I know you were talking shit. What the fuck did you sign?" Tony glared, pointing an accusatory finger at you. He gets in your face and you swear you hear Rosalie growl.

You swallow thickly and decide to open your mouth. Your aunt always said you got your stubbornness from your mom.

"I said..." You try not to wince at the pain in your throat, your voice sounding hoarse. "You had a weird spot on your dick and your friend... has itchy balls." They looked at you with wide, horrified looks. "Don't talk about someone's body if you don't want yours talked about either."

"You little shit." Mark hisses and Rose steps closer to your side, an arm just barely in front of yours.

"What's going on here?" Emmetts voice grows louder as he approaches, his usual, carefree smile no longer on his face. He looked scarier than you've ever seen him. Mark and Tony looked at each other before slinking off.

Once they were gone you let out a dry, painful cough. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and quickly grab your water and drink, soothing your throat. You could taste a tiny bit of iron in the back of your throat as you drank.

Rosalie calls your name softly. "Are you okay?"

You nod in response and take another sip of water. You didn't catch the look they gave each other or Rose gesturing for Emmett to speak.

"What happened, Tiny?" He asks in a quiet tone. You close the cap of your bottle and place it back in your bag. Your throat still ached but you knew the pain from using your larynx will linger.

You start to sign to him everything that occurred, from what you overheard in the morning to him approaching. You can see a flash of anger on his face but he goes back to that small smile. Once you explained your words to Rose and why you said them, a huge grin breaks out on his face.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Tiny." He laughs and pats your shoulder a little too firmly.

"Come, I'll walk you to class." Rosalie said with a soft tone. You nod and wave goodbye  to Emmett. You both start heading down the hallway, the blond next to you tense.

When you got to your class a pale hand stopped you. You look to Rose with a questioning look while her gold eyes avoid yours.

"I just wanted to say thank you for earlier." Rosalie says, the tense look she had fades into a small smile, her eyes meeting yours. You see some vulnerability in her usually guarded gaze. She gives your shoulder a squeeze before dropping her hand. "You didn't have to do that. I'm... admittedly used to that."

"No need to thank me, Rosalie." You smile back at her.

"I do, because not many would step up like that." She softly sighs and her smile grows a bit. You felt her words had more meaning to them, but you decided to not linger on them for now. "I know I've been slightly avoiding you but I have a hard time trusting hu- new people. But, after today, I think I want to open up a bit and be friends."

"I'd like that too." You beam. "Alice has been begging me to do a shopping trip, maybe the three of us can plan a trip soon."

"I'd... I'd like that." She almost looks like she is relieved and less guarded.

"Is your hand okay?"

"What?"

"Well, I saw you grip your locker and you dented it."

"Oh. Yeah, it's fine. I work on cars and my grip is strong. It's nothing." She holds out her hands and you saw just flawless skin. "Well, I will see you soon. Class is starting."

"Talk to you later." You wave and go to class. You sit down at your usual spot and start preparing. You sigh, irritated at the way those two spoke about Rose so loudly. But you also felt happy you and Rose were close now. Her bending the locker was suspicious... there were many things off with the Cullens that you've picked up, however, you don't linger on it. They have their quirks much like you have your own.

---

Edward lounged on the couch reading, back from his trip up to the Denali clan to clear his head. After witnessing that nightmare from you, he needed a moment alone to sort his thoughts. He wasn't sure what he felt afterwards but once he took some time to sort out his thoughts, he came back to Forks. None of the others knew what happened. He didn't tell them those details of your life, as none of them were privy to it. He wasn't either but that bridge has been crossed thanks to his ability and curiosity of the galaxy protecting your mind.

He felt guilt initially when he realized he deeply invaded your privacy. Then, despair and immense sadness followed when he recalls back to your nightmare, your past. Edward had seen many horrors in his long life, he even committed some when he'd hunt those men. However when he witnessed what you went through, he couldn't help feel a spark of protectiveness. You were nice. He found you a joy to be around despite it not being long since you transferred. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to you.

Edward couldn't help but smile when he thought back to you and him outside the fire station. It was a peaceful moment. He couldn't help but linger on the sight of you in his jacket, pointing out the stars and constellations. It was silent other than your internal thoughts. And when he got to witness your galaxy so at peace? He also felt a sense of tranquility he longs for.

Edward quickly put those thoughts away and resumed his attention his book when he heard his adoptive siblings come in. Alice and Jasper pass without saying to him, which he was slightly thankful for. However, Emmett and Rosalie lingered by him.

"How can I help you both?" Edward sighs, snapping the book closed as he looks at both of them.

Rose crosses her arms. "You need to come back tomorrow."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, Tiny happened." Emmett grinned and gestured to Rosalie. The blond sighed and let the memory replay of you standing up for her so Edward can see what happened today. He furrows his brows, setting his book down. He stands up from the couch and looks between the two.

"My guess is those two will probably retaliate against our friend one way or another." Rosalie says softly. Edward chooses not to point out how she said 'our friend.' "You spend the most time with them, they'll need you to stick around them the most."

Edward nods slowly. He recognizes Mark and Tony, and he knows they each have a class with him and you. He's heard the thoughts that spew from them both like garbage and he knows they aren't above getting back at someone.

"I'll come back tomorrow." He confirms. He wanted one more day to himself, but tomorrow is good as ever to face you again. He knows how you lost your voice and how you ended up living with your uncle and aunt now, but you don't know he knows. And he'll have to keep that in mind.

Although, Edward couldn't help but smile at the sound of your voice in Rosalie's memory. It was rough and hoarse, and it caused you pain, pain he doesn't want you feeling again... but it was nice hearing that voice that matches to the one in your head... when that space of yours is dropped.

---

You make your way to your locker first thing in the morning. You get yourself situated, grabbing the things you need for your classes before lunch. You set aside the folder where you kept your copies of notes for Edward down on the small shelf. You huff softly, throat still feeling sore from using your voice.

A familiar voice calling your name has you spinning around quickly, a smile instantly growing on your face. Edward approaches you with a small smile, looking the same as he did the last time you saw him.

"Glad to see you're feeling better." You grin, your mind flashing back to what Emmett signed to you in regards to Edward's health. You catch your friend's eyebrow twitch, a flash of annoyance on his face that he quickly recovered.

A Cullen quirk, you muse to yourself.

"Yeah. I'm doing a lot better now." He replies softly, standing  a little closer to you than usual.

"I have something for you." You see his eyebrow quirk as you turn back to your locker. You pull out the black folder and hand him it. "Notes for the classes we share."

Edward stares down at the folder before chuckling. He looks up at you and gives you brilliant smile, one that makes your heart flutter for just a moment. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Of course."

Suddenly, you feel hand on your back. Edward was standing much closer to you with an expression akin to a scowl as he stares off a little. He looks to you and smiles softly, though you can still see the tension on his face.

"We should get to the classroom. I'll probably have questions about what I missed." He says in a low voice. You nod, a little confused by his demeanor. You finish up with your locker and let him guide through the hallway, his cold hand still resting on the middle of your back.

You weren't aware of Tony's and Mark's presences until you both were walking by them to your first period classroom. You paid them no mind, keeping your focus ahead of you. Doing this, however, has you missing the deep and threatening glare from Edward towards the both of them.

As you both walked through the hallway, Edward felt that his non-existent blood boiling at the degrading, violent, and nasty thoughts those two were thinking. He knew they both weren't the best that Forks has to offer, their thoughts sometimes louder than others.

That protective urge he felt after witnessing your nightmare? It's working overtime now and he isn't completely sure why.

What Edward does know that he won't let them try anything towards you.

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Taglist: @buckybarnes-1917​, @trawberry-fire​ , @dreamy-caramel​, @urgirlfriendspage @azazel-nyx @stinkii-boii @vanessalovesonedirection @sunnyisntthere @theatrenerd101601 @awesomebooklover17 @esposadomd @whichwitchisthebitch @bofadeezs @gons-dad-is-gon-e @kathsuhki @aoi-targaryen @srh-006 @onlyheretosimp

[doonarose]

GOAD Writer's Guild presents: A Bathhouse Pretense

CW/TW: Explicit, sex in public, orgy scenes and descriptions of other men having sex, the exhibitionism/voyeurism that goes with that , wet and messy comeplay things, edging, cockwarming.

Summary: Written for the @goodomensafterdark Valentine's Gift Exchange (yes, it's May, I'm so sorry!! Chapter 1 was posted back then but it has been a journey to finish this one up!) For Zaay-zaay who requested top Crowley in a bathhouse with kissing and maybe cockwarming. To wit:

Aziraphale seeks Crowley out in 38 BC Rome, and finds him in a bathhouse which just so happens to be hosting an orgy. Aziraphale is there to discuss upcoming celestial business, Crowley is there for a good time, but when Hastur happens to drop by, it gives them an (admittedly flimsy) excuse to get close, and then closer still.

First time sex in the back corner bath, canon compliant, much edging, feelings and filth.

Word count: 18k, complete!

Thanks: Good lord! Everyone!! Thanks to Fuzzygoblinoid for the beautiful header art!

Thanks enormously to my three betas on the second chapter: Likeafuckingninja, Gingercat and Natyu0815. Ninja who held my hand for weeks after falling off the writing horse and trying to clamber back on, Natyu for the cheerleading, and Ginger for the very last minute swoop in with some cracker ideas! Thanks also to Fishey_me and FuzzyGoblin for their insanely quick beta on the first chapter!

Thanks also to all the people in the GOAD Writer's Guild chat who have listened to my whining about trying to write part two for literal months! And thanks again to Zaay-zaay for a fantastic prompt that took me a little outside my comfort zone and then being insanely chill about overly long porn and a very long delay!

Excerpt: In the end, he recognises Crowley by his laugh: low and gravelly, but genuine. His hair’s much darker when it’s wet. He’s close to the back edge of the second bath, the hotter one, Aziraphale guesses, judging by the slick of steam shimmering over the liquid. He’s slid down on a low submerged bench so that the water’s lapping at his shoulders.

It suddenly occurs to Aziraphale that he could have found Crowley here in flagrante delicto – plenty of others are. The thought crosses his mind like it’s been scratching to get out of a sealed box, and he only has a moment to unpack it, turn it over, and then push it back somewhere locked away.

Thankfully, Crowley’s being entertained more simply, by a man lying flat on his belly across the floor behind him, a towel covering his buttocks, as he leans close to Crowley’s ear and speaks in hushed whispers. He’s got his fingertips buried in Crowley’s dark hair, half of it amassed in a bun and the rest hanging loose to his shoulders, as he massages Crowley’s scalp. The interloper has white blonde hair drawn back in long curls tied off at the nape of his neck, he looks middle-aged, stocky, the slopes of his back and arse broad and supple.

The blonde says something else that makes Crowley tip his head back and laugh, and the man tightens his fingers in Crowley’s hair, tipping his face back further so he can lean forward and over him, bite at the angle of his jaw from above and then draw back to dangle a bunch of green grapes over his lips.

Crowley plucks one with his teeth and slides back into the water, so that it laps at his chin as he chews. He sees Aziraphale suddenly, surprise making his bright yellow eyes go wide and then his lips smile around the last of the grape juice and he arches an eyebrow.

“Aziraphale!” he says, voice warm and drawled as though the baths and whatever else he’s been up to here have him relaxed, perhaps even sated.

To continue reading head on over to AO3!

[chantsdemarins]

New Fic: Breath of the Æsir ⚔︎🏰 (Loki X Reader)

Formally (Collapsing in the Arms of Chaos) I changed the name. 😬 I know Medieval stories aren't everyone's fav but heck, I hope you like it! It has been brewing in the coffee pot that is in my head for over a year. I feel slightly self-conscious that after my first time with COVID, my brain is not the same. I hope I still have my ability to write! My last story published a few weeks ago was written while I was falling ill and I know it wasn't my best!

Thank you for reading!! If you want to comment I would be so happy and reblogs are like the most precious thing to me. All art is mine, it's a Photoshop-crazed situation.

Summary: Disenchanted with the Danes' misuse of Norse gods to sanction their brutality, Loki finds himself ostracized. Stripped of his divine powers and bearing a severe injury, he wanders into the realm of the conquered. By a twist of fate, he arrives at your manor, where you await your husband's return. However, destiny has other plans.

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 2,471

Smut rating: Not yet...but there sure will be!

Posting schedule: Every Saturday! I am going to stick to this!

Chapter 1 The Embroidery of Destiny Chapter 2 The Stranger Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

@lokis-little-fawn @lcolumbia1988 @thesoftboiledegg @anukulee @mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @nildespirandum @caffiend-queen @mochie85 @maple-seed @mischief2sarawr @kikster606 @thedistractedagglomeration @glitchquake@simplyholl @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @fictive-sl0th @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @muddyorbs @vickie5446 @trickster-maiden @grymrayven

Before your family settled again, you had been travelers, moving from one darkened patch of earth to the next. Soil on your boots muddied your paths, creating difficulties in finding a home. There were many things to see, some horrors, some things magical and unfounded. Shapes shifted in the forest where you camped at night. One day your father showed you where they lowered men into the bogs, decorated with bronze. These were not the ways of your people. They did not worship like that. It might have been too much for you to know where some ended up when they were no longer living, not in graves or on pyres. Something else.

By the time you reached the northern lands, your family had negotiated your belongings down to just what the pallid horses could carry. Your croft was built into the very earth you had struggled to cross, with bedrooms burrowed into the side of a hill. It was not built for so much rain. Buckets and sluices were not enough to keep out the floods.

So, when your husband came to marry you, you packed your things neatly, placed them in a pack, and left your parents’ home without drawing a breath. You walked a distance far greater than any you had as a child to his family's land, your new home. The way your family had negotiated the marriage remained a blind spot in your mind. You couldn't fathom it. From a croft to a manor.

Over time, nothing in your marriage seemed to flourish. The land, though beautiful, yielded nothing you sowed. Too sandy or too chelated, perhaps unfortunate timing. You became a wife in the loneliest ways. No spinning of yarn would produce a cloth finer than the wool you began with. Hours of practice composing embroidery resulted in nothing more than half completed sea escarpments, knots, and birds with no flight.

