#clover by CLAMP too

[hiuythn]

Hi, how are you? If you don't mind me asking, what are your top 7 favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series/etc)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before...... Thanks....

hi! I'm doing great, thank you for asking! I haven't thought of a top 7 before so that's interesting to think about. hm...I guess it would probably be:

1. Haikyū!! (it's so simple but it's so good. I heard Furudate created it to get people into volleyball and I'm confident in saying that he succeeded. there's just something so refreshing about it, but underneath everything, it still manages to communicate a thoughtful message that where you are today is not where you'll be tomorrow, and that the journey brought on by your passion—while it may not get your end—still has meaning in its pursuit.)

2. The Husky and His White Cat Shizun by Meatbun doesn't Eat Meat (xianxia danmei. my god, I went into this novel thinking it was another low-hanging fruit enemies to lovers type bait where the ML is basically abusive and the MC is a weak backboned twink, but no. no the story had me screaming, sobbing, and begging the author to stop because it hurt too much. I was in tears and I was laughing and I was in love and I was praying for them to be happy so, so bad. it's actually insane. NOTHING will beat how Meatbun managed to make me reconcile Chu Wanning's cold exterior with his soft heart, and Mo Ran's past life with his current one. I was actually baffled by how many fucking revelations, foreshadowing, and plot twists (that made sense and didn't come out of left field entirely) this book managed to have. Meatbun expertly weaved humor, tragedy, horror, mystery and romance all into one misleadingly-packaged book and I feel delightfully bamboozled.)

3. Turning by 쿠유 (Korean historical bl novel. Still reading this one, but the deep unspoken trust the MC and ML have for each other is really awe-inspiring, and they're also very competent at what they do. The relationships with their subordinates and allies are also really heartwarming. The plot is sufficiently interesting as well, and not just something cobbled together to make the characters kiss lol—not that that's bad intrinsically, but it can get old after a while.)

4. Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rock Riordan (everyone knows this one. I love it because I grew up reading it, and then reading it to my sister out loud with the voices and everything. I love an MC that just consistently doesn't know what he's doing and yet sees things through to the end, and whose motto is just "fuck it, fuck this, and fuck you". and again Percy and Annabeth have that "bantering duo who trust and balance each other out and are also very, very good at what they do" type relationship that I'm such a sucker for.)

5. Bleach by Tite Kubo (one of the Big 3 manga serialized back then. I'm down bad for the art, he's one of my favourite mangaka in terms of art style, and also it's nostalgic. I grew up watching ichigo fight through impossible odds with just his "fuck you don't touch my people" mentality. are you starting to see a pattern with me and protective, headstrong MCs? the cast of side characters are all pretty memorable, despite its growing size down the line and again, i love their designs. I know people gripe a lot about the plot and continuity errors, but I enjoyed it regardless—except for the accursed ending and Epilogue Dad Haircut..)

6. Montmorency by Eleanor Updale (victorian crime fiction novel. I was sent this as compensation in, like, 5th grade when the Scholastic Fair delivered the wrong order to me. I didn't expect to like it but it was surprisingly a good standalone read. i used to reread it loads but it's been about a decade now so some details are blurry, but i am very fond of it still.)

7. A Quiet Place (horror movie, though for me it's less horror and more of a family-centric movie. I'm awful with horror, I'm such a wuss, but this movie was so good with its character dynamics and the ending was so fitting that I couldn't help but rewatch it and have it engrained in my head. I haven't watch the other movies in this series and tbh I fully believe the first movie is sufficient on its own, not to say the other suck, I just have no urge to watch them. this movie was such a palate cleanser for me in cinema.)

thank you for your ask, had a lot of fun coming up with this list!

[milkyhoneybee]

Harpy girlfriend who doesn't have human hands and she can't get her wings into the right position to play with her tits, absolutely losing it and trilling loudly when you suck on her nipples and grope/pinch them

Fitting a pair of snakebite nipple suckers onto her and watching as she becomes more desperate, clawed feet coming up to try and pull them off but they're too narrow for her to get a good grip on

Laughing and cooing at her as her feathers fluff out and she gets frustrated as the constant pressure turns to oversensitive pain

Eventually you tell her they'll come off if she bounces enough, and you set up a suction toy on the floor for her, watching her bob up and down erratically as she tries to get the suckers to pop off

Her cloaca dripping wet, stretched around a toy that's just a little too big for her, eyes dark and face flushed, sharp teeth worrying her plump lip

Eventually you take pity on her and yank the nipple suckers off roughly, making her cum hard and let out an avian screech as her nipples are finally exposed. Throbbing, thick, bright red from their abuse

Of course, you don't waste time getting them in your mouth

Next time, you go for clover clamps with weights attached and send her out flying, watching her have to readjust her wings every time the weights make her flinch or tense

You joke about getting her heavy silicone implants and how she wouldn't need to fly then, she'd be your pretty songbird on display, perfect tits to show off how successful she is, not needing to hunt or migrate when she has you to care for her, even if the implants would make her look like a ridiculous, sexualised ornament instead of the regal predator she is in her own mind

If you got them big enough, she'd be able to reach them and press them together with her wings

You could get her some pretty gold chains to hang between nipple piercings, put all sorts of colourful hanging jewels on them to show how much her mate cares for her

Or, even though she's more avian than human, you wonder if you could get her to lactate, especially when she occasionally lays an unfertilised egg or three, always getting broody and needy around then, how cute she'd look begging you to drink from her tits to relieve their fullness, maybe get her a wearable set of pumps modified to fit over her wings like a harness, so she can get her teats sucked while she hops around your home

[oneinathousand]

I'm cackling, I just found out about an unfinished manga by the group CLAMP (of Cardcaptor Sakura, xxxHolic, and Chobits, among many others, fame) called Clover where they very heavily based several background illustrations off of environments from the Gadget series (plus a couple objects like the lightplane) blatantly enough that somebody involved with Gadget, probably the director Haruhiko Shono, must have been like "wait a minute" because the 2020 reissue hardcover edition credits Shono and the art book Inside Out with Gadget in the copyright section. See for yourself:

Look closely at the windows:

And here's the copyright section I mentioned:

There's a few other examples within the manga itself. It feels like at least one of the people at CLAMP played the games and/or read the art book and thought to themselves, "There's too many geezers in Gadget with alopecia, there should be hot young guys and melodramatic romance in here!"

One of the main characters in this manga is named Kazuhiko, I wonder if his name is a combination of the creators of Gadget, Haruhiko Shono and Hirokazu Nabekura? Maybe it's a coincidence.

Kazuhiko and another character named Gingetsu are both a little reminiscent of Theodore Slowslop in different ways, though put through the bishonen filter. I never thought somebody would think to yassify Slowslop of all characters to make an Expy out of, but it really looks like that's what happened.

Other than a few pilfered backgrounds and a couple other possible similarities that aren't as clear, Clover doesn't really have much to do with Gadget and it mostly does it's own thing.

[nomie-11]

Chapter 26 - Shadows of Blue and Silver

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The thunder crackles in the sky as a bolt of lightning misses its target. 

Vines slither the ground of the earth, helping young children and tired elders into the mines as Liam and Soleil usher townspeople in and around the vines. Genevieve’s on high drive as Violet’s hits miss and miss again, destroying brick and stone with each hit. 

Genevieve watches a bolt of lightning catch a venin’s attention towards Violet, and her stomach flips as the venin reaches forward with her left hand, and flips it, fisting air. Rocks tumble down the mountainside, and before the rocks can crush the people entering the mine, vines race upwards, creating a net to protect the people. 

Her eyes whip back to the venin as the group of civilians are safely secured. Raw power is palpable in the air as the venin stands facing Violet, not too far from her. The venin’s palms are lowered to the ground, and the grass around her turns brown then the flowers of the wild clover bushes wilt, and the leaves curl, losing their color. 

Genevieve’s pulse thunders in her chest. The scene is so familiar. 

“Am I…” She can barely focus, her words hit Xaden like a bullet. “Am I a venin?” 

Another bolt of lightning flares through the sky as the blight of death spreads outward from the venin, as if she’s drawing the essence of the earth into her own power. Genevieve can do that, too. 

“You are not a venin, Genevieve,” Train’s voice booms. A bolt of lightning hits close to the road, and the straggler racing towards safety is nearly hit, only narrowly protected by the wall of vines that shoots up from the ground. “You channel from me, that creature channels from the earth, no matter how similar your powers may be. Now, in that building on the other side of the road, there’s a crate of something marked with Liam’s family crest,” Tairn continues, brushing off Genevieve’s worry with a wave of his wings. “He says it's highly unstable.” 

“I’m trying-” She grunts with effort, pushing life back into the earth. “To counter the venin.” 

The circle of death steadily expands towards Violet, Genevieve’s signet making only a fraction of a difference as she draws more and more power from Tairn. Soleil charges toward the venin with Fuil on her heels, her dagger palmed and ready as the rest of the group of townspeople make it to the tunnel. 

The wave of lifeless air surges forward from the venin, flowing outward and catching up with the fleeing civilian in the middle of the road. He falls, then screams soundlessly, curling in on himself as his body becomes nothing but a husk of a shell. 

Genevieve’s signet stops. She’s no longer sending out waves of life as the air freezes in her lungs. That’s how the cadet she had killed when her signet first manifested had died. He looked just like that. And the feeling, the question, of whether or not she was a venin, of whether or not she was a monster, flooded her mind. 

“Genevieve!!” her gaze snaps upwards as Violet’s plea rings in her ears. She just captures the last view of Soleil stumbling a few steps into the dead-zone Genevieve was so desperately trying to control. Fuil reaches for her as they both buckle and fall, throwing up a cloud of dirt with their heavy impact. They desiccate in a matter of seconds, their bodies shriveling. A vise clamps around Genevieve’s chest. The venin has more power now. The venin has more power after stealing their life, just like Genevieve. 

“Tell Deigh!” She looks back over her shoulder to see Liam sprinting for Deigh. He needs time. 

“Already done.” Tairn rolls left as a fireball churns up at them, Genevieve still seated on Tairn despite her signet so well rooted in the ground. 

“We lost Soleil,” She tells Xaden, and the only acknowledgement she receives is a wave of sorrow, and she knows it's his. 

The gryphons change course, and Geneveive pushes more and more vines toward the venin in hopes of at least trapping her still. She glares up at Genevieve, then turns at the sound of flapping wings. Garrick and the other marked third-years are coming. She’s outnumbered and nearly trapped, and damn, Genevieve hopes she knows it. 

The gryphons team up, tearing into one of the approaching wyvern as Liam mounts and Deigh launches, escaping the spreading ring of death, but the other wyvern dips low, heading for the venin. Right on course to pass by the outbuilding. 

“You said that building has unstable material in it, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Someone tell Violet to hit it!” Genevieve’s voice carry’s down Tairn, Sgaeyl, and Xaden’s pathways. She’s desperate to reach any or all of them. 

“Excellent idea.” 

Astrape puts Violet into position, hovering about twenty feet above ground as Liam flies for the gyrphons above them, wielding spears of ice from another rider’s signet into the injured wyvern’s throat. Blood streams as the wyvern falls from the sky with an ear piercing cry. One down. 

The venin reaches the road, and the wyvern skids to a landing on the dirt path so the venin can mount. 

“NOW!!” Genevieve can only hope the message has gotten to Violet, but she knows it has when lightning crashes down from the sky and the building explodes into a burst of flames and stones, Violet circling back on Astrape to escape her own blast. One wyvern down, townspeople are out of the way, and there’s no way anything survived the blast. 

Tairn dips his right wing low and we turn sharply, getting set up to make another run through town. She glances down to her right and gasps. Not only did that blast not kill the wyverm, but its rider is alive and well, too, flying toward—

Shit. Oh shit. 

There are more wyvern then dragons exiting the valley to the south, and Genevieve is trying not to panic as her vines rise up from the earth and shoot into the sky in desperate attempts to ground the wyvern with everything she has. She feels as the life in her vines is slowly dissipating the closer it gets to the venin. Each and every vine originally full of advice withering when they make contact. Genevieve is defenseless. 

