#he absolutely gets more into his hands/legs/tail as a weapon

[cherubchoirs]

Fallen Gabriel is so friggin cool, but I have to wonder how he would fight in his new form? How would he utilize hell energy, and would some trace of his original powers (Materializing weapons from light) remain? I’ve seen art of Gabriel wielding his og swords but now partially broken, so is it made up for the fact he is physically stronger or that he can imbue his swords with hell energy?

my idea is that gabriel goes through a lot of evolution with how he fights now that his wings have been taken from him - airborne combat is what he was most comfortable with and adept at, but he does have plenty of ground-based training he pulls on to reinvent his technique. initially, when met in his tomb, gabriel engages v1 much like the prime souls, with fast and brutal assaults dealt with only his body as his weapon as he's no longer capable of light materialization and his swords are sealed elsewhere. for a time, this is what he continues to do when he and v1 move forward together as even though he regains his swords, they are broken in the recovery process and burn his hands now besides. gabriel is left...weaponless, and he refuses to acknowledge his capability with hell energy until his demonic transformation completes. and in that, he rebels against everything he once was as a way of processing his own grief.

he fully embraces his hell energy then, corrupting justice and splendor into demonic weapons so they fit into his hands once more, and becoming a gifted conductor of his newfound power source. i'm certain he could use it to craft weapons as his light once did (as a fallen archangel, he is accordingly high tiered as a demon) and he even begins making bombs that v1 can use. he also likely raids hell to get his hands on the weapons that once belonged to the fallen angels all that time ago, as he seems to be a bit more partial to the physical weight in his hands now. in this phase, he is a vicious combatant, abusing his self-sourced energy until he's drained to tear apart any enemies he and v1 come across. he revels in the bloodshed as much as the machine does, and he relishes his fallen nature in defiance of a lifetime spent as a tool now discarded from its master.

this mellows eventually however, with gabriel achieving a peace in his new status and recognizing that while he loves battle, he enjoys it most as his art form, something he can engage in with grace and mastery above all else. it was once his way of connecting to god, and now it is his way of connecting to himself, the very core of who he is. and gabriel, while enchanted with blood possibly as much as v1 is, also values his poise and chivalry just as much. this is when his final battle style is acquired, adjusting to a much heavier, much stronger body that he dedicates himself to feeling just as light in as when his wings once carried him. it's difficult of course, he feels clumsy and his tail presents a terrible annoyance at first, but he actually takes to the challenge with great joy. he learns his balance, to use his tail as a counterweight (and weapon, given its size) and how to put all this raw strength into graceful maneuvering. he feels invigorated moving fluidly across hell's floors, in touch with his battlefield like he could never be in the air. it grounds him in a way he delights in, working closely with v1 to develop a horrifically cruel duet that gabriel turns back into a dance. he continues to take his broken swords in hand, but he keeps his hell energy constantly on stand-by now - i like to think when in battle, a ring of skulls replace his halo

[polygonpiscine]

🐢📖 Raph sat cross-legged on the couch, a worn and dog-eared issue of “Jupiter Jim” in his hands. Leo and Donnie entered the room, their usual banter already in full swing.

Raph looked up from the comic, catching the tail end of Leo and Donnie’s debate. He grinned, always entertained by his brothers’ banter. “Ah, the age-old argument: science versus fiction. “Can’t we just enjoy the story for what it is?”

Leo shot a teasing grin at Donnie. “Exactly! Raph gets it. Besides, Jupiter Jim is a classic. You can’t beat the nostalgia.”

Donnie shook his head, unconvinced. “Nostalgia doesn’t make up for scientific inaccuracies, there are way more scientifically accurate space adventures out there grounded in reality, Jupiter Jim is overrated.”

Leo jumped to the comic’s defense. “Whoa, hold up! Jupiter Jim is totally old-school, the OG of space heroes. He’s, like, a classic legend. And his laser blaster? Way cooler than any gadget you’ve whipped up, Donnie.”

“please. Jupiter Jim's laser blasters happen to have a fancy design, that's all. They're not any better than my meticulously crafted gadgets because, let's face it, they wouldn't work!"

Leo grinned mischievously. “And yours aren’t any better, Donnie. They malfunction every time we’re in a tight spot.”

Donnie huffed. “Hey, those were isolated incidents! And I fixed them, didn’t I?”

Raph chimed in with a laugh. “lighten up! It’s just a comic. No need to overanalyze it.”

Donnie huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine, fine. But don’t come crying to me when you need a gadget to save your shell.”

Mikey popped his head in, curious. “What’s all the fuss about? Are we reading comics now?”

Raph gestured to the comic in his hands. “Yep, we’re diving into the wild adventures of Jupiter Jim. You in?”

Mikey's eyes lit up with excitement as he bounded over to the couch. "Absolutely! Nothing beats a good old-fashioned space adventure."

Without hesitation, Mikey plopped himself down right in Raph's lap, earning a grunt of surprise from his brother.

Raph chuckled, giving Mikey a playful shove. "Hey, watch it, Mikey! You're gonna crease the pages."

Mikey laughed, unbothered by Raph’s protest. “Relax, big bro! I’ll be gentle.”

Raph mock-glared at him before wrapping an arm around Mikey’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Alright, but if Jupiter Jim gets crumpled, you’re buying me a new copy.”

“Always” Mikey beamed

"Alright, you knuckleheads. Chapter one: 'The Galactic Crusade,'" Raph announced in his rough voice, setting the scene. As he delved into the thrilling tale of Jupiter Jim's quest to save the galaxy, his brothers were captivated.

Leo's eyes sparkled with excitement as he imagined himself as the heroic Jupiter Jim, leading his team to victory. Donnie nodded along, though he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at some of the scientific inaccuracies woven into the story.

"Impressive storytelling," Donnie mused, "but I think Jupiter Jim’s laser blaster would need a lot more power to take down a black hole."

His comment hung in the air, earning him a glare from Leo. "Donnie, can't you just enjoy the story for once without dissecting every detail?"

Donnie shrugged, unfazed by Leo's glare. "Hey, I'm just saying. A black hole is no joke. It’s scientifically impossible for a laser blaster to close a black hole. The amount of energy required would be astronomical, far beyond the capabilities of any handheld weapon, no matter how 'fancy' its design."

Leo sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes, Donnie, you just gotta let your imagination take over. It’s not always about the science."

As the story ended, Raph chuckled, closing the comic with a satisfied smile. “Taking it one chapter at a time, guys. But I’m glad you’re all enjoying it.”

Leo grinned at his brothers. "Thanks for indulging me, guys. 'Jupiter Jim' may not be scientifically accurate, but it's always an adventure."

Donnie smirked. "Ah, so you admit it's not accurate."

Leo winked. "Well, Donnie, I guess sometimes we just have to let our imaginations defy gravity, right?"

[itshaejinju]

Random BG3 Headcanons (#3) -Touch Starved-

Like there are so many characters that are touched starved, just a few people that came to mind and thoughts.

Astarion doesn’t even realize it that he’s touched starved for genuine affection. Not the dalliances for Cazador the fodder he brought back to the mansion. He didn’t even recognize the touches when Tav and slept with him that first time. It wasn’t until they were inspecting the ritual on his back slowly tracing fingers over the thick gnarled scars. Their touch was soothing….healing the horror of what happened a little bit a start to a long journey. Astarion finds himself relaxing, leaning into the gentle strokes and fingers running through his hair as they relax for the night reading a book.

Karlach poor girl is stark raving mad for touch but the fear of burning someone alive with the touch will do that to you. She gets jealous seeing others being able to touch so freely but it doesn’t last long as instead of turning it to anger Karlach loves vicariously through them. She will ask whoever if it is okay to describe it just to help her remember and for private stress release times. When her and Tav finally can touch it’s overstimulating and can’t feel it always so because her system is over drive. Karlach is in such a daze unaware until one morning tangled in arms and legs of Tav that it is the best thing ever. She loves holding hands and will hug anyone willing.

Rolan touched starved because of a wall he put up keeping himself and Lia and Cal safe. There was not much time for personal relations when he spent all of his time studying learning spells and watching his siblings. He knew he would get around to finding a mate but one thing lead to another and he forgot about a spouse, a fling or even any affection that wasn’t platonic. One day Tav placed a flower crown on his head hands grazing over his horns causing a shiver down his spine startling him. Just a small gentle touch and he grew flustered why did that feel good? He didn’t need their affection with all the trouble Tav had caused him already. This bright smile amongst the doom surrounding them. Absolutely melts with fingers being dragged up and down his arms and back, his tail wrapped around Tavs leg.

Dammon didn’t realized he was touch starved until he received a hug from Tav after helping Karlach. That the more he saw Tav as they visited often to have weapons repaired enjoying their company enjoying their open nature. Carefree with their forms of appreciation patting him on the back making him lean into the touches. Throughly enjoys shoulder and neck massages after a long day at the forge.

[forgeofthenine]

Omg do you think Dammon would get butterflies if Tav ever asks about how to forge, even if they don't have a real interest in it, they just love hearing him talk

Anon, I love this request! I knew I had to write a set of headcanons for it as soon as I had free time (and I spent most of work thinking about this tbh). I added a little bit of spice at the end too, as a treat ;)

Dammon teaching his partner to use a forge

So, this man would get more than just butterflies. As soon as you mention it he's already jumped up to show you whatever you're asking about

Dammon would love to talk your ear off about how forging works, watch this man pull out all his drawn plans to help show you some of the things he's talking about

The entire time he's talking this man is lit up like a lightbulb, Dammon is so overjoyed that you're taking an interest in his passion. The way he smiles at you is so sweet and genuine, these gorgeous grins as he jokes here and there

He'd absolutely show you actual weapons and armour he's forged and would explain different styles and techniques if you wanted, pointing out every minor detail

"Well, to get this finish on the steel you need a near blue-hot flame... And this is what happens if you try that technique in a druids grove with barely a spark for a fire."

Okay so, the thing that's been giving me absolute brainrot is that he'd teach you to forge too

Not just teach you, but he'd also do the thing where he wraps his arms around you, chest pressed snugly to your back, hands closed tight over yours as he shows you how to use the equipment

Suddenly, you're not sure if it's only the forge making you feel so hot-

After spending so long pressed close against you, eyeing up the way you look in his old forging clothes and dusted with soot, no one can blame him if things get heated in a different way

And you can't blame Dammon if he takes advantage of the privacy night affords you both and decides to bend you over his anvil. Suddenly, learning to forge isn't even a passing thought anymore as his tail shifts your legs apart and he presses a different part of himself against you

Either way, whether you're truly interested or just asking passing questions, Dammon loves sharing his passion with you, and you might even get a treat if you really dive into learning his craft

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

For the fanfic bingo, what if Fabriz 'grabbed the wrong bag' but they didn't grab each other's bags, Fabian grabbed the wrong bag and now has to figure out where his bag that has a sleeping riz in it went

Ugh, Anon your mind! Gimme a sec...

Alright! I'm back with a fic that I really didn't expect to be as long as it is... I really have a problem. Anyway! Think of this as the spiritual successor to "Frightful Snow & Delightful Fire"! Because it's basically the same premise but this time it's hot instead of cold!

Send me a prompt and help me get a bingo!

Words: 8,881

The raucous noise of a tense battle rang out within the padded walls of the Aguefort gymnasium. Sounds of foam blades and bullets striking torsos and limbs. Squeaks from sneakers skidding against the shiny floorboards. Shouts from the audience of students, hyping up one side or the other.

Fabian sat amongst the rowdy crowd of teens next to a cheering Gorgug. His sweaty form lounged against the cool, hard metal of the sparring gym’s bleachers. Still somewhat panting from his match against a slippery aasimar monk. Priscilla Maynard, head cheerleader. She gave him a run for his money, ending their bout of fights in a draw. Two wins a piece.

Usually, he wouldn’t be fighting her during school hours. Most days, all of the martial classes were trained separately. But every so often, during last period, the martial teachers liked to combine their classes for the sake of keeping the students on their toes. It’s not like he’d be only duelling with other Fighters out in the wide world of Spyre. So, he couldn’t complain about this little switch-up. Especially since it meant that he got to watch his boyfriend kickass without having to be in any danger himself.

Riz Gukgak was certainly a sight to see on the battlefield. Blink and you’ll miss him. It was only with years of experience that he could track Riz’s relative position in the makeshift dynamic environment made up of foam shapes and raised platforms. He tumbled through the legs of his paladin opponent. Used his sword of shadows to get out of being cornered. His newfound arcane Mage Hand to trip them. Darted underneath a staircase to hide and gain Sneak Attack when he popped out to shoot his opponent with his Nerf arquebus. Landing shot after shot. Hit after hit.

Quite a sight indeed.

Umberlee below, Fabian loved him.

By the time his match was called in his favour, Riz’s tiny chest heaved and he looked a bit dead on his feet. But he still smiled as his rogue teacher, Ms. Shadow, lifted his arm in victory. His gaze found Fabian’s within seconds of searching the bleachers. Finding him clapping and cheering for his win, perhaps, too loudly. And if Fabian had a big enough ego (and he did!), he’d note that Riz’s smile got a bit wider when they locked eyes.

Porter’s deep, rocky voice interrupted their little moment with the announcement, “Thistlespring! You’re up next!”

Riz shot up in the air a foot, his tail standing on end, more than a little startled by the hulking Earth Genasi’s sudden appearance. Fabian could see it in his eyes as he silently cursed Porter’s innate earthen stealthiness as he hung the Nerf arquebus with the rest of the faux weapons. All before he scurried from the sparring mat. Making his way back up to his seat next to Fabian.

“Wish me luck?” Gorgug asked as he got up from his seat beside Fabian, offering his fist for a bump.

Never one to leave his boy hanging, Fabian quickly balled his fist and accepted the bump with a wink. “You know it.”

Riz accepted the fist bump that was offered to him as well, as he and Gorgug passed each other on their way up and down. It wasn’t too long before he bounded up the rows of bleachers, closing the distance. Using the last bit of his energy, he pushed off of the last step to jump, not into the seat next to Fabian, but directly into his arms.

And despite him being absolutely drenched in sweat, Fabian held him close. Settling Riz in his lap, he pressed a kiss on the top of his greenblack undercut and murmured, “Excellent work, darling.”

“Aww, thanks. You weren’t half bad yourself,” Riz said, rubbing his nose against the underside of his jaw and lacing their hands together in his lap. “Pretty sure Maynard only stunned you once.”

“Ugh, monks.” Fabian spat out as he scowled at the memory.

Riz chuckled as he poked Fabian in his dimpled cheek and said, “I’m invoking boyfriend privileges, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Class is done in, like, ten minutes. I’m gonna crash in your backpack. That okay?” He asked as if he didn’t know that Fabian could never tell him no. Not when Riz looked up at him with his big, amber eyes.

“Sounds good to me, The Ball. Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” He and Riz hissed in unison as they watched Gorgug land a critical hit on his opponent. Yes, it may have been with a foam greataxe, but Fabian wasn’t convinced he’d like to be on the business end of it. “Want me to drop you off at your office or home?”

“Neither,” Riz answered faintly, still caught up in that crit before he went into more detail. “Mom wants the apartment all to herself and Gorthalax tonight. And as a soon-to-be adult, I can appreciate her honesty and bluntness and I will honour her request. But also, BLEGH! SO GROSS!” Fabian let out a guffaw as Riz descended into exaggerated disgust, pantomiming gagging and clawing his eyes out. A couple of the students around them shot them annoyed looks, but Fabian paid them no mind. Eventually, Riz let his disgust at sex fade away, letting his head fall back against Fabian’s chest. “So, yeah. I’m going to be taking a Sleep spell gummy and really passing out. Like, for seven hours straight.”

Fabian hummed in thought. “I’d be remiss not to mention that that’s normally how long one sleeps for.”

“Sounds fake,” Riz said after he spent a couple of beats with his face screwed up in faux introspection. “Sleepover?”

Clutching his imaginary pearls, Fabian scoffed and turned his nose up at Riz. “Sure! Call me a liar and then ask for me to open my heart and my home to you!” His offended act lasted two more seconds before he softened and answered his question. “Of course, Mama won’t mind.”

“Alright, I’m going to beat the rush,” Riz said, getting up to crouch on Fabian’s lap and rub their cheeks together before scurrying off to the locker room.

Batting his eyelashes and twiddling his fingers after him, Fabian put on his silliest sexy voice and said, “See you in your dreams.”

“Blegh,” Riz said, wrinkling his nose. “Hate it when you do that.”

Fabian didn’t even try to hide how much he loved annoying Riz.

The class wrapped up about ten minutes later, following Gorgug’s winning match. Heading back to the locker room with the rest of the humongous throng of students, the two Bad Boys crowded into the now-tight space. Fielding accidental shoves and elbows to the stomach on the route back to their things. After an arduous journey, they arrived at their bags and quickly got to work on getting out of there as fast as possible.

After checking on Riz and finding his adorable sleeping form in his backpack, Fabian would’ve been out of there in a minute flat. Would’ve, if didn’t need to dig through his locker for the homework he’d carelessly shoved in there. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but Riz had been on him lately about caring about his academic success. Those big, amber puppy-dog eyes staring up at him in disappointment were his kryptonite. So, yes he needed to find this homework. And he needed to find it soon or else he’d be driven mad by the thundering chatter all around him.

With the sound level being what it was, Fabian could hardly hear himself think. Not with this cacophony of a hundred voices having a hundred conversations rattling around his head. Like the one occurring directly to his right.

Blaze Evermore, a jockish Fire Genasi linebacker on the Owlbears, was boasting about how his older brother was taking him to the City of Brass for the weekend. Got ‘em tickets to this underground pit fighting ring and everything. Interesting! It’d be far more interesting if Blaze’s bros weren’t jostling him around and pushing him into Fabian’s open locker door. Smacking his head with it via the proxy of Blaze’s bulky frame. All in good fun, yes. But Fabian was going to get a concussion if they didn’t—Found it!

With one good tug, he yanked a crumpled paper folder out from the bottom of his locker. Thrusting it into the air in triumph. Only to be reminded he was still surrounded by a bunch of boisterous guys when Blaze sent him and Gorgug crashing to the floor with an unintended hip-check.

“Whew, sorry, Cap!” Blaze said apologetically as he offered Fabian a heavy, calloused hand. Fabian grabbed it, happily taking the help up back to his feet. A little rocked in the head, but as a Bloodrush player, he was used to it. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”

“That’s alright, Evermore. No harm done, except to my spleen. You okay, Gorgug?” Fabian asked, trying to shake the fall off as he watched Blaze help Gorgug up off of the ground as well before he bent down. Handing Fabian the closest fallen backpack to his feet. It didn’t even cross his mind to double-check that it was his because his mind was paying much more attention to not forgetting to grab The Ball’s briefcase. Why wouldn’t it be his? Slinging the backpack over his shoulder and taking the briefcase in hand, he gave Blaze a nod. “Have fun this weekend.”

Blaze smiled wide, revealing a missing canine tooth. “I will!”

“Gorgug, see you later.”

“See ya!”

Aguefort must have some type of soundproofing surrounding the locker rooms because as Fabian made it out of there, all was quiet. Almost deafeningly so. Not a peep came from the room behind him. The only sounds to hear were the idle hum of the academy settling for the day and his own breaths.

Whew.

Alright.

Time to head home.

The next hour passed rather uneventfully. Hangman only grumbled and huffed a little bit about Riz’s presence on the ride home. Receiving a couple of pats on his school for showing a level of restraint toward his boyfriend. He kissed his mothers on both of their cheeks as he passed through the kitchen on his way up to his room. Once inside, Fabian rested his Riz-filled backpack in the middle of his bed and the briefcase of holding next to it before he went about having a shower. He desperately needed to scrub after-sparring stink off of himself.

