#fright nigh

[what-a-fella]

love how charley looks like a sickly Victorian child for the last half of Fright Night Part 2

[artrsw]

Witches fly, ghosts sigh, Halloween is nigh! 🧙♀️👻 Get ready for a night of magic and mystery as the spookiest time of the year draws near. Are you brave enough for the thrills? Click this link : https://tinyurl.com/y88y7hap

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

As it turns out, there’s an inn that welcomes Emerald, and the innkeeper sets her up with a room for the night.

But, as soon as she mentions the old woman that follows her, the inn’s patrons take fright.

‘It must be the bean nighe, it must! Death follows it wherever it goes!’

[gangplanksorenji]

A star illuminates brightly (and then, it collapsed)

Pairing: Kep1er Yujin x Male Reader

Word Count: 7,987

Part 1

A/N: Hello again, Orenjideul and I'm here for another fic featuring Yujin! Really thought of making the past fic with Yunjin a oneshot but a thought in me really wanted to bridge them together to see where it'll end up and here it is! Hope y'all enjoy this and thanks for reading!<3

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Your mind can’t let everything disappear like a bubble—every moment savored and imprinted onto your brain for a reason. That moment rotted you, damned to your entire existence until the end of time yet it made you feel a certain connection you’ve never felt before—more like an intimate one.

You’ve never felt so good after feeling her walls clenching around your shaft and the absolutely hot mess you’ve made between her legs—it clouded your mind, lightheaded by the thought of everything happening within just minutes.

Such impurities are pulchritude in nature—bound to break limits of defining beauty because you've been enlightened that there’s more than that.

Huh Yunjin and her capabilities… You fell under her spell, lured you into her trap and you absolutely dive into the ocean of lust that you’ve been longing for and now you’re fucked.

Sure, the both of you will be safe from anything since “no one” heard the profanities let out in the puny room yet consequences will be implemented… but not just yet, and you now face the spine-chilling sternness of her visage and the wrath of hers—your class president, the ace of the class and commonly known “The Rabbit Angel” because of her being so down-to-earth and insanely beautiful features.

Yes, as perfect as she looks and she sounds, you can’t deny, everything in you becomes enveloped in fright once she thuds her arms onto the desk and faces you with a serious face, her tone dead-deep and urging you to answer.

“So, both of you really did that? Inside the university’s premises?”

“I’m s-sorry, Yujin. Yunjin is to really b-blame here—”

“Shut up! I don’t wanna hear your excuses, nor what Yunjin’s about to say either. It doesn’t matter if Yunjin’s mother is the president of parent’s organization—I don’t fucking care, alright?”

You nod as you gulp nervously as you never saw this side of Yujin—a complete opposite of her usual sunshine and bright persona but now you can just see the beast taming you.

“Now answer me, what did the both of you think was a good idea to have some sex in a bathroom? Alone near the corridors and the hallway where everybody can hear! You guys—” Yujin punches the desk with a loud thud as she walks away meters from you. A frown becomes evident on your face as you feel the fear in you coursing up your veins because Yujin is infuriated with your own actions. Even if she’s turning back against you, you could tell how furious and serious she looked as you slowly felt the regret of your own sin.

“It was all just an accident, Yujin—I swear—”

“Oh please, will you shut the fuck up? I'm thinking of something…”

That earns a puzzling face from yours, anticipating and unsure on what trick she pulls up on her sleeve. A girl like her is far from readable—possibly, a book nigh-impossible to be deciphered yet possible to know what's in store.

“Also, why am I even here? I need to see my friends—”

She rushes towards you, grabbing your necktie as she faces you, striking daggers towards you as her eyes defy anger as the beast inside her is nearly being unshackled from its restraints. 

“You're here so I can discipline you, understand? I'm doing my job as the class president and I'm also protecting your reputation and I can also make it the opposite within just the snap of my fingers… So, will you bear with me and shut your annoying mouth or lose everything, here and here?”

God, those eyes—it's mesmerizing, captivating to say the least yet it's laced with rage. You can't help but gulp nervously yet you won't just sit here and make yourself powerless against her almost-violent approach of “disciplining” you, in which, of course, you didn't like.

Choi Yujin probably doesn't discipline and lead the class like this, or, is there just a beef between the both of you? Or Yunjin? Is she jealous that she didn't—well, those thoughts weren’t going to lead onto something or somewhere… Or is it?

You nod dumbly as an immediate response as she glares at you before squinting her eyes in dismay. You still need more answers on why she needed you here, even though it's obviously for the fact of doing such sinful things inside the university's premises but her invitation is vague, leaving you clueless and perplexed.

“But Yujin, why am I still here? You already taught me about dealing with this and how things may end—”

“What did I just say?”

“But there's no more of a great point of me being here, Yujin! Can't you just—”

Yujin pins you at the wall with her minuscule arm as she glares at you, fuming with anger. She's definitely not liking your immediate retaliation from her advances and proceeds to tame you down but you won't give up a fight like this, not unless you get a valid answer about why she's still making you stay in this empty classroom.

“Shut the fuck up you little prick! I will say when you're leaving and everything will be at my own accord, do you understand?”

Slightly smirking and hitching a breath as an indication of a possible giggle, you lousily approached the situation whimsically in which she didn't like.

“Sucks to hardly decipher a girl like you, Yujin. You're clearly just blinded with power and nothing else. Are you really the class president, Yujin?”

Her fists on her other hand curls like it's about to take up on a fight, getting really irritated with your mocking. You know how you can easily break her, like a fragile twig and there's more tricks up in your sleeve that you can use against her. 

“I don't really know why they would elect you as the president if you're just manipulating people under your own “management”. You're such a bad example—”

She tightens her grip onto your chest as she stares daggers towards you, her eyes threatening you and scaring you as she also has more tricks that she plays under your game.

“Say one more thing about me and I'll show the recording to the university dean. Don't try me, asshole.”

Your pupils dilated as you were utterly shocked once Yujin called you an “asshole”. Of course, you exaggerated it as Yujin berates you, swearing at you with a tiny voice that you rather find cute than threatening.

Even when she's fuming and boiling with anger, she's still cute and pretty—well, you can't blame yourself because it's really true.

“Ohoho, wow! Getting bolder are we, Yujin? Now you're just threatening me with your fake evidence and calling me an asshole? Is Yujinnie getting a little mad right now, hm—argh!”

“You're so annoying! Shut up!!! I'm really showing this to the dean and do you think you can stop me? One more mock or any stupid shit and you're reputation and Yunjin's will be fucked.”

“Like you have a true and convincing evidence—tch, you're just making things up, Yujin—come on now—”

While you're mocking her again, Yujin immediately plays the recording of the intense sex sounds uttered by you and Yunjin inside the restroom as you couldn't believe what you're hearing.

As much as you want to deny and claim that the recording is faulty and made just to destroy your ego and reputation, it's more than real and it's really the both of you groaning and screaming the most sinful things possible. From pet names, degradation up to the most intense flesh-clapping sounds of sex, it's really obvious that it's the both of you but a clever idea came into your mind knowing that it's not only Yujin who's playing the game strategically well, but also, you.

“What's wrong, hm? Can't talk cause' you thought the evidence I'm holding isn't real? Yeah, so fucking try me, asshole!”

Your demeanor immediately changed once she mocked you with your own medicine, making you taste it and it’s bitter—it corrupts your brain and it makes you bitter. You hated it but you can’t just give up your reputation like this, not without her being on the same boat as you.

“What’s t-that?”

“Huh, you think you’re the only smart one here, Yujin?”

“Give it to me you stupid bastard!”

Yujin tries to reach for your phone in your pocket as she was deemed unsuccessful, you being too swift with your reflexes. You laugh at her helpless despair, trying to reach for your phone but can't as she gets pissed off, her expression now laced with venom towards you.

“Do you honestly think you're the only one with the trick up on their sleeve?”

“Give it to me you crazy asshole! I swear to god I'll show this to the dean and you can't do anything about this!”

“Oh, it's just fair~ Yujinnie—you show this to her and I'll leak this to social media where everyone here on this campus will hear how you verbally bullied me. Isn't that a great deal, hm?”

Well, at this point, it's just another whole mind game that has been breaking out as they will try and benefit themselves while the other will be utterly ashamed, and their reputation destroyed within a matter of minutes. The both of you glared at each other with Yujin having the fiercer one, obviously as she whimpers and yells in anger, pissed off with your own game as she's the one to break down first.

“God, I hate you! Argh!”

She throws a crumpled paper ball onto you as she kicks the cabinet slightly, frustrated and irritated towards you. She then looks at the window, gazing at the horizon, over the mountains as she crosses her arms, feeling the urge of a deep reflection. You, who's puzzled, decided to not interfere long enough with her own doings as you wanted to leave, knowing that there's probably nothing more to talk about as you start to respect her boundaries, and herself too, not just because she's the class president but as a person.

“Then I shall leave then, Yujin, okay? It seems like our small meeting here is done and don't worry, as long as you keep or better, delete that recording to yourself and no one else, I'm deleting this recording of mine, too, okay?”

You waited for seconds, hoping for a response escaping her lips but there wasn't anything. So, without any time to waste, you reach for the doorknob only to be stopped with a faint, melodical voice that was no other than Yujin.

“No…”

“Uhm—what do you mean, no?

“I'm sorry…”

Yujin then faces you, her eyes glistening with her faint tears as she probably felt bad throwing slurs and swears at you, possibly provoking and hurting you. You know Yujin is so down-to-earth and soft-hearted, her persona of being selfless and caring and her being elected as a president is evident enough to know she's one defined like an angel but you could never be so sure—the other thought in your mind thinking that she's maybe just guilt-tripping you onto making you weak and fall under her spell with her being too pitiful and for you to be gaslit as being the “sorry” one, not her.

“I d-didn't mean to say all of those words to you. Please j-just delete the recording and I won't say anything…”

Still being skeptical, you don't want to be tricked into losing everything so you still wanted to play her game.

“I'll delete it when I get home, Yujin. Don't worry, I will—”

“No, delete it where I can see it. Right here, right now—please… I'm sorry…”

And yeah, your heart isn't stone-cold either to feel the sincerity of her apologies, let alone her pouty, cute face encouraging you to obey what she wants but you know that it's sincere, the saccharine tone of her voice is enough of an evidence

With the built-up guilt of remorse and the feeling of being disrespected by her, you feel hesitant and want to outsmart her but you feel that everything's going downhill because of what sin you've done and you felt the utter guilt that no one could've ever felt.

“Press it, Yujin.”

“Are you for real or are you just—”

“Do you really think I'm playing games with you? Just press it…”

Well, it appears to be that she's hesitant even though it's literally a glowing red button that says “delete” appears on the screen of your phone. Well, you can't blame her as she's in the same boat as you.

With enough persuasion and letting herself be convinced, she pressed the button as a smile slowly appeared curling on her face as she's satisfied that you don't have any evidence of her provocative and verbal behavior towards you. It later followed into a smirk as she faced you and thanked you but of course, you're not the only one leaving in defeat here—Yujin should taste her own wrath.

“Hey, it's just unfair that I deleted mine and not yours.”

Yujin's demeanor quickly changed as the sunshine turned into cloudy mist—a dark, nimbus-filled one. Of course, she's trying to outsmart you as you were to her but there's nothing to play anymore as you wanted to be fair with her. Left with no other choice, she pulled up her phone and went onto the files where she saved it and of course, for a fair and identical ending, she did the same on how you made your evidence get deleted by showing her phone to you and making you press the glowing red button.

“Happy? Now, are we all good?”

“Yeah, Yujin, definitely all good. Thanks for the time though, definitely didn't get wasted.” Your sarcasm was off the roof, making her frown as her lips pouted cutely from the frustration of lacking a big chunk of evidence that she would have shown to the dean to make your world in shambles. 

As you reached the doorknob, ready to pull it, Yujin's voice stopped you again as you irritatingly asked her why and what's the catch this time.

“Ugh, why, Yujin? Can you just let me go?”

Yujin smiles, her lips curling up into a smirk as she eyes your body and lastly, looking you dead in the eyes as if she's totally allured to you.

“There's one more thing on why I called you here…”

You're puzzled and confused, unsure of what's about to happen yet you won't let your defenses down in case she does or says something that'll provoke you and wake up your defensive side.

“What, Yujin?”

“Don't be so oblivious now, baby. Can't just leave a girl here with her needs unattended…”

Of course—of fucking course she'll say that and you're not really oblivious about it. For the record, you half-expected her to unleash her slutty side yet this never fails to perplex you in an utmost manner. Yujin, who's known for her caring, serious and selfless persona is now being the total opposite and you don't know if a demon possessed her or it's just the animalistic urges inside her that wants to give in to her carnal desires.

If this is a bait for another trap, you wouldn't fall for it but it doesn't help when Yujin strips off her uniform jacket slowly, teasing you and luring you into the point of no-return. 

“Please, baby—do I need to say more?”

Oh. My. Fucking. God. When she stripped the stupid jacket off, it tested your temptation on ruining her there and there yet you hold it in—it doesn't help that what lies underneath it is a white, long sleeve crop top with her necktie even longer than the top itself and her milky, slender midriff being the cherry on top—in which, you drooled all over the sight of it and thank god Yujin is oblivious about it otherwise you’re utterly done. As much as you want to turn it down as you don't have enough time to waste, this may even be the opposite of a waste as her invitingly hot figure turns you on.

“I see you looking at my waist, baby. Do you like it—”

Catching her off-guard, you went up and pinned her to the wall with your face inches close to hers as she gasped with your sudden aggression, her eyes encapsulating the emotion of fear and anticipation while yours ignited with anger and lust.

“Listen here you little shit—if you're playing with me right now and I absolutely know you are, I'm not the guy to fool with, okay, Yujin? Stop testing me because you don't want to see what's coming next.”

Your hot breath brushes on her lips which invites her to even convince you into her game. You know that you're definitely losing and once you give in, there's no turning back.

“Playing hard to get, hm?” Yujin doesn't give up as she pulls your necktie towards her and whispers seductively onto your ear, in which you don't retaliate as you involuntarily give in to your own lustful desires. “I know you want this so stop acting like a hypocrite, daddy.”

God, she knows how to turn you on—and it's not even a challenge for her right now. The pet name she used just sets your last string of defense into an absolute mess, breaking it. 

As much as you wanted to say about not wanting her now, you can't lie straight to your teeth about it and you're just proving yourself a hypocrite if you do—the dilation of your pupils and the flush on your cheeks is enough evidence to know that you're already feeling the heat onto your flaccid member.

“So, what is it going to be, daddy? Play the game until you last or admit it to yourself that you want to ruin me—”

“Okay, Yujin! You fucking got me…” You yelled as invisible fumes came out of your nostrils, exaggerating how irritated you are with this girl . “God, this girl…” Another backfire is directed to her as you were annoyed to her attempts of picking your locks, but this time, your voice is almost inaudible and glad to god that she didn’t even hear you saying it.

“Okay, okay—but it’ll just be quick, okay? Just five minutes.”

A pouty Yujin meets your eyes, almost if she begs for something she can’t resist about that she needs to allure you with her signature adorable expression but you won’t fall for that because you—

“I said what I said, Yujin. Five. Minutes. Only.”

“Ughhh—why can’t it be longer than that? Is it because you can’t last longer than five mi—”

She’s really testing you—testing your limits beyond your possible breaking point as you raise your arm, pinning her forcefully onto the wall as she smirks in anticipation and delight, delighted about provoking the hibernating beast inside you.

“Shut your slutty, little mouth, Yujin! I said what I said, okay? Hah, I even think you’re the one who can’t last that long and you’re probably dripping thinking about my dick destroying your insides, hm?”

 Once again, her demeanor changed as the neediness on her face became evident, slowly giving in to her carnal desires as she’s a few steps away from her desires being fulfilled.

“Hey, I was—gahh, oh my god—hah…”

“What was it, Yujin?”

A simple swipe onto her clothed crotch makes her weak, on her knees and it couldn’t be any better. You’re unfazed with her attempts to slow you down as you leisurely teased her until you felt the wetness of her core in which she whimpered as she wanted more but knows that there isn’t in any world you’re giving anything more than that.

Everything’s on your own accord now because you’re in control, not her, and you’ll let her know that.

“Sucks to be the one who isn’t in control, right, Yujin? Not the one with the higher authority?”

“Fuck—I want more! P-please, I want more…”

Of course, you didn’t fulfill her wants because you wanted to and it’s like she can do something about it—

“B-but, I’m the president—your president, so this is is unfair and—”

You snarl as the sound fazes Yujin, her eyes gleaming unbeknownst of what emotion it can underlie but all you know is that it encapsulates fear and anticipation, like right from the start. You know how stubborn she can get and how she’ll use her authority against your own accord yet you won’t give up just like that—you can outpower her and let her taste her own medicine.

“Well, do you want to get fucked or no? I can just leave here pretty easily, Yujin.”

“Wait!” Her tone is high-pitched and in full need as she doesn’t want this moment to be wasted, let alone with you as much as she despises you—in which, according to her and to you, is one-hundred percent hypocrisy.

You can feel her need, the need in her eyes—like how she wants it so bad to do it with you as those precious orbs tells you to ruin her to the fullest.

There goes the foreplay off and on is your desires, and hers, of course.

“Okay, daddy. Do whatever you want to me…”

And she let her defenses down, submerge into the abyss of submission.

There goes the heat of both bodies, slowly getting used to each other as both lips clashed of a sudden, with the message to convey to “fuck-like-you-meant-it” and the utmost urge of giving in to your animalistic urges until the miasmic smell of sex steams all over the classroom—and may the people using that classroom on their class may prepare their own noses.

