#hush lizard brain

[buginateacup]

hmm. turns out I have three things I could update right now. smart brain says stagger posting them for maximum good brain juice. Monkey brain says POST ALL THE THINGS NOW

lizard brain mostly wants sleep

[benetnvsch]

would it be cringe fail of me to make a kunikidazai among us au ?

[astroboots]

Superhuman stamina

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: The dangers of dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it's going to leave you sore.

Content: Miguel is a demanding menace. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Squirting.

Word Count: 1.4k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

The thing about dating a man that has been genetically imprinted with the DNA of a spider is that one of the side-effects of such an occurrence means he has superhuman stamina.

It's something Miguel had told you in the early days of your relationship, listing out this characteristic as just another facet of his personality, much in the way someone would say that they're a Virgo on their Tinder profile.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time, too distracted by the list of characteristics that preceded it: retractable talons? telescopic night vision? ORGANIC WEBBING?!

In retrospect, that was naïve. The talons don't really affect your day to day. They do come out when Miguel's emotional state is particularly elevated, which has lead to incidents. Like that time you had to replace your new purchased armchair, when you were on top and post-sex your new armchair looked like it had been mauled by an escaped zoo lion.

The telescopic night vision? Incredibly convenient at night when there's a blackout and you need to find your cell phone.

And the webbing... the less said about that the better, really.

But now that you've dated as long as you have, the superhuman stamina, you realize is by far the one that has the most profound consequences on your life.

At the time you hadn't realized that those enhanced attributes weren't limited to aerial battles against the latest villain of the week when he was fighting mutant lizards, or rhino men. It also haunts you in the privacy of your bedroom.

Because this is what happens when you date a man with superhuman stamina: You'll often oversleep and barely make it on time to work. On most days you've lost your voice. You'll be sore a lot.

And the thing about dating Miguel specifically is that the man is stubborn, relentless, demanding and that too extends into your bedroom.

"Fuck, Miguel, I can't."

"'Course you can, nena, look at how well you're taking me," he says as he stares down at the space between your legs where you and him join. Where you're spread snugly around him. Where his thick cock, slick with you both, disappears into your cunt then re-emerges.

It's wet. It's messy, the sheets beneath you soaked and sticky, from the last three (four?) rounds. As snug of a fit his thick cock is inside you, he's filled you so full there's no space left for you to fit what he's spilled inside you, over and over again. It keep leaking out with each press and demanding thrust as he buries his cock inside you as deep as he goes.

You shake your head even though you know it's useless. Pleading with him has never gotten you anywhere before. You don't know why you think it's going to make a difference now.

"Please, I-I can't-- nngh, too much," you plead. You whine. You sob.

"Shh, nena, it's okay," he hushes. Again with the cooing. Again with the sweet little nicknames, but he's not showing mercy, his hand moving down from your hip, down between your legs, until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Electricity crackles through the length of your spine. Your back arches, lifting off the bed, you don't know if you are chasing into his touch or running away from it: the first? latter? both? neither.

You can't form a coherent thought anymore. It's good and too much, and your brain is short-circuiting from it all.

"There you go, see? Doing so good. Look how pretty you are taking me."

Even in the dim light of your bedroom, you can see his expression clearly. Eyes a piercing crimson red, the corners of his canine teeth peeking out from his self-satisfied smile.

He bends down, nearly folding you in half as he presses his cock as deep as it goes, until he's nudging at that sweet and perfect spot that has your vision go white and blinding behind your eyes.

Sweet, sharp ache scrapes close to your bones at the sensation of him filling you again. The way he stretches you to your limits, until you've forgotten how to breathe, and may very well be the death of you.

It's there again. The oppressive warmth that swirls sweetly in your stomach as a warning. Tears prickle your eyes as everything in you squeezes tight at the sensation.

Oh shit, it's--

"Fuck that's it nena. That's it. Come on my cock again. Come on it and I'll fill you up."

It rises in you. A pressure that builds and builds and builds, and robs you of your breath until you have nothing left to give. It's overwhelming, the way the pleasure burns at every one of your nerve endings, until your face tingles with a numbness and you can no longer feel your legs.

"Mi-Miguel," you stutter, "I can't--"

"Yes you can."

The pressure is still there, expanding with an ominous volume, and no, he's wrong. You can't. Something is different. This isn't like before. You squirm underneath him, feet planted against the mattress for leverage.

"Settle down," he says, but you don't know how you're supposed to do that when your entire body has been wounded so tight you think the whole of you are going to snap.

You shake your head frantically, sobbing with a raw burn in your throat as you thrash underneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation. Oh fuck-- it's too much.

Oh god, you can't-you can't-you can't--

You raise your palms against his firm chest, pressing back, in a half-formed attempt to make him ease up, but it only spurs him on. One arm loops behind your back, lifting you from the mattress to meet his hips as he snaps them into you. And oh fuck!

It hits something devastating inside. A pin prick of pleasure that strikes every nerve in your body. It hits a frequency that makes your teeth shatter, every cell in your skull vibrate. Your leg kicks out, body twisting and turning to get away from the overwhelming sensation.

"Callate," you hear his warm strained breath in your ear.

His free hand locks around your wrists, pinning them to the side, then he's lunging forward, his mouth pressed to your shoulders and you can feel the sharp warning of his fangs resting on your skin. "Calm down, or I'm gonna bite you."

You still, shivering as his hips pulls back, then he hits that devastating spot again and again.

Every muscle in you locks up tight until you can't move and for a moment you wonder if he really did bite down. But you can still feel his mouth on your throat, his tongue lapping gently at your sweat-soaked skin until the whole of your neck tingles.

He doesn't go easy on you, thrusting into you with the same demanding pace as before, and God. The sensation is heavy and ominous like nothing else you've felt before. Large and looming with nowhere else to go, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, and you know that if this doesn't stop, if Miguel doesn't stop, then all of you are going to burst.

You open your mouth, trying to warn him, but all that comes out is the first syllable.

"Miii--" The rest dies in a wail, and you realize it's already too late. The pressure shatters and breaks.

You come with a rush of wetness that spills out of you. It soaks everything, your thighs and his, drenching his stomach and drips down against the sheets to join the mess that's already there.

Everything sounds distant like you're pulled under water. You can barely even register Miguel's voice in your ear. "Oh shit, are you-- fuck, that's --"

He sounds surprised. But he doesn't stop. Miguel fucks you through it. Your climax and his, with frantic thrusts, until finally he settles into a slow and gentler pace.