“Any idea how to kill a whole horde of wyvern?” She asks, her voice raising in panic. There are at least six wyvern, from what she can see, all with terrifying wingspans and sharp teeth, all heading right for them. 

“Violet’s lightning will have to be enough.” Tairn replies, though his voice isn’t exactly hopeful as Violet and Astrape lead the wyvern away from the post’s center, where Garrick and Bodhi are both on foot, chasing down the venin from the clock tower, daggers in hand. 

“What can I do? There must be something I can do against them? Tairn–” Genevieve’s voice cracks with desperation and frustration as she tightens her grips on Tairn’s scales. The sky darkens further, thunder rumbling in the distance like a warning drum. Her mind races, searching for any solution—any advantage she could use against the approaching wyvern and their venin riders. The life weaving vines she summoned are already brittle, drained by the venin’s corrupting influence. Each tendril she sends forth wilts faster than the last. 

“Tairn, I need more power!” She pleads. 

Tairn’s wings beat rhythmically, but his mental voice is strained. “You cannot handle more power, little soldier. Drawing more could hurt both of us.” 

She grits her teeth, trying to suppress the gnawing fear that’s threatening to choke her. Six wyverns—six of them, with their riders and their venomous intent—against a handful of dragons and exhausted riders. She glances down at the others. Violet is still up in the air, lightning flashing wildly in the sky with every command, but she can’t take them all on her own. Garrick and Bodhi are closing in on the venin, but the wyverns are too close for them to handle. 

Then a thought flickers in her mind, wild and dangerous. A spark of an idea that could turn the tide in Genevieve’s favor. 

“Tairn, what if I don’t fight them? What if I just drain them before they can drain me?”

The great dragon’s wings falter mid-beat. “You want to drain the wyvern’s life force? That’s—”

“That’s what they do,” She finishes, her pulse pounding louder in her ears. “I know it's risky, but if I can stop a venin—use their own tricks against them–maybe I can drain enough to stop them!” 

Tairn’s silence presses down on her like the sky is falling. Then, finally: “You have no practice in stealing life, we don’t even know if you can take life without direct contact the way you can when you wield vines.” 

“Then you just have to get me close enough to touch a wyvern.” 

Tairn’s wings bank hard to the right, his massive form shifting mid-flight as Genevieve’s heart hammers against her ribcage. The air grows thicker, darker, as the wyverns swoop closer, their foul energy radiating like a death sentence. 

“You are playing a dangerous game, little soldier,” Tairn warns, his voice grim, but there’s no turning back now. 

“Get me close!” She yells, the wind tearing at her words as she clings tighter to his scales. She knows the cost of draining life—how it invigorates her, how the whispers of the dead pull at her with every ounce of power she takes. But what choice does she have? If she doesn’t act now, they’ll all die. 

The largest wyvern is the closest, its black eyes gleaming as it barrels towards them, mouth opened. Genevieve stretches out her hands, fingertips buzzing with the hum of life. Tairn dives low, skimming just beneath the beast’s scaly stomach. 

“Now, Genevieve!!” Tairn bellows. 

She reaches out, her palm making contact with the rough, scaly hide of the wyvern’s flank. The moment of touch sends a jolt of raw energy up her arm, a surge so powerful it almost knocks her out of her seat. She clenches her jaw, focusing every ounce of her willpower, and begins to draw. 

It’s like trying to pull water from a roaring flood. The wyvern’s life force is massive, overwhelming, and its corruption seeps into her like poison. Genevieve grits her teeth, wrestling the energy under her control, but she cannot find the thread. The wyvern screeches, its body convulsing mid-air as its strength begins to fade. 

Genevieve’s veins burn as the power flows into her, filling her with a dark, heavy energy. It’s not like pulling from the earth—it’s twisted, dangerous, and she feels her own essence slipping, her mind battling against the dark black poison threatening to overtake her. 

But she holds on. 

The wyvern’s movements grow sluggish, its wings beating slower, its deadly eyes dulling. Just as its rider turns in alarm, Genevieve finds the corrupted thread and snaps it, ripping the last bit of energy from the beast. The wyvern lets out one final scream, a piercing wail that echoes across the battlefield before its body collapses mid-air. It drops like a stone, dragging its venin rider down with it. 

Genevieve gasps, struggling to breathe. Her whole body shakes from the exertion. She’s stolen enough life to power her for a dozen battles, but it feels wrong. Tainted. She screams, trying to expel the corrupted power through her in a desperate wail. 

The corrupted energy courses through Genevieve, flooding her senses with an intense, nauseating feeling of wrongness. Her vision blurs, her veins burn, and her heart pounds like it might explode from her chest. She grips Tairns, knuckles white, as the darkness seeps into her mind, pulling at her thoughts, threatening to drown in her madness. 

Tairn’s voice breaks through the haze, a sharp command that slices through the storm in her head. “Breath, Genevieve! You must control it!”

She tries. She fights to rein in the wild power, but it claws at her, relentless, like the whispers of a hundred lost souls calling her name. She can’t breathe. It’s suffocating. Her hands clutch at Tairn’s scales, trying to find something real, something grounding, but it’s not enough. 

“Tairn,” her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t hold it…” 

The dragon veers sharply, rising above the battlefield in an attempt to buy her time, but below, the other wyverns are still advancing, their riders circling like vultures. Violet is still battling in the skies, lightning flashing with every strike, but she can’t fight off all of them. Genevieve has to help, she needs to help. 

But the poison inside her is too much. It’s twisting her, warping her mind, making her feel more like a monster than ever before. The echoes of the wyvern’s death scream still resonate in her head, and with it, the horrifying realization that she’s tasted the same death before—when her signet first manifested, when she took that cadet’s life without meaning to. 

Am I really any different from the venin?

Another scream tears through her throat as black vines erupt from the earth in a great explosion, and she barely can register it as two wyvern barrels directly toward her, Deigh and Liam flying hard and fast on their tails. 

The venin atop one of the wyvern whips around, raising his staff, but Liam is brutally fast and slits the venin’s throat with sickening precision. The wyvern stops beating its wings within seconds, its heavy body free-falling to the ground, and Liam leaps from his back just as Deigh flies beneath, easily catching him. 

The wyvern that flies at them from the left approaches quickly with great beats to its wings. There’s no time for evasive maneuvers, Genevieve is barely aware of the fight around her as her forehead presses into Tairn’s back, desperately trying to ease the splitting migraine from this dark headache that might kill her. She lifts her gaze just in time to see red fill her vision as Deigh arrives, driving into the side of the massive gray beast. 

There’s no breath of relief as the collision sends Liam hurtling off Deigh’s back and across the base of Tairn’s neck at breakneck velocity. 

“Genevieve!!”

“Liam!” She yells, catching his scrambling hands as he slides by and holds on, a cry escaping from her mouth as her weakened shoulder snaps out of its socket once more from the strain of catching his weight, and Tairn pitches in a sharp turn to follow Deigh. “I’ve got you!”

Grimacing, Liam crawls forward on his elbows despite the impossible angle, and grasps the pommels of Tairn’s back. Genevieve keels over him, sheltering his head and holding on with everything she has as Tairn rolls and banks to keep close but clear of Deigh and the massive gray wyvern. 

Locked in battle only a few feet away, their talons shred through the scales of the other amid snapping teeth and Deigh’s catastrophic roars of pain. They’re too close for vines and too far for Genevieve to steal the wyvern’s life–even without the guarantee that she can even handle doing it again. 

There’s nothing she can do but secure Liam in her arms. 

“Wrap your arms around my waist!” She yells as wings whip around them. The agony in his eyes steals her breath. “Why did you do that!?” She cries, and she pulls him closer, holding him tight as his arms snake around her. “Why would you risk it!?”

His gaze collides with hers. “You needed saving, Genevieve. You jumped onto Deigh to avenge my life, I jumped in front of Tairn to protect yours. No matter what you think of Xaden and I for keeping secrets, you’re my friend, Genevieve.” 

Response is impossible as Tairn rolls again, and Genevieve fights Liam’s lifting body back down into her lap, holding him as tightly as possible. 

Deigh screams, and it slices her to the bone as the dragon and they wyvern lock into a dive. “Can’t you do something?” She begs Tairn. 

“Working on it!” He pitches right and plummets, positioning himself around the downward-spiraling duel to strike. It should be her fighting for her life, not Liam. Anyone but Liam. 

And gods, Deigh is losing, which means Liam– No. Liam will not die today. Not while I have the power to save him from death. 

“Please get over here!” She shouts at Xaden, and power crackles through her hands, but there’s no real way for her to do anything from her distance. 

“I’m hunting the venin at the walls!!” he answers. 

“Deigh is fighting for his life!”

The heartbeat of terror squeezing her chest like a vise isn’t her own. It’s Xaden’s. “If I leave, these civilians are all dead!”

They’re on their own. A quick glance downwards shows that every other dragon is locked in their own battle. Tairn lunges, snapping at the wyvern’s shoulder and drawing blood, but it’s not enough, and the force nearly costs Liam his grip, but she holds tight. 

Another riderless wyvern flies at them front the right. “On the right!”

“You have to handle that one, little soldier!!”

She reaches a hand out, her bad arm wrapped around Liam as tightly as she could possibly hold. The life from the wyvern drains quicker than the last one, and the huge beast crumples to the earth as Genevieve screams in pain. Her body feels as though it might explode as the excess power tears through her, vines shooting up into the sky. Tairn dives to catch up with Deigh and the wyvern as they race toward the ground. 

Leaning over, her face is green and she feels as though she might hurl just in an attempt to get this corrupted life out of her. Dread settles in her chest, ominous and heavy. 

“We’re on our way!” Xaden says. “What’s going on with you!? Your bond feels like it’s dying!”

He’ll be too late, and Genevieve doesn’t have it in her to respond that she feels like this power might consume her. 

“Genevieve!” Liam shouts over the wind, and she rips her attention from her own body to the gruesome battle alongside them. “We have to take out the riders.” 

“I know!” She replies, her teeth gritted. “I will! Just–” another wave of corrupted pain slams against her, and she nearly collapses over him. “Give me a moment!”

“No, I mean that’s the—”

Tairn lunges again, and they’re thrown sideways as he rips another hole in the wyvern’s wings with his teeth, raking down its tail with his talons, but the creature has Deigh in a death lock. Its wings are shredded now, but it doesn’t seem to care as its claws dig into Deigh’s underbelly, like it’s willing to mindlessly die to make the kill. 

“It’s going to be alright,” She whispers to Liam, wind stinging her cheeks. Deigh screams again, the sound weaker and higher-pitched than the last. It’s a cry. 

“We have to pull up!” Tairn warns. 

“He’s dying!” Liam lunges across Tairn’s back, reaching for his dragon as if he could touch the Red Daggertail one last time. 

“Just hold–” She starts, but Deigh’s shriek of pain closes her throat, strangling the words. He’s being eviscerated, and she has all the power to reverse it, she’s just too far. 

The wyvern roars in victory a heartbeat before they crash into the hillside with a sickening thud. The wyvern limps away on its hind legs and the talons that tip its wings. Deigh doesn’t move. 

Liam’s raw scream shatters Genevieve, and Tairn flares his wings, banking hard to keep them from the same gruesome fate. 

“DEIGH!” Tairn’s grief blasts through Genevieve’s body as he streams fire at the wyvern’s retreating back. No. If Deigh… I can save him, I can save him, I can save him–

“He’s gone. A human doesn't have enough power to revive a dragon.” Tairn reverses course, barreling for the hillside outside the city walls where Deigh has fallen. 

No. No. No. I can do it. Liam will not die. Liam will not die. 

“Liam!” She grabs for her friend as they land at speed, Tairn’s claws digging into the ground to stop them close to Deigh’s body. 

“You only have minutes,” Tairn warns. 

“Deigh,” Liam whispers, falling limp in Genevieve’s arms. 

“I’ve got you, I’ll get you to him,” Genevieve promises, already fumbling to climb off of Tairn with him in her arms. “Deigh’s gone,” She cries to Xaden, her voice a trembling mess. “Liam’s dying and Tairn says I can’t do anything.” 