The elegant window that surveyed the tenants' labors only deepened your isolation. They carried on with their duties, and you retired to your quarters, curtains drawn. The chill from your childhood followed you here. The stone walls held a dampness no fire could dispel. You knew somewhere across the hills where your parents still sleeping too close to the earth. Rooms still flooded. Though your loyalty never wavered, even as your husband wandered afar, absent for days at a time, his pursuits as obscure as the horizon beyond your room filled with half-finished tasks.

In kindness or disappointment, he had ensured your education extended beyond your lowly beginnings. Through travels and courtly audiences, barons and other titled men and women recounted their lives' poetry over each glass of mead or wine. You listened for moments when they forgot their lines, most days this was more interesting than their images they wanted you to see.

Although had you not met Isolde of Easting, you would not have thought to plant the spiky yellow gorse along the manor's borders. When the proper conversation waned, you had discovered the titled people still spun tales of their lands. The places they had come or been uprooted from. In the best conversations, you gleaned knowledge of the plants, herbs, and tokens from the first peoples, their ways overshadowed by the new cultures but nonetheless seeming to flow from them to you during the quieter moments—the men away hunting, the embroidery thread running low, the teapot empty. These things were spoken of in hushed tones so the servants would not get ideas.

You spoke of the hawthorn tree, the ravens' work, the swords warriors cast into the cold estuary, found along all the lakes' shores. The Roman merchants who brought tales of Jesus and his cross. The god Woden came from the Angles, and Odin, from the North. Their wars and bloodshed filled the spaces between village homes and now the courts. If asked if you prayed to the Christian god, you couldn't say. You longed to speak of the place where they lowered men into the bogs, the place your father once showed you. Later, in the quiet of your room, you would pull out a relic from beneath the blankets in your chest, and it would look unrecognizable. It once held meaning, but that meaning didn't travel with it.

Sometimes when you were awake much too early, the nightingales still singing, you would dip your quill into the small pot of black soot. You would unroll a small piece of parchment, discarded by the cooks, and write down your dreams. Which had room in your sleep since they were so often unimpeded by the presence of your husband. You wrote in the lais of the Frankish people, counting eight sounds to the line, braiding your dreams with your words.

Had I found a small shell, not rope I would have held it to my ear The ocean's song would have come to me Instead, I was swallowed wholly

This was how things proceeded until the day they did not.

As you came to learn, in the void and closeness of life, nothing is reliable enough to expect its continuation the next day. You should allow for change to slip through the crevices of even the dampest chambers. It just had not happened in so long you almost did not recognize it when something remarkable unfolded at your manor.

On this day, as you sipped your tea, with half-finished yards of cloth draped across your lap, and the unopened book of hours on the small, worn table, your gaze was fixed on the wind billowing the emerald curtains—silk from an era long past, traded by hands unknown. Like much of the decor in the manor, these were vestiges of your husband's family's trade in finery, symbols of their stature akin to that of minor kings.

Elinor, your companion for the last 10 years, rapped on your door abruptly, breaking your contemplative gaze.

“My lady, please excuse me,” she croaked, as the door opened before you could arrange a pretext to delay her entry.

“What is it, Elinor?” you asked, not wishing to dwell on the trivialities of the manor that day. Clearing her throat, she reported urgently of a man in a bad way, injured and lying on the steps. She hastened to your window, the portal to the land beyond your manor, and pointed to the makeshift courtyard where a man lay seemingly lifeless if not for the faint moan you heard.

“Why have you not sought my husband or some other man of decisions?” you questioned with a twinge of fear edging into your refuge of solitude.

“Lady, your husband has traveled beyond into the land of the Scots, and the aldermen are not present either,” she informed you.

“A household of women only, then? How did I overlook such an event?” you pondered.

“Lady, you are often engrossed in your own pursuits within these walls. How could you have noticed your husband's departure?” Elinor reasoned, her words not easing the panic now fully upon you. The thought that your husband had left you unprotected added another layer of anguish.

“At such a time, Elinor, how shall we defend ourselves?” you barely articulated.

“I suspect he gave little thought to the matter,” Elinor replied, her head bowed even lower than her subdued voice.

“Then it falls to me to act in their absence,” you reasoned. Not wanting this conflict or the talk that may ensue you knew you must act quickly. This man perhaps knew your husband, or perhaps it was only a small political scuffle that may have resulted in his injuries. You thought of the many reasons he could have ended up at the steps of your manor of this day. None of them added up entirely.

As you navigated the long, narrow corridors, your thin morning jacket provided little relief from the chill as Elinor aided you with the heavy door. You both stood in awe of the man at your feet. Having seen men before, chiefly your husband. This man’s appearance was now shocking at close view. He was unlike your husband in all ways you could imagine.

“Holy Jesus save us,” Elinor yelled through her missing teeth.

“He will not assist with this, Elinor,” you responded, your eyes surveying the severe wound from his stomach to his chest, the dark blood pooling around his lean form.

The man’s hair was a shade darker than the darkest night. Had night possessed more depth, it would resemble the hue of his locks. His attire suggested nobility, which only intensified the chill you felt. He had clearly been bested in whatever skirmish he had come from, and with no healer at hand, it seemed likely that a burial might soon follow—until his eyes fluttered open.

A striking blue that drew your own darker gaze, hinting at his foreign language or origins. His hand reached out feebly before falling back to his side.

He whispered faintly, “Ásjá.”

“He's alive!” you declared, as if the statement itself could reverse his fate.

“Yes, lady, he lives, I told you. Now what shall we do?” Elinor asked, concern evident in her voice.

“We save him. It is the right thing to do,” you answered.

“But without a healer, we risk much by sheltering him,” Elinor’s voice trembled.

“Then we shall tend to his needs ourselves,” you declared, your courage unusual, unfounded, drawn from the same well that had seen men saved from death at a distance. An instinct came over you. You directed Elinor to gather wood, cloth, herbs, and other necessities that seemed more from your imagination than any practical experience. You quickly cut away his clothes, exposing the dire wound more fully.

“Lady, he may not survive this,” Elinor observed with a somber tone. The unhinged flesh flapping against the seemingly unended torrent of blood emerging from him. How could there be so much blood.

“Silence, Elinor,” you hushed her. Your hands, though failed in the art of tapestry, were adept with needle and thread. So much failure had given you courage.

“We must stem the bleeding before we can stitch him up,” you instructed, asking for a branch from the fire.

“Lady, you cannot—” Elinor began, but you had already pressed the smoldering wood to the wound. The man awoke suddenly, thrashing in pain.

“Hold him down!” you ordered. Elinor, small but determined, restrained his arms.

You envisioned repairing his injury as if it were the "Galley of the Titan’s Moons," a rare piece of embroidery from the northern lands.

“I shall map the night sky upon your body, sir,” you said, speaking into the silence as he drifted further from this world. You sensed the ancestors gather, ready to welcome him, but you were not ready to let him go.

“No, not yet” you whispered, a soft rebuke to the invisible presence.

Elinor looked at you, puzzled. To whom were you speaking?

You were determined. This man would not die. Though you had sent for a proper healer, your task was to keep him alive until they arrived, hoping they would be sober enough to be of use. Much worse would be a drunk priest should your help not find any healer available.

It was not until you had finished suturing his wound that you noticed how his body appeared in the dim light of the great room. Your loneliness resonated with the landscape of his injury. It was a peculiar reaction, but there was something else broken within this man, beyond the sword wound. It was something familiar to your own. You held you own stomach for a moment, it felt as if you were the one almost slain, not him.

Eventually, his bleeding ceased, and the healer arrived, tended to him with poultices and what looked like grain spirits. You wrapped your furs around his sleeping form. He did not pass away. The stranger in your home survived. You had been told he might still not make the night. You watched him for as long as your eyes could. His faint inhalations mirrored in your own. But the exhaustion took over, and before you could retreat to your own chamber, you found yourself lying at his side.

“How improper, Lady!” Elinor’s voice pierced the quiet as dawn crept in and your eyes, heavy with sleep, opened. You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep beside the stranger. Startled, you rose, wrapping a blanket around yourself. Quickly finding a reason that you had slept at his side.

“He remains unconscious, Elinor. The healer was unsure if he would wake,” you confided in the servant who had been by your side for so many years. She looked briefly placated. Yet you knew her mind was racing. The healer would tell the burgh folk of this strange man. Your husband was nowhere to be known. Northman had recently been subdued with heavy piles of church silver, and that arrangement was delicate at best. They would be back and this time they would perhaps sack the village since you knew the last of the silver had been promised away to visiting bishops and clergy. The wealth had run its course.

“He must stay until he awakens, until he can speak for himself,” you quickly decided.

It was better to know who he was. He would surely tell you since you saved his life.

“But what if he is a demon, my lady? Have you considered that he may have come from Hell to bring us further misfortune?” Elinor ventured, instantly regretting her words as her face contorted with shame.

“I apologize. I did not mean to imply you are cursed,” she hastily added.

You felt pity for Elinor, she was not as traveled as you had become. Had not the stories you knew, but you also could not see beyond, you had no way to know if it was safe to keep him with you. If your husband should arrive back, there would be no way to convince him that this man had not abused you in some way, but you did know something of him. There was something you did recognize.

“This man is no curse, no demon,” you affirmed, your gaze fixed on his hair, as dark as the ink with which you wrote.

“How can you be certain?” she queried.

“He spoke in the old tongue, asking for aid. Did you not hear him, Elinor?” you questioned, your voice steady.

The woman stepped back, tossing another log onto the fire, her confusion apparent. “I did not recognize the language, nor do I understand how you did,” she admitted.

The language was familiar to you, it was the tongue of your people from so long ago. From the place of your birth. The place that was destroyed till there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter 2 below!

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 4

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, check out the story tag)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but that changes next chapter!! Buggy x afab!reader.

A/N: Defnitely messed up posting this the first time around. 🤡Posting from my phone, so let me know if it looks weird!

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“Maybe you should pick the next book.”

Buggy would have considered writing those words as admitting defeat if it wasn’t for how shaky your last note was. He could see each jump and jolt your hand made while asking for something less intense than the books Buggy picked.

After you both filled the end pages of “Rocks on the River” with enough saltwater to rival the ocean, Buggy offered another story from his backlog. The third novel you read together was a horrifying tale that pushed the readers into a toxic miasma of fear, paranoia, and unease, which oozed into their real lives.

The whole ship rang with a piercing shriek from the captain when an unfortunate freak tapped his shoulder from behind. A usually common occurrence was tainted by an early scene from the book. Buggy knew the touch wasn’t from grotesquely plump spiders descending from the ceiling, even though he screamed something that sounded like, “Get it the fuck off of me.” 

After reading a chapter full of creepy-crawlies, every small sensation left his blue hair standing on end, which only created a nerve wracking loop. Every breeze and rustle of fabric teased his prickled skin, mimicking the feel of grubby little arachnid and insectoid legs scurrying across his body. The sensation only went away after a frantic midday wash with near-boiling water and the roughest washcloth Buggy could find. After sloughing off more than one layer of skin, the pirate felt confident that he was clean and not infested.

You, on the other hand, had boasted about not being scared of the terrors held within the book. Unlike the invasive imaginary critters Buggy was battling, you were as snug as a bug in a rug when you curled up in bed to read each night. The chilling entities weren’t real, and if they were, you felt safe on the ship.

“I’m just saying, if soul-sucking bats were attacking, I would trust C. Buggy to protect m us.” 

As much as you tried to turn the start of “me” into “us,” the letters didn’t flow right. Rather than drawing attention to the slip-up by completely blacking out the convex letter, you simply crossed it out and hoped the other reader wouldn’t notice.

“I dunno, what if he hid from those horrid fucking things? I wouldn’t blame him, honestly…”

“Maybe…but I trust him.”

“He’s the captain, you’re supposed to trust him.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

You didn’t realize what you wrote until you punctuated the sentence by stabbing the page. Your hand moved quickly and defensively, upset by the assumption that your feelings were obligatory. Your fingers twitched as you restrained the flow of words. Your trust wasn’t unearned, it had grown over time. The seed was planted when you were welcomed to the ship with open arms and watered by his laughter and jokes, the care he held for his eclectic freaks, the little questions he’d ask about their lives at sea, and the flashy stories he pushed them weave. The roots reached deep, following the curve of his smile and tracing the crinkles in the corner of his eyes. 

The trust might have been obligatory at the beginning, but it had since blossomed into more. You weren’t ready to acknowledge the blooms and definitely weren’t going to share the unnamed feelings with a stranger.

Thankfully, Buggy’s preference for avoiding uncomfortable discussions kept him from prying further. His nightly alcohol whispered in a heated voice. It said he should ask, that he deserves to know why you trusted him so much. The voice grew quieter the longer he let the amber liquid sit untouched. Sure, a part of him was interested, but you didn’t elaborate for a reason. Thinking back to “Rocks on the River,” you never pressured him to write more about his childhood friend. Curiosity peeked through some of your notes, but it never confronted him. And he couldn’t bring himself to do that to you, so he moved onto the next section of the story.

This time, you completed the book first. Usually, you refrained from reading while on duty, but finishing the horror novel under a full moon in the crow’s nest seemed like a fitting end. Settled under an inky expanse that spilled into the still sea, you read words illuminated by moonlight. It didn’t take long for the whispers of subtle waves to take on an ominous tone. The rattling of the gently swaying ship became inhuman guttural groans. 

Creaks from other crew members on duty became less frequent and far less comforting. Their footsteps and shadows were no longer welcoming - they were unsettling and teased your fraying hold on reality. Seated so high above the others, you had no way of knowing if the life on deck were familiar or fiendish freaks. Laughter carried on the wind wasn’t jovial, but sinister. You tried to close the book, to stop the words from pulling you deeper into their dark world, but it didn’t work. You were already lost in fear and needed to claw your way out.