When you come back to yourself, he's kneeling above you, his large bodyframe looming over yours.

"Fuck, babe..."

He palms at his softening cock, glistening wet with your mess as he stares down at you with darkened eyes. Slowly jerking the length of it with a lazy pace that has you mesmerized. It twitches in his grip with interest, and you know it's not going to take long before he's ready to go again.

"One more time," Miguel says. "Let's see if we can make you do it again."

Jesus fucking Christ

Your head drops down to your pillow with exhaustion.

The thing about dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it may very well kill you.

Dedication & Credits: To my beloved @thirstworldproblemss who I hope is driving safely across the country through the mountains I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

And to poor @guruan who I woke up with my other fic and robbed her of her beauty sleep.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 5

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / DISCORD SERVER

Context Warning: NSFW! Mentions of Dub-con/ Non-con, Oral Sex, Author's Poor Attempt in Smut & Dark Fic, Mentions of Slavery, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Fingerfucking, Biting, Overstimulation (kinda), Edging (kinda)

What the fuck.

Those three words were the first thought of train that shot up to your brain as he finished his statement, his tone and his gaze both reeking of confidence and certainty, which made something flip in your stomach.

You had always liked confident men who knew about what they wanted and had the power to back up their actions and words. But that only applied to men in fiction you have read in books. In real life? Especially after the fucking blood-sucking leech who couldn’t keep his goddamn hands to himself and just buy women he could keep fucking by his side and leave you the fuck alone, captured you and sold you, your trust and belief that one day you would meet someone who actually wouldn’t force themselves into their females had broken down like stars in the sky.

Well . . . there was Graves, the same fucking leech you wanted to kick on the balls, but he wasn’t the fucking focus right now.

You stared at Simon, lips parted in disbelief. You blinked your eyes rapidly in repeat, his words echoing in your mind like a broken record, but his low laugh shattered it.

“I see why Price told me he loves watching your expressions,” he said, untying his cloak and letting it fall on the floor.

You frowned at him, face slightly warming at the memories of Price between your thighs, his tongue working on your clit whereas his fingers curled inside your hole. As much as you hated it, the fire-breathing lizard knew how to pleasure a woman . . . and torment you.

But if this was going to keep up, if this was how the rest of your life would play out, wouldn’t it be better to get used to it soon? It wouldn’t be a long while now for them to run out of patience and tie you up on bed all day and night to take their turns to fuck you mindless.

You felt like laughing at the thought, but in your situation, the best course of action to keep them pleased and not hurt you as much was to take their offers—or rather, ask them what you could offer them.

“How would you like to do it?” you questioned in a hushed tone.

Simon blinked, confused by the sudden query, but quickly understood what you meant, and huffed. “No, how would you like to do it?”

For fuck’s sake, this man got a way with words more than the fucking siren did.

You remained lying on the bed as he got up and leaned down on you, the balaclava hoisted up to the bridge of his nose. At first, he seemed hesitant, you both were, but when you flattered your eyes closed, and he was the first to dive down onto a kiss.

It started soft, patient—not any sign of aggression nor cruel hunger in his lips. And as thanks, you reached up to his head as he splayed his now ungloved hand on your stomach. Then, it began to travel down south, slightly tugging on the hem of your dress.

He broke the kiss, slightly pulling himself away from you, and you opened your eyes, meeting a pair of deep brown eyes, but quickly left the contact. You watched his hand disappear under your dress, going under the band of your undergarment. Somewhat, you did not feel any sense of disturbance or disgust being this close to him. The roughness of his calloused hands, instead, made your skin crawl with anticipation.

“Use your words, love,” he muttered the command to your ear.

You took a deep breath. “Go on.”

You shuddered at his touch as you felt his warm digit brush against your wetness, trying to keep yourself relaxed as he circled the small bud of nerves. You let out a pretty little noise, tilting your head back each time his finger dipped into your entrance, and felt your core tighten up and drip onto his hand. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip when Simon found your sensitive nub, running his fingers on it up and down.

A hum escaped his lips. “Here?” He pressed on your clit, eliciting a whine from you, and moved his hand down, letting his thumb do the work while his fingers dove into your entrance.

You grabbed onto his arm, knowing what it did to Price before, only to confirm it going with Simon as well.

He inserted another finger, which your cunt easily welcomed in, and continued his dirty work. His calloused thumb swirled constant maddening circles over your clit, his fingers dragging in and out of your slick walls. He knew you were close, clenching around his digits and your breathing growing quicker. Then, he stopped at the brink.

“Simon,” you cried, cursing in your mind. “Please.”

He quickly resumed his actions, his fingers pushing deeper into you, and his palm smacking against your clit. In return, you chanted his name, and pleasure shot throughout your body. But he didn't stop, still moving his fingers as they grew drenched in a languid pace, till he pulled out.

Simon moved south, pushing the dress up to your abdomen and quickly getting ahold of your panties, pulling them off. You found yourself swallowing as he fixed his mask over his nose and looked up at you. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Bare hands traveled along the skin of your outer thighs, keeping them spread, and using his hands, he pulled your hips closer, bringing your core against his mouth. Like a continuance, his thumb rolled your sensitive bud as his tongue buried deep into your.

Your hand slammed against the mattress, clenching on the sheets at the sensation of his tongue lapping up your fluids, and the feeling began to grow too quickly the moment he threw one of your legs over his shoulder.

Simon clamped his lips over your clit, sucking hard as he watched your back arch onto the bed, and in comparison to the way you held yourself back before, a song of moans and whines left your lips, and never in his life he had heard something so captivating.

You came quicker this time, your hips rolling against his mouth, your flavors flooding his tongue, and reluctantly he pulled away. You watched him crawl over you, tearing your nightgown apart like paper, completely exposing yourself to the monster once more.

However, this time, you didn't mind. You had brought this to yourself and you were willing to take the risk.

His hand traveled along your chest, his rough fingers brushing over your delicate nipple while he bent down, taking the other with his mouth. Without any words said, his free hand went to the buttons of his shirt, and he straightened up, jerking his clothes off, showing off what had been underneath.

Scars dusted his body, trailing like the tails of shooting stars. With how they scattered on his fair skin, it would seem that they were almost connected to form constellations themselves, adorning his muscles.

It was hard not to stare.

But it was harder not to think that he was this beautiful this whole time underneath those blasted layers of his.

“You're staring,” he remarked, and tilted his head, in a way that made something flip in your stomach. “Like what you see?”