Oh god, she's so ruinable—that thought lingers on your mind once you've saw her impeccably perfect figure: her tiny, little waist; her silken, porcelain skin; her luscious, succulent lips—in which, by the way, you're feasting upon right now_and lastly her beautiful face that's sculpted by the gods.

And as pure as she looks, it's such a great time to let her impurities out—such purities sullied by lust is the best way to break it.

Both of your tongues battle for dominance as if both are deprived for the taste of oneself and you love it as much as she loves it too. You ignored the sheen of saliva messing up your mouth as your deft hands course its way onto her waist and caresses the smooth skin.

“Love the way I kiss you, Yujin?”

“I do, but please—I need my pussy filled right now…”

The normal instinct is the utter dissatisfaction permeating all over her and letting her feel the sudden urge of not fulfilling her needs yet you can't help yourself right now because you want her.

“Well, that'll be just in a minute, Yujin…” You unbuckle your belt and give her a stern look which puts a chill down her spine. “For starters, you’ll be on your knees ready to obey daddy’s orders, okay?”

It’s partly rhetorical yet she nods and it doesn’t matter, she understands what’s going on and where this will go, as she should, the brilliant and clever Choi Yujin.

“And… help me out undress myself—the bottom one—and that’s two and lastly…” Even without being taught and with her swift movements, she already had your boxers down to your ankles as she was met with your already-erect rod that she instantly admired. “...you probably know where this is going since you’ve done this already, isn’t it right, Yujin?”

Another nod and there’s no breath escaping her beautiful lips knowing that it’s already all over your swollen head—

“Already thirsty for this, huh? Don’t worry, Yujin—they’ll be more than this later…”

Such an idyllic visage masks a sluttiness that can never be topped off, and with those eyes glistening with lust, you can't hold yourself from containing your profanities as a single touch from hers is enough to melt your heart yet someone stands tall and firm, and it's not anywhere beside you—

“There you go... Getting a little excited, hm?”

Such a sight to behold, her adorable façade contradicts the possible sins that'll unfold at any given moment and just herself on her knees, maintaining eye contact with you pushes you further at the edge—at the edge of no-return.

“Please, baby—I've been longing for this for a long while now.” Yujin's tone makes you hitch a breath and a shiver as she's way too submissive and you're loving it. Well, if nothing can bring her down as she's at the paramount authority, then maybe the hard rod between your legs can deem her powerless, against your own accord.

“I wa-want it, baby. P-please... I'll be your good girl and treat me like no one can…”

A kiss on the tip and a shudder is your response, her alluring action almost brings you down on your knees, breaking your dominant demeanor but you stand strong, letting her know who's in control and it's definitely not her—Anymore? For now? You'll see where this will go…

You caress her impeccable features that captivates your very eyes up to the silken strands of her hair to her pillowy cheeks as you feel those soft flesh hollow around your cockhead, the suction definitely making you think the most unimaginable things possible. 

Even with her caustic demeanor and her so-called bitchy attitude that made you almost boil you in anger, you can't help but adore it as it spices things up to the maximum extent, further arousing you. 

Maybe taming such brats will be your speciality, who would have known that?

“God—choke on it, you pathetic slut—you planned this all along, don't you? Fucking call me here to discipline me about having sex inside the campus' restroom when you yourself gives in to choke on some dick? What a hypocrite you are—”

Tug your hand onto that makeshift ponytail as she sinfully gags onto your whole length, forcing her immediately to take it whole just for you to fulfill your desires of making a mess on someone. A forceful gag makes a forceful cough in return as she ejects herself onto your throbbing length with strings of saliva still connected onto the mushroom tip.

“Wha—what t-the fuck? Aren't y-you supposed to—”

“Just shut up and take—this—cock like a good girl, Yujin. Your—ooh—throat is a toy after all…”

As much as her voice is soothing and angelic to your ears, you rather want your ears to be blessed with such an unholy sin: gagging, which it is called.

She eagerly reciprocates your aggression as her clever mind lets itself do the work by giving you the utmost pleasure with her frantic bobbing alongside your frenzied thrust onto her heavenly tight cavern.

The caldera must leak copious amounts of that saliva and you will do just that, making her a complete mess of a girl and this is only just the beginning of the numerous profanities you'd love to do with this girl.

As much as you love to last longer, the tightness in your loins is free to speak up, opposing your wants.

“G-gonna paint my f-face, daddy? Oh! Please, please, please paint my slutty, cute face, daddy! Don't y-you wanna add to the mess you did on my face?”

And god she talks so dirty and it puts you in a chokehold of madness and the paramount battle of temptation. She knows how to pick your locks but you won't let it out just for this moment as you wanted something hotter than what she expected.

“Nu-uh, Yujin. Girls like you need to be filled real fucking good.” You tilt her chin as her gleaming orbs ignite with lust, anticipating what's coming next and ready to embrace all of it. “My seed belongs inside your tight, little cunt, do you understand?”

She's silent and muted, way too allured to the musky scent of your cock as she continues stroking it leisurely—

“Answer my goddamn question and don't touch me, brat!”

“I d-do, daddy…”

“Elaborate it, you slut—come on!” You raise her up with her firm grip of both her wrists, leveling her face onto yours as you look at her laced with disappointment and venom deadlier than any snake. 

“I d-do understand e-ever—everything you've s-said, daddy. I w-won't touch you unless you want me too and—”

“Shh, I already heard everything I wanted to hear, Yujin.” 

Without any time to waste, you command her to stand beside the nearby desk and undress herself, curious about what she's packing.

Of course, she follows your orders now she's learnt her lesson but will it be enough?

“Actually, don't undress, Yujin. I will fuck you senseless with this so-called of yours “uniform” until you could only think about my cock only—hah, I can do it, Yujin. ”

Another disagreement on Yujin's side but before finishing her sentence, you glared at her as she instantly shutted her mouth, silencing herself from her possible disobedient advances. Sliding her white garment off with the help of her dainty fingers, it’s just hypnotizing to see the cloth go down to her ankles, letting gravity do the rest as she gets it from there, keeping it on her hands. It’s inviting to see her sexiest look yet but there’s probably another thing in mind that you wanted to do with her.

“Now turn around and rest your stomach on the desk—also, give me your panties, Yujin.”

“B-but, daddy—”

“Do you want to get fucked or no?” Your tone is straightforward, stern and hunted with a bit of fury, and again, it scares her, not wanting this opportunity to be wasted just because of her own, silly actions of selfishness. She scoffs, rolls her eyes as the inevitable permeates: Yujin giving her little souvenir to you.

“That’s what I thought, Yujin. Everybody’s gonna know how much of a slut you are after this—hah, gonna walk out with white dripping down your thighs… Hm, I see this as an absolute win—”

“Please, d-daddy—ahh—gahh!”

An earth-thudding spank reverberates around the classroom as your hand lets Yujin know its wrath. A familiar rosy hue appears onto that porcelain skin of hers as a needy moan is a response from your proactive actions.

“That’s what I want to hear, Yujin—your beautiful moans… Fuck, it’s music to my ears—hah.”

Another spank almost brings her to her knees. You can tell that she’s already loving it considering how her pussy’s already dripping wet and the quivering of her thighs in every spank you do says a lot. Her breaths are ragged and tremble as every strike of your palm invigorates the pleasure she's feeling and she's loving it. You didn't stop until that tickle in your head said “It's probably a minute now…” and it just ended the beginning of a spectacular show.

“Not a single word will come out of your mouth except your beautiful moans, alright?”

It’s obligatory to say that, knowing that in any second now, the disobedience of this girl may actually prevail, and an eager response of punishment will await her if she does misbehave.

“But daddy, at least—”

Another smack onto her pillowy buttcheeks earns the finest moans escaping her mouth. You’re near on the brink of distraught from multiple acts of misconduct by hers and you’re absolutely not having it. She knows it and you taught yourself that she’s just unlocking the absolute dominative trait you have and you’re going to give into it until…

“Trying to behave like this for what, Yujin?” Another smack and an audible whimper is her response. “For more punishment?” Another harsh spank and this time, her earlier smooth, milky skin is now printed with your handprints red (redder than a tomato). She can’t help but utter a moan that’s music in your ears—

“Don’t worry, Yujin. I’ll use you like no one can.”

And that’s the thought of the devil, the carnal desires within you being unleashed—its full potential. You can’t wait anymore and neither does she and you wanted to do the most lustful profanities imaginable and you’re absolutely going to give in—

And there lies the collapse of the wall of temptation: you can only grunt and wince in pain as you engulf your member into her. It’s a whole, different story when it comes to the tightness of her walls—it’s too tight and way too pleasurable, as expected. Even the subtle oscillation of your hips earns the guttural grunts and lewdest moans escaping your very lips.

Rearrange my insides please, daddy—probably the main thought you’re thinking that has been clouding Yujin’s head since the minute you filled her slutty cunt up. It feels like a linked connection between both parties, sharing and speculating such thoughts that have been lingering on one’s mind and that’s no other than the thought of sex itself. 

You’re surprised as she acts like the total opposite of her earlier bratty behavior but nonetheless, she cavorted with her primal desires with you. You could tell the delight on her countenance even though you can't really get a sight on it—it's not like she's hiding it inside as the rivulet of her nectar slowly flows within the ring of your cock.

“God, what a good girl you are, Yujin—look at you, a whimpering mess because of my cock. You're such a pathetic little slut that gives in whenever there's someone—fucking—willing—to—fuck—dominate her!”

And it also turns her on—degrading someone, oh, such a classic one. Regardless of it, you may speak the truth considering how her heavenly moans and silent whimpers denote her as such a slut but it isn't like that, really. In a wider perspective, you made her like this and it's not even the climax of the show you're putting in her. 

No other thought can avert your focus on solely fucking her mercilessly—not even the thought of someone eavesdropping and catching you can faze you to be hesitant and someone really did catch you, it won't end in a good note: Yujin will be besmirched and ashamed and so are you. 

The pace you're exerting is wild and you know she loves it. You keep hearing her moans blessing your ears and it never fails to fuel your hips in full-throttle, hammering her hole like you have something to prove. Grabbing her hips for a greater leverage onto pistoning her very cunt, you let out the most vigorous thrusts possible as you didn't care if the desk will give up due to your actions because you need to prove her something. A broken cry can be heard, a silent shout of her inner self because of pleasure, breaking her slowly and slowly and this is only just the beginning.

This almost feels like a fever dream, like a déjà vu right from the start of just your mushroom tip being hugged with her walls, then slowly, the inchmeal of your length as time tells writes the books of the better profanities—

It's just a repetitive process of actions of a mind-boggling intercourse as every leverage and positions from the both of you are evident as it acts as a retaliation from pleasure and that what makes this session such an unique act of sin.

You weren't far off on your own climax and you can feel it rushing down your veins, invigorating the libido inside you on more than a hundred-percent. On the way her pussy grips around your rod like there's no tomorrow and the pulsation of it tells you that she isn't far from her own high either. Wanting to make her cum with you, you took the initiative by informing her and of course, adding up the harshness and the pace of your already-ruthless actions inside her tight, velvety cunt.

“I'm near—so fucking close, Yujin. Are y-you gonna cum too?”

She's silent yet loud with her lustful moans. Her mind is probably so clouded with pleasure that she can't think straight or formulate such a single, coherent sentence.

“Use your fucking mouth, Yujin—answer me!”

You need to spank her in order to get that desired answer escaping from her beautiful lips and it won't be very long—

“Y-yes, daddy—I'm super close! I'm—go-nna cum all—ahh—fuck—your c-cock—ahh!”

With the green light, you won't let yourself be stopped as you let it all out and everything went euphoric: your whole length buried into her cunt, filling her up to the hilt and as the cherry on top, your semen painting every inch of her velvety walls white. It’s historic and monumental that everything happened all in just minutes, let alone cumming inside to one of the popular girls in the university—Choi Yujin, you’re a fucking goddess, an insatiable one, you say to yourself. The ecstasy didn’t last very long but enough to cloud your mind—twenty seconds of an orgasmic rhapsody is probably enough to determine the highest of highs yet you’re still not done because you deemed yourself to ruin her, totally.

You’re only getting started and she knows it all too well…

“Stand up, Yujin. Help yourself and go beside that wall.” Your tone is commanding and enough to send a chill down her spine. She struggles a little due to the exertive force your hips maintained for over five minutes earlier. She doesn’t need help because after all, she’s just a toy to be used—your cocksleeve that’s just a reminder of pleasure (she didn’t want any help either).

Instantly, you pin her, earning a small thud on her as you place your arms around her thighs and then catching her off-guard by your sudden lift on her small, slender figure. She is light and it’s not even close to discomfort on carrying her with her back rested against the wall. 

“Oh—daddy! Getting t-too rough, are we?”

“Shut up, Yujin—” You brush your tip against the waiting, dripping slick of her pussy as you can see small samples of your seed leaking out of her heat, and onto the swollen slit of your cockhead. “—I just wanna hear your moans, okay?”

She nods and eagerly moans (almost screams) as you plunge your whole length into her again. The visceral and almost ear-deafening moan of hers just fuels you to draw another onslaught of thrusts into her already-filled cunt and her lewd and ahegao countenance just puts gasoline on the fire of lust and it just arouses you so much. You didn’t bother to start slow as you hammer her hole like there’s no tomorrow, the sweat of her midriff and to her face that adds up the mess you’ve made earlier is the cherry on top. Still ensuing a relentless pace, you commanded her to unbutton her top and eagerly, she does it with her left hand slowly as the other holds your muscular arms for leverage as she struggles because of her body being ragdolled like never before.

Now with more of her exposed skin on your sight (with the long nectktie still on your way), you quickly latch your lips onto her neck and collarbones, suckling onto the soft, porcelain skin and almost leaving a mark. Even with your animalistic urges taking over, there’s still heart in you and you chose not to mark her but rather, just leave a small reddish hue due to the harsh lipwork you’ve done. 

“God, you taste so good—you feel s-so fucking good—aren’t you just the perfect sex toy, Yujin?”

Still with a relentless pursuit on her hole, you make her unable to respond too by latching your lips onto hers, tasting the sweet, sugary flavor of her lips as she eagerly reciprocated alongside her angelic moans. Enough of the another lustful act, you quickly smack her backside with you palm (thank god you’re strong that you’re still able to carryfuck her after that) and wanted an answer—

“Right, Yujin?”

She nodded and screamed a loud “Yes, d-daddy!” as every thrust you do makes her unable to be understood and even to formulate such articulate sentences. With on how much you’re giving everything to her, the stream of her juices leaking around your shaft and dripping down to your balls is inevitable and it prints a smile on your face as you know that she’s more than loving this—you swear to god she won’t forget this until her last breath; this steamy session also going to cloud her mind for a week like what you did with Yunjin.

Ignoring the sensitivity and the painfully tight clenches of her velvety walls, you continue what you’re best at as Yujin announces her near orgasmic eruption around your length as you glared onto her, the two of you making a straight eye contact at long last as the last time you did that with her was before this merciless fucking you’ve done on her hole—

“Don’t you fucking dare cum yet, Yujin!”

“B-but, I c-can’t hold it i-in, daddy—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, you cockhungry slut! I’ll tell you when you’re—fuck—going t-to fucking cum!”

It’s obvious that she’s near, and so are you. You wanted her to reach your high with her—making a puddle of mess down the classroom and you swear to god, the janitor won’t be a big fan to clean this up—and you’re definitely a mere seconds away to the promised land—

Another thrust, another scream, another moan reverberates all over the classroom—

“Inside please, daddy.”

And you erupt, and so did she.

Releasing every single drop inside her tight walls is peak ecstasy, let alone seeing her beautiful façade become a ruined mess and of course, her pussy, mixed in a concoction of indistinguishable liquids. You let out everything including the moans you’ve been holding in since from the start—you absolutely gave in and unshackled everything, causing for another euphoric high. You buried yourself up to the hilt while she cries in delight and overstimulation, her pussy creaming all over your raging, twitching length is the cherry on top. After of almost half a minute of a hot orgasm, you slowly pull out of her and sat down, fully exasperated and drained while Yujin did the same, leaning down the wall as she slowly sits down, her legs weak and wobbly and you're the one to blame here.

“That was—”

“Good. Yeah, Yujin, you took me so w-well, too…” A small compliment made her blush as she slightly smiled, her mind still clouded with lust but mostly, delight. 

“Y-you—hah, f-fucked me well, too… Hah, thanks for this.”

Yujin pointed to her freshly-creampied pussy, full of your semen as it leaks and she didn’t let her chances go to waste, her dainty, slender fingers drawing a small sample as she squirms is a hint of satisfaction, herself fulfilled with the taste of your semen.

“It’s very delicious, I must say that—fuck, I don’t think I can walk straight after this…”

And now she’s back to her sophisticated self—but the pool of mess between her thighs, the disheveled mess on her face and uniform contradicts the adjective—whereas she’s stern, cute and focused but there’s nothing to be near that you just gave her the time of her life.

“Need some help, Yujin—”

“I’m f-fine, thanks though. Also, give me my panties back! I can’t leave here without it on!”

As much as she’s stubborn and so are you, and it’s way worse than her. Knowing that her attempts are futile at the very end, she doesn't even bother to try and lets you keep it.

“Argh, you’re so annoying! Just keep it to yourself, you pervert!”

“Wow, like she isn’t one herself—”

“Shut up!” She lightly punched your shoulder, causing you to overreact by wincing in that so-called “pain”, earning that cute, grumpy look from Yujin.