---

Buggy figured you would spend the night reading and woke up early to see if the book would be ready for him. He slipped the third annotated book into an interior coat pocket and headed to breakfast. Only a few pirates filled the hall - a mix of those eating their first meal of the day and those filling their stomachs before sleep. Despite the differences, everyone embraced the quiet morning and only the sounds in the room came from cutlery against plates, mugs on the wooden tables, and open-mouthed chewing. It would be a normal scene, except for you. Unlike the others, who were stuck in the cozy twilight at either end of sleep, you sat wide-eyed and jittery in front of a sparse meal. The captain approached the corner you cowered in like a scared animal.

“You alright? Something happen last night?” His voice was pulled low with concern.

Your eyes darted around the room, afraid of missing some unknown monster during this conversation. “I’m fine. Just tired. It was a long night.” You shivered slightly, fear and anxiety still running their courses through your body.

“Hey,” Buggy whispered softly as he crouched low, his leather boots creaking with the movement. “You sure that’s all?” His hand rested on the bench next to you. He wanted to reach out and keep you from shaking, but a different fear kept him from moving.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, looking everywhere but at the man in front of you. 

A moment of silence let you know the answer wasn’t accepted. You glanced at him a few times before getting stuck in the deep pools within his eyes. It always happened to you so easily - his pupils were large and dark enough for you to fall in those ocean-colored eyes without a second thought. Buggy raised his eyebrows, the movement also tugging the tip of his round nose, and tilted his head to the side. He could see through the flimsy facade you were hiding behind, so you let it go and took a deep breath. 

“It was a really long night, Captain. I think I’ll feel better after sleeping. I’m okay, really.” You emphasized the last word by nudging his gloved hand with yours. Just the smallest amount of touch to let him know you were being honest.

Buggy nodded and left without another word. Any details you were reluctant to share were housed in the book sitting in his pocket. 

---

The rest of the story that was written in the novel and documented your night  was devoured in his quarters, while the plate of breakfast sitting a hands-reach away on the desk grew cold. It was a different experience to read a horror book during the day, when the bright sunlight eliminated any errant shadows and kept the unknowns that resided in the dark at bay. Still, the author was skilled enough for goosebumps to cover the pirate’s body. He ran his hands along his arms and legs to iron away the physical response. 

As Buggy soothed his own unsettled nerves, he thought about you. How scared you must have been, alone and in the dark. How the fear followed you through the morning and you couldn’t shake the feeling. Literally. For a brief moment, Buggy imagined holding your trembling body, just as he was holding his own. Would you trust your captain enough to let him protect you from a fear response?

Although the pirate couldn’t bring himself to comfort you physically, he had an idea that could work. Filling with bubbling excitement, he sprang out of the desk chair, nearly toppling it in the process, and sprinted out of the room. A moment later, a lone hand whizzed back to toss his reading glasses on the bed and close the door.

---

You woke up as the sun was turning in for the evening, surprised that you managed to fall asleep. Thinking back, you might have actually passed out from exhaustion and worry. The orange glow now painting the walls in your room was comforting. You stretched your limbs to bring them back to life and put your arms behind your head. 

Staring at nothing in particular gave your mind permission to pursue its own entertainment, so it drifted back to the paranoia and apprehension you thought had left. Threads of their presence remained and tugging at them brought pieces of the story. Examining those moments was easier in the golden light, but as the warmth receded and night returned, so did the unease. Rather than staying inside and alone, you hoped to find companionship and protection with the late night crewmates.

Waiting just outside your room was the smell of fried food and smoked meat to keep you company. As you wandered the belly of the ship, you passed your mates filling their own bellies with greasy food and alcohol. The ebb and flow of movement seemed to be going to and coming from the deck. Following the alluring scents of popcorn, cotton candy, and sweet dough, you stepped into the open air. 

String lights adorned the ship, traipsing from mast to mast, illuminating the sails, and snaking around the deck railing. Hundreds of lights bounced on the rippled sea, creating a bubble of light that was periodically outdone by the handmade fireworks launched into the sky. As sparks rained down in a beautiful rendition of a meteor shower, you caught the silhouette of the captain standing at the helm of the ship. If anyone knew what ignited tonight's floating festival, it would be the man in charge.

You weaved your way across the deck, grabbing two bottles of beer on the way. Having learned from earlier events and rumors among the crew, you stomped your feet a little louder than usual to let Buggy know you were approaching, so he wouldn’t be caught off guard and attempt to swat you away in surprise. When he turned to see who the visitor was, you offered him a drink.

“Are we celebrating something special?”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason to have a party,” Buggy said, as though you should know better. “Besides, my crew always deserves a night like this!” He spread his arms and gestured all around him.

Despite the bright lights, enough of the night hung around to hide the blush on your cheeks. Eager to hide the heat behind alcohol, you held out your bottle. “Then here’s to us!” 

Buggy tapped his bottle against yours harder than he expected, causing a fountain of bubbles to overflow from both containers. You both leaned in to stop the spills before taking a proper drink. 

Little did you know, this was his first drink of the evening. Buggy, who was known to spend nights with his sloshing spirit in hand, had planned when and how much alcohol would be available. He considered how to drag out the crowds and stagger the inevitable crash as people blacked out and passed out. The pirate captain wasn’t sure how successful he’d be against soul-sucking bats, but every detail that would chase away another dark and lonely night was taken into account.

[fictionalsownme]

More Than A Woman | wilford warfstache x gn!viewer / reader |

chapter one - "I've known you very well"

A/N: hi everyone!! I'm so excited to post this! Usually I spend a long time on the stuff I write but I wrote a good chunk of this in a feverish burst haha, I've been wanting to write for Wil and had such a clear idea of how I see him in my head for so long :)) This fic will probably be around 10 chapters~ish and progress will probably be a little slow but I'm also trying to get faster at my writing so I guess we'll see! Getting it down is always the hardest, then you spend a bit of time hating it, then the fixing can start! Anyway, I hope you guys like this, I love this dorky weirdo a lot for whatever reason, and I'd love to write for other egos too :) ((there might be a guest appearance or two in here in the last few chapters if plans don't change 👀)) hope you guys enjoy the first chapter at least! lmk 🥰! word count: 2.9k notes: reader is gender-neutral, similar to all of mark's stuff :) -- the title is just after the song! no pronouns or descriptors are used other than the occasional they/them. reader is the viewer (& district attorney) from wkm, adwm, ahwm, iswm, etc, but that won't come up until later. wmlw wilford. story will be mostly fluff, some hurt/comfort & angst, lots of romance and flirting! story is adapted from an idea I had for my self insert. we will get into some lore stuff (or at least my understanding of the lore 👀) and filling in gaps with headcannons, but it's mostly about wilford & reader and I'll try to explain as we go so don't worry about it too much if you don't know all of it. especially since I don't know if my understanding is always 100% accurate 👉👈 let's have fun yall! 💞

masterlist | AO3

The music playing softly over the convenience store speakers was pleasant, if slightly boring. Like elevator music— there only to help ease the passing of time. Your night shift would end soon, and the sky could be seen as it lightened more every minute through the windowed front of the building.

Other than that, the old store was quiet. Dusty. Pink and orange neon strips lined the walls near the ceiling. They overpowered the dated fluorescent lights, casting everything in a slightly peach haze. Like a dream. 

Different sections of the store were marked with neon too, the letters glowed against the wall denoting the drinks, the snacks, the hot food… You liked your little store. Even if the unyielding isolation of your work made you a bit… complacent. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly talked with someone.

The ice creams chilled your fingers through the wrappers as you pulled them from their box and slotted them into place. Even with the cold air of the freezer wafting over you, you could smell the cool summer air coming in the sliding front doors.

You liked to prop them open on dawns like these. The convenience store lights did draw in the occasional pestering bug, but they usually found their way out again before long. You did get a bat once. Albeit a little crazed and frantic, you were surprised to find it harmless. Maybe a little lost. Now that thing seemed like it would never leave. 

Refocusing on your task, you brushed your condensation-soaked fingers on your work apron, tied tight behind your neck and around your back, and shut the freezer door. 

The motion alert chimed a pleasant tune through the staticky old speakers as a customer entered the open doors from the street.

You called an automatic, “Welcome in~,” and went about straightening a shelf of snack bars and chocolate. You didn’t bother to look in their direction as you heard them make their way through the aisles.

“Pardon me,” said their strange, nearly British accent from beside you now. You turned to the source of the voice, the man who’d just walked in, and your eyes went to his outfit first. 

A silky-- almost sparkly in how it caught the light-- lavender shirt with mismatched buttons revealed expanses of his bare chest. It was paired with white bell-bottoms and a fake pink afro hanging half-off his head, about to fall off. He had olive skin and dark hair-- nearly black--, fluffy and sticking up every which way like hands had been running through it. Scruffy facial hair framed a thick mustache that tinted slightly pink where it turned up at the ends.

He looked… honestly, he looked ridiculous. But the 70s getup was fun, you supposed. And his eyes-- dark brown and monolid-- were handsome. Underneath all the… extra mess. You blinked, slowly, in a way that felt like waking up.

“Uh, hi. Are you coming from a costume party or something?” It was August, but you supposed it was never too early to start the spooky season. 

“Oh! Do you know of one? I do love a good costume. But no. Just the regular-sort. Just woke up from one.” He scanned the products near his head, grabbed a protein bar, sniffed the wrapper, guffawed, and put it back.

“You just woke up? Are you alright?”

“Oh, worry not, friend, this is normal for my level of reverie! I’m not even hungover!” He laughed, his hands going to his hips.

You stared at him.

“I was just looking for something to gnaw on! To nourish myself before I’m on my way.” His eyes were still traveling all over, not really seeing you.

Now in theory, a strange man coming in at this hour, acting even stranger, with his clothes disheveled? You knew you should be on your way to your safe space behind the counter to get him checked out and exiting the store as fast as possible. But there was something about him… 

Something you couldn’t place…

Instead you raised your eyebrows and relaxed against the cooler door. “Uh, I guess that depends on what kind of food you like,” You offered. After a moment, his gaze landed on you and he seemed to finally take you in. Your uniform, your crossed arms, your patient expression, your features. His face scrunched into confusion.

A moment passed, staring at each other like that. “Your shirt’s looking a little rough, you know.”

“Have we met, friend?” He asked as he began to fix his buttons. 

You watched passively as more of his chest came into view. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind your blatant staring. You weren’t sure why you were staring, or what you were feeling as you did so. 

You weren’t gawking at his abs or anything-- well,-- not that he didn’t have abs. He did, sort of. The expanse of his chest and abdomen were tight with toned muscle. He definitely wasn’t lacking abs, anyway. Either way… this was about something different. 

You wondered for a moment if a vague familiarity was what you were picking up on, but quickly dismissed it.

“I feel like I’d remember meeting you.” 

You realized with a start that your comment could be seen as flirtatious, and added quickly, “Just, you know-- generally.”

But he just hummed and spun on his heels, turning away. You sighed and found yourself in-step behind him, hands in your uniform pockets. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Well, either way!” He started, his energy returning tenfold. “Let's see what this cute little shop has to eat!” 

For some reason, you asked, “Do you have money?” 

He froze. “Er, no~. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Well, spotting me of course! Let’s just say I owe you one, eh friend?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thought so.” 

Thought so? Maybe you did know him… 

It was your turn to squint in displaced confusion. “What’s your name?”

His voice came from behind you and you spun around, your shoes squeaking on the tile floor. When did he sneak around you? 

He bent over and twirled his hand, a flamboyant bow finally knocking the afro off his head. “Wilford Warfstache, at your service.”

“That’s your name?” 

He righted himself. “For now.” It suited him well enough, but for some reason it sounded misplaced.

… But no, either way, you definitely hadn’t met him before. You didn’t know many people in the first place, let alone someone so eccentric.

Still, you were curious about him. Curious about his personality and who he was. He felt sort of like a puzzle waiting to be solved. And so far, despite his quirks, despite how admittedly weird you’d also been acting, he’d been friendly. You couldn’t say the staring and prodding questions were too in-character for you. At least not when it came to customers. 

His hair looked softer without the wig to weigh it down-- parted at his brow and long enough to fluff over the tips of his ears and end where his neck met his spine. You reached down to scoop the curly mop of synthetic hair up off the floor.

“Where did you get this thing?”

He hummed something like ‘I don’t know’, his eyes sort of wide like a clueless puppy’s. 

“What, you just kind of have it?”

“Yea’p.”

You squinted at him, a smirk forming on your lips. “How about I do you a favor and throw this away?”

He shrugged, hummed an ‘alright’ sound, and turned away. 

“Oh no, I was kidding! God, here--!” You had to grab his wrist to stop him from wandering off further and placed the pink afro in his hand.

You had just been trying to tease him, but now you just felt bad. “Look, Wilford, you want something to eat? We have to throw the hot food out every night. You can have a taquito or a slice of pizza or something if you want.”

Then he was frozen again-- staring down at where your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Your eyes followed his gaze down and then you were staring too.

A moment passed. Then two. Finally, you let go and crossed your arms again, tucking your hands away where they couldn’t embarrass you again.

“... Fuck, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that.” You did your best to clear your throat.

But he was still stuck there. He blinked a few times and his gaze met your eyes, his brows gathering together. 

“Wh-What did you say your name was, friend?” He seemed so… serious all of sudden. So dire.

You hadn’t mentioned it yet, but told him with a hesitant voice. 

His expression blanked, eyes widening. He brought his arm, the offending afro in tow, to his chest, touching his wrist where you’d held it.

“Oh…” 

You raised your brows and asked softly, “Sorry, do you know me, then?”

“Hm?” And he blinked like his mind was clearing, like he’d forgotten you were there. 

He cleared his throat, smiled-- ear to ear-- his mustache lopsided like a cartoon. “Oh-- nevermind about that! Some food would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes were sparkling. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing fancy. Here,” And you walked over towards the front counter. Wilford trailed close behind you-- holding onto the wig in his hands like a school kid holding a lunch box-- his gaze wandering over the store again like he hadn’t seen it the first time.

You arrived at the hot foods section, a glassed-off section of day-old food over heated rods. You shrugged. “If you have a sensitive stomach, maybe don’t,” you started, “but it’s mostly fine to be honest. I eat it if I’m in a pinch, you know.”