Clouds of steam followed in his wake as Fabian stepped out of his en suite bathroom and finished up working the last of his leave-in conditioner into his coils. With his comfy pair of silk pyjamas on, he was ready to spend the rest of the evening waiting for Riz to awaken from his spell-induced slumber. Which reminded him, he should take Riz out of his backpack now.

He hadn’t bothered when he first got home. Knowing that the space within his backpack held a certain appeal to Riz’s primal, Goblin brain. Warm, cramped, very cave-like, and thus, safe. This Fabian understood. Riz had assured him this many times, that he liked falling asleep in his backpack more than in his own bed. But Fabian couldn’t in good conscious keep in him in there for any longer.

Sliding across the wooden floor with his socks, he leapt onto his Chaos King-sized bed and crawled to the middle where he left his backpack. More than ready for some cuddling time with his favourite guy, Fabian’s heart stopped when he zipped it open and saw what was inside.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing.

A wave of grease and rubber accompanied the sight of school folders, crumpled-up papers, a cute lunchbox riddled with Sig Fig stickers... Oh, and a bag full of tinkerer’s tools. Fabian groaned. Slapping a hand across his forehead. When Blaze and his bros had bumped into him, he must’ve gotten mixed up and taken Gorgug’s backpack instead.

Nice going, Seacaster.

Zipping Gorgug’s bag back up and taking it with him, Fabian made his way off his bed to pick up his crystal. Holding it between his ear and shoulder as he strode over to his closet to throw on a jacket overtop his pyjamas. He’d only be out for a couple of minutes, he figured. No need to change for the ten minutes it would take The Hangman to get to the Thistlespring tree.

The first thing that he heard was the sound of sparks flying and a clank before Gorgug’s cheery voice came over the call. “Hey, Fabian! I’m kinda in the middle of welding something for my mom. What’s up?”

“Very sorry for interrupting, Gorgug. But it seems to be that we’ve swapped backpacks.”

“Oh? Yeah, I guess it was lighter than usual,” Another clanging sound erupted on the other end of the line. “Do you need it back now?”

“Yes, The Ball is sleeping in it.” Fabian could hear the wince in Gorgug’s voice, which in turn, made him pull a face. He knew how much learning the ways of artificing from his parents was important to Gorgug and how he silently hated being pulled away from it. But he really needed Riz back.

“Gotcha. Hold on,” Gorgug said before he leaned away from his crystal, his voice growing distant, to call out. “Mom, can you go get my backpack? It’s actually Fabian’s,” Suddenly his voice returned to its original volume as he asked, “Need me to bring him over?”

As he slipped his leather bomber jacket on, Fabian quickly said, “No, no, no! Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”

“Awesome. Huh?” Gorgug was pulled away from his crystal again and once it returned, his confused tone made Fabian’s stomach turn. “Uh, Fabian? My mom’s saying that Riz isn’t in there.”

“What are you talking about?” Fabian asked, his voice hollow as he stood stock still in the shadow of his closet. His heart beginning to race.

“She says—what’s that, Mom?” Another long moment of quiet as Wilma spoke to Gorgug not close enough to the crystal’s receiver for him to hear. Leaving him in suspense until Gorgug returned and said, “She says that it doesn’t seem like your bag anyway. There’s not much in it except for—oh, an Owlbears jersey with Evermore on the back. I think this is Blaze’s bag.”

“Which might mean that he has mine. Shit. Thanks, Gorgug. I have to go.”

“Yeah, of course. Good luck finding Riz! Bye!”

Didn’t Blaze say he was going to the City of Brass for the weekend? The same City of Brass in the Elemental Plane of Fire?… The one where if you head down the wrong winding street, you could be enslaved for it? That City of Brass?

Shit, shit, shit.

Fabian hung up as soon as he could and then went straight for his Fantasy Whatsapp app. He and Blaze had never really talked outside of practices, games, and passing each other in the halls, but they both were in the Owlbear group chat. Surely, if he just went through all of the participants in the chat he could find Blaze’s number. After a minute of scrolling and trying to leg bounce his anxieties away, he let an ‘Ah hah!’ as he found Blaze’s profile pic and his number underneath it.

Tapping the little crystal button next to Blaze’s number, he didn’t even get to agonize over the dial tone before a tinny artificial voice said, “We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialled. The person you are trying to reach has gone interplanar and the call cannot connect at this time. Please try your call again. Beep.”

Fuck.

Fabian stood in silence next to his open closet. A sense of emptiness and confusion filled his chest. Crystal still pressed up against his ear. The call disconnect tone, low and droning, beeped incessantly. Urging him to make a choice and end the call already. What was he going to do? What was he going to do? His grip on his crystal tightened as his face hardened in resolution and he realized there was only one thing to do.

He’s going to get his boyfriend back.

But first, he definitely had to change out of his pyjamas.

Riz stirred from his deep slumber for only a moment. Long enough to yawn and stretch and reposition himself amongst the nest he made out of Fabian’s things. These Sleep gummies were good. So good. They somehow managed to temporarily mute his ever-running-a-mile-a-minute brain long enough for the want of sleep to overtake his racing thoughts.

Smothering any wonder of why everything got so hot all of a sudden. Or why he could hear muffled shouts, cheers, and jeers all around him when he was in Fabian’s room. Those didn’t matter.

Not when he could instead burrow into and wrap himself in Fabian’s letterman jacket that smelled just like him. Sea salt, cedar, and cinnamon. Riz took a deep breath of them, ignoring any of the other strange, exotic smells that seeped in from the outside world. The last thing he thought of before he slipped back under was Fabian holding him tight. Feeling safer than ever in his arms and wanting only to stay in them forever.

Filled with a renewed purpose and determination, he texted Gorgug. Informing that he’d swing by his place to drop his bag and pick up Blaze’s before he started gearing up for an impromptu solo mission.

Frandrangour rested in its holster just above where he wrapped his battlesheet around his hips. Tying it off so some of the sheet still hung from the knot. He may not be a pirate like his Papa, but he’d sooner die than give up their aesthetic.

And for his clothes, he’d remembered enough from his Planar Geography class that temperatures in the City of Brass tended to be pretty hot. Staying between a breezy fifty degrees Celsius and wanting to rip your own skin off. So, he opted for the loosest white tank top with the lowest cut sides he could find in his closet and a pair of deep turquoise and orange harem pants. The Plane of Fire wasn’t going to catch him slipping. Climate or fashion-wise.

Ready as he was ever going to be, he did a quick Fantasy Google search for the closest portal to the Plane of Fire as he raced down to the Manor’s garage. More specifically looking for one that would get him as close to the City of Brass as possible. And by the time he was settling onto The Hangman’s leather seat, he’d found one near a place didn’t expect.

The Elmville Firehouse.

At first, it seemed a bit counterintuitive to him, you know? Surely whoever decided where to place the Fire Department there knew there was a portal to the place where Fire was born, right? But, after a moment’s thought, it kind of weirdly made sense. Who else would you want to fight any invading fire elemental than the people with gallons of water and a huge hose to spray it? Also, seeing as it sounded similar enough to what he remembered Blaze talking about, he decided to take the risk.

After doing a backpack swap with Gorgug, who thankfully didn’t ask too many questions about where he was going to find Blaze, Fabian was off to the Firehouse. Urging The Hangman ever faster as they sped through the streets of Elmville. Not that his trusty steed needed much encouragement to hit his top speed.

Skidding to a stop in front of the huge, brick building, he asked only for The Hangman to wait at home for him. Getting a reluctant okay, he rushed inside the station to ask exactly where the portal was. The firefighters were nice enough. They��d looked a bit skeptical at first as he explained that he needed to save his boyfriend from waking up scared and confused in the City of Brass. But showing them his Aguefort school ID and having Fandrangour on his hip helped them believe that they weren’t sending him to his fiery death.

“Gettin’ all kinds of adventurers today,” A half-orchish man named Kark said in a gravelly grumble as he led Fabian around to the back of the firehouse. Stopping in front of a back shed with an arcane padlock, he began flipping through a ring of runed keys that he had on his belt.

“Really?” Fabian asked.

“Yeah, two Fire Genasi boys went through about an hour and a half ago.” Kark answered absent-mindedly, humming a tune Fabian didn’t recognize under his breath until—“Hah! Here it is.”—He took hold of a key that looked almost identical to the rest, in Fabian’s opinion. But he said it was it, then it was it. Kark slotted the key into the padlock’s hole, a small arcane hum vibrating out once he unlocked it, and then he opened the door. A blast of heat hit their faces as the portal to the City of Brass was revealed. A whirling vortex of pure magic, tinted orange, red, and gold, hung like a tear in the fabric of space before them. Kark took a step back, grimacing at it as he asked, “You sure about this, kid?”

Fabian chuckled and smiled up at Kark, a brick house of a man who regularly ran into burning buildings, yet was still weary of what lay ahead of them. “I am. I’m an adventurer. It’s what we do.”

With one last wink at Kark and a deep breath, Fabian walked through the swirling, roiling portal.

Coming out of essentially a crack in a red stone wall, the heat hit him first. As solid and unyielding as the wall he’d just stepped out of. Instantly the immense heat sent beads of sweat down his forehead and left him a bit agitated and antsy to leave this Plane as soon as possible.

It was so distracting that he almost got run over by a merchant’s hurrying wagon. Fortunately, he rolled well on his Dexterity saving throw to jump out of the way at the last second. His back pressed up against the red stone, Fabian pushed his irritation with the city’s climate and tried to gain his bearings.

The street he just stepped into was choked with people. Hustling and bustling with throngs of folks of all kinds on foot and in wagons (or pulling them? Umberlee below.). All making their way back and forth. Either deeper into the city or toward a giant golden gate set in the black obsidian wall that encircled the entire metropolis. The tall buildings that surrounded him were carved with intricate designs. Topped off with spiralling towers. Colourful banners of red, orange yellow hung out of windows and from brassy poles with what looked like the emblem of a noble house.

What little breeze there was brought with the smell of a plethora of spices Fabian had never encountered before. He could practically taste them on his tongue with how strong they were. Shouts of a language he knew but a dialect he didn’t also were carried on the wind. Though his father keeping that tornado on as a crew member had done wonders for his knowledge of Primordial, the differences between Auran and Ignan were significant. Enough that he was worried that he might misinterpret something if he tried his hand at Ignan. Best to stick to Common then.

Pushing himself off of the wall, Fabian began to search the surrounding streets for anyone who might’ve noticed the Evermore brothers heading in a certain direction. As busy as this place was, it didn’t seem like there were a lot of people that stayed put longer than a couple of minutes. Nobody except for a beautiful Fire Genasi woman wearing hardly anything at all posted up in front of the entrance of “First Flames”. A building that just screamed ‘House of Pleasure’ not unlike the Gold Gardens back on Leviathan.

Long, fiery hair, decorated with gold and brass charms and hairpins, fell around the greeter’s sweet, round face. Waving at passersby, asking if they wanted a cool drink and some hot company.

“Hello, handsome. Name’s Cinder,” She said to Fabian once he landed in her sights. Her voice was nice and sultry as she waved him closer. “You look like you’re searching for someone.”

“I am actually,” Fabian answered with a queasy smile as he cautiously approached but tried to keep a respectful distance away. “But I don’t think he’ll be in there.”

Cinder practically cooed at him, probably mistaking his discomfort for general shyness. Her slim, ruby fingers wrapped around his to urge him closer to her and the bedecked double-door entrance. Resting a forearm on his shoulder, she made a sweeping motion with the other toward First Flames and said, “Oh, sweetie, that’s not a problem. We have this charming lad named Smoulder and he would be more than happy to make your day.”

Following her motion, he could see inside of First Flames and it didn’t look unappealing. Lush and plush and filled with beautiful, scantily clad people strutting around and draping themselves over customers. Fabian couldn’t help but skin up his nose at it. Maybe he would’ve enjoyed this place before, but now, all he wanted was Riz.

“That is a lovely offer but I’m not interested in… companionship today. I’m afraid I’m taken.” Fabian said as politely as he could and stepped out from under Cinder’s arm.

Taken aback for a moment, Cinder then let out a sigh. Placing her hands on her hips, she shook her head and laughed. “Of course you are. Anything I can help you with before you leave us for good?”

Hmm, well, she was one of the only people he’d seen so far who could’ve stayed put long enough to notice the Evermore brothers pass by…

Worth a shot.

“Is there a chance you saw two Fire Genasi guys who looked out of place walk through here about an hour and a half ago?”

It took Cinder a moment, her stained lips pursed and fine brows furrowed in thought before her face and hair brightened in remembrance. “Indeed I did! They asked for directions to The Pyre.” Fabian’s confusion must’ve shown on his face because she quickly added, “It’s a pit fighting ring. Down in the Rookery.”

“Right. And that would be…?” Fabian said. Drawing out the syllables of every word and arching a questioning brow until Cinder burst out into full-hearted laughter. Through her giggles and titters, she managed to tell him the route he needed to take to get there as quickly as possible. Though she did warn him to stay on his guard. This city wasn’t a forgiving one. Yeah, he knew a thing or two about cities like that. With one last thanks to Cinder again for her help, Fabian set off deeper into the city to find The Pyre.

Easier said than done, of course.

The City of Brass didn’t seem to have an urban planning committee that cared about easy navigation and wayfinding for newcomers. Tight and crowded streets would bend and twist and (he swore on his life) would curve back around. He’d end up in a different district than the one he was in seconds ago with little warning. And it’s not like the locals were exactly hospitable. He almost got his head chopped off for asking for directions, on two separate occasions. And he barely managed to escape the wrath and chains of a noble-looking Efreeti he accidentally bumped into.

Luckily after two hours of searching, he turned a corner and stumbled upon the place Cinder had described for him. It won’t look like much, she’d said and she wasn’t wrong. Situated in the crook of two side streets, a beefy Efreeti man guarded what was essentially a hole in the wall covered by a flimsy-looking dark wood door. No signs or any distinguishing features to be seen. Yet, all the same, a couple of well-dressed Tieflings strode up to the bouncer and discreetly handed him their tickets. And after a moment of inspecting the little pieces of cut brass, he let them in.

That’s another problem. He doesn’t have a ticket.

Crouched behind an alleyway with a view of the Pyre’s entrance, he’d searched through Blaze’s backpack. Looking for any sign of a similar cut piece of brass that he assumed was engraved in some way, but he came up with nothing. For a moment, he weighed the possibility of it maybe being a pay-at-the-door situation. But that train of thought was swiftly derailed as he watched the bouncer toss a man out into the busy street for even asking.

Shit.

Fully sat on the ground now, Fabian let his head loll back and hit the hard stone wall behind him. The oppressive weight of the heat of this place bore down on him. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and wiped the dripping sweat out of his face. There had to be something he could do. He’d come this far. And Riz was somewhere in that place. So close yet somehow miles and miles away.

Okay, okay. He can’t get in without a ticket… and if Blaze’s smug boasting in the locker room was any indication, they were pretty hard to get. So he couldn’t go around asking where to acquire them. Not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. But that would mean he needed to get in without a ticket. How could he get in there without a ticket? Ugh, if Riz were in his position, he’d make a stupidly high investigation check for a backdoor. But Fabian had a sinking feeling if he were to try the same, he’d end up walking around the same block for hours on end. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

As Fabian sat in agonizing contemplation, the Pyre’s door opened up enough for whoever was on the other side to speak to the bouncer. A high, nasally voice asked, “Is he here yet?”

To which the bouncer only grunted and shook his head.

“That idiot. He’s supposed to be in the ring in ten minutes.” The voice said, his tone dripping in barely concealed aggravation. “If he does come tell him to get his ass into the pit ASAP. Got me?”

Another grunt, but this time with a nod instead before the Pyre’s door shut once more. Leaving the side street quiet and Fabian’s mind with an idea. He was asking the wrong question. It’s not how could he get in there without a ticket. It’s who could get in there without a ticket. Though he left the subclass behind when he became a Battle Master, it looked like the Pyre was about to get a new champion.

Jumping to his feet, he adjusted his father’s eyepatch, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. He marched up to the towering bouncer with the same confidence he had on his first day of school. Staring up at his eight-foot-tall form, Fabian smiled and said, “I heard this ring needed a challenger on short notice. And I just so happen to be aching for a good fight.”

Flame-filled eyes, hard and blazing, looked him up and down. The bouncer’s strong nose wrinkled in a glare at him. His gaze lifted from Fabian to behind him as he probably searched for whoever was supposed to be there. Must’ve come up empty. Since, in the end, he rolled his eyes and let out a huff of smoke from his nose as he opened the door for Fabian. And with a voice deep and rumbly like smouldering coals, the bouncer called out into the dark and hazy doorway, “Naflia. He’s here.”

“Finally!” Came the high-pitched nasally voice again. Soon accompanied by a relieved, swarthy face wreathed in a mane of fire and a short, stout frame clothed in fine brass garments. This Azer woman’s face turned surly, though, once she got a good look at Fabian. “Where the fuck have you—Jubi who the fuck is this?”

Settling a wrist Frandrangour’s pummel and a hand on his chest, Fabian went to introduce himself, “I’m—”

But Naflia cut him off, tired and gruff as she said, “Actually I don’t care. Can you fight?”

“Yes, I—”

“Perfect come with me.” She said and without another look, Naflia took him by the hand and dragged him into the building.

Leading down into a tight, spiralling stone staircase lit only by torches. Their hurried steps echoed off the walls as they went. Until they reached the bottom and came to a sitting area for guests. It was lit by blue flamed lanterns and filled with seat cushions and low-lying tables filled with goblets, plates, and candles. But Fabian didn’t have time to admire any of the furniture or the guests.

No, Naflia, surprisingly as strong as she is, yanked on his arm to get him moving again. Away from the plush niceties reserved for paying customers and into an employees-only backroom. One that led to a stone chamber filled with benches and rough, rugged fighters. All of them had harsh scars and mean mugs, scowling at him as he passed by. Fabian’s pretty sure he saw one of them laid out flat, covered in bruises and blood, hopefully just unconscious.

“What kind of establishment do you run here, Miss?” Fabian asked frantically as he brought him into a dead-end tunnel and placed him on a square platform.

Stepping back, Nafila grinned and gave him a shrug. “It’s pit fighting, kid. What did you expect? Flowers and roses?”

“A healer on deck,” Fabian answered with a grimace.

“Bah! You’ll be fine. Just don’t die. It’s bad for morale.” She said with a wide wave of her hands. Just as a tiny mote of fire flew in from around a corner, flying into her ear with purpose. Naflia squinted and tilted her head as if being quietly spoken to before she looked back up at him with a grin. “Alright, kid. You’re on in a minute.”

“A minute! Don’t I have to sign something? A waiver perhaps?” He frantically asked with a crack in his voice. Oh, he so didn’t think this plan through. He thought that he’d have enough time to scope the place out before having to fight. But apparently, Naflia didn’t care to get him acquainted with anything. Probably more fun for her. “Don’t you want my name, at least, before you throw me to the wolves?”

“No wolves. Just some punk Firenewt with anger issues. What’s your name?”

“Fabian Seacaster.”

Naflia arched a fiery brow at him. “Huh. If you say so.” She said as she reached behind her to a large brass lever in the wall and yanked it downwards. “Was just going to call you Wh’tila.”

“What does that mean?”

“Pretty boy.”

Hmm.

He didn’t hate that. Not at all.

“That works.” He said as the platform beneath his feet started to shift and rumble as it began to lift him into the air. The sound of huge gears cranking and turning filled his ears as the ceiling above him parted. Slowly but surely, he was raised into a circular arena. With stone walls that raised maybe a hundred feet over his head and were lined by metal railings. Lit by torches hung in elaborate sconces. And just beyond the railing were rows and rows of stands filled to the brim with people screaming their heads off.