“No.” She feels his terror, his sorrow, his overpowering anger wrap around her mind, mixing with her own until it hurts to breathe. Minutes. She just has minutes. 

“Just hold on,” She whispers to him, fighting not to cry as he looks up at her with those sky-blue eyes, wide with shock and pain. After everything Liam has given up for her, this is the least she can do for him. She can get him to Deigh, revive Deigh, the same way she knew he would carry her to Tairn. Tairn lies flat, his massive frame pressing into the ground as much as possible as she uses vines and softening grass to ease their descent. 

Deigh lies a couple of dozen feet away, his body folded at an unnatural angle. 

This isn’t fair. This isn’t right. Not Deigh Not… Liam. He’s the strongest of their year. They’re the best of them. Genevieve stumbles, her head spinning, and she can see the frayed rope of a thread Deigh once had. It’s completely torn. 

“Can’t make it,” Liam says, trying to get Genevieve to stop.

Her knee buckles, and they both collapse to the ground. “We can make it,” She forces out through her tightening throat, trying to hook his arm over her shoulders. They’re so close. If a venin comes along, then she’ll steal the life from it just like the wyvern clawed Deigh’s away. 

“We can’t,” He crumples against her, sliding down her side. She falls back on her heels and his head lands in her lap as his body goes limp. “It’s all right, Violet,” he says, looking up at her, and she shoves her goggles to the top of her head so she can see him clearer. His own thread is faded, nearly gone. 

“I’m Genevieve,” She whispers, her hand caressing his cheek. Tears blur Genevieve’s vision as she looks down at Liam, his chest barely rising and falling, each breath shallow and labored. His face is ashen, the life she’s fought so desperately to protect is slipping away right before her eyes. 

“It's going to be ok, I’m Genevieve,” she repeats, her voice cracking as she strokes his face, her fingers trembling against his cold skin. The wind howls around them, a cruel reminder of the battle still raging, but all Genevieve can hear is the hollow silence between Liam’s breaths. She presses her hands to his chest, willing life back into him, but each wave of golden light dims as she presses. Deigh’s dead. She can’t do a single thing. 

Liam’s lips twitch into the faintest smile, and he raises a shaking hand, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. “Genevieve… I know,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the wind. His eyes, once so full of life, are now glassy, unfocused, as if he’s already halfway gone. “I… I was always… proud of you. You never needed saving, you know?” His breath hitches, and for a moment, his whole body tenses as if fighting to hang on. 

“Stop talking like that,” Genevieve pleads, her hands trembling as she presses harder against his chest, desperately trying to hold onto his life as it slips through her fingers, “You’re going to make it, Liam. I swear, I will save you. I’ll find a way, I—”

“Shhh, no…” Liam shakes his head weakly, his hand slipping down from her face. “We both knew this was coming. You were always… the stronger one. You were always going… to beat me.” 

His words pierce through her, sharpen than any weapon, cutting through the fragile hope she’s clung to. Her chest tightens, and the tears, which she’s fought to hold back, come pouring out. She’s drained so much life, given up everything she could, but it feels meaningless compared to the weight of what he’s giving up. The months they’ve spent fighting side by side, laughing in the rare moments they weren’t surring for their lives–it can’t end like this. Her heart is screaming that it's not enough, that there has to be more time. There has to be a way to save him, even if it means burning every last piece of herself. 

“Please, don’t leave me,” she whispers, clutching his shirt with both hands as if it’s the only thing anchoring her to reality. Her voice cracks, raw and desperate. “I can’t do this without you. I won’t.” 

“At Parapet–” His face twists in pain. “You have to take care of my sister.” 

“Liam, no,” She chokes on her words as tears clog her throat. “You’ll be there. You have to be there.” She strokes his hair gently, as if that could keep him tethered here. He’s still breathing, still here—but no matter how much life she channels into him, it’s slipping away like sand through her fingers. There’s no magic in the world that can revive a dragon’s soul. “You have to be there.” He has to smile at the sister he’s missed for years, he has to give her the stack of letters he’s written. 

He can’t die for her. 

“Tairn,” she cries. “Tell me what to do.” 

“There’s nothing you can do, little soldier.” 

She shakes her head in denial. “I won’t let you die for me, Liam, I won’t,” she pleads, her voice cracking under the weight of the truth she can’t accept. “You will survive.” 

“We both know I won’t. Just promise you’ll take care of Sloane, and Violet,” he begs, his eyes searching hers as his breaths grow ragged. Violet’s scream pierces the air, Genevieve’s head whips around to catch her falling from Astrape, a gaping wound oozing black blood in her side. Liam’s eyes go wide and fearful as they dart to the battlefield. Liam’s pulse stutters. . 

“Was that Violet?” His voice is so fragile, so faint, as if the answer could break him. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Liam,” she lies, her heart splitting into two. “I’ll save her, I swear, once I finish healing you. I’ll take care of Sloane and Violet.” She tries to smile, tries to soothe him, but the tears won’t stop. She’s losing him. She’s losing everything. 

He shakes his head weakly, forcing a strained smile that barely reaches his eyes. “Go… save Violet,” he rasps, his voice breaking. He knows. He knows she can’t save him, and yet he’s asking her to leave him, to let him die so she can save someone else. He’s begging her to go, to leave. And she can’t—she can’t. 

It’s a horrid plea. He’s begging her to let him go, to leave him behind so she can save the girl he loves. He’s asking her to let him die alone.

“I will, I promise, I just need to save you first,” she insists, pressing harder, though she can no longer feel his life. There’s nothing left to grasp, only the last threads of his fading essence slipping away. “Please, Liam, just hold on a little longer—”

“Genevieve, please,” he asks, his words forced. “You need to go save Violet. And you need to hear Xaden out, please,” 

“I know,” Her heart cracks wide open. She nods through the tears, barely registering Xaden’s footsteps as he approaches. A gust of wind stirs the air, brushing her hair from her face as Xaden kneels beside them. 

“Go, Genevieve,” Liam whispers, his breath barely there, his voice a ghost of the warrior who stood by her side for so long. 

“All right.” She nods, fighting to force a watery smile as she gently takes his body and lays it on the ground and off of her lap. He could ask for anything right now, and she’d give it to him. “Thank you, Liam. Thank you for being my shadow, my greatest competitor… my first friend.” The tears blur her vision, disrupting her last look at his as they fall faster than she can wipe them away. 

“It’s been… my honor.” His smile is tired and sad, as Genevieve casts one last sorry look at him, and then nods at Xaden, running off to go save Violet. 

Genevieve’s legs threaten to give way as she sprints across the battlefield, her breath hitching in her throat. The air is thick with smoke and blood, the cacophony of battle a distant hum against the frantic beating of her heart. She stumbles, nearly falling, but forces herself onward. There’s no room for weakness, not now—not with Violet dying before her eyes. 

She stumbles, and behind her, the shadow that had been her constant companion fades forever. 

Her mind races back to Liam’s final moments, his body, whole but fading, cradled in her lap, his last words a plea for her to save Violet. The memory cuts through her like a blade, sharper than the physical pain wracking her body. She couldn’t save Liam. She couldn’t bring Deigh back. But she will save Violet. 

“Not again,” she whispers hoarsely. “Not this time.” 

Violet is plummeting through the sky, her small frame limp against Andarna’s tiny form. The gaping wound in her side oozes black blood, staining her riding leathers a deep, unsettling color. Genevieve can see the way her fingers unclench from their fists, the life draining from her body with every heartbeat. Astrape roars in desperation, but Genevieve knows she can’t help her—not this time. 

There’s a wild wyvern bearing down on Violet, its riderless body thrashing as it dives. Genevieve throws herself into action, her entire body screaming with exhaustion. She stretches out her hand, reaching for the wyvern with every ounce of power she has left in her. Vines surge from the earth, raw and untamed, as she, through some miracle, rips the life out from the beast with brutal efficiency through the vines. The wyvern lets out a terrible screech, its body convulsing mid-flight before crashing to the earth below. 

But the victory is short-lived. Genevieve’s body convulses, her head feeling as though its splitting open with a sudden, unbearable pain. The corrupted magic she’s just absorbed from the wyvern pulses through her veins, tearing at her from the inside. She chokes on a scream, falling to her knees, cradling her head in her hands as the dark energy courses through her like a fire. 

No. Not now. Not when Violet needs me—

Her vision swims, darkness creeping in at the edges. She’s losing herself—losing control—but she forces herself to crawl forward, her hand shaking as they claw at the dirt. She won’t let this power consume her. She can’t. Not while Violet’s life hangs by a thread. 

Geneiveve reaches Violet just as her body slumps off of Andarna’s little golden frame, her face pale and slick with sweat. Blood pours from the jagged wound in her side, pooling beneath her. It’s worse than she thought—Violet’s life force is slipping away faster than Genevieve can catch it. 

“Violet!” Genevieve gasps, collapsing beside her. Her hands tremble as she presses them to Violet’s chest, her pulse faint and erratic beneath her fingertips. Violet’s eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, her lips moving in a silent plea. 

“Genevieve…?” Violet’s voice is barely more than a breath, and it's shockingly like Liam’s, the sound of it stabbing a knife and twisting something deep inside Genevieve. 

“Shh, I’m here,” Genevieve whispers, though the words feel hollow as she repeats the words for the second time in close succession. She doesn’t know if she can do this. She’s never done anything like this before—not on this scale, not with the stakes so high. But Liam’s face flashes in her mind, his words, his last plea— “Go save Violet.” 

She has to try. Even if it feels like Violet may be poisoned with the same magic that is corrupting her own blood. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, Geneiveve summons the last of her strength. Her magic is a flickering ember inside her, barely enough to light a flame, let alone save a life. But she has something more powerful than magic now. Desperation. 

“I won’t let you die, Violet,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she closes her eyes. She lets her magic flow through her hands, sinking deep into Violet’s body, searching for the fractured threads of her life. Genevieve’s power reaches out like tendrils, intertwining with the fading strand of Violet’s life force, binding it back together. 

For a moment, nothing happens. Genevieve’s heart stutters, fear clutching her chest. But then—slowly, agonizingly slowly—she feels it. A spark. A tiny flicker of life, faint but there. She latches onto it, weaving her own life force into it, pouring everything she has into that fragile thread. 

The connection forms instantly, Genevieve’s own vibrant blue thread weaving into Violet’s silver string once more. She can feel Violet’s heartbeat, weak and uneven, pulsing through her own veins. She can feel the pain wracking her body, the warmth of her blood seeping into the ground. The threads weave further and farther together, as Genevieve pours more of her own life into Violet’s. 

More. I need more. 

Genevieve digs deeper into herself, pulling life from every corner of her soul, every reserve of power she has left. The golden light of life flares, burning brighter as she channels it into Violet. She can feel her own life force draining, slipping away as she forces it into Violet’s body, knitting her torn flesh, mending her shattered bones. The gaping wound in her side begins to close, inch by agonizing inch, the blood flow slowing to a trickle. 

Violet gasps, her eyes flying open, wide and panicked as she claws at the ground. Her chest heaves as if she’s been deprived of air for seconds too long, the breath of life filling her lungs once more.

“Genevieve—what… what are you doing?” Violet’s voice is strained, her eyes flicking between Genevieve and the sky above, disoriented. 

“I’m… saving you,” Genevieve rasps, her own body shaking violently now, her energy nearly depleted. Her hands are still pressed to Violet's chest, her magic pulsing erratically as she forces the last of her power into her best friend. “Stay with me.” 

Violet’s wound heals before Genevieve’s eyes as she melds her own thread with Violet’s, the skin of her wounds knitting together seamlessly. The color returns to Violet’s cheeks, her breathing evening out. But Genevieve can feel the toll it’s taking on her own body. Every second of life she gives to Violet is a second stolen from herself. Her vision blurs, her muscles burning as if they’re being torn apart from the inside. Whatever poison Violet was hit with makes its way into her own blood, and she feels it burning her. 