You hopped up to sit on the counter, your legs facing Wilford, and leaned back to reach around and grab the tongs waiting there. You straightened and clapped them together twice. You offered him a smile. “What’ll it be, Mr. Warfstache?” Then a quieter, “--that was your last name right?”

“Do you gravitate towards anything yourself?”

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of pizza, I guess. Even here.”

His smile grew sort of soft. “Then that. If you please.”

“You got it.”

You leaned over again and served up the slice of moderately warm and slightly greasy pizza on a brown napkin and passed it off to him. 

“Much obliged.”

You got one for yourself too, and when you righted and your eyes found Wilford again, he was sitting in a retro-style diner chair you’d never seen before-- his feet against the edge of the counter beside you.

You couldn’t help the surprised laughter that choked out of you. “Wha-- where did you even find that?”

The chair teetered on its two legs as he leaned precariously back, tilting his head at your question. The pink wig sat in his lap and you couldn’t help thinking it looked like some weird dog.

“Well, there’s no need to worry! I’m only borrowing it, I’m not a barbarian.”

And you just knew you weren’t getting more of an answer than that.

“So who even are you?” You asked as he took a bite of the pizza, somehow pulling all the cheese right off the top in one piece. He pouted down at the offending mozzarella, slurping it into his mouth and swallowing it. “Do you live around here?”

“Mm. I don’t really live anywhere. Much more the exploring-- ever on the move-- type.”

He was so expressive. It really felt like talking to an old cartoon come-to-life or something. You turned to lean against the side of the glass cover, swinging your legs so your feet rested on the counter, not far from his still against the edge. You weren’t touching at all, but you were surprised at how quickly the two of you fell into a casual-- albeit timidly curious-- rhythm. 

“So what do you do?” And you began to eat too.

He beamed, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. “I’m an interviewer! Warfstache Tonight, that’s what my show is called! It’s quite a professional endeavor!”

You smiled and hummed around your bite of pizza, impressed. That actually explained a lot. And it suited him nicely enough. “Sounds pretty glamorous.”

“And what about you? You can’t just be a convenience store clerk!” He seemed so affronted by the idea. Crinkling his nose, dropping his voice an octave. “How dreadfully boring.”

You winced. “‘Just a convenience store clerk?’ Ouch, Wilford…” You couldn’t help frowning down at your slice. 

 “Oh! No no, pardon me!” He let the chair fall back to four legs, waving the idea way with a panicked hand. “I only meant that… this isn't what truly stirs your passions, is it? Do you do anything at your leisure? For work or just… something you enjoy?”

You squinted at him. But you didn’t really think he was trying to insult you. And he wasn’t wrong. It just… wasn’t always the most fun when someone pointed it out. Especially like that. 

You sighed, fidgeting as you considered his question. “Not right now… This job keeps me pretty occupied. But you know, it’s not too bad. It keeps me, I don’t know, grounded I guess.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded, taking another bite. “I do hope you get more opportunities soon, then.” He said, surprisingly grounded.

You looked at him. “... Thanks.” And you meant it.

“And… my apologies for the earlier, uh, miswording.”

 “That’s fine… I’d be curious to hear more about your show, though! Have you interviewed anyone interesting or anything?”

A beat. A sort of tiredness settled into his shoulders and he peered up at you. “The odd gold-star guest did wander in from time to time. I’m not sure if my skills were quite deserving of them at the time.”

Was that… shame?

“The truth is, I couldn’t quite live up to the role. I--” He laughed, pained. He cleared his throat. “I’m taking a bit of a break from show business for the moment.”

Ah. So that’s what happened. You offered him a sympathetic smile. “To party? That’s probably why you don’t have any money, Wilford. And why you have to rely on shitty convenience store food?” You held up your greasy napkin like it was evidence.

“Now don’t underestimate the power of a good party! And this food is fine, I’m grateful for it,” He crumpled the now empty napkin and gestured wildly with it. “The truth is I get by just fine. I’m just not sure what else I should be doing.”

You looked out the front windows. The sky was getting lighter. The timer marking the end of your shift would go off any minute.

So maybe that’s why he’d been asking you about your passions. You felt bad for him. He was strange, to be sure. And a little hard to follow. But he was also… sweet. He had a softness about him.

And still… there was that feeling that hadn’t disappeared since meeting him. Like… like your soul recognized him. Maybe not deeply. But distantly. Like you’d met him in a dream. It was a ridiculous notion. Ridiculous didn’t seem beyond his territory.

You turned, legs coming down from the counter once again. You leaned forward, your hand landing at the junction of his shoulder and neck. His silk shirt was soft under your fingers. His eyes jumped up to yours and you looked down at him with a smile. 

“You liked doing your show right? You want to be an interviewer?”

He nodded slowly. His lashes fluttered. 

“Then that’s what you should be doing! You just have to try again!” You shrugged with one shoulder. “It might suck a lot. And you might fail again. But pick yourself back up. Keep going. I’m sure you can do it if you keep at it and think outside the box, you know. Failing only means failing if you stop.”

You leaned back, your hand sliding away. He stared at you.

“That’s what the rest of us do, anyway. Honestly, maybe you should do your show online! You know, livestream it or something. I’m sure you’d find your own way to it.”

Slowly, a smile crept back in, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“What a wonderful idea…” 

God, his eyes… 

You looked down at your own napkin, laughing a little at yourself. “Wilford, I promise, the advice I just gave you was nothing crazy.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a little too rare that I get a pick-me-up.”

You hopped down from the counter. “Swing by whenever, I’ll hand them out for free. Though, if you’re always on the move, I guess you’re probably not in town for long, huh?”

He quickly followed your lead and stood, his chair nearly falling in his haste. “Uh— w-well I, I don’t know, I could always… linger for a day or two. Hard to say really.” 

“Uh huh.” You smirked at him, raising your brows. “Well, if that constant partying you have going on brings you back here, feel free stop in, okay? … It’d be nice to have someone in here every once in a while. Well, someone friendly, anyway.” 

“Right. Will do. Of course.”

You gave him two solid pats on the chest and turned to throw the napkins away behind the counter. When you turned to face him again, he was gone.  Only slightly confused, you quickly recovered and yelled a quick, “bye~!” to the now empty store.

[twstowo]

Chapter 1-1 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You escape a tower where you had been kept for years.

♡︎ This is the continuation from my other post.

♡︎To everyone that liked my previous post I just want to say that I love all of you and I hope the stars, planets and universe aligns so that your 2024 is the best ever <3

「 ✦ PREVIOUS ✦ 」 「 ✦ NEXT ✦ 」

Amidst the empty, snow-covered landscape of a long-forgotten winter, a figure draped in somber black attire crossed the fields. His stride cut through the pristine white expanse, his flowing locks of snow-white hair blending seamlessly with the wintry hues around him. The biting cold seemed inconsequential to this man, hardened by relentless training to serve as a guard in the court of the future king of Briar Valley. Yet, despite his noble purpose, he found himself far away from his liege, drawn back to rescue a friend lost in time.

A letter had reached him from the parents of Y/N, a childhood friend trapped within the confines of a tower nestled within the lands owned by the rich couple. Silver had always harbored reservations about the idea of a tower, but he understood his lack of power amidst the chaos that had consumed their younger years. When the plea arrived, urging him to free his friend, he couldn't bear to remain idle. He felt an undeniable pull, a yearning to reunite with a long-lost friend and perhaps seek forgiveness for the lost time that had passed between them.

With determination etched upon his face, he embarked on this solitary journey, fueled by the desire to not only free Y/N from captivity but also to rekindle the bonds of friendship and make amends for the years that had slipped away. Following the map enclosed in the letter, he ventured into an eerie, desolate forest marked by lifeless trees stretching endlessly. Encountering peculiar creatures and treacherous assailants along the way, he pressed on, unfazed by the perils that beset his path. His determination was unwavering; he had journeyed from afar, yearning for this moment since their last meeting.

With each cautious step, he navigated the labyrinthine forest, drawing closer to the rumored tower guarded by a mystical creature claimed to exhale azure flames, capable of reducing a person to ash in moments. Upon breaching the tower's threshold, he discovered an absence of both the fabled beast and his long-lost friend. The room that was purported to house them stood vacant, shattering his expectations and leaving him at a loss.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You strode along a peculiar path strolling through the dreary expanse of the forest your parents had confined you to. Your memories were a fog, obscuring the reasons for your seclusion within the tower's confines. A nagging feeling warned against unraveling the mystery, urging you to steer clear of seeking answers. Lost in this unfamiliar realm, unexplored before now, you wandered alongside your feline companion, Grim.

"And where are we going?" Grim's fur bristled with frustration. It wasn't solely your desire to escape the tower that wearied Grim; the feline had grown attached to you and relished your notions of venturing beyond to explore the world. Yet, despite days of wandering, the two of you had found no exit from this enigmatic forest.

"Maybe we have been walking in circles?" Your words were hushed, uncertain whether this revelation would soothe Grim. After all, gazing out from the lone window in your tower room, the forest appeared endless, stretching far beyond the eye could see.

Traversing through the forest, you held onto the hope that eventually, some sign would emerge—a new path, a person, perhaps even an entire city. Your resolve remained unwavering; there was no turning back. The tower, a distant memory now, would never hold you captive again. Yet, a chill wind swept through the woods, prompting you to shiver uncontrollably. Your attire, comprised of aged white clothes salvaged from the tower's closet, and a weathered black cloak with a concealing hood, provided little protection against the elements. Grim, your mystical companion, often perched on your shoulders, found comfort in the cloak's embrace.

"If only there were another way to travel," you murmured, casting a glance at your magical feline, who rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"The great Grim isn’t going to carry you on his back!" His retort echoed through the trees, irked by the suggestion. Though capable of transforming into a formidable creature—once the guardian of the tower's confines—he seemingly preferred his diminutive feline form, much to your appreciation of his adorable appearance.

"Well, do you want to keep on walking forever? Because this forest doesn’t seem to ever end." you countered, feeling the strain in your feet from the prolonged confinement within the tower. Your pace had slowed considerably, akin to a sloth's lazy pace. Years of captivity had taken a toll on your body, and each step felt more arduous than the last.

Grim shot you a final glance, resolute in his refusal to transform into a means of transportation. However, he was not without alternative solutions, wielding his magical abilities to devise an unconventional plan. "Pick up that branch," he commanded, prompting your confusion regarding how a mere branch could aid your predicament. "Come on! The great Grim can't do everything alone!" His arms folded in impatience, urging you to comply. Reluctantly, you retrieved the branch as instructed.

Then, with an incantation from Grim, the ordinary branch underwent a peculiar transformation, morphing into a broom-like contraption. Its tips danced with vibrant, colorful blue flames reminiscent of Grim's ears.

"Holy Seven!" You gasped, seizing the strange broom with fascination, astounded by Grim's unexpected prowess. "This is incredible, Grim!" A wide smile graced your face. "But what on earth do we need a broom for?"

Observing your confusion, Grim sighed and facepalmed—acknowledging that your extended seclusion in the tower had left you unaware of certain common knowledge. Brooms, in many circles, were used for flying.

"This is our way out," Grim declared with a mischievous grin, while your eyes widened in apprehension at the revelation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Flying on the broom turned out to be an ordeal far worse than sore feet. Each moment aloft sent shivers coursing through you, surpassing even the biting cold of the forest below. Gripping the broom with all your might, you clung to it for dear life, terror seizing your senses as Grim navigated the skies with what felt like reckless abandon. Refusing to glance downward, “Anything new?” you shouted for any updates, determined to keep your focus forward.

"New? Why not see for yourself?" Grim's laughter mingled with the rush of the wind as you struggled to maintain an upright position on the broom. Finally, compelled by curiosity, you dared to steal a glimpse below.

And there it was—a sprawling city sprawled beneath you. Its architecture, a symphony of white and red-hued houses, stood amidst fields of vibrant greenery. Everything appeared serene and harmonious, a stark contrast to the unfamiliar world you had known within the confines of the tower.

As Grim skillfully guided the broom downward, relief flooded over you as your feet finally met solid ground. The sensation of touching the earth after so long brought a rush of happiness, drawing curious gazes from the city dwellers around you.

"After my magnificent assistance, I think I deserve a reward!" Grim proclaimed, his smile wide with expectation. You anticipated the request that would follow. "The illustrious Grim demands a taste of tuna!" His expression held a note of insistence, and you recalled the gold objects you'd brought along from the tower, potential assets for earning some much-needed money.

As you and Grim strolled through the bustling town, you couldn't help but notice the vibrant attire donned by the locals—mostly shades of red. The surroundings were adorned with bushes filled with crimson roses, and the air carried the sweet aroma of baked goods. Selling your possessions yielded the necessary funds for sustenance, and you studied the shops in search of canned tuna. Yet, an enchanting sight halted your quest—a bakery showcasing tantalizing red cakes, their appearance strangely delightful.

Upon entering, a bell chimed, alerting the man at the counter to your presence. He was handsome, with short green hair and a welcoming smile that eased your nerves. Engaging with another person after such isolation felt foreign, leaving you momentarily speechless until he prompted a response.

“Anything you want?”

"Ah! I'd like to try one of those red cakes!" You pointed at the tempting treats, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as he chuckled at your reaction.

"You mean the strawberry tarts?" He retrieved one and continued, noting your apparent unfamiliarity with the locale. "You seem like you're from far away." Your attire betrayed your outsider status amidst the city's vibrant energy.

"I've come from afar." You approached the counter as he carefully packaged the tart. Tendering the money, you hesitated, feeling the weight of conversation hovering awkwardly between you. "This place looks... really lovely..." Social interactions were a challenge after your prolonged seclusion. How did people engage in conversation, anyway? But before you could melt into the floor you heard the sound of the bell again.

The atmosphere in the bakery shifted with the arrival of the hooded figure, their face concealed. While the kind baker engaged them in conversation, you found yourself growing anxious about Grim's whereabouts. Scanning the shop, your worry escalated until an odd noise drew your attention upward. To your shock, Grim perched atop the ceiling boards.