The last thing he heard before the roaring audience drowned her out, was Nafila as she said, “Best of luck, Wh’tila. Remember, put on a good show but. Don’t. Die.”

Soon enough, she was gone from his sight as the platform froze in its final lifted position. Letting out a mechanical hiss as it did so. He faintly heard a similar noise about fifty feet away. Pulling his gaze away from the crowd all around him, he looked out across the arena filled with fire pits and racks of weapons to find his opponent.

Orange skin mottled with veins of gold and deep crimson reptilian eyes, the Firenewt opposite Fabian stood ready and raring to go. His fists were wrapped in gauze and he had a huge slashing scar that ran across his chest. There was this strange calmness that came off of him in waves that unsettled Fabian a bit. A sinking feeling grew in his gut that he was about to get his shit rocked by a monk for the second time today.

As he tried to remember the tips Ms. Jones had given him about fighting monks this afternoon, Naflia’s disembodied voice filled the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen! I assure you our next two fighters are about to give you the show of your lives.” At the sound of her voice and the feeling that it was truly go-time now, Fabian began to untie and unwrap his battle sheet from his waist. “The Swift Inferno, a returning champ faces off with fresh-blood fighter, Wh’tila! It’s sure to be a fight for the ages folks. Which one of these young men will come out on top? We’re about to find out in three, two, one.” As she counted down, Naflia’s last words to him rang in his head like a tolling bell. “BEGIN!”

Don’t Die.

Now, Fabian didn’t have any monk friends, so he didn’t feel bad about voicing his opinion of their range of movement.

It was fucking stupid.

Stupid and bullshit and should count as cheating.

To say that The Swift Inferno lived up to his name would be an understatement. And if you said it in front of Fabian he’d shoot you a death glare that rivaled a Sea Hag’s. Because that cute little comment didn’t help him dodge the bastard’s flurry of blows or escape his steps of the wind! Swift’s attacks just didn’t stop coming. So much so that Fabian couldn’t find an opening to strike. He just kept pushing him back and back until he hit the arena’s wall, which worked out in his favour.

As he evaded another one of Swift’s punches, both he and Fabian realized in the same second that he’d accidentally over-extended his arm. Sending it slamming into the rough, uneven stone just beside Fabian’s head. And in the moment before Swift could wince and pull his fist back, Fabian grabbed it. Keeping it where it was and leaving the entire lower half of Swift’s elongated, salamander-esque body open for him to pierce with Fandrangour.

Pulling his blade out of Swift’s abdomen with a flourish, he shoved the Firenewt away from him to give himself some room to work. Swift stumbled back, clutching his now bleeding side. Blood covered his hand wraps. Staining them red. Looking back up at him, Swift snarled.

Fabian smirked as he took a more offensive and showy stance. He arched an eyebrow and asked, “Shall we?”

Swift spat at his feet and sneered out, “Fuckin’ priss.”

“I believe it’s pronounced Wha-till-ah. But what do I know? En guarde!”

Their fight raged on. Fabian, on an upswing, managed to land a few more hits on Swfit. While Swfit tried his best to stun him as often as he could. He only succeeded once, but man oh man was that hard to come back from. Especially since one of Swift’s roundabout kicks sent Fabian crashing to the ground about half a foot away from an open fire pit.

As Swift leapt on him and pressed his face closer to the burning coals, he heard a voice call out from above. “What are you doing here, Cap?!”

Chancing a glance away from his opponent, Fabian followed the voice up into the crowd to see Blaze. Practically falling out of the stands as he leaned over the guardrail to wave at him. Yes! Yes! Blaze was here. He just needed not to die and he could get Riz back!

From within Swift’s hold on him and between the flurry of fists, Fabian yelled as loud as he could, hoping that Blaze could hear him. “Switched! Bags! The Ball! In! Mine! Ugh, one second!”

Reaching down into himself, to the pool of energy in his center that he always pulled from, he pulled from it once more. A tiny current of wind swept up from the ground and swirled around him as he gained his Second Wind. Curling up both of his feet to aim for Swift’s stomach and, using his newfound stamina, booted Swift off from on top of him. Fabian knew he’d be back on his feet soon enough, but he didn’t mind. The effects of the spell he was about to cast would look better if he was standing up anyway.

Nafila did tell him to put on a show.

“Had enough?” He asked as he watched as Swift staggered to his feet, swaying. But he was still standing. Not for long, though.

“You wish.”

Swift descended upon him once again. With flaming fists of fury, spending all of the ki he had left trying to pummel Fabian into the ground, he did his best to withstand his attacks. Taking blow after blow until his moment came. A split second when Swift left his chest open.

“Looks like my lucky day then,” Fabian smiled wide and cocked his fist back, wreathed in a helix of wind, as a low rumble of a distant stormcloud hummed. He directed it straight into the middle of Swift’s chest as he shouted, “Have a nice flight!“, in Auran. Casting Thunderwave.

BOOM!

A tide of pure stormy rage surged out from where Fabian’s fist connected with Swift’s flesh and swept him off of his feet. Sending him flying back ten feet as a thunderous boom filled The Pyre. So powerful and cacophonous that once the ringing in his ears stopped, he thought he’d deafened himself because the whole arena went silent. His pants were so loud in his ears. Chest heaving, he looked out into the stunned crowd before searching for The Swift Inferno. Finding him flung against the curved stone wall, unconscious.

Hold on… Hold on!

Fabian spun around to where he found Blaze in the crowd to lock eyes with him just to double check what he thought was happening was happening. Blaze, with his square jaw and freckled, ruddy face, beamed down at him as he threw his arms into the air. Letting out a whoop, “Let’s go, Cap! HOOT! GROWL!”, and started a chain reaction of cheers and chants as the rest of the crowd erupted.

Instinctively, Fabian whispered underneath his ragged breath, “Hoot growl.”

He’d won.

Holy shit, he’d won!

Oh, how he wished Riz was awake to see this.

The sound of a thunderstorm directly over his head was enough to rip Riz out of the inky void of sleep and back into the real world.

At first, he thought he imagined the sound of thunder crashing. Since, in the first seconds following it, everything around him went quiet. But then a jockish voice above him started yelling a familiar chant and soon an entire audience was joining him in cheering. Leaving Riz to quickly cover his sensitive ears and wonder just what the fuck was going on.

The Owlbears didn’t have a game today, did they? There’s simply no way. He’d marked them all down in his calendar app on his crystal so that he’d miss getting to watch Fabian in his element as Captain of the Bloodrush team.

Mind still groggy from the Sleep gummies, Riz tried to wrap his head around where he was when an abnormally loud voice spoke over the din. “Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have a winner! Give it up for Wh’tilla!”

A winner?

Wh’tilla?

Who the fuck was Wh’tilla and why did they not sound like a high school Bloodrush team he’s ever heard of?

Okay, that’s it!

Riz practically ripped his way out of Fabian’s backpack. Claws digging and scratching into the sturdy canvas until he could find a hole in the zipper and claw his way out. Instantly, as he popped his head out, he almost wished he didn’t. Because all at once he realized that he was in a place that was unbearably loud, chokingly hot, and definitely nowhere near Elmville. Sitting in a crowd of hundreds of rowdy people of all kinds, with a quick look around he concluded that he was in an underground arena of some kind. Most likely illegal, but never mind that. None of it explained why he wasn’t in Fabian’s room right now.

“Oh! That’s why Cap’s here!”

Huh. That sounds more useful to him.

Whipping his head around to look at the person who was holding Fabian’s bag on his lap, Riz looked up at the young, Fire Genasi’s face. It was familiar, that was for certain. Someone he’d never talked to but saw often enough for them not to be a complete stranger. He must be on the Bloodrush team. The strong jaw and bulky shoulders were a dead giveaway. His name? Oh, by the Gods, it was Flames or something. No, Blaze! Blaze Evermore! Fabian had called him a line-back-thingy when he’d tried to explain Bloodrush to him once. Yes, okay. But why did he have Fabian’s backpack?

“Hey, Blaze. Uh, what’s up? Man.” Riz said more awkwardly than he would’ve liked. He just didn’t know how to talk to Fabian’s Bloodrush teammates. Were they and Riz friends-in-law? Would they treat him differently if Fabian wasn’t in the room with them when they hung out? So many questions and no time to answer them.

Thankfully, Blaze just shrugged and nodded his head in the direction of the arena’s pit. “Nothin’ much. Just watchin’ Fabian kick ass.”

“Huh?” Riz turned to inspect the pit again and what he saw made him gasp.

Fabian stood with a black eye, blood running from his nose, and his arms spread wide in triumph as he soaked up the audience’s cheers. Giving them dramatic, ballerina-esque bows with a big smile on his face. But that wasn’t the part that got Riz’s heart racing.

No, that was reserved for something that no one else seemed to notice, not even Fabian. Behind him, about ten feet back, what seemed to be his defeated opponent, a heavily injured Firenewt stirred. Achingly slowly, he got up. Raising himself onto his arms, Riz saw the seething look he was shooting Fabian. Daggers into the back of his unsuspecting head. And almost imperceptibly, smoke began to pour out of his slitted nostrils as his jowl began to expand. A fact from his studies of inner planar creatures shot into Riz’s head.

Firenewts can spit fire.

They can spit fire at anyone within ten feet of it.

Riz was moving before his thoughts could get any further. Though they did. How could they not?

Could Fabian have enough hit points to withstand a blast of fire to his back? Maybe. But with how punchdrunk he looked, Riz wouldn’t bet money on it let alone Fabian’s life.

With all of his eight strength, he pushed his way through the crowd.

Sure, what damage it would do to him probably wouldn’t kill him, either. However, Riz doubted that anyone would get into the ring before that Firenewt rained down blows on Fabian’s unconscious form. By the time they pulled him off of Fabian, he’d be dead.

Despite the shouts for him to stop, Riz bounded up the metal railing and leaped off of it. Shocked gasps rang out behind him, but paid them no mind. He only smirked as, once he began to fall, spectral angel wings appeared on his back.

He’d thought that wearing this vest would be overkill for this afternoon’s sparring class, but, like always, his father was right. It always pays to be prepared. He was happy about all those gasps though. They were an excellent way to pull Fabian’s attention away from gloating and towards him.

“Riz!” Fabian shouted, his voice somehow loud enough to hear over all of the noise. The single step Fabian made toward him as his smile turned all soft and fond once his eye locked onto him wasn’t going to be enough to avoid the fire.

Maneuvering on his temporary wings, Riz tried to make himself fall faster while still keeping course towards Fabian. All the while he unfurled a multi-coloured braided length of rope, entwined with the help of all the Bad Kids last summer, from his belt. He’d yet to ever cast Rope Trick properly before, but if there was ever a time to do it, it’d be now.

In the split second before the Firenewt opened his mouth, Riz tossed the rope up into the air. He felt it catch on an extradimensional space and dove to grab Fabian’s awaiting hand. Then as Fabian's larger hand wrapped around his, he yanked as hard as he could on the rope to pull them up. Riz's muscles screamed at him as he held on to all of Fabian’s weight as they were both snatched up and into the hideaway he created.

“The Ball, what the—” Before Fabian could whip himself up into a bluster, Riz took his face into his hands as gently as he could and pointed it downwards. Letting him see through the window down into the pit as the Firenewt belched fire exactly where he was standing. Fabian’s eye went wide. “—Oh.” Meeting Riz’s know-it-all gaze, Fabian blushed before he put a hand on his chest and another against his forehead and said, “My hero.”

“Damn, right,” Riz said with a nod, ignoring how hot his cheeks felt. “What are we even doing here? Since when do you pit fight?”

Fabian groaned. Letting himself flop back into a sprawl on the floor of the Rope Trick as he explained himself. “Ugh, I didn’t mean to be here. Blaze, Gorgug, and I swapped bags accidentally. I got Gorgug’s, Gorgug got Blaze’s, and Blaze got-”

“Yours.” Riz interrupted, his mind still whirling a mile a minute. Peering down at the pit below, another question popped to the forefront of his head. “Where are we?”

“The City of Brass,” Fabian answered, barely lifting his head to do so.

“What?” Riz reared back before pressing his face to the glass of the Rope Trick’s window to the outside world. Only now, with this bird’s eye view did he notice the abundance of Fire Genasi, Azers, and other fireborn or touched creatures in attendance. No wonder it was so fucking hot! That’s the capital of the Plane of Fire for you. Wait. If he was brought here accidentally by Blaze that must mean—oh. Riz looked up from his snooping to crawl over to Fabian’s prone form. Peering over his head, Fabian’s lone silver eye opening as he did, Riz softly asked, “Did you go interplanar just to come find me?”

Fabian shrugged with an amount of adoration on his face that made Riz feel like he was about to throw up.

“I’d go to the ends of the multiverse to find you.” He said, simply. Almost nonchalantly. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Oh, Riz just couldn’t take it. Slapping his hands against his face, he fell back as well and curled into a ball. Fabian’s soft chuckles didn’t help. Especially not when he also pulled Riz over to him and wrapped him up in his arms. “What? Too mushy for you?” Riz could only nod, too overwhelmed with such big feelings. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Of course, he would.

In a heartbeat.

He’d venture across the multiverse and back twice if that’s what it took to find him.

The two of them stayed just like that for a few long moments. Content to stay in this embrace for maybe the rest of eternity… Well, that’s a bit much. This spell wouldn’t even have an eternity. Maybe another fifty minutes. Tops.

If it weren’t for the stray glance Riz made downwards, they probably would’ve. But now that he felt like he could speak again, he couldn’t help but comment on the Firenewt below them. And how he was frantically punching the air around where he’d swept Fabian up from. “Huh, looks like your opponent is a bit confused.”

“I’m sure he is.” A beat. “Think I can drop down on him and knock him out?”

“Fabian.”

“What? I wanna win.”

Riz rolled his eyes, not immune to Fabian’s puppy dog pout, and said, “On my cue.” Fabian let out a whoop and kissed Riz’s cheek before he scrambled to get into place. “Drop down in three, two, one, now!”

In a fall, complete with twists and summersaults, Fabian soared out of the extradimensional space with flourish and theatrics. Landing on top of the poor Firenewt in an obnoxiously dramatic pose. Riz couldn’t hear anything from within the hideaway, but he knew the crowd must’ve been going nuts. He didn’t want to, but Riz couldn’t stop a fond smile from playing on his lips as he said, “That’s my guy.”

By the Gods, did Riz love him.

Whew!! There you go! I hope you liked it, Anon! Another one ticked off the bingo board!

Send me a prompt and help me get a bingo!

[sseomtada]

being [ruben dias]

you run into ruben twice - both ending in unexpected and disappointing ways.

warnings: none | wc: 5609 | 2/???

It was as if all the time in the world and none at all passed simultaneously.

During that theoretically improbable glitch, you felt like you experienced every emotion known to man. Disbelief was the first. Was it really him your eyes were taking in, or did the mice actually exist in your brain and managed to do severe damage to your amygdala?

Then came shock. He stood to his full height, seemingly taller than you recalled and held out something in his hand. It took a moment for your gaze to drift to the item - ah, your original weapon of choice.

You reached out to grab the tail end of your keys. Whether it was to avoid contact with his skin was left to be determined.

Wave after wave, each one slamming more forcefully than the last into your body, you spun helplessly through a cycle that would only end one way.

Confusion, because what was he doing here? Not in this city, the answer to that was fairly obvious even without knowing his affiliation after seeing his address, but actually here on your street. Not remotely close to where he lived.

Anger followed suit. At the forefront leading the march of red hot flames licking the back of your neck was all of the questions you had about that night. Every single one of them starting with the word why. Though, not all of that vitriol was directed his way.

A fraction of it had been left to God or Fate or whichever entity decided to move your chess pieces to end up in this predicament. This was the last thing you needed and the worst time for it to happen. The one thing both he and the powers that be shared was the prefix to all of your venom laced inquiries, why.

You fought against the current and undertow. Nothing good waited for you at the bottom.

That was easier said than done, especially as the sky illuminated with a flash again and gave you an even better look at him. Adding insult to injury was the fact that he was achingly perfect, fully grown into the features you adored.

His strong brow bone contrasting those soft eyes more than they did before. That nose of his, still as big as ever, but sitting just right in a way that highlighted his prominent cheeks. His lips were possibly the one thing that remained unchanged, but you wouldn’t know for sure unless…

“I-” Ruben croaked.

A tiny, broken word was enough to tear you into two pieces. One half of you begged and pleaded desperately for him to spit it out. All of it. The other part wanted absolutely nothing of the sort. It wanted him to never even do so much as breathe in your vicinity for as long as he lived.

You swallowed thickly, eyes squeezing shut. This was too much for you to fully grasp right now. What were you even doing still standing here getting torrentially poured on? What did you hope to gain from watching him grapple to form a single sentence?

It’s over. Don’t contact me. I don’t love you anymore.

The keys bit into your palm as your grip around them tightened. If there was anything he had to say to you, he could’ve done so when you showed up at his door. He could’ve said something on any of the days, weeks and months that followed while you experiencing a part of yourself die and fade out of existence.

You turned to leave and didn’t make it more than two steps before his hand grasped your wrist. He was still so warm. Flashes of memories flooded your mind so quickly and intensely that it threatened to bring you to your knees.

How are you always freezing, baby? Come here. Closer. Perfect.

Just as you pulled your arm up to free yourself of his grip, he released it. You stood with your back still facing him for a beat. It was long enough for him to drape his jacket over your shoulders, shielding you from the rain. Your body let out an involuntary shudder.

And then you ran.

Everything muted. You didn’t feel your legs moving, or your galloping heartbeat, or your lungs burning from uncontrolled breaths. The next thing you knew, you were in your building facing the door opposite yours.

You knocked, careful not to be too loud given the hour and hopeful that despite the time, you’d be let inside. Only God knows how long had passed before you leaned your head against the cool surface. With a final attempt, you raised your first to knock again.

Instead of your knuckles connecting with wood, they swung into empty space. Your torso fell forward into Aki’s as she yelped.

“The rain just had to come down on your run, didn’t it?” She peeled your wet frame from her pajamas.

The playful look of concern quickly turned serious once she took you in. The look in her eyes filled you with deja vu. It was that September 15th stare all over again because she just knew.

This time, the water running down your face was warm - coming from within. There were millions of mice wreaking havoc in your mind now. They gnawed, scratched and unearthed all that you buried years ago, decimating the walls you’d built brick by brick.

Aki pulled you in tight, squeezing and cradling your head.

You let it all out.

Everything that you had created with Bana held more importance to you than most things in life.

It was far more than just a passion or a dream. As silly as it sounded, forming that company quite literally gave you hope. At a time where you’d felt so lost and at your wits end, fully at odds with what seemed to be your only option, you decided to do the craziest and most ill-advised thing. Although the road was anything but smooth in the beginning, you managed to navigate from treacherous dirt tracks to freshly set tar.

You currently found yourself in that same pocket of gratefulness that you were in back then. With the contract finally being signed, the real work had only just begun on the project you had with Nike.

There was so much to be done. That coupled with the pressure of having to solidify Bana’s strength in the new city left you devoid of extra time or energy to expend to whatever the fuck happened a few nights ago.

Aki was more than a saint. She gave you a safe space and the support you needed to seal the cracks, without judgment or prying into things further. The only thing she had to offer was: if you need me to take over from here, just say the word.

She knew that this venture meant an infinite amount to you, so suggesting backing out wasn’t a gesture you would appreciate. An attractive alternative, however, would be for you to take as much time as you needed to decompress while looking after the business for you.