“Yes.” You splayed a hand on his abdomen. You brushed your finger along his skin, nails scraping the bumps and craters of the scars as you slowly pulled yourself up to sit. As you reached his shoulder, trailing over his nape, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his chest. “Quite well.”

Simon found himself smiling. He placed a hand on your lower back and pulled you onto him, your face on his chest, yours against his stomach. In swift yet careful movements, he flipped you over. With his guidance, you maneuvered on his lap, your wet sex pressing against the tent on his pants, and your hands resting on his chest whereas he settled on your ass. Following the movements of his hands, you ground back and forth, shivering, quiet moans leaving your lips, and your breath hitched as he bucked up.

You watched a smirk play on his lips, which you frowned at, and Heavens forbid your impulsive thoughts—you reached between your thighs, unbuckling his belt, leaving it just as that, and popped his button open. You pulled him out from the confines of his pants and swallowed at the feeling of his cock in your hand, precum leaking from its tip. It stood proud for a moment, before falling on his abdomen.

“Go on, I did ask you how you would like to do it,” he reminded and slowly, you began stroking his length, eliciting a groan from him. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You gave a few good tugs, before adjusting from his lap and slid your core against his cock. You gasped out at the sensation, clenching your core over nothing, just as he grunted, squeezing your ass and guiding you once again to grind onto him.

Your eyes flattered close and you let your head tilt back, rolling your hips faster with each passing second. Your thighs began to tremble, brows knitted as you whined his name, to which he responded with murmurs of your name, till strings of his cum shot out, painting his stomach white.

You slowed down and leaned down to him, not minding the stickiness that spread on your abdomen as your skin met his in a searing touch. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that seemed to be almost in the same rhythm as yours, whilst his hands traveled up to your waist.

“Come here,” he demanded. You tilted your head up and raised a brow in question. He smiled. “On my face.”

Your eyes widened. “You want me to—”

“Very much so,” he cut you off, swallowing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Just move how you would on my cock.”

You swallowed, and finally, after a few seconds, you gave him a nod. Rising from his chest, he picked you up and easily perched you above his face. Then, when he lied back down on the mattress, he lowered you to his mouth and began licking. You gripped the top of the headboard, throwing your head back with a trembling sigh, and just as he said, you ground on him as he devoured you once again.

Simon delved deep, tasting, teasing, and pushing you further and further until you writhed in his grip. He sucked on your clit, hard, bringing you close. Your knuckles had turned white, trying to come back down on the bed, when he let go of your sex to sink his teeth in your inner thigh. You sucked in a harsh breath, and fuck—turned on instead of pained. So close to your sensitive clit, the bite was wildly blissful, and finally, you came together with him.

He groaned, kissing the spot where he left his mark, while still moving you against his mouth and jerking himself off, albeit both slowing down.

When you came down next to him back on the bed, he immediately wrapped his arms around your naked flesh, pressing his lips on your hairline, and didn't seem to mind the sheet of sweat coating your skin.

“I . . .” You paused, catching your breath. “ I thought you were new to this.”

“I am.” He caressed your back, gently massaging your muscles. “But I've seen enough to know and learn.”

“Fucking hell.” You grumbled on his chest, to which he responded with a low chuckle.

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

You blinked away the sleepiness as you felt the warmth of the sun kissing your skin through the gap in the curtains. You shifted on the bed and groaned at the foreign weight over your waist.

“Morning.”

You jolted at the gravely deep voice that reverberated at your side and looked over to see Simon next to you.

He inched closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where his breath fanned your skin, his teeth grazing over a vein. “Surprised to see me beside you?”

“No,” you placed a hand on his arm over your waist. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Best one yet.”

You found yourself staring at his eyes, reflecting the light like a pool of melted gold, and smiled. “I think I slept well.”

You flinched once again when the doors of your chamber slammed open, and the incubus, the freaking catalyst of the events of the night, sauntered in.

“I knew it!” Johnny yelled and joined you on the bed, taking your free side. “No wonder I couldnae tap into her head!”

Simon shook his head and pulled you closer to him. “Apologize first.”

“What, why?” Mactavish questioned, making you frown.

“Our wife couldn't sleep last night because of you.”

“Oh.” There was a short while of silence before he carefully took your hand. “I'm sorry, Bonnie.”

But you did not answer, annoyance filling your brain at the lack of sincereness in his voice. You pushed yourself further into the wraith's embrace.

“Bonnie? Love?”

You closed your eyes and heard Simon’s scoff.

You heaved out a sigh, staring at the white clouds blotting the blue sky. The wind brushed your skin, making your dress flatter against the grass that prickled your bare back and delivered the scent of the flowers surrounding you. You had never been in a garden before, barely even touched the grass or walked on a field without fearing for your life. But in this place, one you would and could call a cage, you found an unexpected warmth and comfort.

Well, except for the blasted incubus next to you, who hadn’t probably blinked for a few minutes now, eyes as blue as the sky never leaving your face. You still hadn’t answered him when he had been relentlessly apologizing to you, much to Simon’s amusement.

“Love, won’t ya talk to me?” he cooed, and you averted your gaze as he peered into your sight. “Please?”

“I’d be down on my knees if I were you,” the siren’s silvery voice made its way to your eyes, and from your peripheral, you noticed him walking toward you. He sat down next to you and extended a clenched fist to the wraith. “Good call stopping by her room, Ghost.”

“Consent is the key,” Simon remarked, making you roll your eyes, and adjust your head on his lap as he bumped his fist with the talking fish.

“Go to hell,” Johnny glowered at the both of them.

“I dunno ‘bout that,” Kyle leaned down on you and ran his fingers along your jaw. You leaned to his touch, watching his lips curve to a satisfied smile before you latched yours onto his. Quickly, he responded, tracing his tongue over your lips and you parted them, to let him in, but your attention was stolen by a thing hovering in the sky, slowly descending.

You pulled away from Kyle, squinting your eyes at the being, and raised your brow upon realization it was John. Ah, right, dragons can fly.

As he neared, the wind began to blow hard, and Kyle pulled you close to him, shielding you from the harsh breeze, which soon died down when the King touched down.

“Gained intel about the party,” Price fished out some papers from his pocket and handed them to his brothers, before dropping to his knees. He picked up your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips. “My Queen.”

“John,” you simply replied and looked over your shoulder, his words about the upcoming party catching your interest, only to watch Johnny frown upon the contents of the paper.