"Get down, Grim," you urged in a hushed tone, attempting to coax him back without drawing attention. But Grim, seemingly preoccupied with exploring, paid no heed to your plea. As he wandered, his paw accidentally struck a weak spot, causing him to tumble down.

Time seemed to slow as you witnessed the unfolding scene—a cinematic sequence unfolding before you. With a horrified scream, you watched as Grim fell down, ultimately landing on top the hooded figure, sending both crashing to the floor. The hooded stranger, now revealed his face in a dark shade of red, while his widened mad eyes looked at you. You tried to reach for his hand to help him get up but he slapped it away.

"You—" His voice quivered with rage. He scrambled to his feet, his fury evident as Grim sought refuge in your arms, fur bristling. "How... How dare you! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" You watched as a strange collar appeard on your neck, and the red headed turned to the baker. Riddle's anger seethed as he addressed Trey, his voice tinged with frustration. "What type of customers are these, Trey? You really can't just let everyone enter inside here."

Trey, clearly unsettled by Riddle's outburst, attempted to placate the situation. "I'm sorry, Riddle. They seemed lost, and I thought—"

But Riddle, with a dismissive gesture, cut him off, his demeanor unyielding. "Don't make excuses. Just ensure this doesn't happen again." With an abrupt departure and a reproach directed at Trey, he left the bakery without sparing another glance in your direction.

Concern etched on his face, Trey emerged from behind the counter and approached you, “I’m sorry, Riddle tends to be a litle explosive”.

Grim, perched atop the counter, chimed in, expressing his outrage at Riddle's threatening demeanor. "A little?! It almost looked like he wanted to kill my Human!" Grim exclaimed, hands on his hips, clearly displeased with the understatement.

"Well, I suppose you could interpret it that way..." Trey's response was sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "This isn't an ideal introduction to the Queendom of Roses for you." He stated while eyeing the conspicuous collar around your neck,

“How do I remove this?” you inquired, only to be met with an unexpected revelation from Trey.

"Only Riddle can remove it."

"No way! He didn't even let me get a word in!" Your frustration was palpable, rejecting the notion that Riddle, the irate stranger, held the magic to removing the collar. “Does this mean I will have to live forever like this?”

“I propose we off this Riddle’s head ourselfs!” As Grim enthusiastically proposed taking matters into their own hands, suggesting an extreme solution, Trey visibly grimaced, swiftly dismissing the idea. Your irritation at Riddle's unreasonable behavior grew, feeling unjustly targeted for no reason.

“If you really want I can tell you were the collared people hide?” There was a questioned expression on Trey’s face, not knowing if that would lead you anywhere.

"Wait, there are more people collared by this guy?" The notion of indiscriminate collaring struck you as incredibly unjust. Despite your seclusion in the tower, the concept of such tyranny was abhorrent. "And no one opposes him?"

"That's because he's the future king of the Queendom," Trey revealed, stunning you with the revelation of Riddle's immense power. The gravity of the situation dawned on you—the consequences of opposing someone of Riddle's stature could be dire.

"Where can I find these collared people?" Your desperation for a solution became palpable, realizing that these individuals might hold the key to breaking the spell.

Trey hesitated, scratching his head, hinting at potential complications in locating them. “Well-”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By now, you found yourself aligning closely with Grim's idea. Approaching the other side of town, a large group of collared individuals welcomed you. What upset you most was the maltreatment endured by those with collars—those exempt from Riddle's special treatment mocked the collared ones openly. You, too, had been subject to their derisive stares upon exiting Trey's bakery.

Joining the group, you inquired about their experiences with the collars, growing increasingly dismayed at the absurdity of each story you heard.

"He's nothing but a spoiled brat!" shouted a man, his eyes ablaze with defiant confidence. "We ought to band together and overthrow him!"

"See? Even this human has good ideas," Grim chimed in, nestled on your shoulders. "We should support him." Before you could intervene, Grim walked towards the outspoken man.

"Look! A cat with blue ears!" The group stepped back, intrigued by the peculiar feline.

"A cat?! I am Grim the Great! The most powerful and magnificent—" Grim began, boasting about his grandeur until you scooped him up, silencing his self-praise.

"Is that so? If you're as remarkable as you claim, then I'm sure you'll assist us in dealing with Riddle," another voice chimed in. A man with dark blue hair approached, extending a warm welcome. "I'm Deuce. And you?" he asked, his smile inviting and soft-spoken.

"I’m Y/N, and this is Grim,” You pointed at your cute companion who rolled his eyes at Deuce. “we're here seeking any knowledge on how to remove my collar," you explained, only to be met with laughter from the surrounding group, leaving you wide-eyed with embarrassment.

"Don't mean to dash your hopes, but unless you find Riddle in an exceptionally good mood—" His expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such an occurrence. "There's no way to rid of the collar..." The sentiment elicited audible sighs from some listeners, conveying a sense of resignation.

Cursed be the day I left that tower. At least there, you wouldn't have been collared by some random tyrant. “So what is the plan?” Turning to Deuce, you inquired, prompting a shift in his expression, a broad smirk forming.

"Glad you asked. Follow me!" Deuce's demeanor took on a newfound enthusiasm as you trailed after him. Wandering through the streets led you to a peculiar forest, distinctly different from the lush greenery you'd seen while flying on the broom with Grim. This new place felt darker, stranger, and oddly familiar. After a brief walk, you arrived at a large table, adorned with teacups and scattered cake platters, as if a tea party were in progress. A man in purple attire with cat ears sipped tea while a red-headed individual seemed on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Looks like we've got someone eager to join the party," Deuce announced, drawing the attention of the other two men toward you.

"Great, and what can they do? Unless that cat can shoot lasers from his eyes, I'm not interested in this recruiting thing anymore!" the red-headed man retorted, appearing ready to storm off.

"Relax, Ace," Deuce replied calmly, though his words seemed to only enrage Ace further, prompting him to hurl a cupcake at Deuce. "That's it, I'm tired of this—" Deuce rolled up his sleeves and advanced toward Ace, who stood up, poised for a confrontation.

"You're not from around here, nya~" The sudden, peculiar voice startled you so much that you jumped and let out a startled scream. Your heart raced, proving not quite resilient enough for these unexpected encounters. The owner of the voice chuckled at your reaction, appearing as nothing more than a floating head to your wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, sorry. Why don't you join our tea party?" A phantom hand rested on your shoulder, though nothing visible was there.

"What... What's happening...?" Your voice quivered with uncertainty as the enigmatic cat-man guided you toward the table. Nearby, Ace and Deuce tumbled on the ground, their faces smeared with cake. "An invisible cat, two guys throwing cake at each other... What else will I see today? A caterpillar smoking?"

"Perhaps it'll show up later," the cat guy replied with a cryptic air, leaving you unsure if he was joking or being serious. "Now, tell me about yourself~"

As you recounted your tale, the tea grew cold, and Ace and Deuce, their attire adorned with grass and cake stains, eventually joined the tea party. You detailed your tower confinement, your encounter with Riddle, and your awareness of the collared individuals. Che'nya listened intently, hanging on every detail.

"And why were you locked inside that tower?" he inquired, his grin teasingly cheeky.

"That's a good question," you admitted, realizing it had been so long that you couldn't recall the reason. Vague memories of your parents bidding farewell as a man escorted you into a carriage, destined for the tower, flickered in your mind. Struggling to piece together the specifics, your memories remained frustratingly elusive. Sensing your silence, Che'nya spoke up.

"Are you familiar with a story about a sorceress locked inside a tower?" he inquired. The tale was unfamiliar to you; however, you felt his penetrating gaze, probing for any hint of recognition. "I suppose not, but it's curious how closely your story aligns with hers."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, puzzled by Che'nya's fascination with this fairy tale.

"You see, this sorceress was so powerful, surely her magic could break Riddle's," he explained. Glancing around, you noticed Ace and Deuce attentively absorbing Che'nya's words as if they were the most profound.

"So, you think I'm the sorceress?" you ventured, feeling a surge of uncertainty.

"No, that's impossible, nya~" He swiftly dismissed your suggestion, chuckling as if you'd said something ludicrous. "But what if she is listening to our conversation?" In an instant, his demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, eliciting audible gulps from Ace and Deuce, their expressions now reflecting horror at the possibility of an unknown presence among them.

"If she's here, why would she help me?" you pondered aloud.

"In the story, this sorceress is cursed to live forever inside a mirror. Only someone from outside can help her escape—someone she could trust. But she only trusts herself..." Che'nya paused, savoring the suspense, taking a sip of tea. "And the two of you seem to be the same person, just in different universes."

"This is the most absurd thing you've ever said, Che'nya," Ace scoffed, rising from the table. "If that were true, why does Y/N still have the collar?"

"Because she didn't try to remove it," Che'nya promptly replied, exuding confidence. His gaze flickered to you, almost challenging you to prove him right.

Your hand reached for the collar, not anticipating any change as you attempted to concentrate on the thought of it disappearing. With closed eyes, you visualized being alone, solely you and the collar. Yet, there was an intrusion, a presence beyond Che'nya's invisible touch—a touch woven of magic, immaterial yet undeniably real. When you opened your eyes, Ace and Deuce stared wide-eyed as the collar slipped from your neck and clattered to the ground.

“No way…” Deuce’s voice came as a whisper, frozen in place as he stared at the collar on the floor.

“That's great, now take mine off!” Ace dashed to you, seizing your hands and pressing them against his collar, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon! I have things I want to do!” Despite his selfishness, you complied, attempting the same method as before. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the collar, anticipating the peculiar presence, but it never opened. “Why is it not working?”

“I don’t know…?” You were equally perplexed. Che’nya disregarded Ace’s complaints, briskly approaching you.

“Well, this is perfect! Now we just need to get you inside the palace!” Deuce stepped closer, expressing his surprise.

“Wait, Y/N will do that? I thought you wanted someone familiar with the layout and stuff!”

“No, Y/N is perfect for the job.” Che’nya's innocent smile transformed into a sly grin, leaving you bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

♡︎Thank you for reading!

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[lilith-little-world]

Could you please write some domestic headcanons for reader and wukong? Love your story btw^^ (or more like the concept lol)

Awww thank you, I wanted to do a slight twist to the isekai trope that explains how the reader got transported to another world. Although, the reader is far from the only one. She just happens to survive the transmigration... Kind of. I'm honestly kind of excited to start writing the first chapter soon. It's going to be one hell of a ride.

Now to those domestic headcanons, hope there are no spelling errors, I manage to break my Grammarly keyboard every single time I write something-

(Don't you dare judge the quality I was rushing through so badly then I realized I forgot how to fucking draw. I'm going to post some art here, it's going to be meh quality just until I get used to drawing again.)

- At first, it took a good while for you guys to settle down in one place. With you enjoying the urban lifestyle. Since it made visiting shops, friends, and just having a fun day out way easier. Wukong prefers to be isolated, his only interactions being mostly with Mk and you. However, after Wukong complains for the 100th time, you move to Flower Fruit Mountain under the condition he takes you out every few days into the city and that your friends can come and visit every once in a while.

- Surprisingly, he tries to renovate and spruce things up. House feeling a little small? Want a room for your things specifically? He and his clones will start making preparations (Also maybe ask Mk and the gang for help on what exactly to do and if he's desperate enough, he'll ask DBK for some advice.) Slowly but surely, the once small hut becomes more home-like. Then when you're both satisfied, he'll move on making the pathway to the house to the entrance of the waterfall. Cleaning up any debris or rumble of pillars and crumbling murals of the past. It was by your constant nagging that he restores it, getting rid of vines and moss.

- Other than wandering around or chilling at the house you literally have nothing to do. As much as it was a nice thought of spending most of the day doing your hobby, you physically don't have enough willpower to do it every day. One day while laying around, you noticed how dusty and unorganized the house truly was. So that is how you got stuck with cleaning and keeping things organized. Yet that didn't stop there, you noticed small things like a creaky loose floorboard. That you managed to fix after searching for how to on your phone. The sink isn't draining properly, drain cleaner is already on the need-to-buy list. The problem still not solve, time to put in some elbow grease and hope you won't get too dirty.

- However, you're definitely not touching his little hoard that he has been collecting over the centuries. The last thing you want is to release some ancient curse or break something that was once important.

- He can't cook, don't even try to make him, you don't want another fire, so get that cookbook open and pray you made something edible. Over the months you had gotten better, but there's much to improve. Yet, complete failure or not, Wukong still tries it out since he is immortal, it won't kill him, and the last thing he wants is for you to get seriously sick from food poisoning. If the food was not edible, then he's either going to get takeout or you both are going out to eat, give him a few minutes to throw up the abomination you created out his stomach.

- It's only fair that he washes the dishes. You make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it's the least he can do. (That's if he still suffers from food poisoning, it's your turn to wash the dishes.) He picks up around the kitchen, any produce you left out back in the fridge. Spices in the cupboard in their usual spots. He knows you do a lot around the house, so it's now his turn to help.

- There's one chore you both do together, it's washing and putting the clothes away. You separate the clothing in their respective pile, while Wukong loads the washer. Whoever hears the washer finishes, loads the dryer, (cough you cough). Then when the loads are done, you guys come together and fold the clothes. While watching tv to pass the time. Although Wukong likes to make a big scene whenever he grabs your underwear or bra, it was only natural that you do the same with his boxers. You guys now know each other's undergarments and clothes sizes after that. Well, it makes shopping easier.

- Wukong kept his word and takes you to the city, and if you want a vacation away from the mountain. He got a temple ready to stay at and landmarks to show you. Over the years, he saw many things and wants to show you all of them. He never liked big crowds, so going to festivals was never his thing until he finds out you enjoy it. Well, looks like he's hanging out with the gang in the city, yaaay... Just make sure you're beside him for a good portion of the time there.

- He was a little hesitant about inviting the gang to the house, but he couldn't say no to both the student that he considers like his own son, Mk and his darling lover, the love of his life, you. In all honestly, Mk and you had already planned a day to bring the group over, and you guys decided to tell him last minute. Even though he would like a heads up, so he can reject the idea, strangely the simian doesn't mind. He had nearly forgotten that the mountain could feel so... warm and lively.