There were no IOU cards in existence that could compensate the support a friend like her gave. You began to think you’d spend your entire life trying to repay her for all that she did for you. On this occasion, that looked like breaking the cycle of the past.

You weren’t going to fall apart and have her clean up your messes anymore. Everything that you went through wasn’t going to be in vain. Despite the massive destabilizing event, you would carry on for both your sakes.

“T-minus two weeks, ladies.” You set your stack of materials on the conference room table. “Let’s get to work.”

Cindy whooped and Aki clapped, ready to dive in. Their high spirits empowered you to shake off any residual feelings in order to pour everything you had into Bana’s debut in the Manchester market.

The schedule was torturously tight, leaving no margin for error. Neither you nor the client’s team had the luxury of dillydallying when the date for the launch party had been set and was a non-negotiable. Your first order of business was meeting up with the design team to essentially interview them about their process and goals.

That would help you in forming the image you intended to portray to the audience. They had been outsourced just like your team, so even delving into a bit of their backstory and their journey to working with a major company would come in handy.

Cindy’s expertise would come in next. She had an unrivaled pulse on current trends across seemingly every culture. Her knowledge was a inspiring and an endless resource that would take this project beyond the local scene, which was the whole purpose of working with a brand like Nike.

Aki had to be the smartest person you knew. Her ability to forecast financials was seen by the top four multinational firms even when she was an undergraduate. She even spent time working with Deloitte post graduation, but was fast to come to the conclusion that the corporate accounting world wasn’t the environment for her. It was a realization you owed your company’s life to.

The weeks approaching the deadline quickly dwindled down to days. All the while, the three of you worked tirelessly alongside your accompanying staff to ensure that the product’s marketing was seamless.

“And…breathe.” Aki shut her laptop with a smack.

Cindy let out more of a roar than a breath, drawing both of your gazes to her.

“Sorry, was that a bit much?” She grinned sheepishly.

Actually, it wasn’t in the slightest. You too found yourself bellowing aloud, to everyone’s confusion at first, until they joined in as well. It was a release of everything you all had endured to drag your bodies to the finish line. It was also strangely therapeutic to nonverbally, yet vocally, express your relief.

At the end of it, you were laughing - something you realized you hadn’t done in quite some time. That moment made continuing on regardless of whatever issues loomed feel so very worth it. This was why you took the leap you did, the rewarding feeling of succeeding and doing so with an amazing set of people alongside you.

“We’ll tidy things up here.” Aki shot you a don’t even argue with me look.

“Sure will! You go and get some well deserved rest, boss.” Cindy offered a sincere smile.

As much as you wanted to put up a fight, you learned with experience to graciously accept kindness when it was extended to you. After bidding them goodnight, you headed back to your place.

For once, your body wasn’t coursing with insane amounts of adrenaline. Maybe the post project high wore off with age. Or maybe you’d finally discovered the limits to running yourself ragged. Either way, you were happy that when your head met your pillow, sleep was all but ready to welcome you instantly.

o passado

Your sophomore year internship was going to be the end of you.

Across every industry, it seemed that there was a rite of passage one had to complete in order to be considered a serious candidate. Going into working for your current firm, you held that belief too. But why?

You thought there’d be some lesson to be learnt or character to be built while being put through endless trials of your patience. Was it to make you value every level or work, or to not take your future position for granted? If that was the case, you didn’t need to go through them.

Everyone held some level of privilege. Whether you were fully able bodied, or neurotypical, or alive, regardless of anything else going on, you held something another wished they had. You’d never gone a day in your life without recognizing the privilege you possessed to be able to go to school, and then work a job.

The only thing the constant barrage of belittle comments, humiliating scolds and time wasting tasks achieved was making you feel disappointed. Was this all there was to life? Were you expected to obtain this badge of honor only to inflict the same horrors upon the next generation in hopes that they’d do the same?

Your tired legs carried you to bed where you curled into a little ball. What made this experience even more gut-wrenching was the misplaced guilt that crept in at moments like this. Sometimes recognizing your blessings came with a side of feeling ungrateful when you were sad because of them.

All those long days and nights your mom worked to sustain a comfortable life were undoubtably for you to even be in a position to be so stressed out. You couldn’t ever bring yourself to tell her just how hard some days were, especially knowing how much she must’ve suffered to provide for you alone.

“What’s wrong, coração?”

Ruben’s question made you whimper. You’d been trying to hold it in as much as possible so that you didn’t disturb him having fun in the living room with his friend. The go-to guise of yours was having to work on a report in order for you to duck out early.

He sank into the bed beside you and wrapped you in his arms. You shuddered, not even realizing that you hadn’t pulled up the duvet or shut the window against the winter air outside. His hand stroked your hair softly in a steady rhythm as your heartbeat slowed to mirror his own.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” You choked out. “I can’t.”

Something about letting the voices in your head speak aloud felt even more devastating. Your body shook against his as you were hit with another wave of sobs. You felt stupid and weak and hopeless.

Ruben turned you over to face him, his brows pressed together with concern before tucking your head against his chest. He stroked the length of your spine while you cried, giving you the time you needed to let everything you felt pour out. When your shoulders finally stilled and your breathing regulated, he angled your face to look at you again.

“If you truly feel that way and want to quit, it’s okay.” Ruben wiped your cheeks with him thumb. “I won’t think less of you, neither will anyone else who loves you. More importantly, I don’t want you feeling this way or considering that decision make you see yourself as less than.”

You cupped his face with a trembling hand and touched your forehead to his, closing your eyes. With the emotional tsunami subsiding, you slowly put back together the pieces of your spirit.

It was difficult right now, but you genuinely loved what you were pursuing. Just because you were in this current predicament didn’t mean you’d stay there, or have to perpetuate it upon anyone else.

“I don’t want to give up, but…” Your voice was small.

“That’s it, then. All that matters.” His brown eyes crinkled at their edges. “You don’t want to give up on your dream.”

You shook your head, lips pouting.

Ruben sat upright and brought you with him. His hands engulfed your shoulders as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You subconsciously found yourself doing the same. When yours reopened, you found him gazing at you lovingly.

“You can do it.” He led.

It was a journey to muster up the energy to follow, but you did, “I can do it.”

“You’re the best.” Ruben continued, hands coming down to squeeze your own.

“I’m the best.” You huffed out with a half laugh.

He brought your fingers to his lips, kissing the tips softly.

“That’s my girl.”

o presente

The blaring alarm from your phone on the bedside table didn’t startle you since you were already wide awake.

You’d gotten the most sleep you have in months the night before, but woke up earlier than you’d hoped. The past hour saw you staring into the darkness of your bedroom, groggy mind going places you were too tired to derail them from.

It was better to get those thoughts out of the way before you got your day started, you guessed. Especially those as important as the one that laid ahead.

With one last deep sigh, you threw off your duvet to get things moving. If you didn’t complete your morning routine, you wouldn’t be half of the person you needed to be. And you had to be even more than that given that the launch party was tonight.

You got dressed to go for a jog - indoors at the gym in your building this time, for obvious reasons. Avoiding songs with lyrics had been a habit you picked up since that unexpected run in too. Annoyingly, you were the type of person to be reminded of personal situations when hearing a singer croon about theirs that mirrored your own.

For an hour, you zoned out to a random chill house DJ set while your legs moved without a thought. After ending your run and stretching, you headed back up to your loft for a shower followed by a big breakfast.

You felt strangely serene despite all the recent chaos. For once, instead of questioning that, you decided to lean fully into it. On the way to the office, you even swung by a nearby cafe to pick up coffee for the girls. It would be a nice detour from the exhausted Nespresso machine.

“For me?’ Cindy beamed, taking in her signature flat white.

“Yes, for you.” A bright grin spread across your face. “And you, madame.”

Aki clutched her iced americano to her chest dramatically. “CEO of the year: Y/N.”

Your eyes rolled playfully as you all settled in for a quick recap. Something you liked to do after wrapping up a project was to firstly celebrate the work put in by everyone. Then, you analyzed strengths and weaknesses that could be improved upon for endeavors to come.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for making this process as hassle-free as possible and smashingly successful.” You concluded.

“We’re going to do great things together.” Cindy reached across the table to give each of your hands a squeeze.

“I’m so excited for our debut tonight!” Aki wiggled in her seat.

It wasn’t always a given that the client would invite outsourced teams to launch parties with their stakeholders, but Nike was gracious enough to extend an invitation to your team. They were clearly pleased with the work Bana presented, but this added an extra layer of validation.

The importance of an event like this also couldn’t be overstated. Though it was more or less a party, it was a huge networking opportunity. You and the girls had to be in your best form tonight to do the job that mattered most in this industry - marketing the firm.

After checking in on your home office and answering a few emails that could potentially produce leads, you joined Aki in her preparations for the event. It had been a minute since either of you had the opportunity to get this dolled up, so you decided to go all out.

Why not let the professionals do the heavy lifting? You felt more relaxed than you had in ages having someone else wash and style your hair. Even Aki had found herself less talkative than usual, going as far as nearly dozing off while she got her pedicure.

“You should wear that dress you’ve been saving. Remember the one you got when we were on vacation?” She suddenly perked up.

“The one from Nice?” You scrambled to find the exact one she meant. Shopping on vacation was a kryptonite of yours, making her meaning a bit difficult to pinpoint.

Aki shook her head, “Santorini…”

“Ah,” Your eyes bulged and then you nodded. “Santorini.”

There was rarely a time where you experienced love at first sight with clothing. Most of your pieces were carefully thought out and heavily deliberated upon prior to purchasing. Classic, sleek and complimentary trumped jumping on trend bandwagons to you.

When you saw that dress on the mannequin in the window, you felt like you had an out of body experience. The soft cream color, the draping with it’s exposed back and beaded details - it was a no brainer that you had to have it.

Tonight was the perfect occasion to finally break her in.

It went with the theme you’d decided on for your team’s fist major outing as well. In the spirit of celebrating Bana, Cindy suggested wearing the colors in the logo - cream, burnt orange and sage green. There were no limits to your options, anyone could choose any color and it didn’t matter if you all showed up in the same hue.

You'd just finished fastening your chunky gold hoops when Aki’s knock sounded from the door. She was always on the dot, so that meant you had exactly five seconds to head out to the car waiting downstairs.

“Good lord…” Her mouth dropped at your appearance.

“Stop,” You scrunched your nose. “Is the slight glisten on the skin too much?”

“It’s perfect! You’re giving trophy.” She gave a thumbs up.

“And you look like a sunset on the Gulf.” Your hand extended to grab hers, giving her a twirl to make the orange fabric of her halter-cut gown dance.

If there was ample time, you two would’ve stood in the hallway having a compliment battle. The ticking clock, however, demanded that you haul ass since there was one last stop to be made before arriving at the event.

“You look like a fairy!” Aki gasped as Cindy hopped into the back of the car.

“A sexy wood nymph, I hope.” She arched a freshly shaped brow.

You made a noise of agreement, “It’s exactly that.”

Fate played its hand well tonight given that you all ended up blindly choosing different colors. Cindy’s dress looked like something straight off a Dipesta runway - a soft, dreamy green that perfectly sculpted her frame.

The team’s car arrived just in time for a few photos to be taken before receiving an escort to your table. Aki took an appreciative sip of the champagne that was poured, savoring the bubbles in her mouth.

If you didn’t know she tended to not drink while working on huge projects, you might’ve thought she was a weirdo. You took a sip of your own and understood her pleasure even more — it was fucking delicious.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight to celebrate this new line of our iconic Air Max. Even though we’re still a few months out from consumer purchasing, each one of you here has made it possible to bring this dream of ours to life.” Nike’s CEO began.

A short round of applause followed. Their words filled you with gratitude and relief. The best part of branding a product like this was that you got in and out early. Everything was in their hands now and you wished them the best of luck on the remainder of their journey.

“A special thanks goes out to our major partners, who’ll be pivotal in the time leading up to the release.” They continued, point towards a table near yours. “We look forward to seeing them on our Manchester City players on European nights and beyond.”

You clapped along with the other attendees, eyes following the direction of their attention. The meeting of your hands slowed to a stop. Only a few feet away from you sat the owner of the brilliant grin that haunted you, that same expression returned to the speaker on the podium for their words.

Aki sensed a shift in your energy instantly, looking at you and then picking up your line of sight. She squeezed your knee to bring you back to the present. Your burning eyes blinked before turning to hers.

Are you okay? They silently asked. You mustered a small smile and placed a hand overs hers. I’m good.

“Our concept with this new shoe in the Air Max line was to really emphasize that trademark, shock absorbing feel that they’re known for.” The head of the design team took the stage.

As much as you wanted to give them your undivided attention, you struggled to keep your eyes forward without shifting off to the left. Get it together, Y/N, now’s not the time. You took a breath breath and held it, begging oxygen to flow straight to your brain.

“The team at Bana really understood what we were going for and found the perfect way to translate that to the masses. A big shout out to you lot for being absolute rockstars.” They saluted your table.

Faces filled with smiles turned in your direction, crippling your efforts to steady your nerves. You somehow gathered what you needed to slightly bow your head in appreciation before they continued with their speech.

Cindy inhaled sharply and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “Uh, don’t look, but Ruben Dias is staring over here for some reason. Do you guys know him?”

Fuck it.

Any hope of regaining a sense of normalcy to your night was thrown in the trash. It wouldn’t ever be a usual occurrence as long as you two ended up in the same space. It couldn’t.

You had to stop avoiding that, especially considering that this wasn’t your fault. You’re not the reason why it felt like trying to breathe outside during a heat wave whenever you shared the same space as him.

“Yeah,” Your eyes locked with his, unshifting. “Something like that.”

It didn’t take a detective to realize that your words were loaded. Cindy was quicker than most to pick up on that and her back quickly rejoined with her seat. Aki downed the rest of her champagne, signaling discretely for a top up as soon as the flute touched the table.

She was right on cue for the start of the event’s mixer portion.

You swiped a fresh glass from a tray being floated around the room and tapped into the part of your brain that gave you laser focus. Bana was your priority, had been for the past four years, and nothing - or no one - would ruin that.

The head of design was your first stop. It was only fitting that you return the kindness they’d extended to you in their speech and throughout working with their team. They promised to keep your firm high in their mind when cooking the next great invention for all your hard work.

Cindy introduced you to her mystery contact who was on the executive side. You got to know a bit more about how they met, the middle-aged woman being her former advisor at her university. It said a lot to you as an employer to see that she still kept very strong connections with people she’d met years prior.

Aki was working her charm as usual with some guys who seemed to be too shy to get into the cocktail hour. You weren’t sure about their affiliations, but everyone in this room was worth sparing a conversation. Besides, she’d definitely fill you in later.

“Are you Bana’s CEO?” An accented voice spoke from behind you.

He was tall, tuxedo fitted to his huge frame with superior precision. Oddly handsome too, though you couldn’t pinpoint if his lips were real or not. He was also the person sitting beside Ruben, if you weren’t mistaken.

“I am, nice to meet you.” You shook his hand. “And you’re in the City squad. Excuse my ignorance, I don’t keep up with football.”

His laugh exuded relief, strangely. “That’s quite alright, I can imagine how busy you must be. I play up front, Erling Haaland.”

If there was any waver if your expression, you did well to mask it. So, he was Ruben’s teammate. It made you question whether or not he knew anything about your previous relationship to his coworker.

“I hope our firm continues to have a good relationship with Nike, maybe we’d keep running into each other at events like this.” Though far from explicit, your tone was leading. What was his reason for approaching you?

“It’s something I hope for as well, though I might want to pull your attention away from them just a bit.” Erling smirked.

Suddenly, you became the one being roped in. “How so?”

“I’ve been looking for a change in my own personal branding. Based on what you did here, I’d be interested in having a conversation with you and your team.” He answered directly.

This time, it was your tiny laugh that was filed with relief. No grilling about your past, then. Even better was the fact that you’d potentially lined up a new business opportunity. Was continuing to work in this particular vein the smartest idea? Yes and no.

But you didn't have the luxury of playing it safe currently, you also didn’t particularly care to anymore. Manchester was just as much yours as it was his for the taking.

“We’d love to hear what you have in mind.” You smiled.

Erling accepted your contact via Airdrop, telling you to keep an ear out from a call from his assistant before excusing himself to make more rounds. You bit down on your bottom lip to ground yourself from showing just how good it felt to be in top form. Not just yet, that could wait until you were done hunting for the night.

You refocused on combing through the sea of people for your girls to see if they needed bailing out. Unfortunately, classy gatherings like this didn’t put a halt to rather tasteless behavior from men. You'd just spotted Aki cackling at something the person she was speaking to said, thankfully, when your view was obstructed by yet another tuxedo clad chest.

Salt water, patchouli, sage…tobacco.

Your sense knew it was him before your eyes combed up to meet his. It was the same potent yet subtle fragrance that lingered on his jacket, and your skin, even after you’d washed them.

“I always knew you could this.” Ruben’s voice made your flesh raise.

You can do it. You’re the best. That’s my…

“Well,” You spoke aloud to shut the memory out. “I guess deep down I did too.”

Awkward silence took the reigns yet again in an encounter neither of you expected. Unlike the previous one, it wasn’t an empty street providing him with the opportunity to say any of the things you wanted to hear. It certainly wasn’t the place to get into why he’d so terribly and abruptly ripped your heart clean out of your chest.

“Excuse m-”

“Y/N.” His call paralyzed you.

From within your own body, you watched helplessly as he stepped just a bit closer - shined loafers nearly meeting your gold sandals. Ruben was never in the business of hiding what was on his mind, a trait that evidently remained as he scanned over your daringly cut gown.

At that moment, it felt like more of a curse than a blessing that you chose to wear this of all things tonight.

“If it make things too…difficult, me being teammates with Erling” He whispered. “I can make sure there are no questions if you want to decline.”

A fault line appeared in your composure as you scoffed, blinking in disbelief like you’d been physically struck. Who the fuck did he think he was? Actually, who was this person standing in front of you?

The Ruben you knew was far from this version. Someone who was all but telling you to walk away, much less based on an assumption that his presence in a client’s life was too much for you to handle. Because what, he broke your heart almost a decade ago? Did he really think he held that much power of you still?

Him being here tonight might’ve been a good thing. If you hadn’t ran into him again, you’d still be subconsciously romanticizing the past and letting your mind dip into the imaginary pool of what ifs for longer than you deserved.

Seven years was a long time. It seemed to give Ruben a level of audacity that quite frankly made you feel an emotion that you didn’t think was possible when it came to him, disgust.

Your limbs were suddenly free of any stiffness, and quicker than he could object, you made your way to the exit. You weren’t running away from him this time. Leaving was for the best given the fact that you were seeing red. Besides that, you’d already secured something of a win.

An opportunity that you were going to pursue with every ounce of your being.

[wakacreations]

Zevlor's Bizarre Cocoa Adventure (Ch. 3)

Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

Word Count: 1360

Summary:

Zevlor thinking strange things and dreaming strange dreams.

A wetness trailed down his cheek, the smell of iron filled his nostrils but only moments ago drowned in the smells of decay. “Obey the Absolute and you shall be free!” a shrill voice echoed. Cold winds rushed through his bones, feet firmly held to the muddy ground. Waves of pulsing warm air brushed over his skull, then a sharp piercing sensation radiated from his temple as it burrowed its way deeper. The hilt of his sword once in his grasp dropped helplessly to the soft earth. Zevlor’s head pulsed and throbbed violently. His hands gripped his skull forcefully as if he could glue his splintering mind back together.

“Hellrider, you shall bring glory to your people. They will be safe under our oath,” the voice beckoned him. His body had gone rigid. “What is happening!?!” gruff Zevlor. “Commander Zevlor, you will save us won’t you? You can protect us! I know you can!” Whispers of voices long known, some forgotten, and some recent flood into his ear canals. There were whispers of children that cling desperately to his arms to avoid the falling flames. Their yelling and pleading of tieflings being dragged away by hungry orthons. The screams of agony deafening his ears.