“I’m fine now, Genevieve, stop!” Violet tries to push her hands away, but Genevieve’s grip tightens, her fingers digging into her skin. 

“I’m not done,” Genevieve whispers, her voice distant, almost detached. She’s so close. Just a little more, just enough to make sure Violet is truly safe. She can feel the edges of Violet’s life force stabilizing, intertwining with her own in a delicate balance. If she stops now, she’ll undo everything. She can’t stop. Not yet. 

But her body is breaking down. Her magic is a storm raging out of control, the corrupted energy she took from the wyvern mixing with her own life force. Her veins feel like they’re on fire, her heart pounding erratically in her chest. The world tilts dangerously around her, the edges of her vision darkening. 

No. Keep going. Just a little longer. 

She presses harder, forcing the last dregs of her signet into Violet. Her own life force slips away with it, the blue and gold light flickering one final time before it sputters out. 

Violet’s eyes widen in horror as she realizes what’s happening. “Genevieve, stop!” she screams, grabbing her by the shoulders and trying to force her off of her, maybe putting some life back into her. “You’re killing yourself!”

But it’s too late. 

Genevieve’s strength collapses beneath her, her body going limp as the last of her magic drains away. The connection between them snaps, Genevieve’s thread is more silver than blue and Violet's is more blue than silver, and the world goes dark. She feels herself falling, the ground rushing up to meet her, but she’s already on the ground, and there’s no pain. Only a deep, crushing exhaustion, and the cold, empty void left in the wake of her signet. 

The last thing she hears before she blacks out completely is Violet’s voice, screaming her name. Then there’s nothing but silence. 

—--------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure she just overworked herself?” someone says in a deep voice, but Genevieve can’t place who it is. She’s awake, but her eyes won’t open, and her headache is splitting. Garrick, maybe? Gods, everything hurts. “It might be magic. There’s no other explanation for her hair to look like… that?” 

Like what? She wants to ask, but she can’t speak, can’t open her mouth. 

“Did you see the way she just took the life from all those wyvern?” someone asks. 

“Leave her alone,”  Violet grumbles. “Not now.” 

“She saved your fucking life by saving Violet’s. She saved all our lives.” Bodhi growls. 

But I didn’t. Soleil is dead. Liam is dead. 

“Her blood is fucking black,” Xaden snaps and his arms tighten. Genevieve feels the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her head, which eases her mind but does little to ease the splitting migraine that plagues her. 

“It has to be poison,” Imogen cries— a garring sound Genevieve never thought would have come from her. “Look at her! Her hair is turning black! We have to get her back to Basgiath. Nolon might be able to help.” 

Who is Nolon? The healer? She can’t ask, can’t make her lips move, can’t even reach out along the mental pathways to Xaden and tell him that she’s alive. It’s like this black energy is corrupting her mind, tearing them away from her. 

“That’s a twelve hour flight,” Xaden’s voice rises. “And her arm is clean out of its socket.” 

She’ll be dead in twelve hours. The promise of eternal rest already hovers at the edge of her consciousness, a promise of peace if she decides to finally let go. Finally dying sounds like a good deal. Having to watch as her shoulder slowly heals itself again for the second time is a whole other form of torture. 

“There’s somewhere closer,” Xaden says quietly, and she feels as his fingers skim over her cheek, and then run through her hair. Another wave of pain and fire consumes her, and her head pulses, but all she can do is lie there and take it. 

Gods, please just let me die. 

“You can’t be serious.” Someone’s voice lowers to a hiss. 

“You’ll put everything at risk,” Garrick warns as sleep tugs at her, the only escape from the searing pain and blinding headache. 

Tairn bellows so loudly her entire body rattles, and fuck her head hurts like she’s been thrown into the mouth of a dragon while it’s flames burn brightly. 

“I wouldn't say that again,” Violet mutters. “Or he’ll probably eat you. And don’t forget, if Genevieve dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.” 

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are,” Garrick replies with a tense shrug. 

Can Tairn feel this too? Is he suffering the same pain I am? Is this awful power corrupting him, too? Is Violet really ok? I need sleep. Cool, blissful, empty sleep. 

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells at someone, in response to a comment Genevieve missed in a wave of nauseating pain. “We are going and that’s an order.” 

“No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.” Is that Bodhi? She could never distinguish him and Garrick’s voices all that well before. Or could she? What was it that she couldn’t distinguish? She couldn’t remember. 

“You’ve fought before, you can cheat death again,” Xaden whispers against her ear, brushing a piece of darkened hair far from her face. Then he says louder, to someone farther away, “We have to get her to him. We ride.” She feels the shift as he begins to walk, but a passing burst of pain and nausea lulls her to sleep. 

—-----------

Hours pass before she wakes again. Maybe it’s been seconds, or maybe it’s been days, or maybe she’s been sentenced to an eternity of torture by Malek for choosing who really gets to live and die without regard for who he wants to take. 

A steady rush of wind at her face and the rhythmic beat of wings tells her that they’re flying, and it takes all her energy to lift a single eyelid as the riot of dragons cross over the Cliffs of Dralor. The thousand-foot drop is unmistakable, home is near. 

The black, searing poison in her veins scorches every nerve and limb as it runs through her blood, slowing her heartbeat. The irony, really. The one verse of fighting Violet knows every word to will kill her. 

Until a few hours ago, she didn’t know venin existed outside of one single death record, and her little shared world with Violet, and now there's nothing but pain and death and horrible black poison seeping into her brain. 

Maybe this time she would just let herself die. 

—----------------------------

Death would be preferable to existing for another second in her pyre of a body, but it’s apparently a mercy she’s not allowed as she’s jostled awake once more. 

Her chest shudders as she struggles to inhale. Fuck, everything hurts so badly. It’s somehow worse than it was the last time she was lucid. 

“You’re sure about this?” Imogen asks. Each step Xaden takes brings a new wave of agony that starts in her shoulder and ripples through her whole body. 

“Stop fucking asking him that,” Garrick snaps. “He made his decision. Support him or get the fuck out, Imogen.” 

“And it’s a bad one,” another man retorts. 

“When you have a hundred and eight scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls. Scars? One hundred and eight of them?

Train’s roar startles her, and she twitches, which only intensifies the already indescribable torture racking her body now. 

“What was that?” Garrick asks from somewhere to the left. 

“He said that he’ll cook me alive if I fail,” Xaden replies, holding her closer. So I’m the only one cut off from the bond. Just me. Her cheek falls against his shoulder, and she swears she feels him brush a kiss over her forehead, but that can’t be right. 

You don’t keep secrets from someone you care about, right? Let alone secrets that may take her life in a second if the struggling beat of her heart is any indication. It’s struggling to pump the liquid fire cauterizing her veins. Gods, I wish he’d just let me die. Again. 

I deserve it. I couldn’t save Liam. I couldn’t save the one person I promised to save all those months ago. 

“You have to fight, Gen,” Xaden whispers against her forehead as they move. “You can hate me all you want when you wake up. You can scream, hit, throw the entire world at me for all I care, but you have to live. You can’t make me love you and then die. None of this is worth it without you.” Am I dreaming? That was so sincere, it can’t be real. 

“Xaden?” A familiar voice calls out, but Genevieve can’t place it. It’s a woman. Imogen, maybe? One of the third years? So many strangers. So little friends. 

Liam is dead. 

“You have to get him to save her.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey everyone... oh man, I'm so sorry i had to do that. it was just so necessary and integral into a plotline Genevieve and Violet go through in book 2, and his death really marks a turning point in how Genevieve sees herself, so unfortunately, he did need to die.

anyways, there was so much in this chapter that is so, so, so important for plotlines in book 2, so Im exciting to see what you guys pick up on. Like, how will the poison affect Genevieve? and how will being intertwined with Violet affect the two of them?

On another note, I feel like i'm shadow-banned or something on tumblr, because i'm all of a sudden getting no interactions on tumblr. does anyone know why? anything I can be doing to change that? I love getting feedback so not getting anything is really bothering me.

as always, if you enjoyed, leave a like, comment, or kudo, and i'll be back on Wednesday with the final chapter before the epilogue!

-------

Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97

[intheticklecloset]

The Tickle Demon: Second Strike (Black Clover)

Collab with @giggly-squiggily!

**Spoilers for Season 4 and beyond of Black Clover**

To read Part 1 (her fic), click here!

Summary: Part 2 of Squiggily's fic! Yuno offers to teach Liebe the best ways to tickle Asta, which the demon readily accepts!

A/N: EEEEK this was so much fun to work on! Asta and Liebe have had all of my brainspace since the latter was introduced in Season 4, and when we got to fangirling about them, this was the result! (Her idea, by the way!) Thank you so much for collabing with me again, friend! I had a ton of fun! 💖