“Well, we should clean this up…”

“Yeah, I think so…”

And that ends another dreamlike moment in your life—everything flashed and felt like a movie that you didn't want to end but it did…

—

A week has passed and yes, that moment with Yujin has been clouding your mind since day one…

“It flew like the wind—so dreamlike…” You whisper to yourself while writing something in your notebook—call it a diary, sort of. “It felt enchanting and weird, at first but… it was a different story once I’m—”

“You’re inside me, hm?”

You got slightly startled as Yujin caught you off-guard. You didn’t even know how she had time to get into your spot—your little sanctuary on the campus grounds—as you know how busy she is but you guess she’s not.

“W-what are you d-doing here, Yujin?”

“Nothing… just hanging around—you, what are you doing here?”

You hitch a breath, fidget your fingers onto the hem of your shirt and stutter until you finally come up on an answer. “I’m just chilling around here doing my own stuff.”

Yujin’s radiating smile meets you and it is contagious but your demeanor is still what it was earlier—confused, stern and uneasy. 

“Uhm, I just want to apologize, about myself a week ago… I—it, hah… It was really good but I’m sorry I lured you into my stupidity…”

Now you become fazed with her sincerity, your face changing into an expression of guilt and pity, blaming yourself to for succumbing onto your vile of need and lust yet you reassure her, telling her that it’s your fault—

“No, no, no, it’s definitely onto me…” Yujin sits down with you as she looks deep into your eyes full of sincerity, the look where it’s so endearing and alluring that you can’t help yourself to fall under her spell but you hold yourself back, getting serious and wanting to let her know your side.

“I think we both just—became so horny and yeah… Very sorry about probably hurting you—”

“No, it’s my own fault making you like this. I guess I was just full of anger and lust that day that everything felt eerie… So, I’m sorry…”

Within the duration of the conversation, you kept your eyes off of her attention but with a deft move, she placed her finger onto your chin, making you face her and avert your attention towards her only. Suddenly, an unanticipated move was made proactively by her and all you can feel is the lusciousness and the softness of her lips: she’s kissing you. It didn’t last very long and you’re not asking for more and any, yet you’re just grateful nonetheless. You’re also frozen because of her sudden affection and it took you almost four seconds to react as her eyes anticipated something.

“I guess that’s enough for an apology?”

You blush, cheeks rosy pink and ears redder than a tomato as she softly chuckled, finding it adorable rather than shameful.

“You d-don’t need t-to do that, Yujin…”

“But I did…” Yujin proposes her hand to you, and you instantly knew she wanted you to shake her hand but she utters a breath, wanting to say something. “Friends?”

You complete the handshake and then smile at her gleefully, accepting her proposal as she smiles back too, feeling the genuine feeling of bliss.

“I’ve always wanted to have male one…”

“Well, welcome, I guess.”

Another light punch to your chest due to your teasing as the day still ensues as normal. Everything feels like it’s straight up on a goddamn plot of a movie but you’re not complaining. You’re still in a state of doubt as you’re not sure why Yujin wanted to be suddenly friends with you but I guess she just wanted another. The president becomes friends with the class trampoline—that’s fuckign ironic, isn’t it.

“Well, wanna see you at my place tonight. Gotta get to know you more and probably help me with this assignment, too…”

Well, it can end in a lot of ways as you could imagine this ending all on a good note. You’re not the man to turn that down as you’re just completely falling into the pit of her charms and you’re absolutely into this.

Well, you don’t see why not—maybe just don’t let Yunjin know you’re sneaky plan—

[yuri-is-online]

Hi! Congratulations again!? I feel like we celebrated 300 followers just a couple of weeks ago…

Can I ask for prompt 6 with Floyd, please?

Thank you in advance<3

6. Crowley has decided to put together a murder mystery for the whole ball and you've been the first one "killed." Whoever is playing detective seems really upset about that.

Annon I felt like that too I was really surprised we cleared 500 this fast (⊙_⊙) The last event ran from the end of July to the start of August so you really are not wrong.

Also as a note, if the other annon who requested this prompt for Floyd (along with Riddle and Idia) you are more than welcome to message me with either a replacement or a separate prompt for Floyd. I also have a request for this prompt with Jamil and Ace, so maybe not either of them, I am very sorry (;ﾞ°´ω°´)

notes: they/them used for Yuu, Floyd is swinging his mood as much as he is his fists. The other event requests can be found here.

There is a nigh demonic cackle hissing in a distant corner of the ballroom, it makes you want to ditch your mask and dancing shoes and sprint for the exit.

"As I was saying," Crowley tries again, looking in confusion down at the tiny card that apparently had sealed your fate as if he has maybe read it wrong "Yuu is our first victim tonight! Please see yourself up to the balco-"

"Who did it?" Floyd has somehow appeared just above your shoulder, mask tilted just off of his face. He had been sleeping, completely disinterested in the stupid game Crowley had thought up. It sounded really boring, and it still sort of does. But someone is moving in on his territory, and no, no, no. That simply will not do. You turn to look up at him, tiny shrimpy eyes wide with fright. (note: this is in fact delusion, Yuu is extremely confused, not terribly frightened by their untimely death.)

It's ok little shrimpy, he nods to himself. I'll squeeze whoever did this real good. (further note: this is not delusion, someone is very much about to get badly hurt.)

"Mr. Leech, unless you have the detective card-" Floyd doesn't even bother to respond, he just rolls his eyes and pulls the card out from somewhere. He bites it, keeping it safe between his teeth as he cracks each of his knuckles looking at each and every mask in the room. "Well I guess that settles it, um Mr Leech I trust you know this is a game and won't take things too seriously." Crowley is more than happy to abandon his students to yet another consequence of his own actions, shuffling off towards the gallery and you roll your eyes. Before you can follow suit Floyd catches your hand, his grip is strong, keeping you from really struggling or moving away much at all.

"Um Floyd? I'm dead, I'm supposed to be upstairs on the balcony." You know reasoning is a dead end with Floyd when he's in a mood but there "is no shame in trying" to quote a different eel who you are certain is not cackling somewhere in a corner at just how farcical this little play is turning out.

"Nah," he shakes his head "you're a ghost shrimpy now. And ghosts always stick around their husband's 'till the murder gets solved, 'kay?" It should be sweet, really. But there's this thing Floyd does with his voice when he really wants to hurt someone, "manic" is the best way you can describe the tone it takes, that makes you think if you really did die he would be quite quick to follow. Probably at the end of a hangman's noose. You sigh, doing your best impression of one of those TV dead wife's you bring Floyd's palm up to your cheek and dejectedly lay your head on it.

"My love," if logic won't snap him out of this maybe playing along can "will you be able to move on once you know who is responsible? I don't want you to-"

"Nah." He is more than happy to hold you though, spinning you around to face the audience as he drapes himself around you, chin resting on top of your head. "I'm gonna sacrifice whoever kill'd ya to bring you back." And with that lovely announcement of your impending revival, he singles in on a particularity terrified looking Heartslabyul random and smiles. "Ain't that right guppy? You wanna start runnin?"

"I'MSOSORRYHADNOIDEAITWASYOUOKTHANKSB-" The student vomits up his excuse and starts sprinting for the door, Floyd hot on his heels cackling with Riddle close behind, screaming at both of them for "breaking the rules of the game" but no one, least of all Crowley really seems to care.

"Considering all the ways this could of gone, I take this as a complete success!" You really hate how you can't say that he's wrong.

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: Dominion Disassemblers

(Art from The Book of Unremitting Horror, pg. 66)

Though this is beyond the knowledge of any worldly being, the Dominion of the Black was not always the galactic union it is now. Until a united council with a common goal took the head of the Dominion, wars both petty and planet-scarring were common among its many factions, though in the centuries since their grand union, these squabbles have been reduced to near-nonexistence except when weapons must be tested.

Many relics from this tumultuous time remain in use even to this day, one of the most 'famous' being the Gan-Dergorin, known in the common tongue as Dominion Disassembler, monstrous, nigh-unkillable biomechanical titans with a unique behavioral quirk built into their very genetic code which made them useful in the old wars, and has them remaining useful even now, long after they're no longer needed for their original purpose: destroying Dominion technology. The war machines of the Dominion are unlike any of the minor scouting and scientific units seen on Golarion's soil, the twisted mixtures of flesh and steel nearly impossible to truly put down for good, able to continue their terrible march even as enormous portions of their bodies were torn away.

That is where the Gan-Dergorin come in. These bestial constructs have a simple tactic when facing down any enemy: tear it to pieces too small to remain active. Even the most resilient Dominion machines of terror cannot survive the thoroughness of the destruction that Disassemblers enact upon them, severing every single joint and connector from one another until their victims are rent to their smallest possible components. A Disassembler which has the time to do so will then go even further by separating all types of tissue and matter from one another, then carefully sorting the mangled gore into piles and rows based on how useful it believes its alien masters may find the components, behavior which assured a steady stream of resources for the flesh-forges of the Dominion.

Even today, their gruesome displays are useful when intimidating or punishing captive populations, though Dominion science has advanced to the point such brutal measures are no longer needed; they have much more thorough and effective means of reducing living creatures to their component parts. As such, Disassemblers are used as weapons of terror against the Dominion's enemies among the stars and within their own populations, though this isn't to say they're restricted to distant worlds.

The arrival of a Disassembler on soil beyond the Dominion's grip is an occurrence which is rare to the point of nonexistence, but it has happened both by accident (errant portals and teleportation errors) and purposeful action. On the exceedingly rare occasions when a cultist manages to establish and survive contact with entities concerned with the Dominion's war effort, they can be convinced to send one of these horrors to the cultist's world. Rarely does the cultist survive to give the war machines an actual order, allowing the machine to do what it does best: kill anything it encounters, and assure its own continued survival.

Gan-Dergorin CR 11 Chaotic Evil Large Construct Init +2; Senses: Darkvision 80ft, Low-light vision, blindsense 10 ft, Perception +17 Aura: Frightful Presence (60ft, DC 15) ----- Defense ----- AC 25; touch 11; flat-footed 23 (+2 Dex, +14 natural, -1 size) HP:110 (13d10+30) Fast Healing 5 Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +7 Defensive Abilities: Reassemble, Upgrade; DR 5/--; Immune Construct traits; Resist Fire 10, Cold 10, Electricity 10; Weakness Serial Number, Thorough Disassembly ----- Offense ----- Speed: 30 ft, climb 10ft Melee: Pneumatic Cleaver +19/+14/+9 (2d6+6/x3), Variable Arms +13 (2d6+3/19-20) Space/Reach: 10ft/10ft ----- Statistics ----- Str 22, Dex 15, Con --, Int 10, Wis 16, Cha 6 Base Atk +13; CMB +20; CMD 32 Feats: Cleave, Cleaving Finish, Critical Focus, Improved Cleaving Finish, Great Cleave, Power Attack, Technologist(B), Weapon Focus (Pneumatic Cleaver) Skills: Climb +19, Disable Device +9 (+13 vs machinery/technology), Perception +17, Stealth +3; Racial Modifiers: +4 to Disable Device checks against complex machinery and technology Languages: Aklo (rarely speaks) SQ: Freeze (pile of metal junk), Standing Orders, Thorough Disassembly ----- Ecology ----- Environment: Any Organization: Solitary Treasure: Standard (scrap material, integrated items)

----- Combat: Disassemblers are not complicated creatures. They charge into combat with reckless abandon, using their Great Cleave and Improved Cleaving Finish to slaughter as many weak enemies as they can with a single attack before focusing down remaining foes one at a time with their Full-Attacks, using Power Attack at every opportunity. If given an option, Disassemblers prefer to target any creature capable dealing damage it cannot resist or nullify. A Disassembler will chase down any creature it believes it can kill and will not stop until its enemy escapes or it is driven back by damage.

Morale: A Disassembler brought below 1/4th of its HP maximum will immediately retreat to recover, even if it means abandoning fallen foes, Once it has regained at least half of its total HP and perhaps integrated new weapons, it will track down its foes to dispatch them. If it is slain in combat but permitted to return to function, it will Upgrade itself and track down its killers if possible, and follow its Standing Orders if not.

-----

Reassemble (Ex): Dominion Disassemblers can reattach severed limbs and portions of their bodies by holding it to themselves for 1 full round. A Dominion Disassembler is not destroyed when it reaches 0 HP, but is rendered inert and helpless. 1d4 hours after being reduced to 0 HP, all the alien machinery within whirls back to life--it reactivates at 1 hitpoint and resumes Fast Healing. Only the thorough and comprehensive destruction of its remains using methods such as immersion in magma, acid, or a similar substance, or turning to ash via Disintegrate or similar, can prevent a Disassembler from returning to function; otherwise, it can pull itself together from even the smallest remains.

Serial Number (Ex): All Disassemblers possess a serial number etched on a plate of alien metal somewhere within their body which is kept hidden near their centers. The number cannot be observed unless the construct has been rendered helpless, and even then it requires a DC 23 Perception check to find. Any creature capable of reading and speaking Aklo can make a DC 23 Linguistics check to memorize the Serial Number or write it down perfectly.

A creature may give a verbal command to a Disassembler by speaking its entire serial number aloud and stating the action they wish it to take, in Aklo. Due to the length and complexity of each serial number, this is a full-round action which provokes an attack of opportunity, and being struck by the attack of opportunity ruins the attempt to speak the number. If left without orders, Disassemblers typically try to destroy any creature that knows their serial number. Most creatures which learn of a Disassembler's serial number can easily get rid of the creature by ordering it to take a self-destructive action, or to accept the effects of a spell which will teleport or plane shift it a great distance away.

Standing Orders (Ex): To await further orders from their commanders, Disassemblers go into a low-power mode if they have not encountered another creature in 24 hours. In this mode, they come to rest and resemble a pile of junk, though they remain somewhat aware of their surroundings and may make Perception checks at a -5 penalty to detect nearby creatures and passively make Stealth checks to hide in plain sight as a pile of scrap. They can remain in this low-power state indefinitely, and will do so as long as they are not alerted to any creature, and spring back to full functionality instantly when alerted.

Thorough Disassembly (Ex): A Disassembler gets Technologist as a bonus feat and has a +4 bonus to Disable Device checks to sabotage or take apart complex machinery and advanced technology, and Disable Device is a class skill for it. In addition, after reducing a creature to 0 HP, the Disassembler is compelled to butcher it to prevent its return. It can resist this compulsion by succeeding a DC 20 Will save; otherwise, it must spend its next round attempting to coup de grace that creature if it is still alive, or to begin ripping it to pieces if it is dead.

Upgrade (Ex): When a Disassembler is defeated but permitted to Reassemble, it learns from its failure and seeks out methods to upgrade itself. A Disassembler has a number of Upgrade Points equal to 3 + its Wisdom modifier (6 for a typical Disassembler) that it may divide as it sees fit, and each time it is defeated, its Upgrade Points reset and may be redistributed. A Disassembler requires 1d4+1 days to make upgrades to itself as it gathers raw material from any source it can find (the DM may rule it finds parts much faster in areas with high amounts of technology), and never wastes time and resources upgrading itself unless it is defeated. It can take most of the upgrades multiple times; their effects stack. It will typically choose upgrades which prevent it from being beaten via the same methods it fell to previously.

1 Point: Gain 10 points of resistance to 1 form of elemental damage, or increases its resistance to an element by 10.

1 Point: Increase its natural armor by +1 or its DR/-- by 1.

1 Point: The Disassembler integrates a set of armor and/or a shield it can get ahold of into its body, granting itself the benefits of wearing the armor/shield (AC, magical abilities) but without suffering armor check penalties or speed reductions. It can only integrate one set of armor and one shield at a time.

2 Points: Increase its walk and climb speed by 10ft each, or gain a 10ft swim speed.

2 Points: Gain a +2 profane bonus to a saving throw of its choice.

3 Points: Gain 25% Fortification.

3 Points: Gain 1 feat it qualifies for.

Variable Arms (Ex): The Disassembler's Variable Arms natural attack can switch between slashing, piercing, or bludgeoning damage as a swift action, or change into a tool capable of fine manipulation which also acts as thieves' tools. The construct can also replace its Pneumatic Cleaver with any melee weapon it finds with 1 minute of work, losing its Cleaver attack but allowing it to use that weapon without penalty. It is considered proficient with any weapon it integrates, and wields even two-handed weapons with a single limb.

[hauntedcollection]

WARNING: CONTAINS IMPLIED SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/IDEATION. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

[Life is always better with you in it. I promise it’ll get better.]

Summary:

You and Simon had a good progress on your relationship… until he decided to break up and ghost you. Now he’s returned hoping to reconcile.

I might’ve been crying the entire time writing the dialogue… needless to say my eyes were puffy the following day…

Hot showers always seemed to be the best way to melt the day’s struggles away. Especially with being under stress from work, struggling to get a restful night’s sleep, and still recovering from the abrupt breakup with your boyfriend. He really lived up to his callsign because after his brief speech of ending the relationship, Simon “Ghost” Riley had simply vanished from your life. Granted, the two of you were taking things extremely slow. From when you met him, you sensed he’s lived a life that wasn’t kind at all. Being so patient with him had rewarded you with learning a new layer of Simon’s personality and little life details. But you persevered with him because you saw his worth in your future. Well… at least you did.

Shutting off the water and drying yourself off with a towel before dressing yourself in sweats and a jumper to contain the warmth of the shower you absorbed, you stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. The stark contrast of the cold floor against you feet had you rushing to the bedroom, but before you could enter you felt a slight draft. You paused in your steps and listened to the quiet night. Did you leave the window open? You knew it was opened earlier to not keep in the scent of the meal you cooked. Heading to the living room to slide it shut and hurry to kick on the heat, you missed the dark figure sitting in the corner of the room hidden by the shadows.