“That leech is coming?” questioned the incubus, raising a brow at the dragon.

“Graves?” you couldn’t help but wonder. As far as you knew, Graves was the only one who got called ‘Leech’ by his fellow monsters.

“A different kind,” Jonathan intervened. “That thing’s more like an octopus.”

Simon threw the paper away. “Fuckin’ tentacles.”

“Well, Graves is also coming,” Kyle answered on their behalves, making you turn your attention back to him. “But he is not who we are concerned about.”

You frowned. “Who, then?”

The siren sighed. “In the deep sea, there are two kingdoms that have always been in bad blood, and war could break out any minute with one wrong move. That’s my kingdom, the Sirens, and the Krakens.” He handed you the paper, letting you read what was written in it. “And their king, famously known as ‘Konig’ is going to attend the party, when he hadn’t been for as long as we didn’t.”

You found the name he mentioned on the paper. “What’s bad about that?”

“He was at your auction,” Johnny fessed and scoffed. “Why would he even go, he didn’t even buy a female this time.”

“Because of her,” Simon nodded at your way. “I have a feeling he got a word about her before we even laid our eyes on her. If Price wasn’t any faster, she would have been . . .” he trailed off.

You sighed and plopped back down on the grass. “What’s new about that? If he was the one with me now—”

“You would have been dead already,” Simon finished.

As though a bucket of cold water had been thrown at you, you froze in your place, his words repeating over and over again in your mind. You had heard of this Konig, before, from the news and Graves, and Simon’s statement wasn’t far off. The King of Krakens was infamous for killing every woman he was with for unknown reasons. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also known for murdering his own men.

He was the embodiment of monstrosity, the pinnacle of all mortals, the horror of every race.

To think that he was there in the crowd just as you were being sold, watching in the shadows, about to get his hands on you, before Price swept in, made your heart hammer against your ribs. And it only led your mind further down into the hole that maybe, you were lucky to be here, after all.

“One more thing,” John spoke, breaking into your reverie, fiddling with your fingers with his rough ones. “The females will have to perform something.”

“Perform?” You echoed in a meek voice, getting uncomfortable with how the conversation was going.

“Yes, it’s like a . . .” He smacked his lips. “Showcase, or to strike a deal, a trade. If a monster happens to like another female than the one he bought, he can trade with another monster. But if the monster is satisfied with the one he’s got, then nothing will—”

You sat up. “You’re not—” You gripped tight on his hand. “You’re not going to trade me, are you?” You gazed into his eyes, your vision slightly blurring at the welling tears, which you fought back by blinking. “I don’t know what kind of performance I can do, I’m not used to crowds, but I’m–I’m beginning to like it here—”

He cut you off, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that burned the air from your lungs.

Stalemate.

Someone will deserve an Oscar. Also, as stated, there will be "scenes" with Konig, and he will be an antagonist for better or worse, along with some other canon characters. If you don't like it, shoo--I mean, feel free to not read, because I don't intend to write him in the way that the readers will like him.

He may be good in my other fanfic, but here? If you are up to, uhm, real like for real real, dub-con/non-con things, then wait for Konig. I guess. But he won't be the end game.

Remember, This is a TF 141 fanfic!

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

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Taglist: @cringeycookies, @sunndust, @noonespecial475, @spooky-skeletonie, @casualunknownrunaway, @lialucis, @tanaari, @mc-cos-charm, @demonic-bird, @thriving-n-jiving, @teenagellamaangel, @nightriver99, @drenix004

[angelofchaos001]

Some AU Writings

(This is a silly mix of the Splitmind AU and @thunder-wolf64 's Sizzling Waters AU, I was struck with a burst of inspiration and didn't want it going to waste)

What if I gave Sizzle a mother without the brain damage...hmmmm...

Splitmind Arti to the "rescue" >=3

(Writing under cut)

* * * * * * * * * *

Sizzle had been nothing but distraught since he lost Kelp.

How could things ever be the same? Or be better? That was his best friend.

Scratch that, it was his only friend.

Gone in an instant.

He wanted to curl up and cry himself to sleep every cycle since then. But he couldn't. He had to keep himself alive, but also because of-

"Pup? We need to be on our way now. I've let you sleep in as long as I can."

He whimpered and rolled over in the shelter, looking up at his mother. He wanted to be able to call her that and love her. To want to be close to her and love the affection she tried to show.

But something inside of him stopped him every time. Some little voice in the back of his head that didn't trust her, didn't like her, knew she was family but couldn't treat her like it.

"Just . . . go hunt for little," he said, so quietly that it was nothing but a hushed whisper. "I need more time."

"I don't want to leave you alone in here," she said. Her voice had a forced sweetness in it, trying to cover that rough, scratchy tone with milk and honey. Sizzle didn't even think she was faking it, she just didn't seem good with those softer emotions.

She was a blaze of fire at every turn, shouting and hissing whenever the slightest excuse for her to do so popped up. She was ferocious, brutal, and didn't - couldn't - stop herself from tearing anything that threatened her apart.

He hated it.

But he wanted to love her.

If he could, he would separate his mother from the violent monster inside of her and bring back what his memories showed of her. The kind protector who scanned the sky for vultures - not as a meal, but instead as a concerned parent.

The one who would pat him and his sister and congratulate them for the batflies they'd struggle to grab.

The soft red fur that he would bury his face in every night, cuddling as close as he could. Now, she felt colder than ever, but still burning with hatred.

"I need more time," he said, a little louder this time.

With a heavy sigh, his mom reached over and stroked her paw along his back. It felt out of place. Like a lizard -

Nope. Not a good metaphor.

Like . . . a garbage worm patting a scavenger. It was wrong. But he still wanted it. It wasn't the touch he would have liked to feel, but it was the only touch he would get.

This was all he had.

"I won't be far. Join me when you're feeling less blue, alright pup?" She tilted her head, and Sizzle felt new thorns stab at his heart. Why did she have to use that saying? Why...?

He gave a halfhearted nod. He thought he heard a contented smile from her. "Good. I'll make sure to get something special for you today. It'll help clear your mind."

As she leapt gracefully out of the shelter, Sizzle found himself yearning for some kind of companionship again, but couldn't find it in him to leave yet. What can I even do now? Where am I going?

I don't want to survive. I want to live. With Burning, and Kelp, and my sister, and -

Tears stung his eyes as he let out a wail. Everyone he had loved, everyone he knew, who he had cared about, was just gone.