- Just be warned now that he has you beside him 24/7, this touch-starved monkey will be cuddling and kissing you, the first chance he gets. Don't fall for his tricks, he's a sneaky one.

- You made a small habit to groom his fur. Running your fingers through, him relaxing within your hold. If there's a comb or brush, you will get out any tangles or knots. His fur is now soft and fluffy and he is ready for pets and cuddles. You like to spoil him once in while.

- You guys hardly argue or fight, there was a time you even feared that the honeymoon phase will be over and then reality will hit. Yet it hasn't, maybe because Wukong is actually trying to be a better person so he can stay by your side. Also, he saw you angry once and he will do anything not to get on your bad side... again. Wukong tries to get your thoughts first and asks for people's advice, though he still has trouble speaking his ideas or thoughts. Being alone for centuries will do a lot of damage to a person’s psyche.

- So things are pretty peaceful, Wukong is opening up more and you managed to have a happy life despite the odds being against you. Now it's time to answer the question, will you become immortal and join Wukong for eternity, or prolonged/have your regular human lifespan? Sadly, Wukong wouldn't be able to handle your death. It will take all of his last remaining time to ever move on...

Wait a minute-

[einsatzzz]

KHRe Projects Updates #2

Making another update post because OCtober is over, yippeee!! I'm very proud of the art I've done this month and I think it's also the most I've drawn for an OCtober event. I hope next year I'll be able to draw even more and maybe even complete all 30 days.

And with that out of the way, I'll be jumping back into working 100% on my projects. I'll post less art this month (save for asks if inspo strikes) because I'll be working on them behind the scenes, so I'll mostly be an OC supporter this month and just catch up on everyone's OC stuff that I missed whenever I have a chill time hehehe

Anyway, here's my progress on them so far!

Wiki: I plan on doing a lot of major edits on the wiki this time. I have a few that's already just sitting by on the sandbox pages already. I'll do them topic by topic/page by page, so whenever I make a major update, I'll do a post about it here (or maybe a summary of wiki updates if it's way scattered).

Planned updates this month include adding pages for Yui and then Tsuna (if possible Reborn too! I know they're a package, I'll do my best lmao please don't shoot me, Reborn!). I also plan to add another section under Relationships > Appellations for KHRe-Occurence interactions!

Webcomic: We are so back on this one! For now my initial draft of the chapter order in terms of character debut is more or less finalized. For this first part, I decided to just cover character introductions/focus chapters for now, which I estimate to last for about 12-13 chapters (covering for 15 characters, mix of canon and OC).

I should be able to figure out where to go from that point while drawing chapters 1-13! Daily Life Arc is so important to me, I'm not skipping the good shit 😆💖✨ But I already do have a few more Daily Life Arcs in mind after that and a few mini-arcs.

In terms of assets, I'm just thankful I even managed to put together some 3d assets/references I can use for Namichuu. I also more or less have the whole school mapped. I'll be putting this information in the wiki as well, in case anyone wants to make use of it too. Now I kind of want to make a rough draft of a Namimori map hahaha

Because of this, that scene with Ryohei convincing Hibari to do the trial in the Arco Trials Arc became even more funnier to me lmao 🤣🤣

For target release, if we're just talking about Chapter 1 then definitely this November is doable. But then I lowkey want to get ahead till to around Chapter 3-5 too! I'll think about it more!

My even bigger stupidass problem is I also want to draw a webcomic that's Oniyanagi 1st Gen-centric, but I only have two hands so sjhfshvfgs Making comics is so fun ok??!! I just don't have enough time lmao

For the artstyle, I decided to just use the same brush for the comic I did with Kana and Myell's Entity. The edges for that are smooth enough while still having a pencil-like feel to it, so coloring with the paint bucket tool would be easier. I considered using the pencil brush I'm using for rough sketches right now because I'm faster with those, but yeah, the coloring. I'll also be doing a mostly "Don't look back, just keep drawing" approach, so I don't take 100 years for chapter 1. It won't be 100% clean, but maybe just decently not messy enough? Anyway, I'm still thinking of other ways to be faster at drawing, aside from just increasing my overall stamina 😭😭😭 (I get tired so easily). Time to start lifting Ein! 💪✨

In addition to the main story, watch out for any new KHRe-OCcurrence chapters that I might drop in between 🥰🥰🥰

MV: I'm working on 📺MV and should also finish it within 2-3 months while working on my other stuff (2 weeks if I mentally zoom in & obsess over it somehow). I have the vivid storyboard for the entire thing laid out in my brain now. I think finishing this will hype me up more to draw more webcomic stuff hahahaha You'll know when you see it.

✦•····································•✦•····································•✦

Projects aside, I'll be resuming posting my other commissioned art here again yippeee!! I'm just really super thankful there are people who like my original stuff and interact with me here sfhdvhfvsvf and on the flipside, I'm also super thankful that people share their original stuff with me as well (or at least where I can see!). It takes a lot of courage to share your original works out in public, so it's practically SSR-rank content for me.

I have a few oc-related project/posts (even if it's not khr-related) that I have bookmarked as well, I'll do my best to check them out this month as well! Seeing other people with projects also hypes me up and inspires me, so the more the better! fhsvdfhgvhgdfvds Honestly, this small corner of the internet/tumblr that we have going on is kind of like a comfort place for me now, love ya'll ! 🫶🫶🫶

[bayofwolves]

The Return: Revised — King

You guys know about Path of the Heroes. (Probably. it's the name of an original fourth Spirit Animals arc I'm writing.) But what you might not know is that another part of the project is to take the existing three arcs and rewrite them. Not entirely, but tweaking and modifying for continuity's sake. There are some pretty big canonical divergences in Path of the Heroes (Shane is alive, for one), and since my writing starts after canon has ended, I have some explaining to do.

This may take ages, but that's okay. Since the original course of events stays mostly the same, I can easily just do rewrites of pivotal chapters for now.

Such as this one.

I completed this a while back in the summer. I guess I just never posted it, despite being so proud! This is the last chapter of The Return, where we get the long-awaited reveal of who the mysterious Redcloak is. Personally, I wish the author had given this chapter to Abeke instead of Rollan. I needed to see what was going on in her head! That was really what motivated me to redo this one.

This sets things up for the next development of Abeke and Shane's relationship. From the moment the Greencloaks get on the ship at the end of The Return to the climax of the final battle in The Burning Tide, the two inadvertently end up in the same vicinity, leading to some talks and growth in their relationship. They're healing. Abeke hasn't forgiven him yet, but she's noticing more and more how he's changed for the better.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, here's the rewritten final chapter of The Return!

Content warning for suicidal ideation and dissociation.

Quick notes:

The title of this chapter has been changed from 'Redcloaks' to 'King'.

Shane and Tasha are cousins, which is mentioned here. Shane's mother, Queen Gwyneth, had two siblings; Tasha is the daughter of her brother. Thus, with Drina deceased, Shane missing and Gar leaving no children, Tasha is set to take the throne of Stetriol. There's a lot more to this, but I'll go into it some other time.

This is not the final cut -- this chapter will receive some more edits before being fully published as part of the project. Think of it as a sneak peek.

Okay, enough preamble. Read it under the cut!

Spirit Animals: Fall of the Beasts

Book 3: The Return

Chapter X — King

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The chill wind that rose from the sea seeped into Abeke's bones. She shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, but made no move to leave her spot at the ship's rail. Her gaze, fixed on the fading shape of Zourtzi in the distance, remained unbroken.

She felt hollow. She had no desire to move, to speak, even to think. She doubted she would be able to if she tried. It took all that remained of her willpower to draw in shallow breath after shallow breath. All the life had been drained out of her, the very moment Zerif's black spiral had begun to pulse on Uraza's brow. So there she stood, watching the conquered fortress grow smaller.

Perhaps the tears would come later. So far, she didn't have it in her to cry.

The absence of Uraza was like a wound, the ugliest wound she'd ever been dealt, throbbing with every dismal beat of her heart.

She was so lost.

So alone.

Abeke brought shaking hands up to her eyes and pushed until she saw stars. She willed her heart to simply stop. What life was worth living without her spirit animal?

Soft footsteps sounded behind her. Abeke didn't need to look up to tell that it was Rollan. She knew his footfalls, his voice, his face, even better than she knew her own.

She didn't turn as her friend walked over to her, his steps measured and unsure. It was unlike him to move so carefully around her, Abeke thought. She could feel the pity radiating from him without even seeing his face. It all made Abeke want to jump over the side of the ship.

Rollan made no sound when he reached her side, only wrapped an arm around her shoulder. At the contact, a little warmth bloomed through Abeke's body. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

"How are you doing?" Rollan spoke. Concern was etched into the familiar curves of his face. Abeke wanted to lose herself there, in the steadying weight of his brown eyes, but she couldn't hold his gaze. She glanced away.

"Empty." The sun-tipped waves of the sea rolled below them. Abeke found strange solace in their neverending flow. "Lost. Alone." Her voice didn't sound like her own. It was as if someone else was commanding her body, as the real Abeke hovered above and watched everything play out. Like a ghost.

Rollan was silent for a moment, before he spun her towards him and pulled her into a tight hug. Abeke let herself be pulled and positioned in his arms, like a doll. But as the hug stretched out, she felt the sheet of ice that covered her heart begin to melt away.

"You're not alone," Rollan mumbled into her neck. Abeke dropped her head to his shoulder and hugged him back with all the strength she had left.

When they finally pulled back, Rollan's eyes were wet. Abeke's own throat had started to close, so much so that she didn't trust herself with words. She returned to leaning over the rail, but this time, her arm brushed Rollan's.

"She was there, and then in the space of a heartbeat, she was gone," Abeke recounted. She lifted her eyes to the smoke rising from Zourtzi – the last place she had seen Uraza. "She looked at me like I was a stranger. It was as if our bond had never existed." Abeke forced herself to keep her eyes on the horizon. She knew that as soon as she closed them, she'd see nothing but the moment Uraza leaped for her throat, replaying over and over.

"We'll get her back," Rollan said fiercely. "I promise."

Turning her head, Abeke regarded her friend through a film of tears. The love and worry in his expression was almost overwhelming.

Abeke sniffed and swiped at her face before the tears could fall. She didn't know how to respond – couldn't – but Rollan seemed to understand, like he always did. They stood side by side in the silence Abeke needed.

Awkward footfalls met her ears not long after, and Abeke felt Rollan turn through their connected arms. "Hey," came Tasha's voice. Her dark hair and green cloak came into Abeke's peripheral vision as the younger girl stopped at her other side.

"How's Kirat?" Rollan asked softly over Abeke's head.

"Fine," Tasha murmured back. "The Redcloak medic is tending to him." The exchange fizzled out, and Abeke soon felt the weight of both her friends' gazes.

Abeke blinked down at Tasha's brown hand, covering her own on the rail. When had that gotten there? "Abeke," the Stetriolan girl was saying. Unlike Rollan, who was always in sharp focus, her voice seemed to come from a long way off. "We're here for you."

Abeke pulled her head to the side. It was all too much.

A third set of footfalls sounded on the deck behind the three. Two short steps, strong and curt.

Curiosity compelled Abeke to look. As one, the three Greencloaks turned to take in the newcomer.

It was the Redcloak.

Abeke's eyes flicked over his sweeping scarlet cloak, his black leathers, the smooth wood of his mask. She had seen plenty of Redcloaks, even on this ship, but only one wore a mask so strange. Only one of them had no face.

Some of the fog that had settled over her body since Uraza was taken seemed to lift. Who really was this mysterious warrior that had saved them time and time again?

Something deep in her heart told her she already knew.

"Is everyone in your party all right?" the Redcloak asked. His voice was deep and raspy, almost reptilian in quality. Abeke tried to compare it to the voice she remembered from her past, the voice that still sometimes spoke in her dreams, but recognized nothing.

She realized after a moment that his gaze hadn't strayed from her.

"We'll survive," Rollan said for all of them. His voice rang clear in her ears. She glanced to either side of her, noticing the wariness in Rollan's face and the way Tasha nervously clung to her wrist. "Now, how about explaining what's going on here? I think it's about time for some answers."

The Redcloak tipped his head to one side as he considered Rollan, his oddly pale eyes glinting under his mask. "Soon," he said simply. "Be patient. We're taking you somewhere safe."

"Yeah, and where is that?" Rollan countered, bitterness lacing his words. "If you haven't noticed, nowhere is safe anymore. Zerif can get to us anywhere. In Zourtzi, in Stetriol and even at Greenhaven."

Tasha drooped beside her. A distant part of Abeke wanted to comfort her, but what comfort could she give?

Strangely, the Redcloak seemed to droop as well. "So the rumours are true," he said with a sigh. "Greenhaven has fallen as well."

There was something so intrinsically familiar about his stance, his speech, his whole bearing. Abeke had mulled this over for many nights, but now, with him standing a mere ten feet away, she felt everything in her threaten to spill out. Her heart ached, and she had the strangest urge to reach for him. Could it really be him? After so long?

The masked figure stared out to sea for a brief moment. "You should rest. There are more battles to come."

Then he turned and made to stride away. With her heart in her throat, Abeke pushed away from her friends and staggered forward. "Wait," she called hoarsely. "At least tell us your name."

The Redcloak turned around and fixed Abeke with his uncanny eyes.

"You've saved our lives again and again." The pounding of her heart was deafening. She could barely hear herself over it. She stepped forward again, then gripped onto Rollan's shoulder for support; he had hurried to her side. "Tell us who you are," she repeated, "so that we might thank you properly."

The Redcloak hesitated. "I'm called King," he said at last. Was it her imagination, or had his posture softened a touch? "I am the leader of the Redcloaks."

King. A hush fell over Abeke's mind. King.

As he watched her with wide eyes, Abeke heard Tasha speak from behind her. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We are forever in your debt."

King only spared a glance to acknowledge her. He tilted his chin again, then moved to walk away once more.

Abeke watched as he stopped still, his back to them. She watched him slowly turn back around. And with her heart thundering in her ears, she watched him fix his eyes on her.

His next words came soft, low. "I used to be known by another name."

Not of her own volition, Abeke found herself shaking her head from side to side. No. No.