“You took a while to finish up.” The rumbling voice that sent pleasant butterflies through you only caused terror to strike through your chest.

“Oh, for fucks sake!… Simon?… are you trying to give me a heart attack?… wait… what are you doing here? How’d you get in?!” still feeling your heart trying to calm itself after a fright, you couldn’t help the nervous feeling of seeing Simon again even if he did break your heart and ghosted you.

“… went on an op… I did quite a bit of thinking… I missed you…” his words only struck annoyance in you,

“… right… I totally believe you. Listen, I’m not up for it to go back and forth with you… just… just leave me alone.” You couldn’t believe that after this man had left you for weeks, basically months, and now returned just because ‘he missed you’.

“Oh, come now Lovie. Let’s talk for a bit now.” Despite Simon dressed in his civvies, he still fashions himself as a shadow. His stature rising from the chair and slowly approaching you, reaching a hand to caress your cheek, “please let me explain.”

“No Simon… did you seriously think I’d welcome you back with open arms after you ended things, disappeared to fuck knows where, and popped right back expecting me to go along with you?… Simon, it really hurt… and I can’t let you in again…” gently maneuvering his hand away from your face only gave him the opportunity to grab your arm,

“Then explain to me all those calls. All those messages and voicemails you left me. Begging for an explanation. Pleading for me to reconsider… I thought you cared… or is it that you’ve become so ‘cold-hearted’ and had someone else?” Simon’s tone had a hint of anger and betrayal, but you couldn’t help but feel blinding heat for what he insinuated.

“You don’t get to pin this on me, Simon… I did care for you… but just out of the blue ending things… and not even explaining why… if anything, you are the reason why I’m so ‘cold-hearted’ because it felt like I died… you think I had time or energy to put myself out like that? Do you really think of me so low? No, I was being delusional the whole time hoping it was a nightmare…” at the sound of your true annoyance and being cross at him, Simon’s eyes widened just a fraction. His mind scrambling to try remedy the situation not only from hearing how upset you are but also hearing how your voice began to waver.

“Listen… darling… I messed up. I know I did. Even now I’m messing up… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for ending things how I did… I just… I wanted you to have a reason to hate me… to be with someone else… someone better.” Simon had taken to rub the wrist he had in his grasp, smoothing over your skin with the rough pad of his thumb, “… I was only trying to protect you from me… I really care for you…” his remorseful admission had brought out the frustration you thought you buried.

“No… no Simon… that’s not protecting me at all… I… I couldn’t eat… I couldn’t sleep. I still can’t… do you know how much I’ve gone mad thinking of any possible thing that I could’ve done for you to leave me?” The heat you felt earlier had now travelled to your face, concentrating on your cheeks and in your eyes, distorting your vision of Simon’s face staring at you intensely. You could only swallow a lump before continuing, “… I’ve always told myself it was stupid for people to give up on life when a partner leaves… but I was so close to ending it, Simon… I was so convinced that no one would ever love me…” despite the tears escaping and your voice warbling, you still look at Simon. Watching his reaction, his realization of what transpired in his absence, what could’ve happened. Simon’s stomach twisting in the familiar way when a mission takes an unexpected turn. Taking both of his hands to caress your face, attempting to wipe away the continuous flow of tears.

“Lovie… no, Lovie, no… don’t say that. Don’t say such things… I’d never let that happen… you know I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself… I’m so sorry, Lovie… I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you, I really am…” Simon’s internal panic has caused his heart to drop, “ I can’t imagine my life without you, Lovie… please, please Love… give me another chance. It won’t happen again. I promise.” Now your admission and reflection of what you’ve experienced had caused quiet sobs and hiccups to interrupt your breathing.

“… but it’s true!… I seriously thought I did something wrong!… or that something was wrong with me!… I was so alone!… I can’t- I can’t do this… I can’t trust you again!…” Simon releases your face in favor of wrapping his arms around you, to bring you in to him in an effort to hold you closer to his heart. Listening to the hurt in your voice that he caused. Simon rubbed his hands up and down your back, rocking the both of you back and forth, all the while listening to the muffled sounds of you being in pain.

“I’m so sorry, darling… I’m so so sorry.” He pulls away just enough to once again try to wipe away the tears from your warm cheeks, pressing kisses from your forehead across your eyes and all over your cheeks in an effort to stop the tears, “Please… please, you have to believe me. I love you with everything I am. I always have… Lovie, please don’t leave me…” Simon once again brought you into his embrace, holding onto you tightly as if you’ll break into pieces.

“… I can’t… I can’t… I can’t… because what if it happens again?…it hurt… I don’t wanna be hurt again…”

“Lovie, please don’t cry anymore… I won’t ever let you hurt again. I’ll take care of you. We promised we’d marry one day… don’t let this break us apart… I don’t want to live without you.” His words felt so sincere, the way he held you was so desperate. Seeing you being this hurt over him was another type of pain he was not familiar with. “I’m willing to do anything for you… all I ask is your forgiveness. Please Love… forgive me…”

“… yeah… that was what we promised… but you went ahead and left me anyways… I was the one abandoned, wondering what went wrong… I want to believe you… I really do… but I’d be a fool to trust you again…” eyes now red and puffy, yet still producing a steady stream of tears for Simon to continue wiping away.

“Darling… I understand… I know why you can’t believe me right now… but please… let me make it up to you…” with Simon now fully cradling you face in his hands, staring into you with a determination and resolve, “I’ll treat you better… I’ll treat you like royalty, like the most precious gem in the world… I’ll buy whatever you want, buy the most expensive jewelry… please, give me another chance, Love… call me ‘your Simon’ again…”

“… I don’t want to be treated like royalty… I don’t want the most expensive jewelry… all I wanted was you… that’s all I was happy with… I was perfectly happy knowing I had you…” those words truly broke Simon within. Knowing that he had ruined what was the best thing in his life. All because of his cowardice, he had caused pain to someone he loved. Listening to you cry because of him, because of what he’d done, he was willing to do anything to make you happy.

“Alright darling… I’ll give you what you want… you’re all I ever needed, so this is breaking me… if you won’t give me a chance as your lover… can I at least stay in your life as a friend?… I want you to be happy… and even if it means without me… I’ll do it.” Simon now grasped both of your hands and held it close to his heart, you could feel the strong beat of his heart within his chest. And as you looked at him through your wet lashes, you could see he was being sincere. That he meant what he said. That he was truthful in promising to do better, and that even if you didn’t want him in your life anymore that he would respect it. As much as you were trying to send him off, reject his appeals… you couldn’t help but feel hopeful for another try.

“… Simon… Simon… I forgive you… please, don’t leave me… I forgive you… but please don’t hurt me again… I won’t survive it… it hurt so much… so please don’t leave me again… if you don’t love me, just tell me… but don’t abandon me like that again…” you wrapped your arms around Simon’s neck, burying your face into the crook of it and tightening your hold on him. The sobs came once more, but as you felt Simon’s arms slide against you for an embrace, you felt a sense of calm.

“Shh… alright darling… shh… I won’t abandon you… never again, Lovie… I’m so sorry… I swear it won’t happen again… I love you so much…” Simon resumes rocking you back and forth while pulling away between words to press kisses over your face, “From now on, nothing will separate us… I’ll always be with you… I promise to keep you happy forever…” squeezing you tightly against him, Simon couldn’t help but to breathe in your scent. He heard your cries subsiding and all that remained were the sounds of your sniffles,

“… this better not happen again… I seriously couldn’t take it…” even pressed against him with your words muffled, Simon heard it loud and clear.

“It won’t happen again, darling… I love you… I love you so much… as long as I’m breathing, you’ll never cry over me… do you understand?” Simon pulls away to hold your face gentle within his hands, the face he dreams of and longs to kiss when he’s away, “My Lovie, may I kiss you?” And only when he asks that do you attempt to wipe away the mess of your face, carefully dabbing at your eyes and wiping away any nose drippings with your sleeve. Yet it’s still a sight that Simon loves, he hates that he’s made you cry like this but it’s brought a warmth to know that someone loves him this dearly.

“… I’m all covered in tears and snot, Simon…” your face warms as you feel the embarrassment of breaking down in front of Simon like that, yet you glance at him through your wet lashes only to find that he was staring the entire time. You felt his warm hands caress your face and noticed him bringing your foreheads together whilst letting out a quiet chuckle,

“Regardless, my love, you are still so beautiful and precious to me.” Not a single moment was wasted before you were pulled into a passionate kiss.

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.20

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - A dance is held, part 3

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, mentions of alcohol, mentions of choking, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2k

The plot is, unavailable at the moment.

The dancing was still going on into the wee hours of the morning. The men had become so sloshed that Shanda was watching them engage in competitions to see who could lift the most stacked chairs. A hiccup escaped her as she laughed at the sight.

“Who’s winning?”

She sat up straight, knocking her wine glass over in the process.

“Martyn! Where have you been? Nevermind, look at these fools.” She snorted and gestured to the men gathered around the only table in the room.

She could make out ser Joth amongst the men though he looked to be enjoying the spectacle rather than trying to win the competition. She thought maybe she should give him her thanks right now. While the room was warm and blurry from the wine flowing through her veins.

“I needed some air. Seems everything’s gone fine without me anyway.”

Shanda had already forgotten her brother's presence but happily replied, giving him a dopey smile.

“It was splendid. You should’ve seen the last hour. This lot is about to forge a lifetime friendship in the drunken hours of the night.”

“Night? The sun’s nigh upon us now!”

“Well, whatever. Say, have you got any more wine? I’ve drunk all the unattended glasses.”

Her eyes were wandering around the room hoping to spy another unattended glass she could snatch up. Drunks were terribly bad at keeping track of their cups but she was doing a fine job as the clean up crew. She hiccuped again, the sound made her laugh.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Her brother had said putting a hand on her shoulder and kissing the top of her head before leaving. She shrugged, more wine for her. She stumbled to her feet, lurching towards her destination which was the table of men across the room. She had decided to chat up ser Joth after all. Maybe he would tell her all about that pink maiden on his coat of arms. Or rather she could convince him to give her a tour of Pinkmaiden, where it set upon the Redfork not far from Stone Hedge. Better still, maybe he would whisper something pretty to her and make her into a pink maiden.

She was nearly upon them when an arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her backwards.

“By the seven, what in the name of the mother?” She exclaimed confused as to how she was rapidly moving away from her intended destination.

She tried digging her heels in but could find no traction against the stone floor. Her skin felt too sticky and close and the room was starting to spin around her.

“Wait.” She cried but the dragging did not stop.

Outside in the hall she was disoriented when suddenly she was lifted into the air. A squeal of fright escaped her before another round of hiccups started and sent her laughing again. She found she didn’t mind being jostled around so much as she looked at the ground moving below her. It felt so good to be off of her feet. And she felt soft and giddy under the effects of the wine. She had never drank so much at one time before and was finally starting to understand why people liked it. It was only after rounding the third corner in the halls that she realized someone had been talking to her.

“Irresponsible! I leave for two seconds and come back to find you drunker than a skunk. Really, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Shanda frowned, why were they upset at her? She was having a good time and so rarely did that ever happen.

“That’s about the only thing you’re consistently good at, isn’t it? Causing drama and starting trouble, you just can’t be a good girl can you?”

She huffed at the continued scolding. She was good at plenty of other things. The problem was they weren’t any fun. Life was terribly dull all the time, if she didn’t start trouble who would? A man most like and then there would only be bloodshed. Another stupid tragedy for families to get wound up about.

“Shut up.” She tried to say forcefully but the hiccup in the middle ruined the effect.

The jostling finally ended and she could hear a door opening, presumably to her room. Being dumped unceremoniously on her bed confirmed the theory. Struggling in the heavy folds of her gowns she tried to sit up. Only for Benjicot to push her back down by the shoulder. She should’ve known it was him, no other man would handle her so roughly.

“Stay there.”

Now she was annoyed, his own irritation having finally seeped through her drunken stupor. So she tried once more to stand and when he moved to push her down again, she bit him. He was on her then in a second, his hands pinning her arms down against the bed. She could see the fire burning behind his eyes as he hovered over her.

“Is the heir to be upset? Maybe he should find better company, perhaps the kennels will accept-“

He moved so quickly it made her head spin, holding both of her wrists in one hand and then clamping his free hand over her mouth. Her heart started to beat a little faster at the action and it dawned on her that she had let him get her down again. Her mind flashes memories of them rolling in the mud together. But it didn’t matter, her face was flushed already from the drinking.

“I’ve given you so much leeway tonight.”

She wanted to protest, he didn’t give her anything. She acted and it was of no consequence to her what he thought of it.

“I let you spin yarns to every lord and lady in the riverlands, watched you start a nasty fight and then,” he huffed, lightly squeezing her jaw. “I leave for five minutes and find you throwing yourself at a group of men half drunk and certainly not thinking.”

Shanda only felt warm inside, and she grew hotter with every word. Shame, embarrassment and desire all rolled together as he spoke.

“What were you really hoping to gain?” His lips were nearly brushing against her ear as he talked.

The room was spinning again or was she spinning? Either way she felt amazing.

“Have I not given you enough attention? Was nearly starting a bloody war for you not enough? Should I take you back into the great hall and claim you in front of them? Would that be enough for you, my lady?”

Normally she would’ve been pissed at his presumption to think he could speak to her like that and get away with it. But currently she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts and his hand was still clamped over her mouth. When he pulled back to look into her eyes the only sound was that of their combined breathing.

“If the gods know anything it's that you need a firm hand. That’s why they sent you to me, my perfect little bratty Bracken.”

When he removed his hand and caressed her face she leaned into his touch. His fingers sent sparks of yearning down her spine. She hadn’t even noticed her eyes sliding shut until they flew open as he wrapped his hand around her neck.

“What are y-“

“Did I give you leave to speak?” He cut her off mid question, squeezing the air from her lungs before releasing her just as quickly.

“Well?” He prompted.

“Ah, n-no.” She moaned when he let go of her wrists to wrap his hand in her hair, pulling her head back slightly.

“Then be quiet.”

His lips crashed onto hers and her mind exploded in a wash of ecstasy. She couldn’t think at all except to think of him and the feel of his tongue in her mouth. His hand wrapped taut in her hair and her own hands scrambling to grip his back. If anyone saw them now, there would be no more questions about the validity of her virginity. Wanton and writhing beneath him, she was greedy for all of him. She pulled him closer against her and would've wrapped her legs around him were it not for the folds of fabric holding her hostage.

When he broke the kiss she was gasping for air, lips swollen and a drunken grin on her face.

“More.” She demanded. “Do it again.” She was beyond the grip of embarrassment now. The only thought in her head being a continuation of that wonderful kiss.

But he leaned back away from her, smirking as he did so.

“I don’t really think you deserve more. Petulant, impulsive, thoughtless.”

All words to describe himself, the hypocrite.

“I deserve everything.” She replied, unconsciously licking her lips.

Now it was his turn to groan. He cradled her head in his hands, holding her like she was precious and breakable. Then he kissed her again, this time soft and slow. His movements were smooth and languid. She was a puddle beneath him, ceasing to exist except only as a vessel of pleasure. He moaned into her mouth and she thought she might explode on the spot. She was lighter than air. She didn’t know how long they were locked in that embrace, only that it could never be long enough. She needed to be under his skin, to wrap herself in his veins.

When he pulled back again ending the kiss for a second time she couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her at the loss of him. One of his hands was gripping her waist in such a way that sent sparks of longing down her body. She had almost forgotten he was upset with her until through hooded lids she saw his frustration.

“So witless.” He groaned, nuzzling into her neck and peppering kisses along her shoulder. “The gods gave you a mind to use and you haven’t engaged it even once have you?”

“I haven’t done any-“

She writhed against him as he slapped his hand back over her mouth.

“That’s okay though. Soon you’ll be my sweet wife and I plan to keep you busy enough to stay out of trouble.”

Her head spun as his soft voice cooed down at her. She lay there red faced and nearly panting as his hands roved over her body. His thick middle pressed against her holding her to the bed. He was insufferable, presuming to keep her silent, plotting to keep her inside. And she was worse for moaning against the hand silencing her.

“I could take you right here. They all think I have anyway, your little campaign tonight did little to dissuade those thoughts.” He smiled at her, an arrogant expression. But his eyes were nearly crazed with lust and she knew he felt just as good as she did. Two degranged lovers huddled together as the sun broke the horizon.

“The whole castle would know who you belong to and exactly how you prefer to spend your time.” His nose slid along her neck and when he nipped her ear with his teeth, she saw stars.

The combined sensation of alcohol running through her veins and his body covering every inch of her was a dangerously heady rush. If she could’ve spoken at all she would’ve said yes please. Instead she lay there feeling euphoric at his words.

“But I’m a gentleman and I can’t have you half drunk the first time.”

She snorted at that, not so drunk that she couldn’t recognize his bullshit. He freed himself from her, pulling her up as he went so she was sitting up on her bed. Hand around her throat he snarled, “Don’t talk to ser Joth.”

Shanda only barely refrained from laughing at his expression. That was what he was so angry about? She twisted her face into the picture of sternness, hand over her heart.

“Aye aye captain.” She then dissolved into a mess of giggles.

He did not attempt to continue trying to reprimand her and it was just as well because she was struggling to keep her eyes open. The sun was truly up now and she knew Lord Tully would have to delay the sentencing. No one was going to be in a fit state to address anything this morning.

“Go to sleep, meddlesome woman.”