He wanted the cycle to bring them back, place them right at his feet and say 'Sorry, here's everyone you love back'. But things didn't work like that.

Sizzle took a tuft of fur near the end of his tail and started twisting it gently. Was his tail getting messier each day? Had he really been neglecting his appearance that much?

Carefully, he began to pick through the matted patches and clean up the loose strands. Dirt and debris came loose as he worked, some things so deeply tangled he wondered how it even happened to begin with.

His dark green fur started to scatter across the shelter floor, bits that he couldn't work through yanked away with nothing more than a yelp and a pull.

The yelp of a blue lizard, scared and confused.

The pull of the harpoon, dragging it away into the sky.

Sizzle cried out and immediately stopped what he was doing. "Aaargh! Why? Why did it have to be then?!"

He was only gone for a moment. He'd found a new path.

He had been so excited to share that information with his mom.

And instead he got to watch as his only friend was murdered without a chance to fight back.

He was almost grown-up, but in so many ways, Sizzle still felt like nothing more than the small, helpless pup he was on that day, so long ago.

"Sister . . . " he whimpered, closing his eyes and thinking hard of what she'd looked like. "I don't blame you. I still love you. I hope you're out there somewhere, that the cycle was kind to you and you're happy now."

"I hope that Blazing is alive and well, and if she isn't, then . . . then I hope that she was brought back into a life much better than the one she had, as amazing as that was. I hope she can have a great family without anything happening to her or the ones she loved."

"And Kelp, I want nothing more than for you to be happy. To be loved. Cared for by someone special who will never let you go. Never let you down. Like I did . . . I'm so sorry, Kelp."

Many cycles now, he'd been reflecting on the ones he'd lost and wishing them well. In a cruel world, he could only hope that fate would take pity on them, give them credit for how hard they tried to be good.

"I love you all. I hope that someday, maybe not today, but someday . . . I'll see you again."

He hugged his tail around his body, curling up in a ball. It was his safe space, something where he couldn't be harmed. At least . . . not harmed a lot.

Sizzle's ear perked at the sound of a tunnel being used. He flicked to attention immediately, looking at the shelter opening where the marks flickered brightly.

The color was unfamiliar. It was maroon, like his mom, but . . . too red to be her. Too dark.

For a moment, he panicked, thinking it was one of those horrifying red lizards he heard about, but it wasn't the bright, aggressive red color that they were. This was more muted.

Could it be a scavenger? His heart leapt, thinking that it could be someone he cared about, finally coming to find him. But mom said she wasn't going to be far, and she'd never let a scavenger get this close to the shelter where I am . . .

So what is it?

Every muscle was tensed to run if needed. He'd outmaneuvered legitimate predators in these shelters before, thanks to his explosive capabilities. As the light dimmed and the shape started to emerge, it was a slugcat.

It was just his mom.

He let out a breath, though he wasn't relieved to see her. "Hey . . . " he said, glancing towards the ground. "What did you get for me?"

"I didn't get anything," a confused voice that was also MOST DEFINITELY NOT HIS MOTHER asked. "Who are you?"

"I - Uh -" Panic seized him as he suddenly shot past the figure in the entrance and through the pipe, emerging on the other size into a moist area filled with heaps of waste, and an acrid smell pierced his nose with every breath.

He didn't know where to run to. Up? Would he be fast enough? What if this slugcat could climb faster than him??

Could he hide in the nearby pool of water until they moved on? Doubtful. He wasn't the best at holding his breath, and the thought of being fully submerged again paralyzed him with fear.

No. There's no leeches here, Sizzle. It's fine.

His body refused to obey, frozen in place and shaking as the figure followed him out, blinking in the light.

"Woah," they said, glancing him up and down. "You look . . . like you've not been taking care of yourself. Want me to get some of those tangles out?"

Sizzle didn't know what to say. This strange slugcat looked similar to his mother, dark maroon fur, scars, prickly fur, and even had their left eye all scratched up. But that same eye was also wildly different and weird from the other one.

Their right was a pure, glossy white, much like their actual mother had. But the left was pitch black, save for a tiny cyan pupil that stared down at him intensely.

"M-Maybe?" He managed, but then more words tumbled out of his mouth. "What's wrong with your eye?"

"This one?" She asked, pointing to the left eye. He nodded, and she let out a warm laugh. It was the kind of sound that made him relax, just a little bit. "Oh, it's nothing. It was scratched out by a scavenger a long time ago, but then Pebbles fixed it up for me."

"W-Why is it all . . . " his paws waved wildly, searching for a description that didn't rude, but nothing came to mind.

"Screwed up? That's a long story that I don't feel like explaining right now." She took a few steps towards Sizzle, and he crouched down, ready to explode away and leave her with smoke in her face. "Just let me help you first."

As she crouched by his tail and gently began picking through tangles, Sizzle still felt weirded out by this. Every thought told him to run, but he couldn't escape now. If he played along, maybe they'd let him go unharmed. He took this time to study the slugcat more.

Aside from her eye, there were many other nasty stars on her ear, neck, tail, back, everywhere. She had shaggy, spiked-up fur and little golden accents on her paws. Her only accessories were some earrings, a pearl bracelet, and bandages along her arm. As he stared at the pearl, it looked eerily familiar . . .

"It looks just like mom's eyes!"

"She'll love it!"

"The scavengers aren't even here right now."

He flared his fur and scooted away, heart racing. "Don't - I - Where did you get that pearl?" He demanded, pressing himself against the ground.

The slugcat looked away and rubbed her normal eye. "I . . . do you really want to hear the whole story? It's long, sad, and it doesn't have a happy ending."

"I'll listen," he said, trying to hide the shake in his voice. "I promise."

"Alright then. See, I used to have two beautiful, absolutely perfect pups. I loved them to pieces. They were my whole world. You're likely not old enough to have pups of your own yet, but someday, you'll understand."

"No, no, I know how that feels," Sizzle shuddered. Why did this stranger's story seem to line up with his life?

She smiled softly and continued on. "Cada was the older one. By about . . . " she trailed off and shook her head. " . . . I can't remember anymore. But he was blue, and a little bit mischievous."

That sounds like my sister.

"The other one was green, almost like you. Her name was Fume, both because she was like the pale wisps you see from the acid, and because of her fiery temper. Just like her mom . . . "

The slugcat trailed off again, but cleared her throat and carried on. "Anywho, I was passing a toll with them by my side. Fume was on my back, and I had Cada by his hand. Well, I stopped to take a rock and give it a bit of bang, and I guess . . . I took my eyes off of Cada for too long."