“Please do something Commander Zevlor, sir! I can’t take much more,” one of his own injured men fell onto him. Their eyes wide with horror soon grew to a glassy emptiness. “LAY YOUR WEAPONS DOWN! We will be safe with them,” the words escaped his mouth foreign to his own ears. What little strength his knees held buckled under the weight of the pressure. The cool dirt met his metal leggings as a warm red pool bathed his knees. “YOU TRAITOR!” The whizzing of arrows fluttered past his skin. A much too cold clawed hand trailed across his brow.

He awoke to a hobgoblin peering down at him. Sweat bathing his clothes, his joints stiff in place, tail lay limply at his side. “The first illithid teleportation is the hardest,” as he handed him a bucket. “3… 2… 1…” A rush of bile made its way up Zevlor’s throat. He doubled over clutched the bucket feeling the last of putrid acid leave his body. “You'll be alright. It would be kind of me to say it gets easier but it never does,” as he patted his back. Zevlor looked up at the hobgoblin as he wiped his mouth. “Blurg. Pleasure to meet you,” he grinned.

The hobgoblin walked over and rummaged through a set of cabinets. “Now, where is it? Ah, there it is. Drink this, it should help with the nausea.” He tossed him a small flask. “Anything to get this taste out of his mouth,” Zevlor thought. In one swig the potion of vitality vanished. “Thank you. It's Zevlor, a pleasure.” Though his stomach had settled, his mind still held a dull ache. A whiff of herbs filled the air. “Hungry? I got some warm food I've prepared for you.” Blurg setting down a tray on the bedroll. He took a seat across from the tiefling. Zevlor slowly ate the stew placed in his hands. It was a rich warm dark broth, filled with celery, carrots and hardy potatoes. Some healthy portions of beef were in the mix as well.

“If you prefer something with proper meat you can help yourself to our cured supplies.” He pointed at a stack of crates nestled in the corner of the tent. Zevlor gave Blurg a sideways glance pausing his meal. “Don't worry the food is safe unless you are allergic to mushrooms,” Blurg chuckled. “Most dishes I prepare are mostly plant based. Less I have to worry of any dried goods molding down here. But I'll meet the dietary needs of whomever I serve.” He smiled at the tired tiefling who thankfully resumed eating. 

“So, he's the famed Hellrider. Well Rolan was not far from their description,” Blurg gave the old paladin the once over. Their sharp face no longer the sickly pale red moments before, hair and battered skin still dampened with sweat, their clothes cling to their lean form. “It was such a hassle removing that armour. Paladins,” his gaze moved towards the pile of metal that laid beside the bedroll. “For as toned and hardened their muscular body may be, their mind was still vulnerable. He won't cope well for another illithid fast travel,” Blurg thought. His eyes met with Zevlor’s shimmering orange eyes.

“Omeluum told me you're in need of chocolates?” The tiefling’s tail flicked. Zevlor passed his finished bowl to Blurg. “Another helping if you would kindly, please.” He made his way to the opened pot, “You still haven’t answered my question, friend,” as Blurg ladled another helping. “Yes, I am in need of such supplies,” Zevlor cleared his throat. “Would it be possible to spare a crate or so?” he said with a bated breath. Another rejection would be too unlikely but things have not turned out as smoothly as he initially hoped. His tail snaked to his midsection and gave a firm squeeze.

“Are you able to stand? We'll have to make our way to Omeluum's tent. It is a bit of a ways,” Blurg's brow furrowed. With tentative shaky legs Zevlor rose to his feet. A tremor still held his figure. His arms spread outwards as if made to walk a line. Each step was made with a conscious effort. Tail moving to-and-fro like a ship’s wheel to keep himself on course. A slight sway in his step as he made his way to Blurg. “You walked as if you’ve had more than a couple of pints at the Blushing Mermaid, Zevlor.” The hobgoblin braced his hands to catch the teetering tiefling if need be. “I will be fine. Just give me a couple of minutes to recollect myself and I shall be ready,” Zevlor rasped as he leaned on a table for stability. Blurg gave a questionable look and a raised brow but didn't push further. “I will go check in with Omeluum, do call for me if ya need anything. It is no bother.” Blurg flipped open the flap of the entrance. “Less I forget,” the hobgoblin called over his shoulder. “Welcome to the Underdark, friend.” The flap fluttering shut.

“I am finally alone,” Zevlor took a long drawn breath. He slumped down into a stool. The sounds of dripping echoed on. For all the things that just transpired his mind was stuck in idle. He listened to the repetitive sound of water droplets for what felt like minutes but how long it truly was is indefinite. “Time moves differently in the Underdark,” he gathered. The tension still lingered on his form. He closed his tired eyes and began his assessment. Shoulders are tightly winded with tension that can't be helped. Neck is a bit stiff, could be due to his earlier resting position. He gave his body a good long arched stretch. Legs still have a weakness to them but some walking will help get the blood flow back into them. “The mind…. well that will take a long time to repair,” Zevlor opened his eyes. More rest called for him. The bedroll beckoned him but there won't be peace in his dreams.

He took a couple more bites of his stew. “For a dish that has little to no meat, it is quite delicious. Maybe I should see if Blurg would be willing to share in a culinary exchange. I'm sure Tav would..” his cheeks grew a more reddish hue. “Oh, I… What would they make of me?” as he peeled off his sweat-streaked clothes. “If I am almost always this frightened,” he slipped into a pressed shirt. “If my griefs are much too cumbersome of burdens to bare. Especially not for them to bare, not to them of all people, have they not suffered enough,” he fastened tightly on his chest plate. “If I am too feeble of a man, less I at least be capable of returning a favor owed. I can hope to provide them that courtesy guaranteed,” blade fixed to his hip. “I can't provide them much but this is all that I am,” he catches a glimpse of himself off a metal tray. “Too worn, too beaten, and too unworthy.”

[buckysdoll24]

Part 3- Facehugger and xenomorphs attack

⚠️Warning- Almost forced Noncon, Alien attacks, blood and weapons!!!⚠️

The morning quickly came and I had Kat'ei lying on my chest and purring clicking away in content. I looked out the window to see it was dull and foggy outside." I guess it's a day indoors," I muttered to myself as Kat'ei woke up.

"Ready for food?" I smiled as he nodded nuzzling me." Yes madam," He mumbles tiredly. I headed downstairs as Kat'ei climbed onto my back as I cooked bacon and done toast for him.

It's strange looking at him yet he'd like any other kid." Kat'ei has your father responded?" I asked him as I sat down to eat. Kat'ei passes his communication system over and I see a signal coming our way." Is this your father?" I pointed to the signal.

Kat'ei looks and nods, before pointing at something else and I see his tracker picking up the other aliens." Can your tracker send signals to other aliens not just your kind?" I asked worried." Unfortunately anyone can pick it up," Kat'ei spoke softly.

"You need to go upstairs there's a cooler refrigerator, go hide there, it's cold but it'll hide you from the other aliens. I will fight them down here. Don't come out till you hear absolutely nothing and I call you understand me?" I tell him firmly grabbing my guns.

"I want to help. My mistake leading them here," Kat'ei argues." No! You are a child, you must go hide, you may be a future warrior but you are a child still and I'm in charge go hide now!" I said firmly.

Kat'ei nods and heads upstairs and I follow him." It's been an honour knowing you Kat'ei, I hope we do meet again, but if we don't I'm proud of you bud," I tell him and he hugs me." Don't go, hide with me," Kat'ei whines.

"I have to, you are my responsibility and your father will kill me if you are dead so I'm doing my job as guardian to protect you. If you hear noises coming up the stairs leave out that window and find your father leave me and just run," I said gently kissing his head.

I shut the door and placed my hand on the glass which Kat'ei did the same." It's been an honour Kat'ei," I mouthed before leaving him and heading downstairs.

I got my guns out ready for an attack which didn't take them long to arrive and I opened fire on the xenomorphs that entered my home. I moved out of the acid blood splatter and allowed the spider-like creatures to get killed with it before they attacked me and I stabbed them.

One grabs my neck but I concentrate on shooting the others before slicing the one on my neck by its tail and stomping on it till it dies." Fuck this is gonna stain my clothes," I looked at the mess all over me.

Kat'ei got out and came down the stairs." No!!" I yelled as a face hugger went for him. I covered him and it latched on to me. I gripped it before it could enter me." Kat'ei run!!" I yelled out as the xenomorphs grabbed me.

"Mom!!!" Kat'ei cries before shooting the xenomorph and the facehugger dead. The xenomorphs went to grab him and I was shaking in anger as they were about to kill him.

"That's it!" I yelled as I got my own man-made weapon out." Kat'ei get down!" I yelled as I blasted the remaining aliens in the home.

They blew up and we blocked all the acid spilling out using an acid shield." Kat'ei you okay? Not hurt?" I rushed out checking him over." N-No, are you?" He asked hugging me.

I heard more screeching and tippy-tap noises and we looked to see more of the xenomorphs and the facehuggers entering the cabin.

"Upstairs now!" I tell him pushing him to go up and Kat'ei hesitates," Just go, I'll see you again one day," I smiled and he ran leaving me with the xenomorphs and the facehuggers.

"Come on then! Fight me! Leave the boy alone!!" I shouted immediately fighting them off one by one. I felt a tail grabbed my leg and I fall face first distorting my senses.

I felt the black creature grab me and turn me so a face hugger could hurt me and force itself on me."Get off!!" I screamed as the tail wrapped around me and I felt it tightening.

I tried not to gasp but I felt my air leaving my body. When I heard a gun fire it off my body and the black creature started fighting a humanoid figure and Kat'ei come down.

"Mom!" He says as I start to black out and I hear fighting happening. I used my strength to grab Kat'ei and cover him as the bullet rippled through the cabin." Stay awake please!" Kat'ei yells as I pass out and felt someone catch me.

"Father she saved me, she fought them to protect me, "I hear before passing out completely unaware that Kat'ei's father had saved our lives and was protecting me.

Part four is here!

[slowd1ving]

III: MISERY LOVES COMPANY・゜MIGUEL O'HARA

"And him. The scarlet and navy glimmer of scales was always probing at the edge of your conscious thoughts, demanding to be let in. You leaned your elbows on the railings to get more comfortable. Ever since you’d helped Miguel out with those mythical creature hunters, he plagued your thoughts like an incessant gnat. " No one ever tells you just how lonely the swashbuckling life is. Can you be blamed when you begin to long to see your new friend? When your morally ambiguous buddy makes a comeback, you can't just spoil the fun and foil his goals. Merfolk AU + Pirate GN! Reader warnings: death, violence, blood, hurt/comfort

THE TIME YOU MADE FRIENDS WITH A MERMAN AND WERE FORCED TO JOIN IN TRICKERY AND SCHEMING MASTERLIST

MISC. MASTERLIST ゜・MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

  Unfortunately for Miguel, the first day of your free time was not spent shadowing you, as he’d wrongfully assumed. Instead, you took it upon yourself to teach him how to walk and move in a gait that’d suit whatever situation he was in. And , you’d finally found some cheap boots and extra clothes for him to wear; he looked like an average dock-hand now. 

“You need to relax,” you murmured. One of your hands was currently placed to stabilise his shoulders; the other was splayed between his scapulae to maintain his posture. “One leg, in front of the other. You’re doing great.”

And he was; the muscles in his legs matched the rest of his body, so strength really wasn’t an issue. Another hour or so and his balance would probably improve drastically.  

You could feel the warmth of his body soaking through the worn linen of his shirt. Every shift of muscle, every bend of his spine, every tension in his torso: it was all documented by your palms. The beach was utterly devoid of any other souls. Deep down, you could feel your heart rate shift higher by an extra beat. 

You let go.

The fluttering warmth beneath your hands was lost to the cool winds streaming across the beach. Before you, Miguel was walking slowly, but steadily. He’d got it in no time. 

“Wait,” you blurted out. Would you regret this? In the future, would you wish you’d kept your mouth shut? There was no way to know. 

Don’t make the wrong decision . 

He paused, rocking back and forth on the sand. You considered your next words as you moved to stand in front of him. 

“Your duties -” you paused to watch his reaction: a minute shifting of his jaw. “-do they involve fighting?”

You might’ve missed the sudden coldness in his eyes if you weren’t looking for it. His expression was utterly calculating; it was like he was gauging just how much of a threat you were to whatever plans he was putting into motion. Instinctively, you knew your earlier speculations were the unbridled truth. 

“Why do you ask?” he looked at you coolly; however, a slight shift in his brow betrayed his wariness. 

“Listen, I’m not going to get in the way of your duties ,” you put emphasis on that word. Your gaze was completely level; though, it was hard not to be intimidated by him absolutely looming over you. “I’m asking because fighting with legs will be completely different than fighting with a tail.”

Surely, that would be enough to convince him that you weren’t ill intentioned? He regarded you for two heartbeats before the lines that marred his brow smoothed out. Success . 

“I’ve relied mostly on my venomous fangs and claws when I fight in the water,” he frowned, but this time it was more questioning than anything. 

“Right,” you let him come to the slow, painful realisation that humans also had weapons at their disposal. “While those fangs will give you the edge of surprise, they’re only good at a short range.” 

You tapped the holster at your hip meaningfully, enough that a knowing glint emerged in his eye. The unspoken warning was clear: adapt. If he truly strove to ensure his home was protected, he’d have to have an edge on those he planned to dispose of. 

Adapt . 

“How widely available are those ?” he eyed your flintlock appreciatively. 

“Every town has a weapon shop,” you answered. Was this a mistake? Were you making a grave error? Maybe. But he’d find someone just as unsavoury to teach him; gods knew there were plenty of people willing to unleash strife into the world. 

“We’ll go tomorrow,” he decided. His eyes met yours challengingly: will you dispute this ? The turbulent crimson practically drowned you in its intensity.

Adapt . 

“Fine,” you acquiesced. Deep within your gut, that incessant burbling of loneliness within finally fell silent. For better or for worse, you had company.   

The second day rolled round quickly, bringing with it sore muscles and a tired spine. 

You’d spent last afternoon walking him through (figuratively and literally) some stances and moves he could use and adapt to suit any situation. Some kicks, some throws, some holds - by the time the sun kissed the horizon, you felt slightly squished from being thrown about by someone who was built like an ox. Still, you weren’t going to half-ass your role of Sage and Benevolent Mentor. 

He improved remarkably; before long, you were the one being pinned down by a sheer wall of muscle. Was it weird that his touch lingered on your body long after he let go? The weight of someone else’s body on yours felt much too comforting to be the norm. 

Now, in the dew-scented mist of the morning, he was about to enter the narrow alleyway that led to the bustling port-town streets. Together. You eyed his loping gait approvingly; the casual bravado trapped in each step matched the brash confidence of a lot of dock-hands in town. He’d fit right in. 

“You ready?” you queried. The early morning would bring with it less people, but there’d likely still be a crowd for the market. Miguel cast a contemplative look over at you, as if he was surprised by your consideration (as if you weren’t the Pinnacle of Good Manners and Conduct). 

“Yeah,” he affirmed quickly, to which you linked your arm with his and moved more briskly out of the alley. You didn’t want to linger in the unpleasant, fishy aroma any longer than you had to. Maybe you should’ve told him; beneath your arm, the muscles of his forearm were tensed in surprise at your sudden amicability. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, none too apologetically (if you were being honest, the contact was like a balm to your lonely soul). “You’ll look more suspicious if you’re hovering behind me.”

Was it a poor excuse? Yeah. Both of you knew it. Miguel didn’t seem to mind, though; he relaxed into the touch and slowed his steps so you could comfortably walk beside him. Besides, the closer proximity would allow you to discreetly coach him on successfully interacting with others. 

“Keep an eye out for when I’m making transactions,” you whispered, tugging on his arm slightly. If he was easily swindled, then he’d stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd of locals. Although, you’d be surprised if anyone would actually try anything - not when he towered over everyone like that. 

“In most towns, townsfolk name coin based on metal. Coppers are worth the least, golds the most. Anyone who tries selling you steak pie for silver or gold is a cheap, thieving bastard,” you continued. 

“I know most of the basics,” he assured you quietly. “Lyla’s briefed me.”

Right. As if that wasn’t a disaster waiting to implode in his face.

You suddenly had another nasty realisation. 

 “I hope you’ve got Weapons Money,” you said pointedly. Good quality flintlocks and daggers, even if they were second-hand, weren’t cheap. You doubted that he’d have use for a dagger, but with a pistol and sword he’d be lethal . 

He waved his hand dismissively. “Some of my colleagues sold some treasure from shipwrecks and made a small fortune. I’ve got the funds.”

And you spent money on him? 

“Right,” you exhaled. As if he had picked up on your annoyance, he looked down at you apologetically.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “Don’t think that your efforts to help us will go unnoticed.”

The sheer sincerity and conviction within his low voice almost caused you to pause in surprise. Damn . Why’d that sound more like a threat than anything?

The traipse to the weapons shop was a lot shorter than you originally expected. Was it because you were being dragged along by an absolute behemoth ? Probably. Regardless, the foreboding chime of the bell situated above the shop door came a lot faster than anticipated. 

It was cramped inside that dingy little shop; Miguel had to duck his head slightly to avoid hitting his head on the rotted timber making up the rafters of the store. You spied a few rifles and several flintlocks mounted on spikes behind the counter where the hunched-over owner sat reading over this week's papers. 

To your left were multiple variations of daggers and swords. You whistled appreciatively at the gleam of an intricately crafted sabre; if you had funds to throw away, you’d replace the sword at your hip with it. 

“You look around and find something that’s comfortable for you,” you disentangled yourself from him in favour of moving closer to the reflective cutlass. It wouldn’t hurt to pick it up, and it was certainly comfortable in your palm. You ran your thumb along the hilt approvingly; the tough leather wrapping it would mould to the user’s palm over time, while still retaining its long-lasting properties. 

The delicate etchings on the pommel of the sword reminded you of the patterns on the disc at your neck. A pang of regret shot through you after you gently placed the sword back down in the case. Not today . It looked to be worth a dozen silver coins, and your thinning purse did not boast of such wealth. 

You wiped your hands on your pants and looked around. Miguel was already at the counter testing the weights of different handguns. Compared to that colossus, the weapons looked like trinkets that children would receive as toys. For him, a heavier model would be a good fit; he’d definitely be capable of handling the recoil, and the added size would be more comfortable to wrap his hands around. 

“Hey,” you placed your flintlock on the counter to show the owner. “Any larger models of this pistol?”

She eyed the pistol contemplatively, gazing at the etched model number on the side. “If I remember correctly, there’s one in the back. They’re not too uncommon.”

She nudged the door behind her open, slipping off her stool to rummage around in the dim closet. 

“The larger model’s heavier and should be more comfortable for you,” you explained, shoving the gun back into its holster. 

“Thanks,” Miguel’s gaze swept over you, then to the little corner you were standing at. He jabbed a thumb in that general direction. “Get that sword you were looking at earlier.”

“Are you sure?” you furrowed your brow. “I think the gun should be enough for you-”

“It’s for you ,” he interjected. He looked away from you - if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was shy . His tone left no room to argue. It left a slight fluttering in your stomach, as if tiny little moths had suddenly hatched. “Didn’t I tell you to expect to be repaid?”

You felt that unbearable warmth in your stomach again. You couldn’t help it; your arms had already thrown themselves around his waist. He stiffened slightly, but relaxed into your hold.

“Thanks,” you whispered. A strange guilt started getting acquainted with the poor little moths in your stomach. “You really don’t have to.”