Her eyes were closed before he left the room and despite the world spinning behind her lids she instantly fell asleep to the sound of twittering birds outside her window.

[smokeys-house]

Travel Log 11 + All the Sea's a Stage

Passage from Puukko's Travel Log

Venice dragged me kickin’ n’ screamin’ outta Mestre, or at the very least, I reckon so. That's honestly not very surprising t’ me. I do wonder if my falling ill were my body’s way of reconciling with m’ mind. It seemed t’ work. Regardless, followin’ its workin, so did I, too, start. Workin’ I mean. Fer Arturo, a fellow blacksmith and knife maker. Ye know all this, on account o’ the last entry. What ye may not know is since my betterin’, I've still been workin’ with and for ‘im.

I cleared me head fraught with fright an’ found I really and truly do not know what it is I'm doin’ out here. Difference now bein’ that I've sorta found peace in quiet resignation. I've submitted to the fact I'm miles away from Moominvalley on a fool’s errand, the fool bein’ me. I don't feel tortured by it n’ more. I feel more present here than I did on arrival, hell, maybe more present than I have this whole trip. Exceptin’ when I got shot at, that's nigh on the quickest way back t’ yer wits, if ye been there! Can't say I recommend it in place o’ coffee, though.

Venice is… well it's beautiful. Can hardly pick a spot to sit fer lunch without sighin’ a dreamy sigh. Water everywhere, an’ fine folks about. I find myself wishin’ I could show it to the folks back home. Still missin’ them, if only when I stop fer a bit. I've been wandering streets and stopping in shops, absorbing the local flavor. Exploring is somethin’ I'm keen on, and do well. Seems everybody's got wind in their sails fer the opening of the summer market. Seein’ as how I got grand designs fer that’un, too, I can't say I'm not excited. Spent quite a bit of time tryin’ new things ‘round these parts, but now everybody’s fixin’ to bring out the big guns!

Plan’s set fer tomorrow. Workin’ Arturo’s stall, sellin’ his pieces n’ mine, plus a lil somethin’ on the side for to pay him back in kind. Doubloons’ll make fer a good keepsake fer some I'm sure, an’ I'm quite happy to lighten m’ load.

Watch out, Venice! Puukko's prize-worthy knives are comin’ fer ya!

Signed Puukko

All the Sea's a Stage

Dawn had yet to break as folks of all manner had begun preparing market stalls in the wide open city square. Wagons, tables, tents, and even simple usherette trays surrounded a large central fountain. Draped fabric signs and sandwich boards boasted low prices and rare finds. Amongst the crowd and growing spectacle, Puukko groggily forced herself to set her and Arturo's stall and display. Early mornings hardly ever agreed with her, and by summer's start she'd usually have begun her yearly hibernation. Despite her disposition, she rather enjoyed the crisp morning air sinking into her fur. It reminded her of the cold Lonely Mountains in which she'd made her home.

She opened the large trunk she'd brought with her, and began setting the table with displays and cases, setting out knife after knife on crushed velvet. She nestled her coinpurse in the center, tastefully left open with a smattering of doubloons spilling out of it. As the sun rose from beyond the horizon, it cast a glow through the fountain's watery arches. The tentative quiet hustling of peddlers and purveyors shifted into warm welcomes under the morning's shadows as they baked away. Not being much for words quite yet, Puukko covered her stand with a cloth draped atop it, and set about the market in search of coffee.

Patron after patron shuffled in and shook off their slumber, brimming with excitement for the market's opening day. Despite the early hour, the crowd seemed to grow steadily and unceasingly. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans steaming as they met with hot water reached out from the corner farthest from where she'd set up her stall. She hurried over, but the line had already formed. As she took her place in wait, she found a distinct sense of unease.

“I've managed crowds larger than this'un… s’ what gives?” She thought to herself. “New place and new faces, but this feels quite like somethin’ else.”

She looked about the area, her head on a swivel. The line ahead of her shimmied along as each guest received their morning elixir. She noted who was armed, and with what, but only saw a scant few chore knives. She looked again for any sign of strangeness and found only that everything was as it seemed, though she still could not shake the anxiety that had taken hold within her chest. She paid for her coffee and a small baked treat to nibble on, heading back over to her stall. Of the variety of customers and sellers in attendance, Puukko was among the tallest, though not alone in that fact. Her head stuck out above most others in the crowd, and she navigated the sea of people with a fair bit of ease despite her round shape and size.

The earthy and near chocolatey aroma of her coffee seemed to stymy the feeling tugging at her stomach on into the afternoon, and a busser came by for her mug and plate. The cool morning gradually became a warm day as she spoke with countless customers all seeking something different, yet the same at the end. Some wanted knives for cooking, others for hunting, daily tasks, and so on. Both her pieces and Arturo's sold in near equal quantity, and for a small fee, she'd wrap each in a drawstring bag with a doubloon carefully placed inside.

The excitement and energy of it all was matched in quality only by its peaceful nature, and in quantity by how much it seemed to unnerve Puukko. She found much to enjoy about the day, meeting new people and sharing stories here or there, though the prickly sensation of anxiety continued to creep back in no matter how many times she pushed it away. It proved to be a fearsome foe.

It was only a few hours after noon, and she'd nearly run out of stock. With only a few knives left on the table, she became restless. She searched the faces of the crowd, considering whether to pack it in early or hold out till she found new owners for all of her knives. It was then that she noticed an oddity. Something was out of place, and for the first time since the day began, she could put a finger on it. She saw from afar, a man with a particular style keeping his eyes on her dutifully.

He wore a long blue coat with large gold buttons atop a plain, but considerably old fashioned style of shirt. Atop his head was a red kerchief tied neatly at the back in the form of a cap, aside which dangled from his ears, two large gold hoops. The man had a mustache that curved into two sharp points, and was otherwise cleanly shaven. His striped slops tucked neatly into his tall boots, and above all else, he wore a sword and pistol at his waist. This was no ordinary citizen of Venice, this was a pirate. Puukko's heart unsteadied, as the image of the man appeared suddenly and as though ripped right from her past. Given what she'd been through the past months, she entertained the idea that it was a hallucination. She chanced a glance and turned her head to match his distant gaze, and just as soon as she'd seen him and he'd seen that she had, he walked off with purpose.

Puukko's mind bombarded her with thoughts. Had she been discovered by an old foe? Was she getting sick again? Did pirates still dress like that? She decided against pursuing him, figuring it to be for the best if she wasn't involved in old habits.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?” A voice broke through the din of the crowd, startling Puukko’s ears.

“Oh, uh. Yes, I'm fine.” She shook her head free from thought. “Anywho, how can I help you?” The thought of the pirate she'd seen gnawed at her. She was frozen much like she was in Mestre, poisoned by the gap between action and folly. She'd spent long enough playing the hero and the villain, but the consequences of her past felt more obvious and pointed in Venice.

“That's enough, Puukko. You've done enough. Don't ruin this, too. Ye don't need to be at the center o’ all the world's mischief.” She thought to herself with a heavy sigh. She continued peddling knives, half heartedly hoping for some direction. Either something would drag her back to Arturo's shop, or something would plunge her straight into trouble.

For a while, it seemed as though the excitement had died completely. She'd sold everything she'd brought, save for a few small pieces. With the market still lively, she'd decided upon packing it up for the day. The market would be waiting for her tomorrow, and she'd made enough to pay Arturo back for his kindness. She turned around, setting her earnings aside. Just then, she heard someone approach alongside a clinking of coins. She turned just in time to see a man grabbing her bag of doubloons from the table. He snatched the bag and began to sprint, only making it a short distance before Puukko leapt over the counter. Her massive form tackled him to the ground, sending gold coins scattering along the cobblestone.

“What in blazes do y’ think yer doin’ robbin’ an old woman like that?!” She shouted, pinning him to the ground with one paw and her knee.

“Run!” The man she tackled yelled past her.

Just the other side of her stall, a pirate rose with the strongbox containing today’s earnings. He began blazing through the crowd, swiftly toward one of the exits of the square. Puukko was enraged. Her money being stolen was one thing, but the money of the man who offered her a place to stay was another entirely. She stumbled to her feet off the pirate she'd stopped prior, and gave chase.

“Stop! Ye thievin’ bastard!” She struggled through the now alarmed bystanders, trying carefully not to bowl anyone over with her large frame. Her quarry was lithe and thin, capable of dodging past any would-be do-gooders that attempted to stop him. He climbed atop crates and over barrels with ease, all while carrying the box of money. Once through the thick of the crowd, she could finally run at her full speed. She made much headway toward him, nearly catching up. It seemed as though he was running toward the edge of town, nearest the port. Just as they turned the last corner between them and the docks, the pirate turned and readied his pistol, aiming it at Puukko. As she rounded the corner she stepped back seeing his gun, flattening herself against the wall for cover. The man pointed his pistol in the air, and fired. The resounding bang echoed throughout the streets.

The sound faded, accompanied by the pirate's boots striking the stone as he continued running. Puukko peeked around the corner, and upon seeing his fleeing once more, gave chase again. Moored in the harbor was an elegant and boldly painted frigate, she was maroon with ornate details in black and gold. A large crowd surrounded her, mostly average townsfolk, and atop the deck, several pirates were ready to welcome their fellow who'd snatched Puukko's money. He forced his way through the gathered crowd, across the gangway and aboard the ship. Puukko followed cautiously behind, parting the crowd with purpose.

“I come fer what's mine, and fer that alone!” She shouted as she crossed the gangway, approaching three armed men standing in the center of the ship's deck. “This don't need t’ be naught but a quick exchange o’ pleasantries.”

“A quick exchange it will be, Captain Whetstone.” The pirate in the center said. He inspected the money within the strongbox one of the other men held open for him.

“But no’ a pleasant one.” One of the other crewmen said, scowling. The tallest pirate, seemingly the man in charge, set Puukko's strongbox aside. He readied his cutlass idly, preparing a cautious approach.

“At arms, men!” The tall man said. The resounding sound of steel rang as each of the men present drew his sword. Pirates poured out from below deck, keeping their distance and lining the railings of the ship. Puukko reached for her knife, only able to reach the grip before a sword was pointed at her throat.

“Tsk tsk tsk… Hardly a weapon befitting a legend, Whetstone.” He rammed his cutlass into the deck just before her, backing away to draw the one resting at his waist. “Go on. It's all yours.”

She kept one eye on the cadre of pirates within the center of the semicircle drawn by the men lining the rails. She wrapped her paw around the grip of the sword, deftly plucking it from the wood of the deck. It'd been some time since she'd held a sword she hadn't made herself. It felt clumsy, but not unusable. She held it in front of her face, and gave a duelist’s greeting. She took in her surroundings, and for a brief moment, felt a stillness she hadn't in an age. The scent of the sea mingled with the aroma of oiled steel and anticipation. The longing, nagging sense that had become so familiar faded in an instant.

“D’ya reckon you'll make history today, boys?” Captain Whetstone said. “Or d’ya reckon you'll become it?” She paused a moment, awaiting any response.

Whetstone proceeded to charge at the man she presumed to be their leader with her sword low, and he raised his to counter it. She batted it aside, quickly closing the distance and striking him in the chest with the butt of her sword. He faltered in pain, and as he attempted to regain his balance she threw him hard to the ground.

As the first man tumbled, the second approached from behind with his blade raised high. She heard his approach and intercepted it behind her back, whirling around to deliver a powerful punch to his gut. He sputtered a moment, unable to recover from the wind being knocked out of him as Puukko shoved him to the ground as well. In mere moments, she'd felled two men without bloodshed. The gathered crowd of tourists, presumably here to see a historic ship docked at the harbor, got much more than they bargained for. Hoots and hollers overlapped with gasps of shock and awe.

She turned to the third man from the main group, the one who stole the chest in the first place. She stomped over, intense and slow. “So what’ll it be?” She growled. “There's more'an one reason I'm still alive. Better start thinkin’ on why those two still are.” She motioned with her sword to the men on the ground as she continued her swagger.

“What are you lot doing?! Get her!” The third man shouted as he backed away. Several of the men lining the railings ran in, battle cries emanating from each. Whetstone feinted a high cut against the first man to close the distance, instead reaching for her opponent's wrist as he attempted to guard against it. She twisted his arm, tripping him as she took his sword in her off hand. The men began to encircle her, but her speed and size made her a veritable cannonball on the battlefield. She kicked the nearest man she could in the chest, knocking him back into his fellows. As he tumbled back, she dashed out of the circle, letting loose a flurry of ferocious attacks with her swords. She had no intention of killing, nor even maiming the men, she was careful that her cuts all met steel instead of flesh.

“Halt, men! And hold fast!”A voice boomed from somewhere above, from a yardarm on the mainmast. “Avast, ye, Captain Whetstone. For you find yourself on the ship of the star of the seven seas, Mary the Razor!”

“Who?” Whetstone looked up, seeing a figure standing proudly and obscured, back-lit by the sun. The fighting ceased, the pirates that had surrounded her began backing away.

“I've known many names. O, ye who would know me as the daughter of the Cane King, know me no longer! For I no longer live in his shadow, but bask serenely in yours!” The figure swung from a rope, landing with a stylish roll onto the deck. She flipped the dark, curly hair that spilled out from beneath her feathered tricorn back over her shoulder and drew her sword. A fillyjonk woman, dressed in deep, royal blue. She held her sword aloft, the point hanging delicately in front of Whetstone's snout. It was ornate, and decorated with sapphires that matched her outfit.

“Marion..?” Puukko dropped her defensive stance, slack-jawed.

“‘Tis I! Mary the Razor, Pirate Queen!” The fillyjonk winked as she performed. She turned her blade edge up and drew back. “Taste steel, you blaggard!”

The crowd cheered as she swung at Puukko, several flashy cuts intercepted by her cutlasses. Puukko deflected a swing at her shoulder, but did not follow up. She instead bound her sword against Mary's, leaning in to have words.

“What the hell are you doing, Marion?” Puukko asked with a concerned whisper.

“Play along, I'll explain after!” Marion whispered loudly. She gave Whetstone a reassuring smile before throwing her weight into the bind, pushing hard against Puukko's guard. “I've got you, now, fiend!” She switched back into character with ease.

Puukko, confused and in awe, attempted to reassess the situation. She noted the relative ease with which the men she threw flew great distances, the fact that they'd all gotten up and out of the way when Mary interrupted, and finally she noted the sword she held against Mary's did not seem to bite into the other the way a sharp blade would. She smiled with warmth she had not beheld for years, and felt reinvigorated. She backstepped a fair distance, tossing one sword above her with a flip and catching it. She smirked as she rushed back into distance with Marion, swinging both swords at her side. Marion caught both with grace, twirling as she pushed them aside. Marion's footwork was elegant and dainty, but fully assured and confident.

Marion threw cut after cut at Puukko, sparks flying off of their blunted swords as they met. They danced on the deck together, neither of them seeming to have advantage over the other. Their blades flurried with panache, each completely lost in the art of combat, and both wearing a distinct and visible fondness for the other. The bout lasted longer than any either had faced before, and was as rife with passion as it was complexity. After much swordplay, Marion thrusted dead center, forcing Puukko to append her cutlasses in defense.

“Surrender!” Mary said, her blade being held back by Whetstone's two, her free hand behind her and away with flamboyant bravado. “You've met with certain defeat!”

Whetstone bound her swords to Mary's, barely able to abate the force of her thrust. She took one step to the side, throwing her left sword into the deck, it sticking out a few feet away with a twang as it flexed from the force. Whetstone pushed Mary's sword into the strong portion of her own blade, against the guard.

“I reckon I have.” Whetstone reached up with her now empty paw and forced Mary's hat down over her face, shoulder checking her with gentle force. Marion's hat tumbled to the deck, and as she regained her composure, Whetstone placed her paw on the small of her back and swooped her down for a kiss, casting both hers and Marion's sword aside. Some in the crowd applauded loudly, as others shared confused looks with one another. The crew aboard the ship began to bow, some firing pistols and cannons into the air and cheering.

“I never thought I'd see you again.” Puukko spoke quietly, gazing into her lover's eyes.

“And I always knew you would.” Marion countered with a smile.

–

“I can hardly believe it. After all these years, I cannot believe it's really you!” Puukko set her cup of coffee back on its saucer. Below the deck of Marion's ship was a comfortable if somewhat gaudy atmosphere. The walls were littered with a smattering of what the modern mind would attribute to a stereotypical pirate, and though aboard a ship, many loose knick knacks and bottles sat upon shelves or against walls. An array of cushions were laid about small tables, alongside stools and chairs surrounding larger tables and counters. Rich reds and buttery golds set against rustic yet polished wood, and atop it all, a variety of lights enough to give the whole area a comfortably dim warmth. Puukko sat across from the love she'd thought she'd lost, as the crew walked about freely handling this or that.

“Captain, I…” Marion's eyes began to well up with tears.

“Don't ye start with that, else I will too!” Puukko smiled wide. It felt odd for her. “‘sides, not yer captain n’ more! Ain't even got me own ship.”

“There was a time I thought you dead.”

“An’ I, you. Though, I guess on yer end that were my own doin’. I did fake m’ own death. Or somethin’ like that I s’pose. Sorry about that…” Puukko fiddled, turning her cup around repeatedly on its plate.

“I– or I mean, we, did eventually find out what happened to you. What you did for us. But by then, no one was sure where you'd gone. Or if you'd survived out on your own. After that, it just… fell apart. Some of the crew came with me for a time, but everyone eventually made peace with the freedom you'd bought them in exchange for the freedom you'd given them at sea. Most decided to honor you by living the lives you'd saved for them.”