Word Count: 2179

~~~

“Now, now, Liebe,” Asta said, putting his hands up defensively. “Let’s…let’s not get hasty, all right? This whole tickling thing is still pretty new to you—”

“Hey, it worked fine with your friend, didn’t it?” Liebe shot back, beginning to grin. “What’s the matter, human? You scared?”

Asta opened his mouth to retort, then decided – stupidly – to try and make a run for it.

Behind him, Yuno stared in bafflement and exchanged a brief glance with the demon before the latter of them took off after the shorter mage. Beginning to feel a giddiness rise up in him that he hadn’t felt in months, Yuno sprinted after them both.

“Are you seriously trying to run away from me?” Liebe called after Asta, cackling with amusement. “We’re contracted! You literally can’t outrun me!”

“I can try!” Asta shouted over his shoulder, but his huge grin gave him away – to Yuno, at least.

Catching up to Liebe for a split second, he panted, “He just likes to make things difficult. Think you can take care of that?”

“Heck yeah, I can,” Liebe replied, then put on a burst of speed that had him caught up to Asta and tackling him to the ground in seconds.

Asta yelped and flipped onto his back just as Liebe caught his arms and pinned them at his sides. “Waitwaitwait!”

“Let you catch your breath, I know, I know.”

Asta blinked up at his demon, surprised. That hadn’t been why he’d been protesting, but it made him feel oddly proud to see Liebe catching on to his earlier lessons so quickly.

Yuno caught up to them then, unable to help but laugh a little. “What were you thinking, taking off like that?”

“You did it, too!”

“I had a chance to escape.”

“No you didn’t!” Asta and Liebe retorted in unison.

Yuno smirked and crouched at Asta’s side beside Liebe. “Well? Are you ready, Shortsta?”

“You’re still hung up on my height—?”

Suddenly Liebe’s unfairly pointed fingers were in his ribs, cutting Asta off mid-rant and making him choke on a startled laugh, trying to pull his arms out from under his demon.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Liebe told him with a grin.

“Wahahahahahait, nohohohohoho!” Asta giggled, squirming as much as he could even though the demon had barely begun. “I dihihihihihidn’t sahahahahahay I was reheheheheheady, you jeheheheherk!”

Liebe snorted. “You were talking just fine, so I assumed you could breathe.”

Yuno barely bit back another laugh of his own. He’d only known Liebe for a few minutes, but he liked him already. And the friendship he seemed to have with Asta was clearly strong, so he liked him even more for that.

“Why aren’t you laughing as hard as he did?” Liebe asked after a few moments of soft snickers, fingers poking and prodding all along his ribs.

At this point, Yuno felt it was time to step in and do his share of teaching as well. “Different people are more ticklish in different places. You just have to find the right spot.”

“Oooh.” Liebe hummed, nodding as he dragged his fingers to Asta’s waist.

Asta’s giggles grew a tad softer at the change in location, much to Liebe’s obvious frustration. “Nihihihice try, Liehehehehebe! You’ll hahahahahave to do behehehehetter than that if you wahahahant to take mehehehehehe down!”

Yuno rolled his eyes playfully and reached in to help, wiggling a finger into the space where Asta’s armpits were clamped to his sides. “You’re in no position to be sassing us like that, now are you, Shortsta?”

In response, the smaller mage whined and bit his lip to keep from laughing any harder, determined to hold out at least a little bit.

“Come on, where is it?” Liebe grunted, releasing one of his arms to better access the hollow of his armpit and scribble his claws into it.

Asta yelped and tried to pull his arm back in again, but Liebe only grinned and pinned it out to his side as he tickled. “Oooh, is it here? Is this the spot that will make you laugh?”

Liebe – for all his enthusiasm – wasn’t very good at gauging what human reactions meant in this context, Yuno decided. He scooted around so he was sitting behind Asta’s head, then gestured to get the demon’s attention.

“Here, give me his arms,” he said.

Both of them ignored the giggly “nononono!”s that were coming from Asta as Liebe handed his wrists off to the wind mage and watched as he pulled them above his friend’s head to sit on them. They both knew full well that despite his small stature, Asta had strength to spare. Best to take precautions.

“Try again,” Yuno encouraged, slowly trailing his own fingers in Asta’s armpits to keep him giggling and squirming while still allowing Liebe the pleasure of finding the best spot on his own. “You’ll know when you get to it. Oh, and don’t forget to tease him, too, remember?”

Liebe’s eyes lit up at the same time that Asta shot Yuno a “what the hell?!” look that had the wind mage smirking back at him.

“Oh, yeah!” The demon grinned and finally went for Asta’s stomach, making him shriek at the same time he let out a long string of, “Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle!”

“Gahahahahahaha nohohohohohoho! Liehehehehehehebe, it tihihihihihihihihihickles!” Asta screeched, laughter spilling out of him in waves now as he struggled and writhed on the ground, unable to bring his arms down protectively anymore. He arched his back when the demon dragged a claw along his navel and cried, “Nohohohohohohohoho!”

Yuno grinned, watching the two of them. Liebe was a bit clumsy, but his eagerness made up for it, and despite his protests, he could see that Asta was having a blast in this moment. He always looked so happy when someone he cared about was tickling him. He thought it must really mean something that he and Liebe had bonded so quickly. He’d have to ask about their story later.

For now, he gave the demon a minute or so to enjoy Asta’s usual happy laughter before deciding it was time to bring out the big guns.

“You’re pretty close to making him really laugh,” Yuno said, smiling as Liebe looked up to meet his eyes. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to teach you the best way, because I doubt you’ll get it on your own.”

“Yuno!” Asta screeched, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Dohohohohon’t you dahahahahare!”

“Do dare!” Liebe interjected, grinning even wider. “If he doesn’t want you to share, it must be good. Tell me, human!”

“My name is Yuno,” the wind mage reminded him gently but firmly, “and I will. Watch this.”

“No! Yuno, don’t!” Asta whined, trying to bring his arms down to throw him off, but a quick scribble over his belly put an end to that.

Yuno finally allowed himself to grin mischievously, leaning in close to Asta’s face and digging a little harder into his armpits, cooing in his most annoyingly babyish voice, “What’s wrong? Whittle Asta can’t handle some whittle tickles? Hmm? Is that it?”

Asta twisted his head to the side, blushing furiously, trying desperately to keep his laughter at bay.

Yuno glanced at Liebe and said, “Tickle his stomach again.”

“No! Nohohohohohohoho!”

“Aww, whittle ticklish Asta can’t take some tummy tickles, can he? No, he can’t~ You’re so red now! Does it tickle too much? Huh?”

“FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—!!” Asta barely cut off a curse as he finally exploded with laughter, writhing on the ground like he wanted to burn a hole into it. “I TRUHUHUHUHUSTED YOU, TRAHAHAHAHAHAITOR!!”

Liebe watched Asta fall apart with rapt interest, eyes wide at the human’s reddened cheeks and more panicked state. Despite his curiosity, however, he found himself confused, and he frowned. “Why are you talking like that?”

Yuno stopped what he was doing to look up at him. He opened his mouth to explain that it was baby talk, but then – did demons have babies? Would they understand the concept? He found himself blushing a little, knowing how childish it all was. But it worked, and they both liked it, so he shrugged off the embarrassment and did his best.

“It’s a type of teasing. It’s called baby talk,” he said, glancing back down at Asta as he caught his breath and going right back into it before he could fully recover. “And it works soooo well on our whittle Asta! See? It makes him laugh sooo much, yes it does! Aww, are you ticklish, whittle Asta?”

“CUHUHUHUHUHUHUT IT OHOHOHOHOHOUT!!” Asta shrieked, shaking his head as he laughed helplessly under the onslaught.

Liebe still didn’t fully understand, but he thought he might have enough information to give it a try, so with a shrug, he dragged his claws down Asta’s stomach and cooed, “Oh, whittle Asta is a whittle baby, is he?”

His first instinct was to cringe – what was this insane type of human speech? It was ridiculous! – but then he saw how much Asta began to struggle and laugh in response to the words, and he felt something close to excitement well up inside him. He grinned, met Yuno’s approving gaze, and tried it again.

“Where does whittle Asta think he’s going? Hmm? I told you, we’re contracted! No escaping me, ticklish whittle Asta~”

“SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UP!!” Asta pleaded, laughing even harder now that his worst spot was being tickled in tandem with the teasing words.

Then the reality of them hit Liebe, and his grin went from pleased to utterly wicked in the span of a second. Asta could almost see the devil horns sprouting out of his head (besides the ones he already had).

“That’s right,” Liebe taunted, his voice lowering on instinct as he continued to coo at Asta’s laughing, squirming form. “You can’t get away from me ever, whittle Asta~” He dug his thumbs into the squishy bits of the sides of Asta’s stomach, earning a louder squeal for his efforts. “You said it yourself – I’m your tickle demon, aren’t I? Tickle, tickle, tickle! Whittle Asta is just soooo ticklish right here, isn’t he?”

Asta tossed his head back and positively cackled, his laughter coming out unfiltered in a way Liebe had never heard before. At a glance to Yuno, who gave him a smiling nod, he kept up his attack for another couple of minutes, watching the human utterly crumble beneath him and loving every second of it.

Eventually, though, he seemed to shift from this “having fun” thing they kept talking about to something else.

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, ENOUGH!! NO MOHOHOHOHOHOHORE!!” Asta begged, cheeks so red they looked like strawberries and a sheen to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “YUNO!! LIEHEHEHEHEHEBE!!”

Yuno held up a hand to the demon, signaling for him to stop. Much as he would have liked to keep going, Liebe followed his direction and ceased tickling, though he didn’t immediately climb off of him like the wind mage did.

“There. Now we’re even,” Yuno said, ruffling his hair playfully and hiding his wince as the bruise on his elbow from his own ambush reminded him it was there. Asta gratefully brought his arms down to cover his stomach, hands inadvertently resting on top of Liebe’s. “You good?”

“Y-Yeheheah,” Asta managed, gasping for breath and turning a halfhearted glare on his best friend. “You traitor.”

Yuno smirked, glancing at Liebe. “I think we both know you don’t mind him knowing about this.”

Asta groaned, but he grinned up at the demon anyway. “Yeah, it’s fine. As long as you promise not to kill me with it, you jerk.”

“I promise no such thing.” Liebe smirked, suddenly grabbing onto his wrists and pinning them down again, his eyes flashing in a way that made Yuno nervous but that only made Asta giggle again. “Like I said, you’re stuck with me. And now that I know about this little weakness…”

Asta squeaked as Liebe used his tail to prod his side momentarily.

“…I intend to have all kinds of fun with you. Soft whittle Asta~”

“Stooooop!” Asta snickered, twisting his body so that Liebe fell onto his side, both of them grinning. “Go back to being a puffball! I want to hang out with Yuno. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Who are you calling a puffball, you little—!”

Yuno watched the two of them wrestle and couldn’t help but grin. It was strange; he saw how close and comfortable Asta was with this demon, yet he felt no jealousy. If anything, he was happy for him. Happy that he had another friend within the Black Bulls to look out for him.

They did eventually get to walk around the kingdom and catch up, with Liebe piping up once in a while but mostly leaving them to it, and Yuno was even more grateful that he was willing to let them have their time, unlike a certain wind spirit he knew.

Whoever this demon was, he felt good about entrusting him with Asta’s safety and well-being.

And his laughter.

[biaswreckme]

ton corps sera mon été | san/reader

San was nervous about his first fashion solo schedule, so you have an idea to help him out.

Fandom: Ateez

Pairing: San/Reader (gender neutral)

Member: San

Word count: 925 words

Genre/Tropes: Smut

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Triggers/Warnings: pwp, established relationship, sub!san, dom!reader, chastity device, nipple play, orgasm control

You can read it on: AO3

A/N: I've been in a brain rot for days since San's first outfit at the D&G fashion show.

You were speechless when he first showed you the outfit he was to wear for the fashion show. The intricate and ornate torso piece was beautiful, and when he tried it on for the first time and sent you a picture, you had almost dropped your phone. Choi San looked stunning, even with his boyish smile as he asked you for reassurance. It would be his first time going alone to something like this and he was nervous, so you made sure to surprise him, be there with him - at least in his hotel room.

And so the day came, you two alone in a gorgeous place, San’s nerves heightening as the hours passed and the event got closer. You had come up with a plan to help distract him, and it was time to set it into motion. You knew him incredibly well after all these years together, and he would need something to keep him grounded. Now, it was a little tricky getting certain items on a flight with only a carry-on bag - and you certainly didn’t want to be stopped and have to explain yourself or get the items confiscated, so you would have to make do with your own body for the most of it.

The crew to get him ready would be in the room in a couple of hours, so you had plenty of time to rile him up and gently bring him down. After his shower, you explained your idea to him and how it would keep his thoughts focused on something else rather than his uncertainty about socializing with other famous people in a foreign language. And with just you describing your idea, he started to look flushed, chest starting to heave up and down a little quicker, his nod quick and sure to consent.

He was on the bed, head thrown on the pillow in anticipation, and you sat on top of him. You started with a cube of ice, pressing it softly against one nipple then the other, seeing them pebble up, massaging his chest with the other hand. San’s eyes were closed, freckles on his neck almost mesmerizing as he moaned. You so wanted the clover clamps both him and you dearly loved, but that would be too much - you also didn’t want to risk him getting too over sensitive while at the event, where you would not be around to catch him if he fell. 

You watched as the ice slowly melted against his tan skin, goosebumps erupting all over his chest and arms, his nipples already standing to full attention as you lowered your upper body to kiss him. It was a short kiss, just enough to distract him as you pinched his right nipple and didn’t let go, tightening your fingers the way he loved it - and the moan you swallowed was proof of that. You repeated the action with the other nipple, getting him warmed up for your tongue and teeth. Your mouth descended on his body, leaving a trail of kisses, albeit no marks, down his neck and torso, then up until you reached his already sensitive chest. 

You would love to see him with the clamps on his nipples, to tug on them, make him cry and beg for relief as you pulled the chain or maybe even hung the small weights, but for now you were content with biting them, making them a little more sensitive to any and all touch. He was squirming on the bed, breathy whimpers coming out of his mouth uncontrollably as he tried to get some friction on his erection.

“Not now, baby, that’s for the afterparty. Do you think you’ll be able to keep it down during the event or do you need your cage?” you asked, already anticipating the answer.

“I… I think the cage might be a good idea,” he answered, a little out of breath still. “I just need… a little time.”

“It’s ok, baby, you have time. Just close your eyes and relax, I’m here with you, take all the time you need.” In truth, he didn’t have all the time in the world, but there was still enough left. But you hugged him close to you, petting his hair as the adrenaline started wearing off. 

When his erection went down, you helped him both into the discreet cock cage and the chest piece of the outfit, whispering words of love and reassurance. And the moment you closed the final clasp connecting the two pieces, he made a movement to get up from the bed but had to stop and clench his hands, feeling exactly how you told him he would: with his nipples stimulated into sensitivity, they were now rubbing against the material of the outfit.

“Hey, look at me, San,” you ordered. “The moment it feels like too much, I’m just a message away. You will also take these pasties, just in case,” you said as you gave him the small protective adhesives. “If you can’t message or call me, you are allowed to use them, do you understand me?”

His eyes softened, and he kissed you. “Yes, I do. Thank you.” You kissed him back, staying in his embrace until the team arrived.

You watched him get his hair and make up done, becoming even more beautiful and donning a mask of confidence, the same one he wore on the stage and dazzled thousands of people. 

And you could barely wait until he was all yours to please, torture, and take care of again.

[take-taker-taken]

WARNING - the chapters that comprise this section of The List will contain CNC (consensual non-consent). It will mention rape. There will be humiliation. It will involve weapons. This particular part is mainly corporal punishment. The sub will not always be treated / spoken to kindly. If you’re happy to read such things then feel free to continue.

The List - CNC - Part Four

As you huddle on the floor, gradually getting your breathing back under control, you become aware of the curious feeling of being surrounded. You lift your head and peek around and sure enough, two pairs of boots are inches away.

“I knew you’d choose those,” Mark’s voice floats above you.

“So I’m a tit man - sue me,” comes Shawn’s reply. “Already know what you’re gonna do next.”

Mark huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” He says. “She doesn’t though.”

Shawn nudges you with his boot and when it makes you huddle in even more he curses and does it again, but harder. “Get on your back, slut - should be familiar.”