“I do,” he replied firmly. His arms slipped around you hesitantly, and he gave an experimental squeeze with his arms. Had he never given a hug before? Then, abruptly, he let go as the clatter from within the closet-storeroom grew louder. “Go.”

Some purchases later, and the two of you walked out of that chiming door satisfied. After some insistence, Miguel now had your previous sabre attached to his belt, alongside his holster. He now looked like a sailor , and that pleased you to no end.  

And you were practically itching to break in your new cutlass. The only use it had gotten this month was cutting up rigging and canvas; it was nothing like the musical clang of ringing metal against metal. The short length made it an industrial tool, perfect for any sailor aboard a cramped ship. 

Some haggling, some coppers, and you were left holding a small bolt of cloth and some twine. The tug of the wind against your clothes was perfect.

“Do you know why sabres like these cutlasses are a sailor’s choice of weapon?” you inquired conversationally, steering Miguel back to the beach. He looked askance at you, as if he wasn’t a total rookie when it came to weaponry. 

“We’ll come back in a bit,” you rolled your eyes. Really, did he want to try his hand at shooting when it was dusk? The ammunition he purchased at your insistence consisted of actual metal bullets, but also some cheaper, blunted pellets to use as practice. They still had the weight of the metal, but were significantly less dangerous. “As soon as you hit a few targets.” 

“To answer my question, they’re convenient for all-round situations. You can adapt them for practically anything, whether it be cutting up planks, ropes, or opponents.”

Back on the beach, you strung up some cloth squares that you had slashed with your sword. They fluttered against the eerie rock formations on the beach. Ordinarily, you’d wait until he loaded the pistol himself, but you felt impatient. You grabbed his pistol (ignoring his grunt of surprise) and clicked two pellets into place. 

After much mumbling and griping and careful instruction, he finally managed to shoot through the breezy cloth without your hands guiding him. It was clear from the get-go that his proficiency would always lie more at close range (he said as much himself, though he couldn’t deny that the pistol was certainly useful). 

Now, you tasted the aching tang of an exerted sore throat. Sure, your veins were thrumming in revelry at the profound clash of sabre against sabre, but you were growing slightly winded. No. Scratch slightly . Prolonged battles were never your forte; it was your firm belief that one-on-ones should be settled within a minute so you could move on. 

Yet, fighting not to maim or worse was proving to be annoyingly difficult.

Block. Parry. Lunge.  

When you met Miguel’s eyes, it was made abundantly clear that he was struggling to keep up as well. Just disarm him . Easy for you to say . Your mind devolved into a cyclic argument that was broken and taken up again with every strong clang of his sabre against yours. His upper body was ridiculously powerful; your only counter was your experience and technique. 

Adapt . 

You mustered up whatever reserves of stamina you had left. Like hell you’d be defeated by some total Sword Newbie. It wasn’t stamina at that point; it was pure, unadulterated spite coursing through every single one of your capillaries. Pretend he’s insulted your captain . 

“How dare you,” you muttered, before launching attack after attack with renewed fervour. Sweat tinged the cold, clean air of the abandoned beach with a warm, salty aroma. Miguel stumbled back in what appeared to be an amalgamation of surprise, exhaustion, and a healthy dose of caution. You couldn’t blame him; after all, it had been roughly four minutes of non-stop thinking and fighting. It was like a workout from the depths of a pickled hell.

And you were one stubborn pirate.  

Your ethics did not play a part when you absolutely Capitalised and Took Advantage of that momentary lapse in defence. You weren’t going to take it easy (not at all ), even against a Total Rookie. As he stepped backwards, you stepped in to finish the job and managed to catch your pommel on his blade to shove it out of his hand.  

“Good job,” you took a minute to crouch in the sand and rock back and forth to stave off the pounding headache. The nasty queasiness of over-exertion was currently having a blast in your stomach. Drink . Where was your juice? The familiar tan-coloured waterskin was lying nearby, but you couldn’t muster up the strength to get back up. Not yet. 

“Could you get me that skin?” you heaved, jabbing your finger in its direction. Miguel looked  far less sweaty and sticky than you currently felt; you couldn’t help feeling envious. He passed you the skin and you swilled the tart berry juice down your throat. Fuck . You leaned your head back appreciatively. Truly, the cool juice left you feeling like a Brand New Pirate.

You swiped your tongue over your lips to catch any stray drops escaping your eager mouth. When you looked up at Miguel, his brows were lifted in curiosity. Does he want some ? Were you going to be the one to introduce him to human food? The beginnings of glee were slowly dawning upon you (what if you fed him some sour fruit or spicy dishes? Were you that cruel?).

“Want some?” you uncorked the waterskin and passed it to him. It was extremely amusing to watch him take tentative sips of the drink. It was even more amusing watching his expression go through the stages of surprise, appreciation, and bewilderment. 

“It’s,” he trailed off, licking his lips in a mirror of your actions. His brows were furrowed with a pleasant puzzlement, as if he hadn’t expected your drink of choice to be so interesting . He looked as if he was contemplating the very meaning of life. “Alright.”

“Just alright?” you teased. If his version of alright was having a profound revelation, then yeah, maybe he was alright . “You looked as if you just had an epiphany.”

“Fine,” he scowled at you, though you didn’t detect actual annoyance in the set of his lips. “It’s good.”

You could take that. Even if his words were lacklustre, you knew he enjoyed sharing the drink. It was like an indirect kiss, you realised; your heartbeat began to grow more pronounced at the thought. 

“You hungry?” you blurted out. The depraved pounding of your pulse was pierced with the welcome rumbling of your stomach. Perfect . Truly, you were born for the stage. 

“I could go with a meal,” he admitted, swivelling round to watch the waters. “Do you want me to catch some haddock or some oysters?” 

“What?” you frowned. It didn’t surprise you to know he was constantly eating fish, but still . “No, we’re going into town for food.”

He looked like he was about to protest, but you cut him off. “You’re going to need to be able to consume human food with utensils if you want to fit in.”

Those protesting lips shut up. 

“I know a great spot,” you promised. 

The inn looked a lot more lively than you remembered. It seemed like your new friend had managed to pick up more business; something you appreciated, since it would allow you to talk more with Miguel under the cover of chatter. 

“Two bowls, hunter’s stew,” you grinned, placing down four coppers on the polished bench. The lines around the innkeeper’s face had softened into a beaming expression at your appearance. He took three coppers and left you the fourth.

“A discount for my favourite customer,” he turned to the pots of stew behind him, effectively ignoring your protests. The familiar richness of the meat’s aroma flooded your nose and your stomach once again rumbled. 

“The stew’s really good,” you commented offhandedly to Miguel, keeping your eyes on the innkeeper. And damn , was he piling up the stew in those gargantuan bowls. You could already feel your mouth watering at the astringent scent of the pickled cabbage. 

“I believe you,” Miguel leaned towards you to reply; it seemed he was also fixated on the size of those bowls. When the innkeep turned around, he had placed not four, but five slices of that dark bread on the side. Marriage . Now . 

“Enjoy,” he cheerily pushed the tray towards you. You eagerly grasped the handles and thanked him. Boy , were you eating well tonight. The two of you settled into a cozy area in the back of the main room; it had a full view of the front door, but still offered an air of privacy. 

“So,” you scooped some stew onto your spoon, letting it cool down naturally. You eyed Miguel contemplatively as he tried to mimic your actions. You wracked your brains on how to approach your curiosity. No, at this point, it couldn’t be considered mere curiosity. If you were to work with Miguel and help him out, you were owed a sufficient explanation. “Care to answer some of my questions?”

You took a bite of bread and shoved the spoon in your mouth to wait for his response. Just as you resigned yourself to not getting answers, you heard him exhale. 

“I owe you that much,” he winced as the too-hot stew scalded his tongue. 

“Careful,” you reached over the table separating the two of you to pass him the water bottle. “Blow on it for a bit before you eat.”

“Got it,” he replied sheepishly. His face contorted slightly at the acidic taste of the stew, before settling into an expression of satisfaction at the hearty flavour of the game and bread. “This is good .”

“Told you,” the warmth in your stomach started lulling you into a sleepy daze. Focus . You leaned forward with an elbow on the table, gazing intently at the enigma before you. 

“I’m assuming you left out some very convenient details about what your duties on land entail?” you inquired, soaking a chunk of bread in the stew before taking a large bite. 

“That’s correct.”

“You’re doing the dirty work to protect your home,” you probed. A sharp intake of air. 

“You’ve got it figured out,” he swiped a nail through his bread slices; two neat piles of halves were left on his plate. “You aren’t as gullible as you seem.”

Ordinarily, you’d be insulted. If Lyla was here, you’d call him a fiend with an affronted gasp. But here, shrouded in the dim lamps of a shady little inn, you understood . His business was his business, and it was already a miracle that you were getting him to divulge that. 

“I know,” you bit into a fried sausage slice. The salt cut into the haze brought about by the warmth. “Sudden technology develops out of desperation. Is there something happening?”

His heavy gaze on you confirmed your suspicions, unspoken. 

“There’s been a recent disturbance in deep sea monsters and human activity in their sleeping areas,” he admitted. You sensed a continuation. “Plus, there have been hunters gathering en masse. Numerous pods have forwarded concerns that there were several traitors amongst them giving out their locations to hunters.”

“Traitors?” you frowned. 

“As much as I hate to admit it-” and boy , did he look annoyed. “-the technology that’s allowed me to come onto land isn’t exclusive. It’s old magic that chooses the being. I was lucky and managed to shape it into this gizmo to control the transformation, among other things.” 

One heartbeat. Two. He leaned forward. A warning.

“There are others, just like me,” he scowled. “Those who can shed their tails. They aren’t too common, but it’s become enough of a problem when they turn traitor and betray their pods. There’s only been two reports so far, thankfully.”

“So, you’re finding them?” 

“You could say that,” he leaned back, copying your actions of piling stew on bread and taking a bite. His eyes fluttered shut to savour the sour taste; you suppressed a snort of laughter at his lowered guard. 

“Is there anyone you’re currently looking for?” an innocuous question. Truly, you didn’t think much of it. 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he let out a deep groan of frustration, reaching for the skin of berry-juice next to you and taking a swig. Your eyebrows raised in surprise at his change in demeanour ( was he growing accustomed to you? ), but you decided to keep your mouth shut. 

“I received intel from Lyla and Jessica that our anomalous little mer was hiding out here, actually,” he seethed; you could hear his back molars grinding in annoyance. 

“Someone from your pod?” you washed the stew down with some juice. 

“No,” he replied firmly. His eyes shone with distaste at the notion. “He went rogue a while back from some other pod. He’s been masquerading as a sailor for some moons, feeding information to hunters for some coin .”

He uttered the words with unadulterated disgust. By now, his hands were shaking with barely concealed fury, and you had a feeling this went a lot deeper than duty . 

“I’ve got reasons to believe he’s the one who got me entangled with those hunters.”

You understood. It wasn’t a matter of simply uncovering and getting rid of threats anymore. No, this ran deeper; it was a lot more personal. Someone had deliberately sold Miguel out. 

“Bastard,” you commented, shovelling another spoonful into your maw; it earned you a wry little exhale from him. A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, broken only by the staccato beats of cutlery against porcelain and the sound of muffled talking. 

“Need any help in tracking him down?” you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, before reaching over to tear off another chunk of bread from your plate. 

In the dim light of the wall-sconces, deep shadows etched themselves into his face. His lips were stained with the deep maroon of the stew; you suppressed a slight shiver at the reminder of blood. 

“I wouldn’t mind the help,” he conceded, licking the excess juice off his lips. It sealed the deal. However are we supposed to do this in the space of tomorrow ? The question remained unspoken.

You still had a day; the grains of sand in your hourglass had not yet trickled out completely. 

And for another day, you’d have company. For better or for worse.

[silly-little-murder-drones]

Talking abt my MD OCs cuz I can

Tori is a worker drone, living on a completely different planet, in a different colony than Uzi and is similar to her in some ways, but for the most part is completely the opposite of her. Tori is loud, purposefully annoying, very ‘in your face!’ and very ‘cringe’. She’s a scene girl and fully embraces that culture with the way she dresses, the way her room is decorated and with her taste in music. She enjoys blasting loud and bass heavy music, the type of stuff you’d hear at a rave. Due to this, she has very little, if any friends. She doesn’t seem to mind it though, as she doesn’t enjoy the company of her fellow Workers all that much. She does interact with them, in the odd ways she does, and has dated a few folks (though they never last long). Her interests, however, lie in something completely different once they started showing up. The so called ‘Murder Drones’. Tori has an unhealthy obsession with them, constantly sneaking out of the colony stronghold to witness them upon the planet’s surface. The way they look, dress, act and especially kill, all absolutely fascinate her. This fact makes her even more creepy to the other Workers, who have a rightful fear of the creatures that have descended to wipe them all out, though she totally could care less. She’ll watch them from a distance, studying their behaviors and sketch them in a small sketchbook she brings with her on these excursions. She knows that if she were to get even an inch close to them, she would be torn apart, but the thought of such is exciting, thrilling even, to her. She wishes she could spend just a bit of time with them, talking to them and even maybe befriend one. Though, with how aggressive many of them seem to be, in particular one extremely large and terrifying one, it doesn’t seem all that likely she’ll get the chance…but maybe someday.

Serial Designation “D”, or just D for short, is a defective Disassembly Drone. Something had gone wrong during his manufacturing and he ended up much longer and taller than all other Disassembly Drones, along with being unable to change his shredding claws to normal hands or any other weapon at all. His nanites are somehow a lot more potent as well, causing rapid dissolving of the chassis upon being injected. Due to his height, he’s unable to stand up completely straight. He will always slouch forward, drag his claws across the ground as he walks, though he prefers to run on all fours due to this. He’s able to reach insane speeds extremely quickly due to this. The other part that makes him defective, arguably the most damaging part for if he didn’t have this problem he would be an extremely effective Disassembly Drone, is that he cannot distinguish from Worker to fellow Disassembly Drone. Which leads him to attacking, killing and devouring both. And so, because of this error in his code, he was deemed too much of a liability to keep in the assembly. So he was placed into a landing pod with coordinates set to a planet uninhabited by any Disassembly Drones, but did have a Worker colony on it, and the pod set to explode upon impact on the planet’s surface. The intent was to destroy him completely in the explosion, but turns out he was just a little too durable and survived the crash. He began to prey and feed upon the Worker drones of the local colony, managing to crawl his way into the stronghold’s walls and attacking from the inside. Back at HQ, JCJ assumed their plan to destroy D had succeeded, and so began sending functional Disassembly Drones to the planet he had been sent to, unknowing of the fact he still survives, thrives and is now able to feast upon not just Worker flesh, but that of his fellow Drones as well. With an interesting side effect to consuming specifically Disassembly Drone oil and flesh. D grows stronger and even more durable with every D-Drone he consumes, as well as mutating more body parts of which he can retract at will. This includes arms, legs, extra tails with more powerful and durable nanite injectors, extra set of wings which allows for more precise flight and more. The more he eats, the more he mutates.

At this point, you’d be thinking ‘wow, this guy is a little OP isn’t he? Damn what a Gary Stu!’ And yeah maybe you’re right. Maybe he is a little too overpowered. But he does have weaknesses, main one being he is not very bright. Whether it’s also part of his defective coding, or some odd nerfing of his intelligence, the more he consumes, the dumber he gets. To the point he sometimes devolves into a simple animalistic mindset. He’s also easy to baffle and stun, if confronted with something as large as he is or something odd, his programming will take a while to process what he’s dealing with, allowing time for escape or for an attack. His lack of intelligence makes someone like N look like an absolute genius.

[nonbayanary]

Teenage Mutant Mystic DEMONS AU

(TMMDemons AU)

MUSASHI

[ Subject MAOU-011. The Powerhouse. One of the eldest twins. ]

Transmasc.

Pronouns: He/Him.

Demon mutant. Half-demon, half-human.

Mutated from a cult organization's human experiment, called Project Maou.

One of the eldest twins. (The other one is Hiruma).

Musashi's father Hanzaemon worked in his construction. Hanzaemon's team all tragically died in a construction accident. As Musashi had no other parent, as his father was single, Musashi was then sent to an orphanage.

Kidnapped by traffickers while he was walking home alone from school. Since Musashi was just a kid, he could not overpower his abductors.

He loathes his deadname, so he just goes by the name "Musashi." He picked that name because he admires Miyamoto Musashi, the most revered and celebrated swordsman in Japanese history.

Kurita and Hiruma call him by that name, while Sena calls him, "Musashi-nii," or "Musashi-niisan."

Musashi often collaborates with Hiruma to make holographic screens for their family's shared use. Hiruma makes the trackers, and Musashi makes the tech.

He's the engineer / mechanic / builder of the family. His interest in construction stems from his desire to continue his late father's legacy, and to provide for his new found family.

As Musashi's legs are strong, he often kicks his weapons, like this:

"Musashi usually takes charge, along with Hiruma. They both look after Kurita and Sena, the younger ones, together." (Taken from Hiruma's Character Sheet)

As a result, both Hiruma and Musashi have somewhat developed "Eldest Child Syndrome," as sometimes, Doburoku is too drunk or depressed to look after them.

This version of Musashi is more proactive in taking charge, especially when Hiruma is feeling silly (and itching for property damage).

Musashi has spikes on his knees. His feet are clawed, and he has flaming hair and horns. (Hiruma is dead jealous of the horns.)

He has three tails, just like Kurita and Hiruma. However, Musashi's tails are black spider legs that are tipped with sharp claws. These extra legs can lift him off the ground so that the rest of his body looks like it's floating. It looks like this:

Like the other members of the Maou trio, Musashi also has markings of a giant cross on his chest.

His spider-leg tails can morph into actual, gigantic wings that are powerful enough to make him fly.

Musashi's fighting style utilizes his legs, just like Sena. However, Musashi's style is different from Sena's in that Musashi relies on (you guessed it) the strength of his kicks.

Musashi's quite similar to Sena when it comes to their feet. Musashi's feet are constantly covered in hellfire. Sena's feet, meanwhile, are constantly covered in ghost fire.

(Yes, their feet glow in the dark. Yes, they find it inconvenient when trying to hide in the dark.)

Musashi can also use his spider-leg tails to launch heavy objects at enemies, and they also function as extra hands—that are really sharp.

When Musashi isn't in battle, he fits the tips of his tails with hand prosthetics so that he doesn't accidentally injure his siblings.

Two years after the four kids' adoption, Musashi's body dysphoria started getting harder and harder to ignore. So with Hiruma's help in the area of research, Musashi set up a sacrificial ritual. In exchange for Musashi's body parts (he very happily sacrifices his breasts and ovaries), his own mystic powers will morph into something different—something more powerful. (Yes I am projecting my hopes and dreams here. Musashi is really out here living the Trans Dream.)

What Musashi doesn't know is that the ritual was absolutely hellish to witness. Thinking he was alone, he activated the ritual himself. Musashi didn't know that Hiruma was watching from afar. Even when unconsciousness took Musashi, he thought he was the only person in the area.

Musashi was still unconscious when Hiruma quickly called Kurita and Sena over for backup, and Musashi was still down under when his three siblinga horrifically saw that parts of Musashi's body—more specifically, parts of his chest and womb—were disintegrating. They watched as the skin sealed itself back together with markings, and they watched as Musashi crackled with newfound power that surged within him, even as he lay unconscious.

When Musashi woke up after the ritual, he found that one of his eyes was now a different color. Completely black, instead of demon-red. He also noticed that he now has additional, diamond-shaped markings on his chest, as a result of sacrificing his breasts. It's reminiscent of top surgery scars. Plus, he has a scar on his womb as well. He and his siblings find these new changes on his appearance cool as fuck.