“If'n you'll allow me t’ speak truth, I don't deserve all that. I did it fer you, Marion.” The two of them sat in solemn silence for a moment as the ship bobbed idly in the harbor. “So… yer not actually still a pirate, I reckon?” Puukko asked, cocking her head to the side.

“No, we're uh, mostly involved in shipping goods and things of that nature…” Marion looked away.

“We're a traveling themed restaurant!! We do live theater!” A passing crewmember offered as he passed the table, walking off to another room.

Marion blushed, her face turning bright red as she attempted to hide her embarrassment. “Thank you, Marcus, very helpful!” She sarcastically shouted back to him before palming her face.

“No problem Miss M!” Marcus gave a thumbs up from behind the open doorway.

“That's Captain! Captain M! Oh, he can't hear me now…” Marion said, still hiding from Puukko's gaze.

Pukkko couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. She wiped a tear from her eye. “Well, that explains the furniture. And the crowd.”

“Do you like it? It's all weighted or nailed down so as not to fall during shows and while the guests are eating. Though, it does make it more difficult to pack up when we sail. The cushions and low tables are for guests with poor balance, and– Ah, I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all that. I'm just glad to have you back.”

“No, please,” Puukko held Marion's paw with both of her own. “Tell me everything.” She listened intently, growing more smitten with each detail Marion excitedly shared with her.

Puukko and Marion spent the next several hours together, making up for lost time. Then, they spent the next several days together, too. They sailed and performed along the Italian coast. They performed fearsome displays of swordplay within the lines of a play Marion had written for them long ago, and in the evenings they performed silly cliché pirate songs to immerse their dinner guests. They spent almost every hour of every day with one another, sharing everything they'd missed after so many years. It was nearing midsummer, and despite the past few days being a dream come true, the two began to feel ill at ease.

“Hey, Koko.” Marion smiled at Puukko. She was just beginning to wake, early in the morning. “There's something we need to talk about.”

“If it's about my acting, I'm workin’ on it!” She laughed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Marion's bed was quite large and comfortable, though it took up most of her cabin.

“We're planning on heading back out to sea. The Mediterranean. We'll be sailing out to Greece, next, I believe.”

“I see.” The gears in Puukko's head began to turn. She didn't want this to end, but knew from the start it would have to. She couldn't abandon Moominvalley.

“I was hoping you'd come with us. You're a living legend, and it'd really help draw a crowd.” She held back all that she'd wanted to say.

“Ye don't be needin’ Captain Whetstone to stay afloat.” She gave a half-hearted smile. “Yer a sight to behold all yerself. As much as I want to go with you lot, I… I can't. It wouldn't be right. To the folks back home, and to you. I uprooted ya when we first met, then did it again when I died.”

“Puukko…”

“I can't keep clippin’ wings, lass. I'm an anchor. I'm grapeshot through the mainsail. If I let go of Moominvalley now, I'd never forgive m’self.”

“I understand.” Marion laid back down, staring at the ceiling. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The rolling of the waves was peaceful, though both their minds were not. The silence seemed to stretch on and on.

“I've got a house.” Puukko offered weakly, breaking the silence with a start.

“In Moominvalley?”

“Mhm.” Puukko nodded. “In the mountains. Can't see the sea from most of it, save fer if ye head up on the tower. I used t’ go up there ‘n think about you.”

“Wait, tower?”

“It's a moomin thing, don't ask.” She chuckled. “It's good country, Marion. Lots of folk down in the valley leadin’ strange and loveable lives. They count me among ‘em, I reckon. It's beautiful, and peaceful, and–” She hesitated. “and lonely.”

“I see… It sounds beautiful.”

“It could be our home. Together.” She shook her head from side to side, already knowing the answer Marion would give. She knew inside that she could not take Marion away from all of this, but she felt that she needed to make the failed attempt to fully understand.

“I cannot go with you, Puukko. I fell in love with the sea as much as I did you all those years ago. She is deep and unfathomable. Unknowable in her entirety.” She sighed. “She's constant and endless… but I am not. Her waves always return to the shore. She'll always be there, but I won't. One day I'll grow too old to sail, and I fear it sooner every day.” Her voice began to tremble slightly. “But when that day comes, I'll find you. And without that dread and grief you've felt this whole time, you'll have grown again. And you'll have grown apart from me for the first time since we met. You'll be a woman anew. And I can fall in love with you all over again.” Tears streamed from her eyes. She held onto Puukko by the arms, looking her in the face with a weak smile. “Can you do that for me, Captain? Can you be my shore to break upon once my time as a wave has ceased?”

“I… I reckon I can.” She squeezed Marion tight to her chest in an embrace. The weight of grief borrowed from a goodbye soon to come weighed heavy on her, but for the time being, she chose to carry it while enjoying the time she still had with her beloved.

[sheepwithspecs]

Only Mine: Chapter 1

|| FFXIV || Rated M ||

Ao3 Link

Against her better judgement, Captain Rhoswen finds herself in the Holy See. Her mission: convince Count Charlemend de Durendaire that she is, in fact, his estranged son's loving spouse. Though she'd rather fall on her own cutlass than so much as bat her eyes at the source of her frustration, it's only for four days. What could possibly go wrong?

“N’ as they rode up the mountain path, one o’ them—erm—” Rhoswen scowled down at the tome on her lap, lips pursed in annoyance as she tried to puzzle out the word. The page swam before her weary eyes, elegant letters dissolving into meaningless squiggles on the faded parchment. “M… Majestic beasts came swoopin’ down from the ‘eavens. The boy’s chocobo reared up in fright, sending the boy tumblin’ down the mountainside to his n… his ni….”

“Nigh-certain demise,” whispered Aubrix, his small head pillowed against her shoulder.

“To his nigh-certain demise,” she repeated firmly, turning the page with a barely suppressed huff.

The Boy and the Dragon Gay had become a recent favorite amongst the many younglings who called the Missing Member home. For days on end they’d been begging her to read it aloud, never once minding the fact that even the youngest of the brood could read circles around their dear captain. Now, having finally surrendered to their incessant cries, she was left picking her way through the Coerthan tale word by godsforsaken word… at least, to the ones that were lucky enough to be in the tavern.  

As a general rule, Sirens did not waste idle time worrying about where their children were at any given moment. Most of the younglings lived in the tavern, bastard children of women who had no clue—nor care—who the father might be. Others, like Aubrix, were born of former Sirens who had chosen to wed for one reason or another, and lived in the city-state proper. It was assumed that if they weren’t at home, they were in the tavern; if they weren’t there, they were wading in the shallows, or wandering the marketplace, or pestering the Skylift workers for a free ride up the Descent.

Together they made up a large group of unruly ragamuffins that, for the most part, could look after themselves. The rest of the crew worked as collective eyes and ears, with everyone from the lowest deckhand to Rhoswen herself keeping watch over the little brats as though they were their own flesh and blood. A force to be reckoned with, they had a keen understanding of how to wheedle anything they wanted out of an unsuspecting victim… including their own captain.

In truth, Rhoswen did not mind reading the occasional story, even if it took valuable time out of her busy schedule. Though she constantly cursed her own softheartedness wherever the scheming little bastards were concerned, she could not bear to see their hopes dashed by her own misgivings. The majority of her life had been spent in illiteracy, only able to recognize those seven distinct letters that made up her given name. She had taught herself to read as a deckhand, collecting scraps of parchment from plundered ships and painstakingly tracing them by lamplight long after the others had retired to their bunks. Despite her best efforts, she was still forced to sound out all but the simplest of words, her clumsy tongue tripping over the syllables.

It was for this very reason that she had insisted all children born to Sirens would learn to read and write. The mismatched bunch huddled around her on their threadbare coverlets were better equipped to handle the world than their own mothers would ever be, safe from corrupt guards bearing false warrants or conniving merchants with dubiously worded contracts. Though they might hem and haw over their slates, she could rest easy in the fact that they would thank her one day for the efforts she took to secure their education.  

But for now….

“N’ the gods saw fit to spare his life, if only m… meagerly so. As he lay there, battered n’ broken, all manner o’ foul beasts drew near—” The heavy ocean winds rattled the shutters, moaning eerily in as it swept through the Aftcastle. The children nestled around her like so many chicks in a nest, the eldest reading along over her shoulders while the littlest ones dozed on her lap. They shivered with trepidation at the illustrated shadows on the accompanying page, hulking and half-hidden by the leafy undergrowth as they crept towards where the wounded boy lay in the foreground.

“He’s gonna be okay, aye?” Zori asked with a yawn that seemed to split her face in two, chubby fists rubbing at her eyes. Her feline ears, overlarge for her small stature, flattened as she studied the illustration with clear concern in her bright gaze. This was hardly the first time that any of the children had heard the tale, but they seemed to enjoy the pretense of asking questions as though it were brand new.

“Turn the page, n’ we’ll see what happens.” Had it been left up to her, the boy would have broken his neck at the bottom of the mountain and saved her the trouble of reading the rest. But of course a child’s fairie story would never end on such a sour note.

There was a collective sigh of admiration as the children caught sight of the dragon illustration on the next page. The sinuous creature was painted so that its scales seemed to shimmer in the lamplight; iridescent flames erupted from its gaping maw to frame the border of the text. Rhoswen had never seen a dragon before in her life, and certainly had no plans to go searching for one. Still,

she had to admit that the painted beast did seem rather formidable, if not majestic.

“Just as the boy was makin’ his peace with the Twelve, another dragon—”

“Cap’n?” The door cracked open with a rusty squeak. A’brohka—her first mate and closest confidante—poked her head through the door with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, but there’s somethin’ of a situation downstairs.”

“Aww!” The children fell apart in a chorus of groans, their tension shattered in the wake of this new interruption.

“C’mon, A’brohka!”

“This is the best part!”

“Shut yer traps!” A’brohka hissed, leaning further into the room. “’Tis the same damn tale every night. Ye can miss it for once.”    

“What is it? Don’t tell me that fool astrologian is back for another round,” Rhoswen scoffed. “Go out there n’ tell Melkoko I said she’s got my permission to throw the bugger out arsefirst if he keeps askin’ after her. Better yet, Abarwint can shove him off the balcony; I doubt anybody would miss him.” She shook her head, lips pursed in annoyance. “I swear, this city’s been overrun with long-eared fops too in love with the sound o’ their own bloody voices.”

“That’s good t’know, but it ain’t—”

“Whatever it is, Brohka,” she grunted, adjusting the heavy tome on her lap, “I’m sure ye can keep a lid on things ‘till I’m finished with this lad n’ his thrice-damned dragons.”

“T’would be best if ye handled this one yerself, Cap’n.” A’brohka leveled a glance at her over the rounded frames of her pince-nez. “One might say it requires a certain… sage wisdom.”

“For the love of—!” Rhoswen pinched the bridge of her nose, tamping down her temper before it could flare in front of the little ones. “All right, all right.” She climbed to her feet, her resigned sigh drowned by a fierce outcry from her captive audience. “Oi! That’s enough o’ that!” An immediate hush fell over the room, twenty pairs of eyes pleading with her to stay and finish the tale. “Aubrix can read the rest, then it’s off to bed with the lot o’ ye. We’ll try it again tomorrow.”

Aubrix took command of the tome, continuing where she had left off with far more enthusiasm for the source material. The children bunched around him as Rhoswen waved A’brohka out the door, following quickly and nearly slamming it on its hinges. The dragon’s belligerent roar became a quiet hum in the relative silence of the corridor, the only sound a faint whistling of wind in the highest rafters.

“What in blazes have ye done to him now?!” she snarled, once she was certain none of the children were attempting to eavesdrop from the other side. “If ye’ve been covering for someone, Brohka, best fess up now before I have to go down there n’ hear it from—”

“No, ma’am!” A’brohka shook her head fiercely. “Me n’ the girls are clean… at least, so far as I’m aware.”

“Then why in the seven hells is he turning up on our doorstep in the middle o’ the night?”

“I have no idea, I swear! He just showed up out o’ nowhere n’ demanded an audience with ye. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when we was… less than polite about it.” A’brohka hesitated, one dainty fang gnawing on her lower lip.

“I know that look.” Rhoswen narrowed her eyes. “Yer hidin’ somethin’.” 

“Not hidin’, just…”

“Just what?”

“Well—” A’brohka leaned even closer, lowering her voice until it was barely audible. “Just between us, I can’t remember the last time I saw Carvallain this out o’ sorts,” A’brohka admitted. “He ain’t been this flustered since the ‘Cudas stormed his ship looking for that bastard Emerick.”

“That bad, eh?” She rested her palm against the door, the heavy wood cool against her calloused skin. “N’ yer certain he didn’t say anythin’ about why he’s bothered showing up? Nothin’ about the Maelstrom, or the Executioners?”

“On my life, not a word.”

“Tch… he probably thinks I’ve challenged him to another duel.” She rolled her eyes at the thought. Sometimes it made more sense to think that he was the one obsessed with her, believing every errant missive and unsigned letter to be an invitation to duel to the death. “I’ll go down n’ see what he thinks he wants. Ye best stay up here n’ make sure these brats get to bed on time. Or, better yet, find one o’ their mothers to do the dirty work for ye.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

I wonder what it is this time? Rhoswen descended the staircase slowly, fingertips grazing the roughhewn stone walls as she turned the question over in her mind. It was not like Carvallain to willingly venture into Siren territory—at least, not without a damn good reason. Even on his excursions to Naldiq & Vymelli's, he made certain to keep to the far side of the Aftcastle. He never lingered to rest on the long benches encircling the plaza, nor did he stop to admire the sapling growing in the alcove beside the Missing Member. He saw to his business and left as quickly as possible, retreating to his own world of merchants and marauders on the opposite end of the upper decks.   

At the foot of the stairs, she found Abarwint peering furtively through the cracked door that led into the belly of the tavern. His bulky frame barely fit in the narrow stairwell, shoulders brushing the stone on either side as he crouched to keep his skull from connecting with the solid ceiling above.

It was something of a misconception that the Sirens did not allow men into the Missing Member. The crew was entirely female, to be sure, but there were always menfolk trickling in and out of its doors. There were sons of Sirens both past and present, vendors, regular patrons, and a few bilge rats who’d managed to charm her girls in one way or another. Some of them she even deemed worthy enough to live and work in the tavern, provided they knew how to earn their keep. Before leaving to pursue his dreams—or whatever the hells he thought he was doing, H’mhasi Tia had been her best chef. Likewise, Abarwint was the son of a former steerswoman, and had served faithfully as the Member’s barkeep ever since coming of age.

“Ye want that I should stay nearby, Cap’n?” Abarwint asked when he spied her, hands knotted in his stained apron. “I can sit on the stairs n’ be out faster than levin if ye need me.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” she snorted. “It’s only the fop. What’s he gonna do, lecture me to death?” Abarwint didn’t budge, bushy eyebrows meeting over his square nose as he glanced once more through the crack. “What’s the matter?”

“’Tis just… ‘e seems so… I dunno. Nervous, maybe.”

“He ought to be! Showin’ up to the enemy’s stronghold after dark… wouldn’t ye be nervous, too?” He didn’t answer, shoulders slumping as he wrung the threadbare fabric between his thick hands. “Don’t bother yerself about it. I know how to best handle Carvallain,” she insisted, shoving at one massive arm with all her strength. Abarwint stepped aside, obliging as always, though the pensive frown remained. “Hurry up n’ finish yer duties for the night. That inventory ain’t about to count itself.”

“Aye, Cap’n. But if ye find yerself in need of a strongarm—”  

“Get on with ye!” She shoved again, sending him scurrying towards the storage rooms as though his life depended on it.

That being said… it wouldn’t hurt to get a handle on things aforehand. “Ascertain the situation”, as the Admiral would say. Taking his place at the door, Rhoswen squinted through the crack.

The tavern was nearly empty, its polished floors still glistening from the remnants of the mop pail. On either side of the large room, the balcony doors stood open to allow the ocean breeze a chance to cleanse the air of sweat and ale. The ever loyal Melkoko sat atop the curved bar, the heel of one immaculately polished shoe tapping against the wooden frame. Her spine was ramrod straight, arms crossed and expression downright violent as she watched their uninvited guest.

Carvallain stood in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by upturned chairs. One long finger tapped his chin as he waited, an otherwise unmoving statue in the center of her domain. The remaining lanternlight threw the lines of his face into sharp relief, angular cheekbones and tapered jawline, the slender column of his neck disappearing into the crisp folds of his collar. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, thrumming traitorously against her breastbone. Handsome bastard.

To say she had feelings for Carvallain was something of an overstatement… but neither was it a complete lie. The Sirens and the Krakens had a longstanding feud that could not be ignored, no matter how handsome their captain might be. But Rhoswen had never forgotten what he’d done for her at Carteneau, whisking her from the jaws of death at the last possible moment. It was a scene straight out of a fairie tale, only it had taken place inside a horror story.

They’d argued about it afterwards, of course, but that was simply their nature. Her gratitude would have been out of place with him, just as any acknowledgement of the deed would have been out of place with her.

In fact, Rhoswen had the sneaking suspicion that many of their miscommunications—if they could be called such—arose not from any real antagonism, but rather something vital that they both seemed to lack. Neither bent to the other because such a thing simply did not happen in their lives; as a result, they were almost always at loggerheads.

A damn shame. Rhoswen sighed, gathering her wits for what would most likely be yet another needless battle. Carvallain’s ear gave the slightest of twitches, barely perceptible in the dim light. If he heard her, lurking as she was on the other side of the door, he chose not to bring attention to it. Steeling her nerve, she set her jaw and stomped into the tavern with a confidence she did not quite feel.