You slowly roll over on to your back with your knees raised up and cross your arms over your chest. In response he kicks lightly at your knee so that you drop your legs flat and then he follows you down and sits astride you. He takes hold of your arms and works to pull them away from your body; you do your best to resist but he’s far too strong and he easily forces your hands up and over your head before his gaze roves hungrily over your breasts. As soon as he lets go you begin to move them again and so he grabs them and shoves them back down, holding them there as he looks down at you with a stony expression.

“Leave ‘em there, or I’ll get him to stand on ‘em.” He warns with a nod over to where Mark is standing. “Probably break your fucking wrists.”

You swallow a whimper and just lay there as he slowly lifts his hands away, watching to make sure you’re going to obey. He reaches behind his head and removes a silver chain that’s draped around his neck. At first you think he’s taking his necklace off and then as he lifts it free of his hair you grit your teeth - it’s a set of clover clamps. Fuck… this is going to hurt.

Keeping the clamps in one hand he uses the other to toy with your left nipple. Not viciously like he did before - it’s a gentle, teasing touch and of course the bud turns hard under his ministrations. You’re expecting him to put the clamp on right away but instead he takes his time to play with the other one, until both have been coaxed into firm peaks. He leans down and traces the tip of his tongue around each of them in turn and you whimper as the skin tightens further.

He shifts his head so that his mouth is next to your ear and whispers, “I think you enjoyed that… didn’t you, fuck toy?” He raises up again and you close your eyes briefly as your stomach flips over at the name but say nothing; when you open them he’s dangling the chain over your face as he smirks down at you. “Know what these are?”

Deciding to play dumb, you shake your head and he traces his fingers over your breasts again.

“Remember me saying I wanted to hear you say ‘please’ some more?” He doesn’t wait for an answer as he rattles the clamps in your face. “These are gonna make that happen.”

Without any further preamble, he deftly attaches the clamps to your nipples and as the pain lances through your flesh you scream. It’s the sort of reaction that you’d normally work to keep a lid on but no such pretence is needed here. Before you can move he lunges forward and holds your wrists to the floor as you struggle beneath him.

“Fuck! Take them off, please! Take them off!”

He looks down at you and smiles, running his tongue across his teeth before shaking his head. “Nuh uh - they look real pretty.” He moves a hand in order to pinch the chain between thumb and forefinger, holding it loosely though it sways some. “And the best part? If I give this here a little pull… they’ll get tighter - wanna try?”

You shake your head and your voice cracks a bit as you speak. “No… please don’t… please!” You’re breathing hard as you try to cope with the pain, your hands clenching repeatedly into fists though you leave your hands over your head for fear of reprisals if you move. You close your eyes and let yourself feel the fear, the helplessness, the pain and yes… the arousal.

“You said she kicked you earlier?” Your eyes open when Mark speaks, though you’re still mostly distracted by the sharp pain in your nipples and the fact that Shawn still has hold of the chain and thus controls whether it goes up a couple of notches.

You gain a couple of degrees of relief when he lets the chain go and kneels back up in order to look at Mark. “Yeah, when I was putting her in the truck.” He says and then gets to his feet but continues to stand astride you. “She was mouthing off with some BS about people coming over and then she slammed her foot right into my kidney, little bitch.”

“Well, that sure ain’t the kind of behaviour we expect. Get her up here.”

For a frightening moment you think Shawn is going to drag you up via the clamp’s chain but as he bends over he’s reaching towards your arms and unthinkingly, you bring them down from over your head to aid the task. Given that it’s achieving his aim he doesn’t rebuke you for moving and just hauls you to your feet and you stand there with your head down, teeth gritted against the pain in your chest. You gasp as a hand goes into your hair to drag your head back and you find yourself looking up at Mark. You again have a moment of wonder at how he’s emanating this air of being a stranger but then you have to concentrate because he’s speaking.

“So you’ve been cussing, being violent - and you even spat at him,” he’s saying, indicating Shawn with a nod of his head. “Can’t be letting you get away with all that now, can we?”

You don’t say anything because even though it’s clear to everyone that your actions over the course of this scene were entirely to be expected, you know that no good will come of answering back.

“I’m kind of an old fashioned guy,” he goes on as he releases your hair and his hands move to his waist. “So I’m gonna give you some old fashioned discipline.” Your breath catches as he unbuckles his belt and slides it from the loops - it’s an aspect of impact play that’s been as yet untouched on your list, though not for much longer. “Get her bent over,” he says to Shawn and as the blonde walks by you he pats your cheek but you shy away from his touch which makes him huff with laughter.

There’s another table at the far end of the cabin, pushed up against a wall and next to a door that you notice for the first time. You briefly wonder where it leads to but then Shawn’s back and setting the table in question down a couple of feet away.

“C’mon, get over.” He pulls you by the wrist to stand beside it and then pushes on the back of your neck. You go quietly into position, though set your forearms on the wooden surface to prevent your clamped nipples being squashed against it. Without relinquishing his grip on your neck, Shawn runs his other hand firmly down your back and on to your ass cheek which he squeezes hard and then smacks. You whimper but this time it has a different tone because it’s becoming harder to play act against the rising tide of lust.

“A good dozen should do the trick, what d’ya think?”

You swallow, wondering whether the question is directed at you and then feel relieved that you didn’t try to speak as Shawn smacks your ass again and replies, “For starters.”

There’s a brief silence and then you feel Mark’s huge hand between your shoulder blades. You have a mad thought that it’s weirdly comforting to have both of them touching you at the same time but that’s quickly driven from your brain when the belt comes whistling down and lands squarely across your backside. For a second you feel virtually nothing and then as the sting spreads over your skin you gasp and then cry out. There’s a pause that you recognise dimly as an opportunity to call red but you decline. Shawn’s hand is still on the back of your neck holding you down, and then you feel Mark’s lift from you and hear him changing his stance. In that moment you realise that first stroke had just been a taster and ball your hands into fists beneath yourself as the leather snaps down again.

“Ahhhhhhh, FUCK!” Still held in place by Shawn’s powerful grip, you stamp one foot against the floor as though it will shake off the pain.

“Still cussing, girl?” Your outburst seems to have earned you a break just two strokes in as you hear him issue another order. “I don’t want to be getting my ears assaulted all the way through this - can you gag her, please?”

“Sure can,” You hear the reply and then you feel Shawn’s fingers at the waistband of your panties and he has them down and off before you can react. Next thing, his grip is back in your hair as he drags your head up, pushing the material at your mouth. “C’mon bitch - open up, you’re good at that.” You begin to make a muffled protest that never gets the chance to be anything else as he forces your panties into your mouth. You taste yourself on the fabric but then get distracted by his other hand worming its way under your chest. You try to pull away, certain that he’s seeking to mess with the clamps but then you feel a totally foreign object being urged against your fingers. You move your head and realise that it’s a golf ball and then you understand - you can’t speak right now to use your colours. You clutch on to the ball and he gives your hand a quick, gentle squeeze before withdrawing and pushing your head back down. “That’ll shut her up,” he says and you hear Mark make a noise of satisfaction.

He doles out another four hard strokes with the belt and you squeeze the golf ball for dear life and yell into the makeshift gag. Through the pain your brain starts to swim in that beautiful, serene way and in your mind’s eye you see yourself as they probably see you - bent over with your pussy dripping as a leather strap strikes your pale skin in such an intimate way. You can picture the welts, bright pink with the edges oh, so slightly raised up. You scream into the fabric as the leather connects twice more and then your head is raised again by Shawn and he’s looking right at you. You meet his gaze and then after a few more seconds he lets your head fall and the belt snaps across the back of your thighs once, twice and then another mighty crack across your ass.

You scream one final time, your head lifting up as the blow sears into your flesh and then it drops again and you hear and feel the thump as Mark sets the heavy belt down next to your head. There’s a moment of silence and you’re dimly aware of Shawn’s hand gently kneading the back of your neck. The very second you find it comforting, it leaves you and you hear him speak again, his voice back to that dark, sneering tone.

“Get her upright; it’s time to get those clamps off. I wanna hear her begging again.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Previous | TBC

[cal-writes]

Hello! I'm a huge fan of your work! I hope you enjoy writing it even half as much as I enjoy reading it.

I was wondering if I could request Chopper getting upset at Zoro for how often he ends up severely injured and how he always acts like it's no big deal? I love Zoro's sibling relationships with Chopper and Nami and I don't think there's nearly enough content with either of them.

Thank you for all you provide us!

i do enjoy it very much! (most of the time... art be like) i'm so glad you like my work <3

-

"You have to be more careful." Nami tells Zoro from where she is sitting in the corner of the infirmary. She has her arms wrapped around her middle, legs crossed tightly over each other.

Zoro huffs and it rattles in his chest. "I'm fine." He says, his voice breaking halfway through. Chopper clamps his mouth shut. Hoves pausing briefly before he continues to wrap the myriad of wounds of Zoro's body.

Nami's fingers tighten in the fabric of the too big sweater she is wearing. It must be one of Franky's the way it fits her like a dress. Her nose is still red, the skin on her face blotchy and torn from the cold.

He ties off the last bandage around Zoro's leg. He's more gauze than skin at this point. Hundreds of cuts all over his body, his temperature is still too low. Chopper lost track of how long Zoro spend in the icy water but it was too long. He hadn't even been shivering anymore by the time Jimbei pulled him out.

"You are so far from fine." Nami spits out and stands with a flash. A moment later she's left them with a slam of the door.

Zoro sighs exasperately and the action makes him cough. He stangles it in his throat but this close, Chopper can see his chest jump with the effort.

Chopper jumps off his stepstool next to the bed to grab one of their blankets but before he's even made two steps, Zoro pushes himself up on his elbows.

"What are you doing?" Chopper shrieks, waving his hands around and trying to pull at Zoro's shoulder. He looks down at him, eye unfocused and eyebrow raised.

"You're done right?" Zoro asks, sitting up and ignoring Chopper's protests. "Gotta get back to-"

"If you say training I will not be held responsible for what I do to you!" Chopper shrieks. His voice cracks halfway through as he shifts into his larger form on instinct.

Zoro blinks at him. He has to look up now, as Chopper's more humanoid form towers over him. Chopper feels his fists shake at his sides, rage making a drumroll of his heartbeat.

"Chopper-" Zoro starts but Chopper won't let him. With one large hand on Zoro's injured torso he pushes him back down onto the mattress.

"No." He tells him. "I am not finished. You are staying right here." Chopper exhales sharply through his nose, glaring at Zoro in warning before he turns around to grab that blanket he had been meaning to before. When he turns back Zoro hasn't moved. One weary gray eye watching him closely as he tucks the blanket around him. His form begins to shrink, his hands still shake and his own eyes begin to blur.

"Chopper." Zoro says more quietly.

Chopper just shakes his head, sniffling. "You have to be more careful." He repeats Nami's words. "I know it's not easy, with us being pirates and all but you can't-" He has to rub at his eyes as they spill.

"Come here." Zoro's hand bumps against his head and by the time Chopper stops wiping his eyes he's smaller than the infirmary bed again. His stepstool scrapes over the wood floor as he pulls it clovers to climb onto the mattress. Zoro's arm hangs over the edge, beckonining him to cuddle up against his side. Chopper can feel every one of his breaths. "I'm not going to die." Zoro tells him.

Chopper sniffs and curls up halfway on Zoro's chest. Soft tremors have started to shake his form, which Chopper takes as a good sign. "You can't say that and then disregard everything I tell you when you're hurt." He says. "I'm the doctor on board. This is my job." Zoro's hand lands on his back. It feels too cool still even through his fur. He looks up, fixing Zoro in a glance. "If you don't trust me to do my job right then just say it."

Zoro's eye widens and he sputters. "That's not- Of course I trust you." He says fervently.

Chopper pokes him with one of his hooves against the chest, making sure to hit a part of uninjured skin. "Then do as I say when you're injured."

Zoro sighs and closes his eye, head falling back into the pillow. "Yes, doctor."

Chopper blushes despite himself. "Flattery is not going to change that." He says as he squrims, nuzzling closer into Zoro's side.

[h0n3ysl4v3]

Someone should tie me completely up, completely immobilised before leaving a fuck machine, wand or anything else thrusting or vibrating against my cunt, maybe you even whipped or slapped it before. Clover clamps on my tits (them tied up too) and a gag in my mouth, maybe even blindfolded and just leaving me there.

[cain-speaks]

🍑 𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀 𝙁𝙊𝙐𝙍-𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝘽𝙊𝙔 🍑|| Wukong's Mom AU

» russian girl (jenia lubich) « 0:53 ──〇──── 2:36

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is a oneshot involving @journey-to-the-au's Clover + Marshal Liu! ➤ This is hurt/comfort. ➤ death to SEM bro. ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include angst, hurt/comfort, self-deprication, minor injury, referenced identity theft, referenced framing, and referenced manipulation. ➤ Word count: 1,372

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ I am just a simple russian girl, I've got vodka in my blood .❞

The guards are none too gentle as they throw the boy into the holding cell, making him cry out as his skin splits on rough stone. The pain is immediate, proving to him that what's happening is real—that the mighty troop of Huāguǒshān truly believes Clover poisoned their beloved King.

"W-Wait!" Clover cries, righting himself as quickly as he can. "Wait, please—!"

He reaches out to the guards, faces that had once looked on him with kindness and friendliness, only to recoil when one snaps at him, long fangs bared threatening. The boy, unfamiliar with such displays, especially from anyone on the mountain, tucks his arms close to his chest and scrambles backwards until he's pressed firmly against the wall. But even as he's out of reach of fang or claw, he can't escape their eyes.

Wrath, regret, disappoinment. Did he prove them wrong? Or prove some of them right?

"You're lucky it's us that were ordered to escort you and not Xīnshù," a mousey brown-grey male—Cypress—spits out. "If she had, I doubt you'd have made it here."

The male beside him, Pecan, scoffs. "You've an atrocious amount of gall, poisoning our King. And during a festival, no less—"

"I didn't!" Clover cries, surprising even himself at the sheer desperation that pours out of him. "I didn't do it, I'd never do it! The mountain..."

Is all I have, he wants to say. But his throat closes and he can't get the words out, try as he might. Cypress and Pecan shake their heads, closing the door and locking him into the cell.

As they turn to leave, Cypress pauses. Then, over his shoulder:

"We should have chased you out the moment you arrived, Sì'ěr."

And then Clover is alone.

Again.

The holding room is dark, barely lit by a single torch Pecan left behind. It's cold and wet and it smells like dust, like it hasn't been used in... forever. If he focuses hard enough, the four-eared macaque can get whiffs of a copper tang, making his stomach turn. So instead he buries his face into his knees and wraps his arms and tail around his legs, trying to calm himself.

You can explain. They'll understand. It wasn't me, it was—

...his own grandfather.

What had Clover done wrong? What had influenced his grandfather to... to trick him, to trick the entire troop (the one he was sworn to protect)? And why did he let Clover take the fall? Surely he didn't do it on purpose? They were family, after all; as far as blood went, they were all they had left of each other. That had to mean something.

But that smile before unconsciousness had claimed him... Clover has never seen his grandfather so happy before.

A storm of emotion lights him up inside. Rage at having been framed and tricked, grief for what he could lose, fear of what will happen if he can't convince the troop it wasn't him.

What are they thinking right now? He wonders, hot tears building in his eyes. Does Miss Xīnshù feel validated? Does she think I'm a monster? What about the queen mothers?

And then his stomach drops.

What about Pear? Mulberry, Apple, the rest of his darling friends so lovingly dubbed the Fruit Troop? What was Rin-Rin thinking? Was she worried, and if she was, for what? For him, or for her daughter, who was so often within his grasp? What... what about—

The door opens and Clover clamps his hands over his ears, waiting for the screech of stone grinding on itself. Only it never comes, at least not at the intensity he was prepared for, as if the person opening it was taking great care to avoid any unpleasant sound. But considering it's certainly not hush-hush that Clover is down here (and the only one, too), he can't imagine who'd grant him such generosity.

As a familar figure appears, silhouetted by the corridor behind them and illuminated in the dim torch light, Clover understands.