The Redcloak drew back his hood, revealing light blond hair. Then he reached behind his head and unfastened his mask. "You knew me as Shane."

The mask fell away.

Abeke couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. She didn't react to Rollan's gasp of shock and Tasha's startled cry of "Cousin?" Her surroundings melted into waxy darkness. All she saw before her was Shane.

Though it was unmistakably him, the boy she used to know was barely recognizable. His normally tanned skin was pale, like he hadn't seen the sun in months. Knobbly green ridges had replaced his eyebrows, giving him a fearsome, monstrous look. Worst of all were his eyes. Gone was the keen blue stare that Abeke remembered so well. Instead, she was met with glowing, reptilian yellow-green. They were twice as large as they should have been, and bordered by pebbled scales. Slitted pupils stood out at their centres, holding her captive. A shudder of revulsion rolled over her.

"What happened to you?" Rollan's voice came in a horrified whisper.

Abeke hardly registered the words. Her breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and she felt the prickle of sweat all over her body. Her hands were already slick with it. She clenched them into tight fists, ignoring the way they trembled.

Of course.

It was him all along.

He and his Redcloaks had fought for them in their every hour of need – but now they were at their mercy. They were still in the dark about their motives, and now they were surrounded by them. Abeke's heart seized with panic. Her thoughts flew to Tasha, Shane's rival for the throne, and Kirat, belowdecks with the rest of the Redcloaks. Would they be safe with Shane? What if his only reason for helping them was a twisted desire to collect the newly reborn Great Beasts for himself?

The memory of the mysterious red-cloaked figure coming to her defense in Amaya sprang into her mind. He had saved her life from Arax. In Zourtzi, too, he had protected her from Zerif. Was it possible he still cared for her?

Abeke swiftly banished those thoughts from her mind. Shane was the enemy. He would always be the enemy. And this reveal was proof he would never stop lying.

I'm called King. Abeke shook with barely repressed tension as she remembered his words. An image of Shane with the Devourer's crown atop his head and a wicked smile on his face flashed through her memory. I am the leader of the Redcloaks. She saw him at the head of the Conqueror army at Muttering Rock, almost obscured by their black masses, seated astride his giant crocodile. How did she not see it before? How could she be so foolish?

She knew who the Redcloaks were.

They were enemies.

Shane's eerie eyes bored into her. Abeke recognized them now as crocodilian. How could she believe, even for a moment, that he might have wanted to change for the better? The symbol of his betrayal was branded over his once-handsome face.

But Shane wasn't the only one who was different now.

Abeke was done taking chances.

And she had nothing more to lose.

Whipping the bow off her back in one swift motion, Abeke brought an arrow to the string and pointed it straight at her former friend's heart.

The world came back into startling clarity the moment she did so. She heard a scream from Tasha, heard Rollan clap his hand around the girl’s wrist to hold her at bay. Abeke kept her eyes locked with Shane's. Was it the rocking of the ship that was causing her aim to waver?

"I had hoped it wasn't you," she rasped. "I had hoped you weren't tricking me again."

Shane was silent, slowly bringing his clawed hands up.

"Abeke, he just saved our lives," Tasha said urgently. "Maybe we should –"

Abeke stared at her in blind fury. "Do you know the last time Shane saved my life?" she snapped. "He used it as a way to sneak into Greenhaven and betray us. He used me. I was nothing but a tool to him." Tasha recoiled in the face of her anger, eyes wide with shock. Guilt flickered through Abeke, but she had no time to apologize. Resolutely, she turned her attention back to Shane and tightened her hand around her bow. "It'll be no different now."

"That's not true," Shane protested, with such force behind his words that it surprised her. "You were never a tool to me." His raised hands lowered and spread in a pleading gesture. "Much has changed since we last spoke openly… as I'm sure is obvious. Everything I've done with this mask, this cloak, this name, was not to deceive you, but to start anew and atone for my mistakes."

Abeke tilted her head to the side, steeling herself. She wouldn't let Shane's honeyed words ensnare her again. She was past this. She was stronger than this.

Her sweaty hands were making it hard to keep a firm grip on her bow. Could she shoot him, here and now? Did she have it in her?

With every passing second, she was less and less sure.

Behind her, she heard the worried voices of Rollan and Tasha. They were calling her name, trying to summon her out of her trance. It reminded her painfully of the last time she'd confronted Shane – the duel they'd fought in front of Kovo's empty prison. That time, too, she hadn't been able to finish him off. Something almost like instinct wouldn't allow her to.

She felt it now, some deep force within her, causing her arrowhead to tremble as she looked into the haunting face of her former friend. She let out a short scream, hoping to dispel some of her rage and pain. Sudden tears obscured her vision. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you," she challenged. Her voice came out raw and broken.

Shane stared at her for a long moment, and though it was impossible to read any emotion in those slitted eyes, Abeke thought she sensed immense sadness from him. "Let me speak plainly. The end is near."

Abeke gave a wry, husky laugh. Indeed, Erdas must be in her final days for the two of them to reforge an alliance.

"I know this is difficult, but I need you to trust me. To trust us," the boy said gravely. "There's something you need to see. It may be the key to saving Erdas, and perhaps the key to saving Uraza as well."

Abeke's eyes widened in shock. Hesitantly, she lowered her bow a few inches.

Shane wanted to help Uraza?

His slitted yellow-green eyes tracked her movement, unreadable, before they returned to hers. Something almost like hope lit his face. "Give me this chance, and I promise you, I won't let you down."

Abeke considered him for a long moment. Once, Shane had been a friend to her, a steady comfort even across opposite sides of the war. He had traded that all away for victory, using her as a pawn in his schemes before tossing her aside. He had made promises, and he had broken them. But now he stood before her, after saving her and her friends so many times, with a vow to save her spirit animal as well. Abeke looked at his changed appearance and felt horror. But now, she wondered if a better change was brimming below the surface.

Her bow fell to her side as the fight suddenly went out of her. She stared blankly at it for a moment, then took the arrow from the string and slipped it back into her quiver. She had thought about shooting it across the waves to release some of her tension, but decided against it. No need to waste an arrow. After all, she thought, turning dark eyes up at Shane, there are more battles to come.

She would place her trust in him for now. But for the sake of her friends, for Rollan, for the children they were tasked with protecting, she would be on her guard.

Slinging her bow over one shoulder, Abeke glanced over to Rollan and Tasha. Rollan, who knew her so well, must have read something in her hollow gaze that she herself was oblivious to. He was at her side in a heartbeat, touching her hand with his. Tasha followed in his wake, putting a hand on Abeke’s shoulder with more uncertainty. Abeke stood still with them for a moment, surrendering the worst of her pain and anger to the ocean wind. Surrounded by the best things she had left in her life, she could breathe.

Abeke looked down at her friends, giving them a weighty nod. Tasha returned it, then Rollan. They were with her. They would face this together. The thought renewed her strength.

With a deep breath, Abeke locked determined eyes with Shane. "Where to?" she asked.

Shane took a step forward and looked out across the water. "We sail for the Place of Desolation."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖

[whump-me]

Martyr, Chapter 26: Gratitude and Dread

Chapter 26 of Martyr, a novel-length sci-fi whump story about a captured Martian rebel with a secret and the renowned interrogator who has waited a decade for the chance to break him. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: aftermath of severe injury, medical setting, restraints, ominous caretaking, wishing for death

---

Wraith

Wraith came back to consciousness in a series of jagged flashes. At first, it was pure white light. It was too bright, stabbing into his eyeballs even with his eyes closed, until his mind retreated into darkness again. But each time, the flash of light lasted longer, until finally he couldn’t retreat anymore.

Sounds, disconnected and meaningless, joined the light. Metal dropping on metal. A rush of footsteps. A muttered curse.

Smell came next. The sharp, sterile tang of bleach. The thick miasma of blood. The cooked-meat smell of a cauterized wound. His stomach churned. That sensation reminded him that he had a body, a realization he quickly regretted as fresh pains sprang to life all over. The worst was the one in his head, behind his eyes, throbbing with every heartbeat.

Why was his heart still beating?

He hadn’t thought it would take this long to die.

If the white light was here to usher him into the hereafter, it was sure taking its sweet time about it. And it was nothing like the gentle, welcoming light he had heard about. It was a weapon, driving into his eyeballs like a needle or a knife, so bright that squeezing his eyes shut didn’t fully block it out. He had thought the light was supposed to take the pain away.

And anyway, when people talked about going into the light, didn’t that mean it was whisking them away to heaven? He didn’t know much about what was waiting for him after death, but he could be certain heaven wasn’t it.

That thought, more than the pain, was what convinced him he was still alive.

That realization cleared away another layer of haze from his mind. He was still alive—otherwise it wouldn’t hurt this much. He lying on a soft surface—a bed? Not the cold floor of the interrogation room, that was for sure. His head swam in a way he remembered from too many post-mission visits to Gabriel’s medic. He had pain medication in his system, and a lot of it, if the seasick sensation in his head was any indication.

He winced at the thought. If the pain was this bad with medication, he’d hate to see what it would be like without it.

But he loved every bit of it. Every sharp stab when he tried to move, every dull ache, even the throbbing behind his eyes. He loved it because it meant he was alive.

There would be no noble end for him, no martyr’s death. No, he would go on selfishly drawing breath. Selfishly loving Gabriel more than Gabriel’s cause. Selfishness had never felt so good.

He drew in a greedy breath, even though the act of opening his lungs made a sharp pain shoot through his chest, so strong it brought tears to his eyes. Then he did it again. The air tasted of bleach and blood. It was the most glorious thing he had ever smelled.

A dark figure hovered over him, blocking out the light. He squinted his eyes open, but couldn’t make out more than a shadowed silhouette. Gabriel? he almost asked, and held the name back just in time. It couldn’t be Gabriel, anyway. Not in this place. If Gabriel was here, he had failed.

At least, if he was still a prisoner. Was he still a prisoner? And if he was, what did it mean that he was still alive?

It meant they weren’t done with him, that was what.

It meant Isadora wasn’t done with him.

A rush of cold spread out from his gut, chilling the fizzy joy of being alive. The throbbing in his head increased.

“Looks like you’re waking up,” came a woman’s soft voice as the shadowy figure spoke. Not Gabriel’s voice. But not Isadora’s, either. He squinted at her until more details resolved. She was young, with a kind face, and wore a crisp nurse’s uniform.

Could anyone who worked for Special Security look so kind?

He tried to answer. All that came out of his throat was a weak moan.

“You don’t need to talk.” A cool hand rested gently on his shoulder. He moaned again, in intermingled pain and relief, as the touch chased some of the heat from his skin even as her fingers brushed a tender bruise.

“That you’re awake at all is encouraging,” she continued. “For a few days there, I thought you might not make it. Rest. You have a long way to go before you’re fully recovered.”

Days? he tried to ask. And, Where am I? If he was still in the hands of Special Security, surely they wouldn’t have worked so hard to save him. Surely Isadora would have killed him by now.

But he had Gabriel’s name and location. They had been searching for Gabriel for a decade. Wouldn’t they do anything to keep him alive long enough to get that information from him?

“Where am I?” The question was more urgent this time. But his words came out garbled, unintelligible.

The nurse patted his shoulder. “Rest,” she urged.

He made a noise of protest. He had to know if he was safe. And if he wasn’t, he had to get out of here. Now. Before Isadora could get to him again.

He tried to sit up. Hands pressed him down on both sides, at his wrists, his ankles, his midsection. No—not hands. He was strapped down. He thrashed, then let out an animal yelp of pain as the motion jostled injuries he hadn’t known he had.

“Don’t move,” said the nurse. “Your body isn’t ready for that yet. You don’t want to set back your recovery.”

Was that the only reason for the restraints? But if so, why not just tell him where he was?

“Wouldn’t it be better to keep him sedated for now?” a cold voice asked from across the room. The sound sent a blast of cold running down Wraith’s spine. The chill traveled down his nerve endings, all the way to his fingers and toes.

He didn’t need to ask where he was anymore. He had his answer.

That voice belonged to Isadora.

“He’s still too badly injured,” the voice continued. “I don’t want to risk him damaging himself.”

“He’s been unconscious for several days already,” the nurse protested. “It’s important for him to have some moments of wakefulness as soon as possible. The longer he stays under, the more difficult his recovery will be, especially mentally.” Her voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. The shape of her body blurred as Wraith’s brain stopped paying attention to her. The only important thing in this room was Isadora.

But one detail stood out on the nurse’s chest. The emblem of Special Security—the planet Earth with a golden star to either side.

Heavy footsteps crossed the floor. Isadora, her hair pulled back in a severe braid, looked down at him with ice in her eyes. He didn’t struggle against the restraints anymore. With her eyes freezing him in place, he didn’t remember how. But a full-body quiver ran through him. His body remembered her. It remembered what she had done to him.

And his mind knew she had kept him alive so she could do it again.

He closed his eyes, but unconsciousness didn’t rescue him this time. He knew she was waiting for him on the other side of the blackness behind his eyelids. He could hear her tightly controlled breaths and the frigid crispness of her voice as she argued with the nurse.

He was alive. But now that thought brought him nothing but dread.

He had no desire to die for a cause, but suddenly, he wished he had died that martyr’s death after all.

---

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[mewtwoandme]

So while at work I was thinking a little bit about my plans for this year as far as the blog goes. I'm normally not one for new year's resolutions, but I may make an exception this time. Last year, story chapters were pretty spread out, and that was due to a lot of behind the scenes/irl stuff going on with me, 2022 was a pretty chaotic year for me, I'm honestly proud of myself that I managed to get done what I did, including shitposts. But this year will probably be a little different. As a resolution, I wanna try to work harder on story chapters and have that be the blog's main focus, cause I want the story to progress further than what it has so far. Shitposts will only be now and then.

Now I realize if I stick to this plan, it means I'm not gonna be very active on here, as far as answering asks and drawing short posts. At best some might just be sketches. But yeah, I'll be dedicated to story chapters this year because they take the most time and work.