No. It can't be. She can do this too. She was at the scavenger toll. That pearl . . .

The stranger took a deep breath, like she was steadying herself. Sizzle noted how her claws flexed and dug into the wet ground beneath her, making him uneasy. "Cada tried to take a pearl from their toll. This very pink one right here. He brought it to me eagerly. I told him to put it back before the scavengers noticed, but they'd already seen."

Sister . . .

"I tried to run with them both. But I had to leap over a tall wall, and Cada slipped from my hand when I did. I still regret not jumping back to try and save him." She pressed her paws against her eyes, forcing back tears. "I loved him so much. I never got to tell him how proud of him I was. And that very same bomb I stopped to make was used against me. I leapt over a pool of water - full of leeches - and the scavengers threw it at me."

His torn ear flicked, the old wound aching as the story seemed so familiar.

"I could only watch as they dragged Fume away. I . . . I couldn't save either of them."

Could that have been me? He thought, blood running cold. Was I one different moment away from being pulled by those leeches and drowning?

The strange slugcat blinked, and Sizzle saw tears only from her right eye. "I'm . . . sorry if that is hard to hear, but you did agree to hear it. I warned you."

"It's weird . . . " he murmured, getting louder as he spoke. "That sounds exactly like what happened to me. My mom could tell you that exact same story, more or less."

Her ears perked. "But . . . you're not Fume. I can tell by looking at you."

"I'm Sizzling Waters, but, everyone calls me Sizzle." He shuffled his paws awkwardly. "You can too, if you want."

She nodded slowly. "That's a scavenger name. Well, pleased to meet you, Sizzle. Call me Artificer, or Arti for short." With a flourish, she stuck out her paw.

"That's . . . " he stopped, thinking. That's mom's name, too. What do I even make of this?

Sizzle gently took it and shook it. She was warm, but it wasn't the fury his mother held. "It's . . . what?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Artificer's my mom's name, too."

She blinked, then laughed. "Oh, what a coincidence! Then, I guess I'll give you something different to call me by. Must be pretty awkward if you called me the same way you called your mom."

Sizzle stayed silent. But she's so different. She hasn't killed my family.

"Anywho, call me Ruffian, then. It's what Pebbles calls me sometimes, he doesn't mind sharing the nickname." She grinned. "I used to hate it, but it grew on me."

"Alright then . . . R-Ruffian." He shuddered and shook out his fur.

"Why are you all alone out here, I must ask. If your mother is anything like me, she'd tear up the Wastes until she found you."

"Actually, she's not far from here." That's what she said, anyway. "Maybe you could talk to her."

Ruffian laughed. "Perhaps! I do wonder, if she apparently is so similar to me, how her experience with the Chieftain has gone. I doubt it's as happy as mine is, but the beginning may be the same."

"The . . . what?" Sizzle had heard of the 'Chieftain' before, but never really knew who they were. Just that they were a scavenger leader.

"Oh, the Scavenger Chieftain. Clouds of Endless Smog, his name is, but I just call him Smog." She smiled. "It's funny. I used to really hate scavengers."

Sizzle bristled. He couldn't handle this again. Hearing about how someone hated scavengers so much they went on a rampage against them. My own mother did that.

"But . . . now I can see that they were just acting out a bit." Sizzle blinked, relaxing, willing to hear her out. "Cada took a pearl. He stole. It's that simple. Even if they were my pups, and I can still be mad, I can't be mad at every scavenger for it."

Sizzle curled his tail around his paws and listened. "What did you do?"

"Hm?"

"I mean . . . after they killed your pups?"

She sighed, like she was exhausted. "Something very stupid and very foolish of me. I went after them. Slaughtered every single one I saw, cleared out entire tolls single-handedly. I even went for the Chief himself. I killed him and took his mask."

Sizzle felt sick. She was just another scavenger killer, after all. She would have wiped Burning without a second thought. He shook. Would she hurt him for being raised with them? She recognized his name was a scavenger's, but . . .

"I changed my ways, though. Ascension is messy, and with my primal desires, I almost became an echo. Riv pulled me out, thank goodness, but . . . I had to change. I made things right."

Almost none of that made sense to Sizzle, but he nodded anyway. "Now . . . what do you think of scavengers?"

She smiled. "Well, I'm dating Smog, so there's that."

His jaw dropped. "You mean, the same one that you -"

"I know, I know, crazy, but . . . " she giggled. "He wanted to keep an eye on me, and with me fixing things, he eventually just fell for me." Rufian's eyes were much softer as she looked down. "Guess I did too, huh?"

Sizzle was about to say something else when he caught movement behind her. This, he knew, was his actual mother. Stalking up behind Ruffian, waiting to strike and take her out like a threat.

Not again.

"Ruffian, turn around," he whispered. "And then run."

He watched his mom's ears flatten. Was he too loud? Did she hear him, trying to escort his maybe-friend to safety?

Will she punish me if they escape?

She turned around, but Sizzle realized it was too slow. She'd never escape in time. His mom leapt out, sparks flying from her jaws and smoke curling from her fur as the loud PANG rocked his eardrums.

"PAWS OFF OF MY PUP!" She howled. Sizzle had never heard her so viscerally angry. Through the blur of her fast movement, her eyes were nothing but narrowed slits of hatred and anger.

Artificer barreled into Ruffian, hooking her claws into the soft maroon fur and provoking a shriek of pain. Sizzle felt frozen in place, except for moving backwards out of the way of the fight. He couldn't tell if she was bleeding yet - not against her fur color.

Ruffian kicked out with her back legs, clawing into his mom and throwing her off into the ground beneath them. He wanted to shout at them to stop fighting. To stop trying to kill each other.

Because losing either of them would kill him.

"You know NOTHING about him!" Artificer spat, hauling herself up and into the air again, grabbing Ruffian by the ears and pulling her down. "NOTHING about what he's been through! And he's MINE!"

She shrieked, before her tail seemed to burst into sparks and create such a loud noise Sizzle yelped and covered his ears. He could feel it ringing, the high-pitched agony, and he wasn't even as close as his mom was. Through the discomfort, he looked and saw Artificer covering her ears as well, her tail flicking and building up a charge.

Ruffian instead leapt away onto a higher ledge, grabbing a spear and pointing it at her. "Yield, and we both go home alive."

Sizzle hated hearing those words.

"Never," Artificer hissed, scoring the dirt with her claws and leaping up after Ruffian. "You picked your fate when you messed with my pup!"