Although, the consequences of witnessing the ritual were heavy on Musashi's siblings, who have become more protective of him as a result.

Among other things, researching on the materials for the ritual also sparked Musashi's interest in chemical engineering. It's something that he and Hiruma bond over, besides mechanics.

Musashi tends to lean towards civil engineering, as he wants to study infrastructure in honor of his late father. Hiruma, meanwhile, leans more towards ballistics, which is the science of projectiles and firearms. Although, the two work together when it comes to soldering, metallurgy, and reverse engineering.

MUSASHI'S MYSTIC POWERS

Transmutation. (Get it? Because he's trans? Eyyy) This includes the construction and deconstruction of objects.

These mystic powers are the result of Musashi's and Hiruma's sacrificial ritual. Musashi's original mystic powers will now forever be a mystery, as the ritual has morphed his powers into transmutation instead.

Musashi's mystic powers were actually dormant before the ritual, so he will never know what his original powers would look or feel like. It doesn't really bother him, though. The gender ecstasy is worth it, babyyyyy

Musashi is the only one most in-sync with the element of earth, because of his interest in construction and metals.

As a result, his mystic powers are a manifestation of his desire to create things. With only intent, he can create a summoning circle when his skin touches an object. And instantly, with a flash of light, the object breaks down, and contorts itself into the shape Musashi desires. Like so:

Musashi can also use his spider-leg tails to transmute objects.

This can also be used in battle. As long as Musashi is close to an object, he can transmute it into something else.

With this power, Musashi crafts his siblings' weapons out of high-grade titanium. If ever his siblings run out of weapons on the battlefield, he can just transmute them new ones. And with Sena's help in teleportation, the weapons can be delivered to the others in a blink.

Musashi is even more dangerous on land, because he can destroy the whole terrain by doing shit like this:

Even with only scraps and debris at his disposal, Musashi can create dangerous weapons

Musashi can transmute his weapons into different things, even when he is mid-combat. He could be wielding a scythe, and then in a flash of light, he'd be holding a katana. And in another flash of light, he could turn it into a spear.

He loves transmuting his current weapon into either a pair of twin katanas, or a big, cross-shaped spear that he can kick.

He also has a knack for using chained weapons in combat. He infuses these weapons with hellfire when his foot makes contact with the weapon, and kicks them toward his opponents.

Musashi also finds out only much later that with his summoning circles, he can also create a portal—something which everyone, including Musashi, thought only Sena could do.

Musashi's ritual rendered him the most powerful of his siblings. This is why Hiruma calls him, "The Powerhouse." It's both an intimidation tactic, and a fact. Musashi can keep using his mystic powers long after his siblings have exhausted themselves.

This mystic power is also the reason why Musashi can easily renovate their family home to his family members' tastes.

< PREV • AU Masterpost • NEXT >

(coming soon)

Feel free to write or make art of this AU. But please credit me, and send me the link to what you've made! I'd love to see it!!!

This AU was based on Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (ROTTMNT), and further inspired by RWBY, The Locked Tomb, Honkai Impact 3, Fullmetal Alchemist, Solo Levelling, and Genshin Impact.

[clickerflight]

Whump Week: Stay still

@week-of-whump

Master list

Part 4

This one is probably the weakest of all the ones I've written. NGL, Anisha is kind of hard to whump because of how tough she is.

Content: Betrayal, restrained, listening to a friend suffer, head slam

..................................................

"Anisha! Welcome!" Anya said. The shopkeeper was more enthusiastic about seeing Anisha than she normally was, but Anisha wasn't about to complain. 

"Good morning, Anya," Anisha said, picking up a basket to grab the potion ingredients Matsu sent her to get. He usually got his ingredients from another shop where his friend worked, but there were some shortages on certain ingredients so he had everyone searching shops farther out through the city to get what he needed. This was one of the stores Anisha had on her routes when there were shortages. "You seem pretty happy today."

"Oh, yes," Anya said, flushing a little. "I just got a shipment of Goran berry jelly in."

"Ooh! That's actually one of the things I was here for! That's sure to make you a nice profit with the shortages going around."

Anya nodded. "Absolutely. I haven't unpacked it yet. Would you like to come into the back with me and we'll get you set up?"

"Sure," Anisha said, following behind Anya, her tail flicking back and forth happily. 

Anya pointed to a box and said, "Help yourself. I need to go make a call real quick. I'll be up front when you're ready to make your purchase."

"Thanks," Anisha said. She dug through the box, humming happily to herself. There was plenty of jelly in here, more than enough. She loaded up what Matsu said he would need, not wanting to over-buy and make stock even more limited for other potion makers and ritual casters. She hesitated, ear twitching as she sensed something odd nearby. A portal? Who was making a portal in this part of the city. 

She reached out through the bonds to make sure it wasn't one of her teammates, but they were still invested in their hunt through the shops. 

She stood up and turned in time to hear someone running down the hall and into the room. She caught a glimpse of weapons, and she dropped her basket, flaring her wings and screeching. She dodged the first attacker, but more were piling into the room and they were swinging around weapons that looked to be some form of taser. So, they were looking to capture her, not kill her. 

She slammed her wing into someone's gut, sweeping away another attacker as she tried to get to the door. They wouldn't be able to catch her if she made it to open air. 

She pushed a sense of urgency and danger through the bond with her team, trying to warn the others that something was wrong and get them to come help. 

Something caught her in the leg and she flinched away as power jolted through her. It didn't really hurt, but it made her muscles unreliable. 

She tried to get away, but someone else jabbed her, and another, and another until it was all she could do to keep on her feet. 

"Tough one, aren't ya!" someone called, and another one slammed into the back of her neck, putting her on the ground. It still didn't hurt since dragons have always had to be somewhat lightning proof, but her muscles wouldn't respond to her anymore as they were overloaded with signals. 

She whined, trying to get free. Someone pinned her to the ground, rubber gloved hands binding her hands and ankles, tying up her wings and putting an anti magic collar around her throat. 

They backed off, as did all of the weapons keeping her there, and she thrashed, using her legs and tail to send three of her assailants crashing to the ground. 

"Someone control her!" one of the fallen growled.

A gruff man, dressed just differently enough from the others to mark him as the leader, pulled out his phone and speed dialed someone. 

“Mech team, do you have the package?” he asked loudly as Anisha rolled again, snapping at the legs of the people around her. 

The phone was on speaker as the man on the other side said, “Package is secured, sir.”

“Oi, scaleon,” the leader said. “Stay still, or your friend’s gonna get it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anisha growled. 

“Mech 1.”

“Yessir.”

Through the phone’s small speakers, crackling with the range of it, came a scream that Anisha recognized. She fell very still, listening to Kira’s screams as they petered off, heavy breathing just barely reaching her ears. She glared at the captain of this team.”Not very sportsmanlike of you.”

“I don’t have to be. Mech team. Meet us at the rendezvous.”

Someone grabbed Anisha by the hair, slamming her head hard into the ground. She wasn’t badly hurt, despite the hit, but she was still quite stunned as her brain settled again, making it easy for the men to carry her out of the shop, Anya looking a little guilty, though a whole lot richer. 

@whumpsday

Part 6

[contrastparadoxx]

The Meeting

Characters: Nyctea, Cupiid, Selene Ptillo, Keonin ( @memurfevur ) Hunter ( @whispertrolls ) About: Nyctea goes to a friend for help with Cupiid Word Count: 989

The trip was generally uneventful. Dadgon moved swiftly, but smoothly. Nyctea sat in front, Ptillo behind him holding Cupiid against her chest, the mutant himself sleeping most of the time they moved. Nyctea had been on and off his phone towards the beginning, but eventually figured out where exactly they were going and focused on making sure they got there.

But when he decided they are close enough he had stopped them, telling Ptillo to stay here while he went forward to find Selene, and strode forward. Nothing got in his way, until a hive suddenly was in his line of sight, and a wolf, a shifter, stepped out of the shadows to block the doorway with a warning growl. Nyctea let out an annoyed sigh. Great, Selene got himself a little pack, JUST what he needed to deal with right now.

“Move, pup, I have no quarrel with you nor anyone else, I simply need someone who appears to be inside.”

The wolf decided this counted as a threat and lunged, going directly for Nyctea’s throat. Catching the bite on his cane and flipping the wolf onto its back was almost pitifully easy. The beast rolled over quickly, lunging for his inner thigh this time.

Side step, a quick smack to its wounded leg, and another flip, this time using the head of his cane under the wolf’s jaw to pin it.

“Stop wasting my time before I actually get angry. Where is Selene?” He growled out.

The wolf tucked its tail between its legs after a muffled bark noise, and looked off into the underbrush. 

Nyctea was about to say something, when another presence interrupted him. One pointing a crossbow at him. He got the hint instantly and released the wolf, backing away.

“M’am, I mean no harm to anyone here, though I will defend myself if I must.”

“…Why are you here?”

He let a sigh out through his nose. “I’m looking for a shifter by the name of Selene, I thought I was able to follow him here, but if I’m mistaken, do let me know. I will retreat and try again.”

There was just silence for a moment, before she motioned to the wolf and he slunk inside, presumably, hopefully, to go get Selene. Nyctea rested both hands on the head of his cane and waited, keeping his outward appearance calm despite the weapon still trained on him.

They stayed in quiet truce, until the smaller purple Nyctea was hunting for skidded into view behind the woman. The wolf, now in troll form, took up place next to her as well, his glare daring the interloper to try anything.

“Nyctea‽”

“Oh good, you’re still alive, Selene. I’ll bother you about not answering your phone later, right now I need you.”

Selene crossed his arms, ears pinned back. “I’m busy, I can’t just drop everything just because you-“

Nyctea did not even hesitate to drop down to his knees, which caused a small pause.

“Selene, please. I have a dying child on my hands and you are my absolute last chance to help him.”

There was a visible shift in the demeanors of all three trolls. The woman immediately lowered her weapon. “Bring them in, it’s warm inside”

“He’s back with his guardian and my Lusus, a bit away. I didn’t want to risk there being a fight, me coming in somewhere new, and him get caught in the middle.” 

The woman nods in understanding. “You can have him brought here, there will be no more fighting.” Her tone makes it clear there will be no argument on the fighting point, and the wolf shifter next to her nods. Nyctea looks to him, and then to Selene and the usually hidden wings he was letting out, and nodded in agreement. Cupiid should not get targeted here for mutation alone, at least.

He sent a text out.

That done, all he could do was wait for Ptillo to show up with Cupiid, and his whole body suddenly felt heavy. He stood, as Selene disappeared inside to do gog knows what. “You’ve already heard my name is Nyctea.”

“Keonin. I’m very sorry this happened-“

“It’s no trouble, I can appreciate being on guard around strangers, and frankly under better circumstances I would have approached more gently.”

“Of course. We treat and protect everyone as family here, but I hope you can forgive us for being less than hospitable. Trauma runs deep in the veins of many here."

“And as a purple im keenly aware how I play into such traumas, there is no I’ll will here”

Oh the look she gave him at that, eyes wide and shining. He was not entirely sure why, but he didn’t have to think about it too much as a gleam of white showed Dadgon showing up. It would seem Ptillo decided he was not moving too slow as she briskly walked up, holding Cupiid in her arms, right against her chest. Her ears were back.

Nyctea can instantly tell Ptillo is going to give him a good chewing out later, but she’s waiting until it’s just them thankfully it would seem. He steps close, taking Cupiid. There’s a moment of resistance from her, but he mouths ‘wouldn’t you rather have your hands free?’ And she lets go. Cupiid smiles deliriously up at Nyctea.

“Did’ya find ur friend?” He slurs.

“I did, thank you, don’t… don’t worry we’ll find something to help you soon” Nyctea whispers softly, then turns back towards Keonin. The look in his eye warns not to try touching the mutant.

Keonin made no attempt to, just stepping aside as Selene returned to escort the two to the room he worked out of. Nyctea spent a few minutes lightly fussing over kver Cupiid, making sure he was comfortable before getting kicked back out to hang with Ptillo and the pack he now found himself surrounded by while Selene worked.

[hadesrise]

𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡 𝗔𝗗𝗗𝗔𝗠𝗦 𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. jason todd x addams!male reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. headcanon, typical addams behavior (disturbing thoughts and things, homicides, dark humor, using lethal weapons for fun, etc.), strong language, reader’s a badass vigilante, jason being a simp, dark romance (?), mention of homophobia, mention of torture and death, weapons, the addams family being wholesome, lots of pet names, gothic!reader

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖉𝖊. red as jason, purple as you.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. i was thinking of fics to write for jason and came up with this... hail, addams! also sais are like your main weapon here.

FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

Jason’s first meet with you was... amusing to say the least. It’s not much to consider eventful by, but to jason, it’s probably the most and first thing that will stuck with him until his second final breath.

You see, he was just casually walking through the streets of gotham in civilian clothes since he only got out of his apartment to buy some light breakfast, so he certainly did not expect to hear shouts and noises of harrassment coming from the alleyway early in the morning. They were spitting such nasty words that Jason grew the urge to investigate, finding at least five men surrounding you, who wasn’t even acknowledging their presence nor the things they said.

You were reading a book — which he was sure titled ‘how to kill a serial killer’ — with your back leaned on the concrete wall and completely ignoring their existence. Jason swears he saw a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ sentence above your head. However, knowing what the men are doing is harrassment and absolutely something that shouldn’t be turned a blind eye to, he decides to intervene and began walking towards the commotion.

Until one of the men abruptly grabbed the book you were reading to get your attention and also to make fun of you, or it.

Jason didn’t even realize what was happening when you quickly grabbed the man’s arm that took your book and twisted it into an odd angle, but he only took a second to process after hearing the man scream, accompanied by horrified noises from his friends.

You just casually caught the book that fell from his hand that you twisted before it could hit the ground, as if nothing happened.

“Touch my book again and I’ll kill you.”

You broke the man’s arm.

You fucking broke his arm just because he took your book.

And you didn’t care as you went to inspect if there were any scratches or dust on it. The others were now terrified because if you don’t hesitate to break someone’s arm for the sole and only reason of touching your book, then you sure as hell won’t hesitate doing more than that if they mess with you further. So, with one bark of “what?” coming from you immediately had them running away in fear, tail tucked between their legs.

Needless to say Jason was utterly amused, and didn’t waste a time to approach and check up on you even though he clearly saw the entire thing.

“Your book must be a treasure made of gold if you’re willing to hospitalize someone because of it.”

“All books are treasure no matter the genre, mr. stranger.”

“I’m Jason Todd.”

“(Y/n) Addams. Pleasure to meet you, beau.”

You and Jason started spending your time together almost every day since then; watching movies, eating at casual places, taking long night walks, going to mall, drinking coffees at the coffee shop he found around the city, just doing anything you two can.

Through those times spent with you, Jason found out you were oddly interested in various types of weapons, whether it be any kinds of knives, blades, guns, baseball bats, brass knuckles, swords, sais, and everything else. It actually surprised him, because you were well-mannered, collected and as graceful as a swan who didn’t look like you’d be into anything as vicious as weapons.

He viewed you more as a find-beauty-in-everything type of person and certainly not the quiet-but-dangerous type. Though, Jason didn’t mind as he could share his knowledge and interest in weapons with you without having to worry about seeming like a crazy obsessed person. He’s never been able to do that with anyone, so finding this out had him joyous and somewhat giddy.

You even knew about weapons that he didn’t know existed, and this is Jason Todd we’re talking about, but let’s just move on lol

After the entire incident, Jason brought you to his apartment — which already happened like, more than tenth times already — to show you his collectibles of weapons that were hidden in his room. You guessed that’s why you two never went there.

“Well, this is certainly entertaining. Your collections are beautiful, Jason. I’m not aware why you have to hide it from everyone else to see.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll freak out and think of me like a psycho or something. I also didn’t show you ‘cause I didn’t want you to be stranged out.”

“All of humanity are strange and psychopaths in their own ways, beau. If there were such thing as normal, we wouldn’t be humans. You should be prideful of what you have, nevermind those who judges, pretending to be god.”

Jason smiles. You have mesmerizing ways to utter what’s in your mind, always speaking so confidently and gracefully yet casually. You present yourself in such elegant, exquisite, classy manners that no rich people could. It’s exactly what he enjoys about you.

You had also found out that, despite his bad boy energy and sort of reputation, Jason likes reading books, and they’re not even the genres that bad boys would take a glance at. It explains the shelf piled with books, some new and some old that almost seemed like he’s had them since he was a teen.

He also liked to read poetry, which you were ecstatic at, prompting you to lead him towards the library you always visit to read a book together. You both wordlessly agreed to do this on a regular basis whenever you meet up and want a quiet time among yourselves, knowing neither of you has to hold back your passion and love for books just to please the other.

Having similar tastes and interests immediately connected you and Jason, becoming somewhat inseparable whenever you’re together, allowing you to understand each other without words being uttered or exchanged. Jason was easily comfortable with you due to your maturity and the ability to understand things most people don’t, as you were with him.

The differences were clearly there — Jason was snarky, short-tempered, easy to anger, sort of flirtatious, and held extreme rage against all humanity, while you were more calm, collected, immensely patient, courteous, thoughtful, and almost the epitome of peace. But they’re the things that made you fit so perfectly well together like a puzzle rather than being hateful of each other.

It’s as if you’re what’s keeping him to the ground as he is of you.

Not like Jason knew, but when you’re an Addams, having dark, twisted sense of humor and being homicidal is pretty much inevitable. It isn’t a big surprise that you were one.

He often hears you muttering the most disturbing matters or thoughts, and at first he was concerned for your well-being and looked for signs that may have caused you to be... deranged, but as time passes by with no signs, he figured it’s just the way you are. Jason found it rather amusing anyway. Now, he’s just entertained whenever you utter them and would sometimes join you in on dark humor.

Getting to the family matters... You and Jason talked a lot about them — specifically yours only — and you told him about your unbelievably and deeply in love parents, adorable but deadly siblings, uncle Fester and the entire thing that happened, cousins, traditions, ancestors, and other more.

“—And my great-uncle Imar, he was buried alive. I remember being thrilled when mother and father first told me about him. Being buried alive is such a wonderful experience, my sister Wednesday has been digging a grave ever since I’ve mentioned it to her.”

“Oh, yeah? Being buried alive is cool and all, but I’m more of a great-aunt Calpurnia fan. Nobody can be as brave as her to dance naked in the town square and enslave the minister.”

“You have such great taste, Jason.”

“I know, (Y/n).”

He absolutely loves your ancestors and family.

When it comes to his, though... Jason was hesitant to tell you about them, specially Bruce, but also because of his secret identity slash alter ego as Red Hood. Telling you about his family means he would have to reveal all the secrets as well, including his death and resurrection, and that’s not something he’s ready to do just yet. You didn’t deserve to know all the horror he’s been through, knowing you and your compassion. He doesn’t want you to carry the burden of knowing his sufferings. But he also didn’t want you to think he doesn’t trust you by not telling his side of family.

However, all you ever did was look at him with soft eyes when you sensed his discomfort and reluctance, gently placing a comforting hand on his shoulder to squeeze it reassuringly.

“Never speak of something you are not ready yet to reveal, beau. It’s okay. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Never had he met someone so understanding it made his heart swell. And as he stares into your beautiful (e/c) eyes, he couldn’t help but realize he’s utterly, deeply, in love with you.

Well, shit. That took a fucking turn.

What is he supposed to do now? You’ve been best friends for two years already, he doesn’t want to fucking ruin it with his feelings. And you’re not even the one to do romance, even if you witness your parents doing it everyday. It was just not in your vocabulary.

Jesus, Todd. Get yourself together.

And he fucking didn’t.