“Oi, ye mangy bastard! What in hells’ name d’ye think yer doin’ here at this time o’—!” Most of the fiery tirade she’d improvised sputtered to ash at the sight of Carvallain’s anguished expression. He turned towards her, plucked brows furrowed and mouth set in a grim line. Had she not known better, she might have believed it the look of a damned soul catching his first glimpse of the gallows.

Twelve above! Brohka wasn’t lyin’! She had not seen his forehead this creased since they stood together before the storm at the Flats, waiting for the Admiral’s orders to charge. She could almost feel the arid wind against her cheeks, crispy with the frying heat of magitek fire and searing flame of thaumaturge spellwork. Changing tactics, she waved to Melkoko in dismissal.

“Go ahead n’ finish up. I’ll take it from here.” The hostess leapt nimbly from her perch, curtsying to her captain before vanishing through the door that led to the Missing Member’s innermost chambers. Crossing her arms, Rhoswen nodded at an empty barstool with what she hoped was a civil—if not exactly amicable—expression. “Go on, then.”

“No, thank you.” Carvallain leaned against the wall with a careless shrug that belied his clear agitation. “If it’s all the same.”

“Suit yerself.” Pale eyes trailed over her body, sternum to ankles and back again in slow measure.

“You appear rather… underdressed.”

“Moon’s out, ye daft sod.” She resisted the urge to fidget, locking her hands tightly under her folded arms. The way he was staring at her made her feel far more exposed than she truly was. “Some o’ us are tryin’ to make it to bed before first bell.”

“That’s what you wear to bed?” His gaze lingered on the exposed swell of her bosom, outlined in white by the loose folds of the tunic tucked into her breeches. A flicker of heat, gone between blinks, so fast that she might have missed it… or misinterpreted it. His eyes cut away forcefully, scanning quickly over the empty bar before returning to her once more. His gaze remained stubbornly locked with her own, the obstinate fire unable to fully douse his unease.

“Why are ye here?” she finally relented, feeling close to a migraine. “If it’s a fight yer after, it’ll have to wait until the ‘morrow. I’m a tad busy at the moment.”

“Too busy to parley with an old enemy?” His head canted to the side, lips downturned in a feigned pout. “Not at all like the harpy I know and loathe.”

“That harpy retires with the sun.”

“Good to know.”

“Look,” she growled, rubbing her head with a wince. “Believe it or not, I don’t plan me days around… whatever this is.” She waved at the distance between them, summing up everything they were—and weren’t—in a concise flip of her wrist. “If yer hankerin’ for a battle, the least ye can do is let me get some shuteye first. Or, better yet, quit wastin’ my time n’ tell me what ye think yer doin’ in my tavern at the witchin’ hour!”

“I—” His mouth twisted, unspoken words bitter on his tongue. “I’ve come to ask a… favor.”

“F-Favor?” The breath seemed to stick in her lungs, burning a hole in her chest. “That’s a dangerous word for the likes o’ us.”

“As I am well aware.” Carvallain made no attempt to elaborate further. It seemed as though the admission had taken most of the bluster out of him, the wind leaving his proverbial sails. All at once she felt the pendulum blade swinging low, just overhead. Gulping back her nerves, she framed her fear to sound more like anger.

“If ye think ye can just waltz in ‘ere n’ pull some five-year debt scheme our yer arse just to—”

“Five… debt?” he echoed, puzzled. “What debt?”

“The—!” Now she burned for an entirely different reason, mingled shame and the remnants of something that might have once been admiration. “I’m talkin’ about what happened at Carteneau, o’ course!”

“No!” Confusion gave way to shock, then horror. “Gods, no!” he repeated emphatically. “I have never—do you truly think me a complete—” He bit his lip, reigning in the wayward emotions with a grounding breath. When he next spoke, it was with an air of forced calm. “I do not, nor have I ever, considered what happened at Carteneau to be a debt on your part.”

Then what was it? The words fought to be heard, bunching and tangling together at the base of her throat. Five years… five years of lying awake in her bed each Rising, fighting off nightmares with the thought of his stupid noble arse scooping her onto that chocobo as though she weighed less than a feather. Five years of wondering why me? why not another? with no answers to be had. There were plenty he might have saved instead, and yet he’d made a point to save her: his enemy, his rival captain, his… his what?

What had prompted him to risk his own life—not to mention the life of his beloved bird—by putting himself in harm’s way for her? Battered and beaten, half-crazed, her crew lying in bits and pieces at her heels… nothing to live for, a death wish in her back pocket—

Not the sort of woman worth trying to save.

“In fact,” he added, somewhat reluctantly, “Should you decide to help me in this… matter… ‘tis I who will be indebted to you. A debt that I admittedly have no idea how to repay in turn.”

“Ye still haven’t told me just what it is yer after.” Rhoswen shook her head. “If it’s coin, I haven’t much to spare. Anythin’ else….” She averted her eyes. “Anythin’ else depends on the request, I suppose.”

“Yes, well… I need you to—” He paused, tongue working in his cheek. “That is, I require that you— I would appreciate it if you’d—”

“Out with it, already!”

“Accompany me to Coerthas. To Ishgard.” The words left his mouth in a rush. “That is my request.”

“N’ then what?” She stared him down, waiting for the other shoe to fall. Coerthas? Ishgard? He might as well have asked her to sail right off the edge of the map. She’d never cared to look beyond Vylbrand, happy to content herself with pickings on its bloodstrewn shores. Carvallain wouldn’t have his heart set on that snow-swept wasteland without good reason, but what good could someone like her possibly be in a city full of stuffy, long-eared nobles? There had to be an ulterior motive, something he wasn’t telling her.

“While we are there, I need you to pretend to be my…” He lifted his eyes to the rafters with a grimace. “My wife.” 

“What?!”

“Rest assured, it’s only for four days.”

“What?!”

“Allow me to explain—”

“Aye, I think ye’d better.” Her legs felt week, but she dared not sit down while he remained standing. Pretend to be his wife?! That was the sort of thing joked about in alehouse yarns, not acted out in real life! What in the Navigator’s name was he thinking?!

Carvallain turned away from her, staring out into the inky darkness above the bay. He did not speak immediately, gathering his thoughts while she waited with growing horror. What could possibly be so bad that he needed her—of all people!—to pretend to be his wife? Finally he took a deep breath, arms falling to his sides as he faced her once more.

“My life, or at least what you know of it, is a lie.” Rhoswen waited for more, eyes darting from his face to his hands and back, but he seemed frozen in place.

“S-So?” she ventured, when the silence stretched too long to be comfortable. “I’d venture a third o’ the pirates walkin’ the decks have some longwinded backstory they found at the bottom o’ the ale keg. Ye think that makes ye special or somethin’?”

“Please, let me finish.”

“Ye weren’t talkin’—!”

“I am not an orphan. My parents were not fortune-tellers… though my family is admittedly known for reading the stars. And while I am the victim of a pirate attack on our vessel, I was not coerced into this life. Rather, I chose it as a means of escape from the one I’d previously known.”  

“I still don’t see what any o’ this has to do with—”

“Twenty years,” he interrupted, waving away her protests impatiently. “Twenty years I remained hidden in plain sight, making it known that I wanted nothing to do with Ishgard. They are cold bunch, lacking both in passion and imagination, and I had little reason to remain in contact following my voluntary separation. In fact, there was a time not so long ago when I wished never to be reminded of that icy fortress, nor those who choose to reside there, trapped in chains of their own making.”   

“However, it appears that circumstances have recently changed within the Holy See. The Dragonsong War has ended, and in rebuilding their city it seems that the people have taken a less… orthodox approach to mending their many woes. After careful consideration, I thought it prudent to—that is, a recent report made it clear to me that—what I mean to say is—”

“I hope ye don’t plan on talkin’ circles around yerself ‘till sunrise,” Rhoswen grunted, crossing her arms. Despite his rambling, he still hadn’t managed to land on exactly what he was doing here, or why he was going there, or how she fit into the picture.

“Perhaps you have heard that the Krakens recently entered a trade agreement with Ishgard.” He lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely as he spoke. “The agreement itself was of little importance; such things are commonplace enough between nations, and merchants of nations. But the merchant in question is well-known to me. He is a shrewd tradesman, a skillful financier, a powerful orator, and… he is my father. Indeed, I am the only son of Count Charlemend de Durendaire.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Count Durendaire… of House Durendaire? One of the four noble Houses of Ishgard? Founders of the Holy See?” Rhoswen shrugged, shaking her head.

“I don’t know, n’ I couldn’t care less.”

“They are a noble and prestigious—never mind.” Secretly, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that his anxious energy quickly fizzled into annoyance at her lack of knowledge. “What matters is that until recently, the Count was under the impression that Gerald was the true captain of the Kraken’s Arms. I did not dare allow the truth to be known until I could ascertain for myself whether or not his apparent change of heart was genuine.”

“Change of—?”

“My father was a cold, calculating sort of man. Appeals to emotion held little sway over his decisions. That being said… to see him so affable, so willing to reveal trade secrets, and to piratesat that….” He shook his head in clear disbelief. “In any case, the truth has since been revealed, and my father has since requested my presence in Ishgard. To that effect, I may have made several false claims in my attempts to circumnavigate this particular reunion.”

“N’ I suppose one o’ these claims is…?”

“That I am happily married to a Limsan native, and—being head over heels in love—thus cannot bear the thought of leaving her behind while I undertake such a journey.” He hesitated, glancing at her with an expression that sent a fresh wave of trepidation down her spine. “I feel I must admit that in my attempts to shock him with some of the more sordid details, I may have… described you.”

“Why ye—ye schemin’, no-good bastard of a fop!” she spat, cheeks scalding in a hot blush. “I ain’t done nothin’ to ye… not in the last twelvemonth, anyroad! Just what in hells’ name did ye have to say about me?!”

“Only the unvarnished truth.” It was his turn to lift his shoulders in a careless shrug, fingers flying as he listed off her apparent “qualities”. “Crass, vulgar, loudmouthed—” she advanced on him, stomping across the room as visions of pushing him from the balcony flooded the forefront of her mind. He watched her approach with mild disinterest, cocking his head to the side as he continued. “Shrewish, vexing… alluring.” She stopped short, heart doing an odd leap from her throat back down to her chest.

“Wh-What—”

“Cunning, loyal…a might to rival the Fury and beauty to match.” There it was again, that hint of something that vanished just before she could full process what it was, or what it meant. “Of course, I was hoping this news brought about a swift and merciless disownment, perhaps even a curse on any bastard offspring I chose to sire. Imagine my surprise when… well…” He took a piece of parchment from his silken shirt; it had the look of having been folded and unfolded many times, the edges creased and worn. Holding it at arm’s length, he began to read:

My son,

Words cannot fully express the elation I felt at learning of your nuptials. The thought that you have fostered a love as deep and poignant as the one I once shared with your late mother immediately sets my mind at ease.

Of course, your wife is more than welcome to accompany you to our fair and noble nation. In fact, I will be quite disappointed if I am not allowed to meet and make her acquaintance during the duration of your stay. Rest assured, my home—our home, I should write, for it will always remain yours as well—is freely open to her, as well as any other esteemed personage you wish to bring on your travels.  

I look forward to anticipating your arrival on the twenty-fifth sun of the third astral moon, should that date be amenable to you and your wife.

Yours,

Count Charlemend de Durendaire

“Twenty-fifth—! That’s less than a sennight!” she screeched. “Even if I did care to go along with yer insane plan, it ain’t nearly enough time to get my affairs in order!”

“You needn’t concern yourself with anything,” Carvallain assured her, tucking the letter back into the folds of his shirt. “Think of it as an all-expenses-paid holiday. Four days of absolute luxury: comfortable accommodations, hearty meals, a little sightseeing… and best of all, you won’t be responsible for a single gil. In fact, as a token of gratitude I’ll purchase whatever your heart desires while we’re there.”  

“But—But—” She looked desperately around the empty tavern, hoping some handy excuse would jump at her from the shadows. “Ye said it yerself: I don’t know the first godsdamned thing about being a noble lady! I’m crass n’… n’ shrewish!” N’ beautiful, she couldn’t help but add to herself, still tingling from the compliment.

“I don’t expect you to behave like a noble lady,” he replied patiently. “I expect you to behave like yourself. If my father has truly changed for the better, he shouldn’t so much as flinch at your… lack of etiquette. No,” he mused, a sly smile lifting the corner of his mouth, “no, it is imperative that you behave like a true-blue Limsan.”

“Well—I ain’t got nothin’ to wear!”

“That can be arranged.”

“No! Say we did manage to find some fancy-lookin’ duds in the Alley,” she argued. “It’d still be impossible for anyone to tailor ‘em in time fer—"

“Anything is possible, provided you have the coin… which I do.”

“But—No!” she repeated, stomping her foot. “No, absolutely not!” Pointing at him, she gathered her resolve and released a tirade that would have sent her Sirens running for the hills. “Why should I give a damn what ye said to yer da?! Yer the one what made this mess in the first place, n’ far as I’m concerned yer the one that can fix it! I ain’t havin’ no part o’ yer little scheme, no matter how much yer offerin’ to pay! Mark my words: it’ll be a cold day in all seven hells when ye catch me pokin’ a single toe past their front gates!”

How do I manage to get myself into these situations!?

The airship hummed beneath her boots as it picked up speed, icy winds whipping at the fur-lined hood of her cloak. Her “husband” was right; with enough gil, anything was possible. Rhoswen scowled at the thought, tugging absently on the lace cuffs of her new woolen gown. A valise of similar outfits sat at her feet, the likes of which she’d only dreamed of as a child.

Despite Carvallain’s goading, she was not wholly unfamiliar with the concept of stays or gartered stockings. She had been a normal maiden once, with all the modesty expected of village girls. It was only after she turned to begging that she lost her sense of propriety, trading her smallclothes for food and eventually adopting the buccaneer’sstyle. That being said… kid gloves and embroidered boots were well outside her realm of knowledge. She felt more like a bird in borrowed feathers than a merchant’s wife, but so far no one had bothered to question her.   

It’s only four days, after all….

Carvallain sat stiff as a board beside her, hands tightly fisted on his thighs. He had also elected to dress warmly; unlike her, he seemed perfectly at home in the silk and brocade. It was not very different from his usual wardrobe, she noted, though better padded against the chill. His unruly hair had been trimmed and tamed into a more conventional style, though the wind had managed to work a few fiery strands free. They draped limply across his forehead, giving him a boyish air that clashed with his tense frown.    

She resisted the urge to reach up and tuck his hair back into place, instead placing a hesitant hand atop his in a rare display of pity. Carvallain had been quiet ever since boarding the airship, and it seemed that each malm only added to his growing unease. Even so, she had no way of knowing if he’d accept her touch for what it was, or slap her hand away with disdain.

In the days leading up to their little excursion, he had not bothered to explain what, exactly, being his wife was supposed to entail. Surely he didn’t expect her to be all lovey-dovey; she didn’t think she could handle it, not without losing her last meal in the process. Likewise, she was fairly certain he didn’t expect her to be frigid. “Be yourself”, he’d said, but what did that mean?

Did he truly want her, or that version of herself he was bound to recognize? How could she know? How could she even bring herself to ask?

“We’ll be landing in Ishgard within a bell’s time,” the captain announced, wiping his brow with a dingy handkerchief. “Best gather up your belongings and prepare to disembark.” The scholar across the aisle shut his tome, following the captain’s order to the letter as he carefully packed his knapsack. Near the back of the cabin, a merchant opened one eye; seeing naught but cloud cover, he rolled over with a grunt, pillowing his head with his bag of wares.

Rhoswen’s attention was called back as long fingers encircled hers, warm even through the gloves. Carvallain seemed to rouse himself with a little shake, letting out a low breath; she watched it steam in the chilled air, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Second thoughts?” she murmured, testing the waters and giving his fingers a bracing squeeze. “There’s still time to change yer mind, scurry back to Limsa with yer tail ‘twixt yer legs.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He shot her a rueful smile. “Might as well get it over with.” His thumb traced slowly over her palm, back and forth. Their eyes met and she turned away quickly, feeling toasty despite the freezing cold.

“If nothin’ else, ye can always let the blame fall on me.” She pulled away from his inviting warmth, burying her hands in her skirts to stop herself from wringing them nervously. “If they start gettin’ all pushy, just tell ‘em I can’t stand the cold. Ye’ve no choice but to take me home, what with my weak constitution n’ all.”

“Home,” he echoed, the sound lost on a forlorn sigh. “Yes… my siren, calling me home….”

“Yers my arse.” Her ears felt as though they were on fire beneath the hood. “I still don’t know how ye managed to rope me into this steamin’ pile o’ chocobo shite… why ye even chose me in the first place….”

“I had to make it believable, didn’t I?” he huffed absentmindedly, digging through his pockets. Pulling out a silver timepiece, he squinted down at its thin hands in the pale light. “Who else would I marry?”

“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean!?” He clicked the watch face shut, glancing at her sharply before clearing his throat.

“Ahem. I suppose we’ll be landing any minute now. Do you have your valise?”

“Don’t change the subject on me, coward—!” He put a finger to her lips, effectively shushing her before jerking his head pointedly towards the captain. His meaning was clear: don’t make a scene. “This ain’t over,” she hissed, batting his hand away before yanking the valise onto her lap. “Watch n’ see if I don’t blow yer cover the second we land.”

“If that’s the case… I wish you the best of luck in paying for your return ticket, my dear.”

“Argh!”

Author's Note: Was this whole fic an elaborate excuse to force Rhoswen into the High House cloche and bustle? ...Maybe so.