He lost sight of the scuffle for a moment, blinking into the bright sky to watch the mother - and the mourning - rake at each other. Ruffian seemed to be intentionally not using the spear, a sign that gave Sizzle hope that both Artificers would come out of this fine.

Please say nobody dies.

Please.

Ruffian's claws tore out a chunk of his mother's fur, while she clamped down on their neck. Sizzle's heart sank, his fear and nervousness rising as Artificer jumped through the air, dragging Ruffian with her, and landing in front of Sizzle.

She let them go, blood dripping from her jaws and pooling around the body. "Go on, pup," she said, no emotion visible on her face at all, "Finish the job."

"W-What?!" He gasped. Was she insane? He - He couldn't. He could never, not in a million cycles, do this.

"Finish. The Job." She hissed, her voice grating a little bit. "This lunatic decided to mess with you. Probably filled your head with dangerous ideas. Maybe even tried to hurt you. Don't you want revenge?"

He whimpered, curling his tail around him. What if this slugcat was his sister? Or Burning? Or any of his tribemates? As unlikely as that sounded, the cycles worked in mysterious ways. All he thought, looking at the bloody fur before him, was I can't do this.

He didn't have to. Ruffian's paw shot out, grabbing Artificer by the chest and dragging her to ground, staggering upright while still bleeding. "I won't die that easy, you mangy mutt."

She was breathing hard, and shaking a little, but alive. Artificer snarled and twisted around, but Ruffian brought her foot down and pinned her on her back. "Stay down. I may not have a spear, but I know where your arteries are."

Artificer growled, but to Sizzle's amazement, didn't struggle. Was she planning to do something else?

Ruffian sighed, rubbing her neck and wincing. "Yeesh, that hurts a lot. I thought I knew pain over here, but I guess - " she stopped to cough and shiver.

"Ruffian?" Sizzle's voice was quiet. "Are you . . . going to be okay?"

"It won't kill me. Pebbles gives me all I need to survive these things. It does hurt, though."

"Serves you right," Arti spat. Ruffian dug her claws in, prompting his mother to hiss and writhe on the ground.

"I can't afford to leave this place right now," they started, sighing. "I won't make it out of here before the rain comes, and I have business to attend to anyway."

"What kind of business, pup thief?" Artificer grumbled something else to herself, and Ruffian groaned.

"The scavengers hate me again, for one. Probably because I look like you, apparently have the same name, and we share the same trauma."

The silence afterwards was deafening. Artificer blinked a few times, then quietly said, "Don't you want to wipe them out too, then?"

"Not anymore," Ruffian said, stepping back and letting her get up. "I stayed because I want to talk to you. If we really are so similar, then I can help you change too."

"No," Artificer hissed and her fur bristled. "They have to die for what they did. For my pups - "

"Is it even about them anymore?!" Ruffian shouted, tearing up again. "If you're me, then that answer is a resounding no! It stopped being about the pups long ago, and now it's only about a senseless slaughter!"

Sizzle buried his face in his fur. Is that true? This strange slugcat . . . is she going to get through to my mom? Will she ever change? Is it possible?

Artificer was silent, but disappeared over a ledge for a moment and came back with a scavenger corpse. Then another. "Here. I got these two, easy pickings, split off from their patrol group. I can at least send you off with something to eat."

Ruffian blinked, then sighed. "Iterators, the scavengers are going to kill me for this, but I need to eat." She crouched down and tore out chunks of meat, wolfing them down hungrily. Sizzle was petrified.

How?! HOW CAN ANYONE EAT THEM WITH HALF A HEART?!

Artificer cut off a piece of one and tossed it to Sizzle as well. "Come on, pup. You too."

"I'm . . . I'm not hungry," he murmured, looking away. "Please."

Ruffian paused, staring at him. "You're skinny as a pole, you must be starving right now. Eat. It will give you strength."

He shivered. This was wrong. So wrong, on so many levels. "I'm not . . . I'm really not . . . "

Artificer narrowed her eyes, but Ruffian dug through a small pouch hidden in her fur and pulled out a bluefruit, passing it to Sizzle. "Eat this, then. I keep some on me for Ranger to eat when he gets in a funk."

Sizzle's stomach growled. He didn't want to accept food from a stranger, but . . . hunger got the better of him as he gulped it down in nearly one bite. "T-Thank you, Ruffian . . . "

Artificer shot her a dirty look, and she shook her head. "Don't mention it. I carry spare food for my pup, like a good mother does."

"I thought - You said your pups died," Sizzle said, curious but worried. "What do you mean you have one now?"

"Ranger. I call him that, since it's what he wants me to, though he looks so similar to Fume that it pains me. I found him all alone, so I took him in as my own. I know he has a family now, but I just . . . can't let him go."

Arti smirked. "See? I don't hold my pup here against his will. He wants to be with me. That makes me a better mother than you."

Sizzle blinked. Do I want to be with her? Or do I just want to be with somebody?

Ruffian narrowed her eyes and bristled. "Don't start comparing. You're lucky yours survived at all."

"And I keep him that way. Where's yours right now, hm? Probably off being eaten by some scrawny lizard." Artificer smirked. Sizzle knew she was trying to agitate Ruffian, but he couldn't find the words to tell her that.

"He's safely hanging with Gourmand right now," she said, her voice lower and much more threatening now. "I can be confident letting mine out of my sight."

Artificer flicked her tail. "So can I. I left Sizzle just this cycle so he could have more time to recover from that awful shock of losing his lizard so suddenly."

Ruffian's eyes widened, and she turned to Sizzle. "Was - I'm so sorry, what color was your friend?"

"Pet," Arti spat, correcting her.

Sizzle stammered, trying not to get caught up in grief. "He - He was Blue. A King Vulture got him. It was - it - " he couldn't cry here. Not now. Not in front of his mom and this other strange slugcat.

She sighed in relief. "I was so worried for a moment. I had a nice tasty white one just a few cycles ago. But, no blue ones. If it makes you feel any better, heck, I've killed plenty of King Vultures."

"That doesn't help," he moaned, clutching his head.

"You're scaring him," Artificer said, huffing. "Now, go run along already. Or I'll chase you off again."

"You can stop threatening me," Ruffian said, glaring. "Sizzle, I hope to see you again sometime. You give me memories of a happier time. Stay safe out here."

Artificer stamped her foot before he could respond. "Hush up and go already," she growled, picking up the nearby spear that had been dropped in the fight.