"L-Liú," Clover gasps, scrambling to his feet. He hurries to the front of the cell, hands wrapped tightly around the bars despite how it irritates the scrapes. "I'm so glad you're here."

Marshal Liú doesn't reply. He enters the room in silence, the door closing behind him. Neither does he spare Clover so much as a glance as he pads to a few more sconces and lights them. When Liú finally approaches the cell, he presses his back to the wall beside it, arms crossed. His face is pinched, eyebrows drawn together and nose wrinkled in a thinking expression. The quietness of it all is unnerving, almost suffocating for the boy. But he keeps silent, not daring to break it.

"The troop is furious," Liú finally says. Clover feels his heart pound anxiously. "Xīnshù especially, considering little Blueberry's birth."

"...I know," Clover murmurs, ears pinned.

"And to make matters worse, Wisdom and Courage have been poisoned, too."

Clover's ears immediately perk, eyes wide as fear settles into his body.

No, no, no, he couldn't have—I couldn't have... He didn't...

"Thankfully, they seem to just be asleep. Beng reckons they'll wake in a few hours," Liú continues, and the four-eared macaque can't help but suck in a deep breath of relief.

They're alright. They're going to be fine.

But is he?

Liú steps in front of Clover, then squats, meeting his eyes.

"You understand how bad this is, Clover," Liú says. "The queen mothers and the King are unconscious, save for a single clone, and you were seen both giving Wùkōng tea and giving the mothers fruit. Somehow."

The two lapse into silence with Clover trembling, tears threatening to escape him again.

Liú slowly raises a hand to cover one of the boy's, holding it gently. "No matter how we look at the evidence, you're responsible, Clover."

A sob breaks loose; he can't help it. Clover knows how bad this looks for him, knows that the odds are not in his favor. The amount of people undoubtedly on his side are barely a fraction of Huāguǒshān and no doubt will lose their power when faced with Xīnshù and the Wùkōng clone.

"I didn't do it," Clover sobs, pressing his forehead against the bars. He bends until he's nearly kowtowing, though he refuses to move his hands from Liú's. "I didn't do it. Please believe me."

Liú make a soft noise—a gentle grunt meant to soothe infants, and Clover would perhaps be embarrassed if it didn't work so well.

"I know," Liú soothes. "I know. Rin-Rin and I know you didn't." His free hand snakes through the bars and cradles Clover's face, careful of his ears, and raises his face.

Clover sputters and uses a sleeve to messily wipe his face, shaking. "I'm so sorry," he weeps, eyes shut tight. "It's all my fault. I-I'm so stupid! I'm not even smart enough to g-get my stupid powers under control! M-Maybe if I did, I could've stopped all this!"

And I'd know if Grandpa was really lying to me the whole time, he adds within his thoughts, his teeth biting into his tongue at the wave of anger that bristles down his back.

"Stop that," Liú coos, gentle. "It's not your fault, Clover. I know it's not. You're..."

Clover barely notices the pause, too caught up in all his feelings. But when a second hand cradles his face and pulls him close, his forehead barely ghosting against Liú's, he's granted a brief moment of confused reprieve.

"Liú...?" He asks softly, noticing the wet sheen in the marshal's eyes with a prick of concern.

"You're my boy," Liú whispers, voice cracking. "And in a few days, we'll catch who really did this and you'll come home."

Clover sniffles, fighting off tears once again, and laughs a little. "And Rin-Rin won't let me leave."

"And Rin-Rin won't let you leave," Liú confirms, laughing a little too.

So the two sit there, cooing softly to each other and wiping away tears and fears alike.

And when Liú has to leave, Clover keeps his chin up.

I'm not alone, he thinks.

Blue eyes flash before his mind's eye, and a determined look settles on his face.

And I won't lose to you.

❝ So I dance with brown bears, and my soul is torn apart .❞

[giggly-squiggily]

Hi! I don't know if you do request, but if you do, could I ask for some Lee!Fuegoleon and Ler!Yami from Black Clover?

I know it's weird, but I like to think Yami found out Mr. Serious was ticklish, so used it to his advantage or for cheer ups :]

Have a good day!

{Candy Heart Prompts: OFFICIALLY CLOSED!}

Ooo, this isn't weird at all! :D I love a good rare pair; and Fuego and Yami is a fabulous one! I didn't really go with the cheer up route for this dabble- if I'm being completely honest I didn't know if you wanted a dabble or not for the event- but I turned it into one anyway! :D I hope you like it!

Angel: "I didn't know you were ticklish."

“Oi, Fuegoleon.” Yami’s large hand slapped onto his shoulder, making the flame mage pause mid-step. “Hang on, you’ve got something on you.”

“Oh? Thank you, Yam-hmph!” Fuegoleon jumped when Yami began pinching along the back of his ribs, hands twitching as he suppressed the sudden urge to laugh.

“Don’t mention it. I think it’s a string? Damn thing’s been bothering me all day.” Yami grunted, pinching repeatedly in the same spot as he went to grab said mystery object. “Or is it hair? It’s so thin, I can’t grab it.”

“P-Perhaps you sh-should let it be. I can m-manage it!”

“No way- I’m surpassing my limits. No string or hair is gonna stop me.” Yami narrowed his eyes, switching to scratching at it with his short nails to pick it off. Fuegoleon let out a surprised hoot of laughter at the feeling, clamping his mouth shut immediately when he felt Yami pause behind him.

Silence. Then…

“Huh.” Yami gruffed, voice casual. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“I erm-” Fuegoleon cleared his throat, hating how hot his face felt at that moment. “I suppose I am a touch sensitive..”

Yami hummed. Then he immediately went back to grabbing at the hair, using all five fingers to claw at it. Fuegoleon all but flailed at the touch, the only thing preventing him from completely running away was a strong hand on his hip. “Ah! Yahhahami! Whahahait, fohohohorgehhehet the hahahhahair!”

“Or string. I already told you- I’m surpassing my limits.” The hand on his hip tightened, increasing the boisterous laughter Fuegoleon let out until finally- Yami released him. “Got it.”

“Eheh..hehehe..heh..” The redhead doubled over some with a few short coughs, looking over his shoulder to see what Yami collected. “Hahhair..”

“Gray one too. Make a wish.” Yami gave it to him before walking off, a low chuckle shaking his core at his little send off. Fuegoleon sighed as he burned the strand with a flick of magic.

“Pfft-” A snort, just barely heard in the distance. Fuegoleon twisted around, glaring at the additional party. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Nozel mused, amusement in his tone as he passed him. Without any warning, he jabbed his finger into the redhead’s side, making him jump with a wheeze. 

“Don’t let your guard down, Fuegoleon.” A rare smile crossed his usually cold features, melting away any of Fuegoleon’s earlier annoyances. “It’s undignified for the magic knight.”

[xshiny]

THOUGHT I'D TRY THIS ONE BUT WITH KONIG X GN!READER !??

jus forget he was ever in the military or had a tragic backstory, yeah?

When you were young, you had a childhood best friend. His name? König. At least, that's all he'd ever tell you. You never really knew what it meant, nor what culture it came from. You guys grew up together in the same neighborhood, and were always together. One day, when you were seven, you guys met up in the park by the swings.

The other park kids held the "wedding ceremony", and you walked through the swings like it was an aisle. König, who was standing at the end, was awaiting for you with a kid who was pretending to be the priest. You held a bouquet of dandelions the "flower girl" picked out for you, and she showered the aslie with clovers.

You make it to König, and the priest begins. The ring bearer comes up and gives you and König a ring pop each.

"Do you, y/n l/n, take König as your lawfully husband and promise to love him for all eternity?"

"I do"

"And do you, König, take y/n l/n, as your lawfully lover and promise to love them for all eternity?"

"I do"

As you both out the rings on each other, you started to giggle at how silly this ,ade up wedding game was. But König took it seriously, and he happily put the ring pop on your finger.

"You may now kiss the bride!" The priest cried out, tossing away his imaginary bible.

You and König were too young for a first kiss still, so you agreed to kisses on the cheek. The crowd went wild, and everyone was given those barrel buckets juice thingies to celebrate.

When day fell to night, König brought you to a sky viewing field, and held your hands. "Promise me you'll love me for eternity?" He asks, a bit shy but also serious.

"I promise. I'll be yours forever" you promised, not even knowing what you were getting yourself into. You just thought it was all part of the game.

The night ended with the two of you hugging, with shooting stars lighting up the night sky. "Quick, make a wish!" You shouted, pointing to the shooting stars.

König closed his eyes, and a smile appears on his face as he makes his wish. Then it was time to go home.

The next day, you went back to the park, hopping you'd find your "spouse". But König wasn't there. So you searched in the town pool, the library, the playground, the fast foods, everywhere!

Since then, it's been twenty years and you live in a nice apartment with your pet turtle. Suddenly, you receive a letter wrapped in gold foil, and you carefully open it up.

Dear y/n l/n,

We have recognized your request of marriage to the prince who is now king. Come to Germany and you'll be crowned heir to the throne.

Your marriage proposal from twenty years ago is now valid, and you are accepted to be the one for the prince.

Signed,

Whatever their name is supposed to be who sends out letters to clients for the boss.

Well... this is something new. It must be joke or prank, right...?

You check the address, and then you examine the paper, and the writing. This was definitely not fake.

"Holy sh*t!" You exclaim, sitting down at your coffee table, rubbing your temples. Twenty years ago!? Now...that would have been since I was what, seven?

Suddenly your brain begins to brain, and you think all the way back to when you had your "wedding ceremony" with your childhood best friend at the park, who never came back. You clamp your hand over your mouth, and small tears form. You need go to Germany.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

A/n: I was tired and couldn't finish the rest...

Part two??

[iamthecomet]

Comet! Now's your time to write Mounty bottoming

Just soft trans masc Mounty times

Happy Mountain Monday!

Aether's been settled between his legs for a long time. Tongue dragging through his slick folds. Lips sealing over his clit. Letting the fat head of it rest on his tongue as he sucks, lazily.

Mountain digs his fingers into Aether's hair. He closes his eyes, focuses on the way the fading sunlight colors the inside of his eyelids. He worries some of Aether's hair between his fingers, soft strands rolling against the calloused pad of his thumb.

It's been a slow afternoon. Lazy. Spent lounging together on Mountain's big bed, awash with sunlight dyed green from all the plants in front of Mountain's big windows.

There is no rush in Aether's movements, as he laves his tongue across the underside of Mountain's clit, over the head. Pulling the hood back with a careful finger. The sensation makes Mountain twitch. Hand clenching a little harder in Aether's hair. He drags the other hand through his own.

Overwhelmed with sensation but not enough of it to actually cum. He's shuddering against Aether's mouth. Thighs shaking under his palms.

"Aeth," Mountain whispers, eyes opening, hand pulling at Aether's hair, insistent now. "Aeth please."

Aether pulls off of Mountain's clit. Tongue darting out to lick his lips as he does. "Yeah, ok."

Aether slips two fingers into Mountain's cunt, and seals his mouth back down over his clit and Mountain sees starts. His back bows of the bed. He pins his knuckles between his teeth and bares down, a whine breaking through his chest.

Aether doesn't relent until Mountain cums. Body clamping down on Aether's fingers, fern-green eyes rolling back into his head.

"So pretty," Aether praises, pressing a line of kisses to the inside of Mountain's thigh. "Love to watch you cum."

Mountain sighs heavily. Aether strokes up and down his thigh, pushes himself up to kiss the spot under Mountain's belly button. He peppers kisses all the way up. Across his ribs, his sternum. Taking the time to take each swollen nipple into his mouth and worry it between his teeth. Mountain shivers, hands coming around to touch. To grip Aether by the biceps, or slide up into the thick hair at the base of his skull.

By the time they're face to face, Mountain is shaking again. Taking shuddering breaths, face flushed.

Aether grinds his hips forward, dragging his cock through Mountain's dripping folds. Catching the head on Mountain's clit and making him keen.

"You ready for me, Mount?"

Mountain nods. He curls his fingers around the nape of Aether's neck and pulls him down into a kiss. He licks into Aether's mouth, tasting the earthen musk of himself behind Aether's teeth.

Aether hitches one of Mountain's legs up and pushes forward. Mountain breaks the kiss first, pulling away to gasp at the stretch, as Aether bottoms out.

Aether bends down to press his forehead to Mountain's as he starts to move. A slow grind that has Mountain whining within a matter of thrusts, blunt nails digging into Aether's biceps.

"Aeth," Mountain presses his head against Aether's neck. Sensation rolling through him. Too much. Not enough. Mountain never wants it to end. He wants to live in these moments of burgeoning pleasure forever.

The ozone and menthol smell of Aether fills his senses. There are words he wants to say--but he can't find them. Overwhelmed from all sides, adrift. He clenches down, body trembling. Aether strokes his hand through Mountain's hair, cradling his head against his chest, as he rocks into him.

"I know, Clover," Aether whispers into the crown of his head. "Don't worry. I've got you."

[tomoyoo]

19,21,24 for the clamp ask

haiiii

19. Favorite CLAMP outfit

sakura and yuuko have the best! can't choose !

21. Favorite anime adaptation

cardcaptor sakura hands down. It's such a calming show<3

24. A series you feel is underrated

Hmmm I don't know maybe Clover ? it's not as mainstream as cardcaptor or chobits but it is a standout in their catalogue. At that point clamp had already created many of their best works, if you read them in order you'll notice that Clover is refreshing and experimental with the non-linear narrative, minimalist style, i think it's their first sci-fi too. it has steampunk, cyberpunk and art deco elements. the story is told through songs and the lyrics floats over the character's actions.

[3leafstem]

Our Little Secret

Day 29 of 100 Days of Deathduo; from superhero and sidekick au

Here is a drabble to go along with it:

Clover knows staring at her phone when the path is so crowded is bound to lead to some accident, but the article detailing hero duo Sentinel and Voidwalker’s latest expedition and how it went wrong keeps her full attention. She reaches the end, where the news outlet attaches a photo of Sentinel carrying an unconscious Voidwalker and fleeing the scene. Clover sighs, thinking about her coworkers--her friends.

She collides into someone’s back, letting out a small ‘oof’ before backing up to apologize. “Sorry--” Her thoughts are cut off  when she takes in the person in front of her, and Clover’s breath catches in her throat.

The young woman is halfway through her own apology when she’s turning to Clover. Silver hair sways with the movement, and Clover has seen this a thousand times, will recognize the back of that wavy hair and sheepish smile turning back towards her anywhere. It doesn’t matter that this hair is draped over proud shoulders rather than pulled back in a braid. It doesn’t matter that the eyes that meet Clover’s are not shielded by blue-tinted goggles because they still smile wherever they look, and they are just as violet as Clover has imagined them, if not warmer. “Don’t worry about it. I stopped too quickly.” 

And that is her voice, the same one that gives Clover gratifying compliments after a job, or passes reassuring murmurs and a squeeze on the shoulder when something goes wrong, or whispers puns into her ear during meetings, already stifling giggles before the punchline even leaves her mouth. Clover doesn’t even register what they say.

"Star--" It slips out before she can clamp a hand over her mouth. Clover’s heart thumps a bit harder in her chest, and she glances left and right for eavesdroppers before finally lifting her eyes back up to the hero. 

Starstorm’s shoulders are tense, and her eyebrows are raised. There is no doubt they have heard the mumbled exclamation from Clover. As Clover processes their expression, trying to figure out if she has made a mistake, she almost flinches at her realization. Would her hero even recognize her back? Clover always wears a goggled mask much like Starstorm, but it’s more opaque, green eyes dulled to a gray by the tinted glass. Her hair is always pulled up on duty, not loose and covering her face's frame like it does now. Clover is even so paranoid that she alters the vibrations of her own voice when talking to Starstorm not over a radio, only slightly because it’s difficult and takes an incredible amount of focus. Even if it doesn’t make a difference, Clover hardly spoke just now.

Starstorm will not recognize her. Clover’s stomach twists at the thought. 

Then Starstorm smiles. It is bright and warm and everything the smile of a hero, a symbol, should be, and it curves up the bottom of their eyes as their cheeks rise. They place a finger to their upturned lips. "Our little secret," they whisper in the same light tone used for quick quips during conferences, only for Clover’s ears.

And for a moment, Clover thinks they know--know who Clover is, have realized just the same that their sidekick stands before them, but as Starstorm withdraws their hand and turns back to the moving crowd, Clover knows she is just another citizen to her hero in disguise, one who has deciphered the secret identity of the prevalent figure in civilian costume. In or out of disguise, Clover has never figured out whether the public hero or the regular civilian is the true mask, for either herself or Starstorm.

[intheticklecloset]

Ooo, is that coffee shots I smell? :D My caffine craving is at an all time high! Could I please request Lee!Asta and Ler!Noelle from Black Clover? :3 I saw a post you made awhile back about these two and figured why not? :D The spot can be whatever you'd like- but if you need a spot either stomach or armpits work for me :)

Have a great day! <3

*squee* lee!Asta!! Ahhh I've been wanting to write him lately, so thank you for giving me the opportunity! These two are so cute together, omg. 🥰 I hope you're having a good weekend so far, friend! 💖