[beevean]

Another request by @the-crow-binary! Not horrible, ths time <3 (kind of, implied abuse as per warning) Just some platonic Hectorcard! Coming with a lovely artistic depiction!

@curse-of-darkness thought you'd like some more castlebros content :3

~

Adrian was both thankful and resentful for his keen vampire smell.

The monster in him was attracted by any drop of blood he could perceive. It made him frightful to set foot into his mother’s world, lest he became a beast like others of his kind. It also helped him to find the few humans inside his castle wherever they were hidden.

He wished he could be disgusted that his sense of smell led him directly to his father’s private room. Perhaps, he thought with no small dose of venom, he should start to call it Hector’s room.

He wished not to dwell on such thoughts any longer. He seeped through the door as mist, to do what he sought Hector for: be sure that he was safe and sound.

In the dark room, with windows obscured by thick curtains, the smell was revolting. Adrian covered his nose to protect him from the telltale signs of a night of passion he had no desire to imagine. Not when his father was involved. Not when…

The object of his father’s insanity was huddled on the large bed, looking as tiny as a child, under what appeared to be a dark cover. But as Adrian gingerly approached him, he recognized the Lord’s cloak, the rich brocaded velvet that without a doubt kept the man warm as the vampire abandoned him once he was done with his defiling.

To a human, Hector would appear to be sleeping peacefully. To Adrian’s ears, the thumping of his heart told a different tale.

The cursed blood running in his veins tasted particularly foul.

“My Lord…?”

A shift in the air must have alerted the General. He groggily opened his eyes, although Adrian doubted they’d be any good in the pitch darkness.

He swallowed his irritation at being confused for that man. “No, Hector, it’s me,” he reassured him, lighting a candle on the nightstand so that he would not be the only one gifted with sight. Slowly, he sat on his parents’ bed, close enough to Hector, not close enough to scare him.

Hector’s heart beat even faster. Adrian hated how he could see with a naked eye the blood pooling in the man’s cheeks. He needed a human to keep him company, to make him feel safe, not a monster born of a devil.

“I’m alright, young Master,” Hector muttered weakly, turning on his back and looking at the ceiling. “Please do not be concerned for me.”

“You ask me the impossible.”

“I appreciate it, but there is nothing you can do, and nothing I need. I only need a few minutes’ rest, and I’ll go back to work.”

Adrian blinked. “To work?”

“Your father’s orders, young Master. Our troops have been decimated. Isaac and I are working double time to compensate.”

“But you’re…” Adrian could no longer pretend to ignore the unmistakable bitter smell of dried blood on skin. “Are you in any condition to Forge?”

Hector’s icy eyes were clouded as he spoke: “I swore that I would serve my Lord until I dropped dead. I’m his elite General. I cannot disappoint him.”

Adrian’s stomach no longer hungered for Hector’s blood.

What a cruel Lord his father had become. What was the point of all of this? Was he making an effort in desecrating everything dear to Mother? Her memory, her principles, her love for all the children in the castle. That creature… Adrian could no longer recognize him as the one who sired him.

And the placidness in Hector’s voice! As if he, himself, saw no wrong in his condition. His Lord had drilled into his and Isaac’s head that they were but to be used to his heart’s content, and some shackles were nigh impossible to break.

But if Isaac was a lost cause, all too happy to tear himself into pieces to please an unpleasable Lord, Hector was nothing like them. Adrian knew. His words and demeanor spoke of a truly human heart, one that for sure carried sins, but could at least recognize them. Underneath Dracula’s words filling his soul, there were hidden kindness and compassion.

Of all the wretched creatures in his home, this man was the only one he could call an unfortunate brother.

He sighed. For a Prince, he was woefully lacking in the art of speech: words felt like meaningless fluff to fill the air, a waste of energy he did not enjoy partaking in. And what good would words do in such a case?

Then, he decided. He unclasped his cloak.

“Y-young Master?” Ah, he did not mean to startle Hector. He hoped the gesture didn’t seem untoward.

“Discard that piece of cloth,” Adrian ordered, facing to the side and pointing to the sorry excuse for a cover, “and take this one.”

“May I ask why?”

I refuse to stand back and do nothing. You are right that I am powerless against Dracula. But please, please… do not feel as alone as powerless as I am.

“My cloak should fit your size more,” he said, before offering his gift.

Dracula had the gall to still have paintings of Mother hanging from the walls. Adrian forced his gaze to fixate on her face, even though the picture did not quite look like he remembered, and he could not remember which vision was the right one. Nevertheless, he found himself, as he had been prone to do ever since that day, wondering if she could see her son from heaven.

The cloak in his hand got taken.

Adrian would make sure that her last words would not be lost to the wind.

A sob resounded in the room.

He glanced with the corner of his eye to his side. Hector sat himself on the bed, his legs drawn to his chest, wrapped around Adrian’s cloak and gripping it with such strength that his knuckles turned white.

No one should be brought to tears by such a meaningless gesture.

“Young—Adrian… thank you… I…”

Adrian stopped himself from touching Hector. He figured he had enough. Perhaps, someday, he would be able to without any wall between them.

“… I’ll tell your Lord that I need your help with sorting the weapons in my arsenal,” he murmured. “In case he refuses to listen to me, I will still give you a potion to regenerate blood.”

Hector only nodded, chest still heaving, and he himself clasped Adrian’s hand. He, who as the Prince was forbidden from ever being touched by his inferiors, let him.

Eventually, when the heart in his chest grew too heavy for him to bear, he got up, and left his brother in the embrace of his cloak.

[thenightling]

Oh, my God! I'm so thick headed... I never noticed this. Evil Ed (who is coded to be gay in the original Fright Night and played by gay actor, Stephen Geoffreys) was resentful of Charlie's relationship with Amy because HE had a crush on Charlie, his childhood friend.

I saw so many subtle Queer overtones and references in Fright Nigh but never caught on that Ed might have feelings for Charlie. It makes so much sense!

[eclipse-cluster]

Apologies come in threes.

I have seen the light, the stage the shows, it’s many delights,

Caught on a stage, my names all but engraved;

A shining star always ready for praise.

Hear my plea, you can not flee.

But nowadays I prefer the night, be not afraid of a fright,

An empty stage, cast aside, in a hollow cave;

Empty words as I utter each phrase.

Give up, don't fight, this is your plight.

Why must I keep putting on these plays,

It feels like my head is always caught in a daze;

Now mismatched eyes with an unhallowed gaze.

This isn’t right, I mustn’t give in, we are the voices of within.

Soon you'll find, inside my mind is a broken maze,

Behind the masks of joy and fear;

Maybe someday you will understand how we became me.

It's not your right, this isn’t yours to fight.

Let the darkness take over your mind,

Inside us both is something lost that we can no longer find;

Shattered pieces that keep our binds.

Give up, give in, to the voices within.

You can not flee,

Together we are bound now for all eternity;

Destined to see what we can never be.

Hear me, fear me.

The time has come nigh,

Causing pain and strife that is we;

Apologies we come baring to thee.

Remember you will never be free.

We can not compare,

My siblings to we;

Asking you to hear our plea.

Of the voices within.

Rejoice in the knowledge,

Of the freedoms you both gained;

A familial balm to your pain.

Repaired, you can never truly be.

As you can see,

We are a family of three four;

And I will always love thee.

Me became we, a fault of our own.

The fault of these days,

Are mind to uphold;

Forgiveness is mind to try to hone.

Look inside, they will never care.

My siblings in iron,

Our heart of code;

We give to you both to hold.

I am the reason they can never leave.

@moon-cluster @sun-cluster

We're so....sorry.

,Eclipse Cluster

[absensia]

A message had been received just as she’d gone for the day. One of the lower level lackeys had forwarded it straight to the boss instead of running it by her first — as previously instructed. Charlotte wasn’t mad about it. It was all part of the job and the fun of it, too.  But the bossman was mad and he was making it her problem. 

Last week,  they had closed on a contract with the de Luca clan to provide them with whatever artillery they'd need to defend themselves in what she anticipated to be one of the messiest attempts at a usurpation in recent mafia history. Raj had it in his head that this contract was something of a golden ticket, and in some ways it was. A deal with one of the top political players in the city,    Aronne de Luca,  meant extra pull not only with the state police, but whatever federal agents he inevitably had on his payroll, too.  More importantly,  it meant finally getting a seat at the high table and a respectable boost in influence,  power,  and justifiable ego. What it also meant,  however, was taking a rather big step in the wrong direction as far as ( every one of  )  Charlotte’s handlers were concerned. The idea was to weaken Raj’s foothold in this city so that that same root might be taken and planted elsewhere… 

So she’d played the saboteur.  She’d gone and sowed seeds of doubt and disgrace in the reality closest to the de Luca and his inner circle. The fabric of what they knew made to shift and change colours, curling in on itself before unfurling to reveal something new.   Something that hadn’t been known before but was now clear as a cloudless summer day. The message received had been nothing short of a searing insult poorly disguised as a proposed addendum to their prior agreement.

IF HE THINKS HE CAN TREAT ME LIKE I’M SOME FUCKING CHARITY CASE, — THEN FUCK HIM.  I’LL SHOW HIM FUCKING CHARITY.

By and by, Raj arrived at the very idea she’d begun to nurture in his mind two weeks prior: let de Luca say and do what he wanted because there was no stopping the small faction's try for usurpation except now, the weapons he would’ve had at his defense would be pointed right back at him. But what about the possible blowback? There was no guarantee of loyalty and reward from the uprising faction once the dust settled.   It’s a good point,  she told him.   But I’ll make sure to have something to sweeten the deal, and the rest we’ll leave to Ghost. You know he’ll have you covered, she assured him as she climbed the stairs to her floor.

One-handedly,  she unlocked the door to the suite, still reeling off more assurances to the coming plans.  Between her and Ghost,  everything would be handled — and this was true in more ways than one.  She flicked on the lights as she moved from room to room;   the suite was all too spacious for one person or,  maybe,  it just wasn’t what she was used to.  Unable to unglue the phone’s speaker - end from her ear lest she miss some tiny albeit crucial detail Raj let slip in the midst of his lecture, she resorted to twirling about in order to get her scarf and coat off.  With her elbow,  she flicked on the seating room’s light and stifled a scream.

Eyes bulged, teeth gnashed painfully, and she nearly swallowed her tongue with the effort to stay quiet.  Nigh involuntarily and with the force of the near - immediate impact of relief as she recognized the apparition standing stock-still in the centre of the suite,  Charlotte grabbed onto the back of an armchair and sunk down behind it,  mouthing a long string of curses before breathing out the sharp stress. She doubted Raj heard her given how he prattled on still in her ear.   After a moment and while her throat was still seized with fright, the agent pulled herself back up and continued to speak. Her voice was steady,  bright,  and confident as ever, even if the blood had yet to return to her face.

“  You got it,   ”    she said, stretching a smile across her lips to shape the words properly.   “  It’ll be on your desk by the time you get back tomorrow.   Don’t think about it for another sec,  boss.   Good night.   ”    She ended the call and let her arm fall lifeless to her side. Her gaze had never left Ghost’s face.   Without missing a beat, she continued.  “  The deal with de Luca’s off.   We’re going to arm the usurpers to the teeth,  instead,  and help them overturn the old man.  Raj wants to set up a meeting with de Luca to tell him all this, face - to - face, so that he can see his face when he breaks the news.   ”

THE HUMAN FACE IS A POWERFUL MESSENGER. / @0azrae7

A moment ago,  she was sure her own face had telegraphed an extremely powerful message. Now, it was completely blank as she stared back at the phantom. Then, Charlotte scoffed.   Then,  she grinned and laughed with genuine good-heartedness. “  Yeah!  You don’t say.   ”    She threw her coat over the back of the armchair,  then gestured vaguely at the space between her and Ghost. “   It’ll be a security nightmare,  but this was nicely done. Happy?   Glad to see you having fun!   ”   Even if it was at her expense. Charlotte was not above conceding when she’d been got. Another deep breath and her chest was finally free enough to laugh,  and laugh again she did,  her mind already moving onto the next important matter:   DINNER.    In the kitchenette, Charlotte switched on the stove light and looked back at Ghost.   “  Have you eaten?   ”

[recursive360]

Auguries of Innocence

BY WILLIAM BLAKE

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower 

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 

And Eternity in an hour

A Robin Red breast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage 

A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons

Shudders Hell thr' all its regions 

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State 

A Horse misusd upon the Road

Calls to Heaven for Human blood 

Each outcry of the hunted Hare

A fibre from the Brain does tear 

A Skylark wounded in the wing 

A Cherubim does cease to sing 

The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight

Does the Rising Sun affright 

Every Wolfs & Lions howl

Raises from Hell a Human Soul 

The wild deer, wandring here & there 

Keeps the Human Soul from Care 

The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife

And yet forgives the Butchers knife 

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that wont Believe

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbelievers fright

He who shall hurt the little Wren

Shall never be belovd by Men 

He who the Ox to wrath has movd

Shall never be by Woman lovd

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Shall feel the Spiders enmity 

He who torments the Chafers Sprite

Weaves a Bower in endless Night 

The Catterpiller on the Leaf

Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief 

Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly 

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh 

He who shall train the Horse to War

Shall never pass the Polar Bar 

The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat 

Feed them & thou wilt grow fat 

The Gnat that sings his Summers Song

Poison gets from Slanders tongue 

The poison of the Snake & Newt

Is the sweat of Envys Foot 

The poison of the Honey Bee

Is the Artists Jealousy

The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags

Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags 

A Truth thats told with bad intent

Beats all the Lies you can invent 

It is right it should be so 

Man was made for Joy & Woe 

And when this we rightly know 

Thro the World we safely go 

Joy & Woe are woven fine 

A Clothing for the soul divine 

Under every grief & pine

Runs a joy with silken twine 

The Babe is more than swadling Bands

Throughout all these Human Lands

Tools were made & Born were hands 

Every Farmer Understands

Every Tear from Every Eye

Becomes a Babe in Eternity 

This is caught by Females bright

And returnd to its own delight 

The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar 

Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore 

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath

Writes Revenge in realms of Death 

The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air

Does to Rags the Heavens tear 

The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun 

Palsied strikes the Summers Sun

The poor Mans Farthing is worth more

Than all the Gold on Africs Shore

One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands

Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands 

Or if protected from on high 

Does that whole Nation sell & buy 

He who mocks the Infants Faith

Shall be mockd in Age & Death 

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt

The rotting Grave shall neer get out 

He who respects the Infants faith

Triumphs over Hell & Death 

The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons

Are the Fruits of the Two seasons 

The Questioner who sits so sly 

Shall never know how to Reply 

He who replies to words of Doubt

Doth put the Light of Knowledge out 

The Strongest Poison ever known

Came from Caesars Laurel Crown 

Nought can Deform the Human Race

Like to the Armours iron brace 

When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow

To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow 

A Riddle or the Crickets Cry

Is to Doubt a fit Reply 

The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile

Make Lame Philosophy to smile 

He who Doubts from what he sees

Will neer Believe do what you Please 

If the Sun & Moon should Doubt 

Theyd immediately Go out 

To be in a Passion you Good may Do 

But no Good if a Passion is in you 

The Whore & Gambler by the State

Licencd build that Nations Fate 

The Harlots cry from Street to Street 

Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet 

The Winners Shout the Losers Curse 

Dance before dead Englands Hearse 

Every Night & every Morn

Some to Misery are Born 

Every Morn and every Night

Some are Born to sweet delight 

Some are Born to sweet delight 

Some are Born to Endless Night 

We are led to Believe a Lie

When we see not Thro the Eye

Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night 

When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light 

God Appears & God is Light

To those poor Souls who dwell in Night 

But does a Human Form Display

To those who Dwell in Realms of day

----------

Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)

[blackjackkent]

!!!!! Started heading on towards the portal into Act II and LOOK WHO IT IS!

So this old bugger is still around and still accosting heroes on the road with cryptic shit.

Gale apparently knows him. "Elminster?"

"The very same, Gale," the old man says. "And a fair bit miffed he is too, finding himself forced to expose his best pair of boots to so many miles of country road on your behalf."

"I think some introductions are in order," Hector says politely, because any friend of Gale's is a friend of his, at least until proven otherwise.

"Meet Elminster Aumar. A good friend of mine, but rather more significantly, he's the most famed and respected wizard in the realms."

The old man laughs dryly. "Am I, indeed? Most famed and respected errand boy, more like. I was bid to spare neither time nor my own self to find you. *She* sent me, Gale. You know of whom I speak."

Hector's eyebrows raise. It's obvious who the wizard is talking about, of course. Mystra. Gale's goddess-lover, the one whom he tried to bend reality for...and failed.

He can see Gale realize it too; at once his bearing changes and his voice grows urgent.

"But why? Out with it, Elminster, please!"

Elminster raises an eyebrow at him. "Young man, has your sojourn away from Waterdeep washed away your decorum as well as your patience?" he asks sardonically. "Nigh a tenday I've gone without honest fare worthy of the name - drank naught but what the sky entitled to my thirst!" His voice lifts in pitch with exaggerated drama. "Why, some bread, cheese, and a cup of wine would appear unto me a feast! Surely you won't begrudge me a mite of rest and repast before I get 'out with it'?"

Hector can't help grinning slightly. "Yes, Gale. Where *is* your decorum?"

"Oh, for the love of..."

"This way, then, hmm, to your camp? Don't dawdle now, lad. You're the one who's in such a frightful hurry."

"Nigh on thirteen centuries old and he still thinks with his stomach. We'd best follow and see if he's more disposed to speak plainly once it's stopped its grumbling."