Jason didn’t get a hold of himself, so it ended up in him avoiding you without meaning to. He wasn’t ignoring you, but neither did he pay attention to you either. He stopped spending time with you frequently, making excuses that he has something important to do, putting on his Red Hood helmet and patrolling every day just to avoid your presence. The amount of time you spent together lessened and lessened, but you always updated or sent him messages to keep in check.

Until his phone abruptly stopped receiving notifications.

He knew it would happen one day, that you will get tired of him and realize he wasn’t worth your effort or time, but it happened quicker and earlier than Jason had expected, so he can’t help but feel his heart break as his throat burned. It’s his fault for neglecting you, but still, it hurt.

Five days passed since you stopped messaging him and Jason found himself still checking his phone just in case, only to drop it on his bed with a sigh when it doesn’t bring up a notification. He would go on patrol more frequently than he used to for distraction, just wanting to get you out of his mind, but it was causing him to be rough and reckless unconsciously— something that even his family noticed.

So, it was inevitable that he’d slip up and make a mistake on one of his missions.

Bruce was reluctant on sending him to this mission as it involved the Joker and Jason was practically in an unstable condition from how easily he snapped at people, but if he didn’t, another heated argument would have sparked between them again and he was already getting tired of that. However, when the Joker manages to taunt Jason and push his buttons enough to have him start fighting recklessly, Bruce knew he shouldn’t have assigned it to his second oldest son.

His recklessness and easy-to-anger attitude got himself a stab and bullet wound, quite deep ones that prevented him from moving any further. Joker was standing in front of him with a gun in hand and knife in the other, looking down on him just like he used to before. Just as Jason braced himself for the gun shot to fire, a sai suddenly came into view and stabbed Joker on his hand, making him drop the gun and yell out in pain.

Jason looked at where the sai came flying from and saw an unfamiliar yet somehow familiar figure with a mask calmly strotting towards him, one hand twirling a sai, presumably the pair of the one that was thrown. Pulling the weapon roughly out of the manic-laughing Joker’s hand, he yelled in pain before getting his gut kneed by the person, knocking the air out of his lungs. While Joker was busy coughing and wheezing, the person quickly takes out a smoke bomb and threw it on the ground to activate, black smoke filling the place.

Without being given the time to process, Jason was immediately pulled by the person to flee from the scene while the Killer Prince of Clown is distracted, confusion rising in his mind why this unknown person was helping him. However, all his questions were answered when the person took off their mask after settling him on a rooftop.

You didn’t hesitate to show him your face despite still being dressed in that vigilante suit of yours in all your glory. Even though you should be mad at him for ditching and eventually ghosting you, deep concern laced your expression as you examine his whole body, anger or resentment nowhere to be seen. You were just... completely you.

And then, it clicked in his mind — you already knew about him being Red Hood. He isn’t sure when or how long, it just clicked in his mind because of how oddly calm you were at the situation by hand. He also realizes you’ve been following him and had figured beforehand that there’s a chance he’d mess up, due to the fully stacked first aid kit laying on the side of the rooftop you brought him.

Silence filled the air as you began to treat his wounds, an excruciatingly painful process in which you had to gauge the bullet out of his skin that had him groaning and yelling in pain. After the bullet was gone, you immediately went onto cleaning the blood off and the wound, along with the one caused by knife, before wrapping almost exaggerated amount of bandages around his body.

Jason can’t stop staring at you the entire time you were treating him, his helmet resting on his side. (because it made him trouble breathing, totally not because he was planning something)

“You had me worry so much there, Jason. Why were you fighting that way? I was aware you can be reckless at times, but this is—”

He cut you off by pressing his lips on yours. Heart beating rapidly against his chest, worry clouded his mind at the possible rejection, but it quickly vanished when he felt you kissing back as gently and carefully as possible not to hurt his busted lip.

“I must say I was quite furious at you even though I practically saved your life, but this dissolves it.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

“Take me out on a date and I might give you forgiveness.”

That’s how you two ended up together, with Jason taking you on a peaceful and romantic date at a restaurant that matched your dark goth aesthetic.

Speaking of dark goth aesthetic, Jason absolutely adores your fashion sense. It’s a classic old-fashioned goth style that fit your body perfectly well, sometimes you’d also wear modern type, though he saw it only about four times. Silver and black rings can be seen adorning your fingers — nails painted black — all the time, along with bracelets wrapped around your wrists and gothic necklace on your neck. He found out they were given to you by your parents, who were quick to notice your interest in jewelries.

Once, Jason gave you a gothic style necklace with a letter ‘J’ pendant on your birthday and you’ve been wearing it ever since, replacing the one that you had. You never took it off, viewing the necklace as practically a proof that you belong to him as much as he belongs to you (it was a pair with his having the first initial of your name as pendant), and it actually became one of your treasure that no one aside from Jason is allowed to touch.

We all know what will happen if anyone tries to LMAO

Nothing really changed between you two after finally getting together, being both best friends and soulmates at the same time. The only thing changed was that he didn’t patrol alone now; he had you by his side always watching his back. Jason also found himself not worrying about your safety as much as he did before, as he knew you can handle any criminals from how badass, ass-kicking, well-trained vigilante you are.

Though, since you got together, the all black clothing and aesthetic of yours seems to mix with one certain color; red. He finds it in most random things — your bookmark, one of your accessories, one of your long sleeved button-up shirts, one of your weapons; it’s just anywhere in your belongings even though black still covered the majority of them.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yes, mon amour?”

“Why do I see red in some of your things? I mean, I ain’t complaining but you don’t like bright colors.”

“So you haven’t noticed. Red is your colour, darling. I would always have it with me. Besides, it isn’t as bright as pastels and mix in well with black. Also reminds me of our blood, but that’s just the minority of my reasons.”

Jason’s heart swelled with love and pride. He didn’t stop kissing and hugging you the entire day.

RED AND BLACK AESTHETIC BOYFRIENDS. People always stare at you two because wow, there’s a badass, awesome, classy-looking goth and a hot guy radiating off bad boy energy walking around the streets of Gotham with intertwined hands and matching sunglasses, how could they not stare?

It’s obvious you’re boyfriends and some people gives you that nasty, disgusting looks upon seeing your intertwined hands which alone screams homophobia. You and Jason deal with it by rubbing it in their faces, being lovey-dovey and romantic, doing unnecessary amount of touching, calling each other every pet names you could come up with, and showing lots of PDA until they stop being such stupid assholes.

Though, most people you came across were genuine sweethearts and kind-hearted, who only ever smiled or stared with a soft look when they see you two, probably happy and relieved that a gay couple is getting comfortable to walk around together. Some of them would even approach just to give you and Jason compliments, like how good you look together, how awesome your outfit is, how you two are literally the coolest couple they have ever seen. Jason was glad they approached solely for the purpose of complimenting your relationship and not to spit nasty slurs, because the least he wants when you two have a date is to get in a fight and could possibly be arrested for public disturbance and physical assault.

Growing up watching your parents’s romance blossom all your life definitely shaped your love language into that of theirs, wherein you would praise Jason in such poetic ways, whisper love thoughts in his ear, and touch him with gentle hands like how your parents does. You treat him like a treasure, like he’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen, and Jason finds himself loving it more than he thought he would.

Meanwhile, Jason’s love language is physical (or any kind for that matter) affection and quality time. You find it adorable because he can’t keep his hands to himself and always either holding your hand or touching you despite being the ‘big bad wolf’ as he views himself to be. For a man with such rage and resentment towards the world, he’s the biggest softy when it comes to you and would throw everything away if he gets to be with you everyday 24/7.

You definitely exchanged some weapons at least once or more. There’s no way in hell you didn’t.

And you also definitely gave each other newly bought weapons on your anniversary as a gift, Jason’s being guns and yours being sais.

There’s a newly added shelf in Jason’s apartment for you to place your things there so you don’t have to bring them every time you come over. The shelf is, of course, painted black and actually shaped like a coffin to further show gothicness. Pictures of you together mostly decorated your shelf in black frames, along with a bunch of skulls and ancient crystal ball that your mother gave you. There’s also black roses and few of your favorite books; Frankstein by Mary Shelley, a book of Edgar Allan Poe’s classic stories, and We have always lived in the castle by Shirley Jackson.

Also, at one point, Jason was convinced his boyfriend’s a witch because when he got badly injured one day, you took out some mysterious ingredients stored in potion bottles and mixed them in to create what seemed like an antidote before rubbing it gently on his wounds, and they magically healed like three days later. He wouldn’t stop pestering you about it for a whole month, oddly excited of the possibility that you might be a witch since your ancestors had a history of witchcrafts.

“I was just taught by my grandmother how to create antidotes on emergencies, chéri. It’s nothing serious.”

“But you could be a witch!”

“Being a witch is more than just making antidotes, my dear Jason.”

“But you could still be a witch, I stand my point.”

Your grandmother also may or may not have taught you how to hex and curse people as well as how to use tarot cards, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Telling you about his fall-out and rekindle with Bruce, his torture and death and resurrection, as well as what he went through as a child took Jason two years in the relationship and four years since he met you. It didn’t bother you at all, knowing the trauma he endured isn’t easy to talk about, letting him play with your hands for comfort. He also told you about the criminals he killed and the thirst of vengeance and blood whenever Joker’s mentioned.

You stayed silent the whole time that worried Jason; you usually uttered comforting words whenever you noticed him troubled. But now, you were just silent even after he finished his story that had him think it might’ve been too much to take in. However, when he looked at you fearfully, his eyes immediately widened upon witnessing the utmost rage and murderous look on your face.

His boyfriend, who is almost impossible to anger or lose control of emotions, was fucking shaking with rage. Your self-control was impressive; you wanted so fucking bad to brutally torture and kill Joker, but knowing Jason needs you, pushed down the dark desire and pulled him into a tight embrace instead. You whispered words of comfort and encouragement and reassurance to him, yet your voice betrayed you as it was low, and dark, and just didn’t have the usual calm tone you had.

The next day, it was announced on Gotham City news that the Joker was sent to Arkham Asylum by an unknown vigilante, severely and brutally beaten by crowbar with all his nails pulled out and obvious signs of mild yet intense torture.

“Hey, baby? Take a look at this.”

“Well, well... What a wonderful news. I believe he should’ve been killed, though. The nails, broken bones and cut off tongue aren’t enough for him.”

“...They never said he got his tongue cut off, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

He smirked and kissed you hard, absolutely proud of what you did.

Meeting your family was an extraordinary experience for Jason. Your parents, Gomez and Morticia, easily accepted and welcomed him into the family, thrilled that their son finally had someone to love. They’re always accepting, as you had told Jason. He got to see their romance that you often talked about and can’t help but notice you inherited both of their romantic side that he oh so loves.

Your siblings, Wednesday and Pugsley, were adorable to say the least even though Wednesday was quite terrifying for a girl. She actually likes Jason and initiated a conversation that she never did before with others, even referring to him as ‘big brother’ at the end of the day that had Jason grinning from ear to ear. He knew Wednesday didn’t like people and was basically an anti-social, homicidal maniac, so seeing her grow attached to him felt like he saved the whole world and was given a blessing. Pugsley, on the other hand, was totally amazed by him and threw him like, thirty questions about Red Hood. Apparently, Jason’s his favorite vigilante.

Watching you and your family interact was amusing as you were all funny without even trying, specially that time when you, Jason and your parents were having casual conversations in the dining table and Wednesday came walking past the four of you with mace in hand. Morticia had stopped talking to ask her “Is that for your brother?” and when Wednesday nodded, she extended her hands to you with palms up as you pulled a large axe from the set of woods on the ceiling and handed it to your mother, Morticia giving it to Wednesday with a “That’s better” said.

It happened so casually that Jason didn’t think much of it until he realized what just occurred and had to keep himself from laughing. Your family’s so cool and awesome he was thankful to be considered as one, already loving every single member.

He now had a new family and can’t wait to introduce you to his, nevermind the hesitance due to his annoying brothers.

Overall, you two are just utterly and madly in love despite your disturbing, homicidal mindset and his... well, Jason Todd attitude, and would do literally anything to ensure each other’s safety. You would kill for each other, even destroy the world, and nothing will be able to ruin what you have. Everyone’s practically jealous of your bond that they know they’ll never have with anyone.

One thing’s for sure — soulmates for life!!

© ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

[taeyamayang]

hii ! hope you're having a wonderful day

could I request a scenario for Kenma and his fem!s/o that is actually a streamer ? she's very admirative of him but doesn't want to appear on his channel nor have any promotion from him so that she feels like she deserves her small community !! if you'd like to add a few hc or other ideas you're absolutely free to do so ! as a small streamer I'm really curious about what their dynamic would be like :D

–🎙️anon bc having a signature is coool

streamer!kenma dating a streamer

tags: fluff! | scenarios | female reader | romance | timeskip kenma | aged up | streamer!kenma

a/n to 🎙anon: thanks for taking your time to request, love. i hope you like this! (i'm vsnsbs i don't know if i did well but-) also, i absolutely i adore the signature, hope to hear more from you soon! :)

streamer!kenma has millions of viewers on twitch and youtube. his videos go viral and his tags effortlessly hit the top trending list on twitter but his identity outside live streams remains a mystery, except for you.

streamer!kenma is very much different from who is when the camera is on his face. some claim that he is secretly an outgoing guy who spends his spare time on clubs (similar to many gamers out there) or a serial flirt who can easily woo a woman. their fantasies turn him into their own versions of a "hot" man.

but for you, streamer!kenma is truly 'hot' when he is freshly out of the bed, dragging his feet to the kitchen, and instantly smiling at you when he sees you flipping eggs. he is hot he wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles his face between the crook of your neck and shoulder, mumbling "goodmorning" against your exposed skin before sealing it with a kiss.

streamer!kenma is also hot when he's awkward, like a cat with its tail tucked between its legs when strangers come up to him. he absolutely hates taking photos yet you find it adoring that he considers doing so for his followers. on top of that, you love seeing a soft blush on his cheeks whenever he gets shy when someone comes up to him screaming and babbling about how they love him. on the other hand, he goes all out when someone recognizes you. he proves to them that he is your number one supporter, pulling out his phone to insist on taking a photo of you and your viewer. to him, it is a question why people are drawn to him but to you it's obvious. in his perspective, you are easy to love and your comfort is what reels people inㅡthe main reason why he fell for you.

streamer!kenma doesn't get why you refuse to appear in his streams. he isn't aware of the impact he has in the gaming world. to him, he's just a regular guy and his mere existence won't make any difference. but he loves playing games with you and since you can't play together in your streams he came up with a sneaky plan. when he knows you're live he uses his "not-so-obvious" other account and takes advantage of it. you know his other username besides his official one even if he denies it's him. i mean, how can you not know when he's literally using your pet name for him? apparently, "kdzapplepie" requesting to join you in combat does not scream kenma... it does. hence, he joins you in streams using his cover ups but he knows that you know but he still does it anyway.

streamer!kenma likes watching you do your lives. he sits behind the camera, mouthing to you words as side comments. like, when you tell your viewers that you suck at using a weapon/character he immediately waves his hands in the air to call for your attention before mouthing "i don't think so babe." causing a smile to your face. your small community noticed it beforeㅡside glances, giggles, and smiles. they know you're with someone when you play games. some even asked if you can show them who it is or tell something about them. they are intrigued about your personal life and frankly you like to keep it that way.

streamer!kenma loves in private and so do you. you would rather make memories with him without the suspecting eyes of outsiders. you love the idea of being the only person to know how he looks at you when you show him your new dress, how leaves a soft peck at the back of your hand after intertwining it, how he gets annoyingly clingy when he gets sick, or how he professes his love to you through a whisper. you are selfish when it comes to him. everyone can love his online version, but only you get to hold his heart.

a/n: streamer kenma.. i'm weak :') i'm screaming, crying, and rolling on the floor as i type this.

masterlist | hq.list | req: open

[shootsun]

Hey, uh @kuhbkiee i really liked your cowboy comic and wrote you something for it? i hope you don’t mind? 

Cowboy AU

The past few weeks had been quiet, and Wukong was getting restless. The last exciting thing that had rolled through the town of Dead End was the supernatural bounty hunter, Six, when he had almost kidnapped his deputy and sheriff in training, MK.

It apparently had all been some big misunderstanding, (something about drawing out a pair of bank robbers with a grudge against his protégé, all while using the kid as bait) but that hadn’t stopped him from giving the black clad bounty hunter a black eye the second MK was safe. Six absolutely hadn’t given him a matching bruise, no matter what the kid said.

The xanthous haired lawman sighs as he wipes the bar counter listlessly. There was no news of any villain or thief in the area, no new crimes to investigate in the dusty little town, nothing but small-town grievances and the occasional low-level demon trying to sneak through the town barriers.

Nothing he or MK couldn’t handle.

He would never admit it, but Wukong was growing to miss his wandering misadventures. He’d settled down in Dead End to help train MK up, to take his mantle of Lawman, to pass on his magic weapon and retire; but if this was anything like retirement, he was going to have to find a project to keep himself busy.

Absentmindedly, his hand brushes over the empty holster on his hip, and he ignores the twinge of panic that jumpstarts in his chest. ‘Iron Shot isn’t mine any more,’ he reminds himself, and hates the part of his mind that argues that the kid isn’t ready to wield a sling shot, much less a shapeshifting magic gun.

The saloon doors swing open behind him with a creak, halting the growing bout of self-arguing, and he gives a half-assed waved without turning around, calling out, “Be with you in a minute.”

The newcomer doesn’t answer, just walks to the bar with slow, self-assured steps across the wooden floor.

Wukong crouches and grabs a glass from under the bar, starting to wipe it clean when the person finally speaks.

“‘S been a while since a brawl started in these parts…” A man spoke, and his drawl was dripping with a smug tone that curled familiarly around Wukong’s ears.

“’nd as interestin’ as this counter top is, it sure ain’t a show stopper. So, how’s about a little rough housing, Lawman?”

Wukong raises his eyes to meet the smirk of an unfortunately familiar bounty hunter, and feels his glamour slip, his eyes flashing red, his fangs sharpening as he growls, “YOU.”

Six’s grin only grows, and Wukong succumbs to the urge to wipe that look off the bounty hunter’s face with gusto. He lunges across the counter top, hiking one leg up over the bar as the bounty hunter has the audacity to back petal wildly.

“Wait, no, no, w-wait, I was just kiddin’,” the demon splutters, his hands up in a placating gesture, but Wukong dives towards him, arm already cocked back for a punch as he connects with the bounty hunter.

The two tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs as Six yelps and swears as Wukong lands his first punch.

“The audacity of you, to come back to MY town!” the lawman snarls, and the bounty hunter glares at him before elbowing him in the gut.

Wukong lurches to the side, grimacing as Six kicks out from under his hold.

“I’m a Bounty Hunter,” Six hisses, and yanks his hat free from where it was trapped under Wukong’s leg. “I end up everywhere, I didn’t choose to be here, asshole.”  

“Excuses,” Wukong bites out, and then he’s throwing himself towards the bounty hunter once more.

“Excuses?” Six parrots as he blocks Wukong’s punch. “What do you – Hey! Not the tail!”

Wukong grins triumphantly through his mouthful of black fur, and bites down harder when he feels a tug on his braid.

“Could you not?” The bounty hunter grits out, trying and failing to pull the other stubborn supernatural off his tail.    

“Get out of my town,” is what Wukong tried to say, but it sounded more like, “G’t ou’ ma to’n.”

Six looks down at him with a mix of distain and bewilderment. “I speak seven languages and that wasn’t nothing but gibberish.”    

Wukong spits out the bounty hunter’s tail and yanks the supernatural closer by the lapels of his coat. “I said,” he thunders, “Get. Out. Of My. Town.”