~~~

Noelle had no idea where she’d gotten the courage to do what she was currently doing, but she was doing it now, so she might as well see it through, right?

Asta squawked and curled in on himself, giggling hysterically as her fingers kneaded his sides, trying to get around to his stomach – a near impossible task when she was behind him and his back was to her.

“Noelle! Cuhuhuhuhut it out!” he cried, grabbing onto her fingers more gently than she’d have anticipated given his circumstances.

“No way, dorksta!” she shot back, trying instead to worm up into an armpit. “You deserve this for being a total idiot!”

Asta yelped and clamped his arm to his side, still trying to wiggle away from her. “Buhuhuhut it wohohohohorked, didn’t ihihihit?!”

“That’s no excuse for you to rush into every battle without thinking it through first! You could have died!” Noelle finally managed to get one hand around to his belly, digging in with more ferocity now that she was remembering what had spurred her to attack him in the first place.

“Ahahahahahahahaha! W-Wahahahahait, Noelle!” Asta shrieked, finally twisting around to face her, his bright smile and pink cheeks making her heart flip in her chest even as he begged, “Nohohohot thehehehehehere! Please, Noehehehehehelle!”

She smiled despite herself, blushing at the adorable figure before her. Asta could be an idiot sometimes, for sure, but she knew that at heart he had nothing but the best intentions and the greatest of love for everyone he swung that anti-magic sword for.

So really, if any kind of punishment was in order, it was this kind. Gentle but ruthless, just like he was.

“Noelle, stahahahahahahap!”

“Tch, why should I?” she snapped, though she was still smiling. Good thing he was too distracted to notice. “Maybe this will teach you to rush into every fight without thinking, dorksta!”