I'm still trying to adjust to being back after holiday, so I might take another day to chill before I get into it, the weekend is coming up anyways lol

[partnersincrimesuau]

Some Assorted PIC Concept Art and Drafts!!!☆ﾟ･:*:･｡★

DRAFT 1 - Chapter 2 Page 41: The page initially began with the camera INSIDE the office, and cut to Spinel and Condor walking in from outside. I scrapped this idea for a few reasons: 1, because there wouldn't have been a walking sequence, so it would be hard to know where they were, 2, because the rest of the page would have had too much crammed onto it, and 3, because the final version shows Spinel seeing the room BEFORE we do; if we got to see the office before her, it would ruin some of the protagonist/reader relationship. After all, we're following HER story. (Final version in lower corner!)

DRAFT 2 - Chapter 2 Page 42: Obsessed with this one. When I do an "Alpha" sketch of a page, I always do it with the least amount of effort so I have just a loose idea of what it looks like before I draw the full A4 version. Because of this, some of my sketches come out looking... like that. Spinel with no nose, no mouth, no tattoos, just giant shocked eyes. It was so goofy, I left it exactly as it was in my notebook. (On another note, there are two differences between the sketch and the final version: 1, I originally drew the door on the wrong side of the wall, which is why it's not in the final version, and 2, in the top right corner, you can see Spinel stretching her legs out and being really chill. I scrapped this because in this scene, she's actually really tense. So no way in heck she'd be all casual about this, haha.)

Fun fact!!! When I do the final versions for pages on A4, I don't sketch. My friends think I'm insane when I jump straight to line art, but that's how I'm used to drawing. The pictures above are all examples of me not using a sketch, and just doing straight line work based off my Alpha (notebook) sketches.

Here's a terrifying half-finished picture of Chapter 2 Page 22 where Steven has no eyebrows, mouth or pupils. Another fun fact!!! Whenever I draw, no matter what, I draw faces last. It's a rule. I have more non-PIC examples as proof if you want to see them XDD

Sometimes I make Alpha sketches OF my Alpha sketches. Case in point, this one I made for Chapter 2 Page 29 (which was later stretched over three pages, lol). As you can see, when I don't want to put effort into a sketch, I do this. Didn't wanna draw Gingersnap and Snickerdoodle? Easy. They're crewmates from Among Us now. (The sketch at the top of this photo has nothing to do with PIC by the way, this was just drawn in my regular notebook)

So yeah... that's about it for now. I'll post more process photos in the future, definitely. Hope you guys enjoy these for now!!! I know I said I'd upload these on Sunday, but MY FRICKING POWER WENT OUT AT LIKE 10PM AND I HAD AN ASSIGNMENT DUE SO I HAD TO WAKE UP AN HOUR EARLY THE NEXT MORNING TO FINISH IT ASUUGHKJHSKJH

(Here's some more concept art of Condor and the Amethysts!!!)

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 74 - Broken Mirrors

Chapter Summary: Church approaches Shadowheart and discusses her dark aspirations before she faces the Self-Same Trial. However, this particular trial does not play out like they expect.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 379K+ words; Chapters 74/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

Somewhere behind the next set of doors resides the last umbral gem. Those doors remain stubbornly shut, however, awaiting a prospective Dark Justiciar’s blood sacrifice. 

While the rest of her companions remain towards the back of the room, Shadowheart examines the altar containing the sacrificial bowl.

“The Self-Same Trial,” she reads reverently, drawing her knife.

“So! How exactly do these trials work?” Astarion asks lightly.

“Chk, as you can see, the Sharran makes a blood sacrifice. She then goes on to do the trial by herself,” Lae’zel explains dubiously.

“And we… what, watch?” 

“Yes,” Lae’zel sniffs.

“Sounds boring,” Karlach chuckles.

“On the contrary,” Wyll grouses. “I think I may have lost several years of my life watching her complete them.”

“Do all of us need to be here, then?” Astarion whines. “Can’t we go… find a gem somewhere else?”

“I won’t stop you,” Shadowheart shoots over her shoulder.

“There we go! The lady grants us her permission,” Astarion says blithely.

“I’ll keep an eye on Fangs,” Karlach chuckles.

“I think I should… get some air as well,” Halsin mutters.

“Astarion,” Church groans, following after all of them. “Come on, don’t go where I can’t see you.”

“There’s an easy solution to that, my love. You can just follow close behind me and…”

Astarion trails off, frowning at his hand upon the door.

“What’s wrong?” Church asks, approaching him.

“This door is stuck,” Astarion grumbles, throwing his shoulder against it and wincing. “Augh! Damn it…!”

“Aw, someone hasn’t been doing his push-ups. I’ve got you, Fangs,” Karlach winks, shooing the men aside to push the door open.

It doesn’t budge.

“Alright,” Karlach sighs, raising her flaming greataxe. “Stand back, please!”

But as her greataxe comes cleaving down at the door, the blade simply glances off of it, erupting with sparks and illuminating a thin veil of shadow over the wood.

“What… in the hells?” she growls, raising her greataxe again.

“Don’t waste your effort,” Gale intervenes. “That’s a magical seal.” He frowns. “And… not one I can break, I’m afraid.”

“Why the hells not?” Astarion sputters.

“It’s the Shadow Weave!” Gale snaps. “Not the Mystral Weave. You feel it too, don’t you? It’s… wrong.”

Astarion humors him, and yes, it feels far different than the ancestral magic that has been pricking at his skin ever since he returned from the Shadowfell. When he reaches his consciousness out to brush against the shadow magic, it’s cold and numbing to the touch. Empty.

Empty, empty, empty…

“Well Shadowheart, I suppose you have a captive audience,” Astarion heaves a sigh, turning around. “Er… Shadowheart?”

When Karlach, Church, and Gale follow suit, they find no one else in the chamber with them.

“They can’t have snuck on in without us,” Karlach grumbles, marching towards the sacrificial altar.

“Karlach — wait!” Church calls out too late.

As soon as Karlach passes the bowl, she disperses into a puff of shadow.

“...oh dear,” Gale utters.

The air sighs, chilling all around them.

“No,” Church whispers. “No no nonono…”

“Come closer,” a voice calls.

“We need to get out,” Church chokes, and gods, he is trembling. 

“But the others—!” Gale begins.

Church makes a strangled, indecisive sound as he fills his hands with flames, preparing to burn away the encroaching shadow. 

“Darling, get a grip on — shit!” Astarion yelps as Gale poofs away without warning.

“Love?” Church latches onto him, his eyes wide in terror. 

Astarion clings back to him. “You’d better not let go!” he hisses. 

“I… I don’t want to, but…” Church grunts in frustration as the flames peter out from his hands. “Shit! No… no…”

“Darling?”

“Astarion,” Church mutters. “My eyes… what color are my eyes?”

As all light fades from the room, Astarion looks for those twin yellow lights. 

He doesn’t find them, and Church must see that in his expression as his eyes begin to smoke. 

“Fuck. This isn’t fair,” Church babbles. “I wanted more time with you. I just wanted to see? I told you I’d be back, you rat—!”

Astarion doesn’t have time to scream before Church disappears into the darkness. He grabs for the smoke, letting out a strangled sound as it slips through his fingers.

“What the hells?” he yells. “Fine! Look, if this is how you want to play, Lady of Darkness… then let’s play.”

He draws his blades, eyes scanning the darkness as he stalks into it.

To his surprise, however, the fog clears as soon as he steps past the sacrificial bowl. He’s no longer in that small chamber; instead, he finds himself in a vast hall of crumbling Sharran grandeur. Cracked staircases ascend up to a platform, and suspiciously, a brazier is already burning towards the center of the room.

Astarion keeps his steps soft and breath slow as he creeps along the shadows.

It can’t possibly be empty. He can’t possibly have been the only one left behind…

Oh, yes — there it is. A quiet sound pricks his ears — something is skulking in the dark, snarling softly.

Alright, you miserable fuck, Astarion thinks to himself, readying his blades as his eyes dart around the room. Come out and play, why don’t you?

The growling gets closer, the creature’s feet shuffling in the echoing chamber. Humanoid, Astarion surmises, and just one. He can take care of this, surely…

…but a flicker of doubt enters his mind.

“Church?” he calls tentatively. “Is… that you?”

He realizes too late that he has fallen into its trap. The figure shuffles faster, its breath coming out in short pants as its form emerges from the shadows — vague even with Astarion’s darkvision.

“Ah, hello darling,” Astarion says warily, blades still at the ready. “Surely this isn’t necessary—?”

But he trails off as it becomes very obvious that the figure isn’t, in fact, Church.

It’s emaciated and filthy with its bloody, fanged mouth foaming. If it weren’t for Church’s sketches and their moment of sharing their vision back during a more pleasant evening, Astarion wouldn’t recognize the creature at all.

Dirty, scraggly silver strands hang over a ghoulish face, framing the glinting red eyes below. 

Two puncture wounds stretch — dark and inflamed — upon a straining neck.

“Oh shit,” Astarion breathes —

— and the feral vampire spawn launches himself at his throat.

Enraged.

Unfeeling.

…and hungry.

[bjarkanart]

Heya! Since I haven't been able to draw much in the last couple of weeks, I took some time to write a bit and finally decided to go for multiple chapters cause I'm a really slow writer so I posted the first chapter of my Death Stranding AU Imodna fic, I hope it's at least decent...

Here's a little snippet. The rest is up on Ao3, let me know what you think and thanks for reading! 🙏

Most people who knew her in Gelvaan would say that Imogen Temult was strange. With her purple hair and lightning scars, the fact that she could hear their thoughts and talk in their heads if she so chose, and sometimes hearing her screaming in the middle of the night if they passed her room, it only made sense for them to be wary of her and try not to get close.

Imogen knew what people said and thought about her, so she tried to avoid them as much as they tried to avoid her, which was hard to do when everyone lived piled up underground like a colony of ants.

 

When she was a kid, Imogen would always try to help someone out, always curious, always with a smile on her face. And people didn't treat her differently from the other kids at the time.

Then, something shifted.

Her father grew distant the more she grew up and Imogen had no idea why. She had tried to ask him. Tried to understand. But her countless attempts at trying to get an explanation from him only ever ended in disappointment and hurt the more she pushed the matter. 

She stopped trying to get answers from him when the word "daddy" started leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The once soothing term of endearment sounded like an anomaly or a foreign language even to her, as every time she spoke the word out loud, it was met with silence. Imogen had grown tired of running after a man who felt more and more like a stranger she just happened to be sharing an apartment with.

Imogen was fifteen she was diagnosed with DOOMS and when the nightmares started.

Dreams of a red storm engulfing a town in the distance she had never seen before. Destroying everything in its wake as red lightning struck trees, splitting them in half. A tornado snatching houses from the ground and hauling them in the air to be blown away and far beyond the horizon. The wind was blasting all around her, deafening, overwhelming, spraying dust over her face and forcing her to squint with no clue on where she was supposed to go. She just knew she had to get away from the storm. Then a woman's voice would echo in her mind, telling her to run, repeatedly, every time she had that dream.

Imogen didn’t know that voice. But somehow, something in her gut told her it was her mother's, it had to be. But why was she so certain of it? She didn't know. She couldn't remember her mother. But still, she would always instinctively listen to her and run, run as far as her feet would carry her, as far from the storm as possible.

And Imogen would wake up panting or screaming and in a cold sweat. Chills running down her spine as she tried to comprehend why she kept having those strange dreams and what they meant. If they even had a meaning to begin with. Were they connected to her powers or did they have anything to do with her DOOMS since the condition made her more connected to the other side? She had dreamed of a few people she knew walking into the storm, to then learn of their passing the next day but had chosen to never share this information. People were cautious enough around her; she didn't need them to know she could tell when someone was going to die.

She also wondered if the place she saw in her dreams was maybe a memory of what Gelvaan used to be. But it didn’t make sense to her. She had never known a life before all this. 

Before the explosions. 

Before the craters. 

Before the Death Stranding.

***

There you go!

[rangerelizabeth]

First line analysis

Rules: post the first lines of up to 10 of your last fics/chapters posted on AO3 or your WIPs and try to draw some conclusions.

Thanks for the tag @amiserableseriesofevents!!

Some drabbles

After dismissing his undergraduate class for the day, Gale begins the ritual of packing his materials into his worn leather bag when his doctoral supervisor pokes his head into the classroom.

The end of the war celebration roars with an explosive fervor, seeming as though there’s been a mutual agreement among the men to throw all restraint to the wind tonight.

The home team batter steps up to the plate to a roaring sea of cheers from the crowd. He taps the bat on the plate and takes position.

John breathes a sigh of relief when Our Baby appears in the sky.

Despite the sun having already dipped behind the horizon, the darkness does nothing to relieve the sweltering heat of the Texas summer as their small group makes the short walk to the bar off-base.

A minute from home (but I feel so far from it)

Dear Bucky, I've started writing this letter many times, but it's hard to know what to say.

Tires crunch on gravel as Bucky veers the truck off the main road of his hometown, navigating the back roads with familiar ease.

If it feels like love (then it must be love)

Weaving his way through the bustling crowd, Gale finds himself thankful for the conspicuous blue and yellow signs posted everywhere, guiding the incoming freshmen and their families toward the check in area.

As late-October creeps in, a crisp chill sharpens the air.

After assuring Gale that he can absolutely use John’s phone number, John makes it his mission to text Gale constantly for the remainder of the break.

When John arrives home, he’s barely stepped out of the car before his mom is wrapping him in a bone crushing hug.

On the evening of New Year’s Eve, Gale is immensely relieved to find out that the ‘party’ at Curt’s house is really more of a celebratory get-together between friends.

“Benny, I’m freaking out.” (Sneak peek, hehe)

First of all, “song lyrics (more song lyrics)” is apparently my go to format for titles, lol.

I’m realizing I rarely start with dialogue, though I dont necessarily think that’s a good or bad thing.

I usually start with some action or internal dialogue that simultaneously sets the scene a bit. (Especially if it feels like love chapters 3-5 “after, when, on”)

Each opening line is longer than I expected to be honest 😂

I’ll no pressure tag @valstarsandgalaxies @brotherwtf @butdaddyilovehim99. Sorry if you’ve already been tagged!