Sizzle sighed. "Stay safe too, R-Ruffian. Okay?"

She nodded, and turned, preparing to leap again. Sizzle felt sad watching her go, but knew it was for the better. I'd rather have scavengers anyway. Not more slugcats. I hate my own species. What a mistake I am.

Artificer clutched the spear tightly, slowly walking up to Ruffian. Sizzle's alarm bells started to go off in his brain, but he was too slow to say anything. Ruffian's tail sparked, she reached her paws into the sky -

Artificer stabbed her, straight through the back.

Sizzle leapt up, rushing to Ruffian's side without even thinking. "NO!" he screamed. "No, NO!"

He was crying. No, sobbing was the better term for it. "Why would you do that?!" he yelled, looking at his mom, who only shrugged and wiped some blood off her fur. "She was leaving!"

"I had to teach her a lesson somehow. A warning to others, perhaps."

Sizzle wanted to be mad. To keep shouting and screaming. But it just wasn't his nature to do that. He just looked down at Ruffian, who was convulsing and gingerly touching the spear running through her chest.

"Ruffian . . . please, don't die. Come back, okay? Come back and be fine, please."

She reached out with a shaking paw, but couldn't reach Sizzle. " . . . I'll come back. I . . . I always do."

"I'm so, so sorry for what mom just did to you. I - I - " he broke down, curling beside her body.

"Shh . . . " she tried to smile. "I'll wake up . . . like everything else does. Your mom is just - " she stopped to cough, blood still pooling from the wound and from her mouth as well. " - just trying to to look out for you."

He didn't know why he cared for this stranger so much. Maybe just because they were willing to talk to him. They weren't a threat to him. And she had been nothing but kind to him.

Why did mom do that?

She was leaving.

She didn't do anything to me.

As Ruffian blinked, her right eye seemed to flick to match her left one as well all of a sudden. Sizzle didn't even notice until her faint and raspy voice had changed to a much stronger one, though still clearly pained and dying.

"You. Disgusting feral beast. I thought I'd never see you again. But clearly, you're some version of my partner that never moved on."

"I urge you, specifically, to go west, past the farm arrays. I don't care that you're bound to this world. Do everyone a favor. Solve the universal problem that you cause by existing."

"You are a stain in this world. A violent beast that needs to be changed or removed. You have no right to call that pup yours, when clearly, you two are so different."

Ruffian's eyes closed finally, and Artificer's ears flattened. "Finally, it shuts up and dies proper."

Sizzle took a moment to try and process what she'd said. About going west. His mom being a violent stain on this world.

He wondered who the voice was.

Why they only talked now.

But a corpse couldn't give him answers.

"Don't you feel better now, pup?" his mom asked, leaning down. "It's much quieter."

" . . . let's go," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Let's just go sleep again."

she sighed. "My pup, the cycle has only just begun. The day is still bright."

"I don't care. I want to sleep again."

Artificer sighed and shook her head. "Fine. But next cycle, you're coming out with me, and you're finally going to eat proper and bulk up again."

Sizzle slipped into the shelter, looking back at the bloodstained red body left lying on the ground. His mom had grabbed her and was dragging it right outside the shelter as a 'warning to others', holding the corpse like a broken toy.

Ruffian . . . Artificer . . . I'm so sorry.

May your next life be far happier than this one was.

* * * * * * * * * *

GAH I went overboard but WRITING!

I just wanted to write something happier and then still crush Sizzle's hopes for happiness.

Enjoy this entire novel I wrote, lol -

Im not tagging others or doing proper tags because I am tired-

[bunnakit]

Since you were looking for asks I was wondering what you thought about Hush-Hush since I don't think I've seen you mention it yet since it came out? I'm usually skeptical of collabs but when it was announced I went back and watched a bunch of Be:first's stuff to see what kind of stuff they did and I hit Mainframe and Masterplan and, like, obviously they're commentary on Japanese salaryman culture on the face of them. But from a loretiny-lens I was like 'ohhhhhhhh these would fit seamlessly into the Z universe'. And then Hush-Hush itself came out and I was absolutely delighted by it. I was sitting there vibing along with the song, knowing that there were always supposed to be more members of the resistance than just the the Black Pirates and I was like 'ok, if Be:First wants to be part of the Japanese wing of the resistance in the Z universe, I am actually completely cool with this'. I also thought the connection to Wonderland with the Escher Stairs, and the (potential) tie in to whatever event fractured off the Halazia universe with the strong use of the eclipse distortions effecting gravity were super interesting. All the line references in the song to being undercover which could potentially tie into Work and its one mention of hiding from (android) guardians. I'd be really interested to hear what you thought about it.

hey anon sorry it took me a bit to get to this, my health has been in the shitter.

for my basic lizard brain thoughts on hush-hush:

i find your lore theories fascinating. i can absolutely see the direction and think it's such a fun idea to play with. personally, i don't tend to apply collabs to lore just because i don't want to take away from the other group's message or whatever theme they run with (this is my first exposure to BE:FIRST but i'll def be looking into them more.)

i'm also very much one of those people that doesn't think all of ATEEZ's MVs apply to lore - some may have nods to the lore but don't really progress the narrative (Youth, IT's you, Everything, MATZ) so i don't dwell on them too much story-wise. Hush-Hush is a bit like that for me, i think they did what Chung Ha did and applied some homages to ATEEZ lore as a little respectful nod but i don't know that it was anything so intentional as to tie into lore - but again, i really like your thoughts on it and think that's such a fun take on it and such a fun playground to play in!

i do think your mention of Wonderland is also very very interesting because i noticed a few things as well - i'm so sorry, i'm about to be so pretentious and annoying. i haven't commented on this a lot publicly because i feel like it's very much me being overly analytical and all of it could be a coincidence but i'm starting to think it's absolutely not.

(more thoughts below the read more, just trying to keep from clogging people's dashes too much lol - i'm also sorry if the photos don't load side by side, tumblr sure likes to fuck me on formatting sometimes)

Hush-Hush is very, very similar to Wonderland in the way that it uses shape language to back up the message conveyed by the lyrics and overall theme.

'the fuck is shape language?' okay so shapes in media actually hold symbolic meaning - there are different interpretations based on culture, themes, etc. but here are the themes and meanings i generally look out for.

you'll see a lot of use of squares/rectangles throughout both Wonderland and Hush-Hush ↴

squares/rectangles can be used to represent oppression, imprisonment, control, and similar ideas. you'll see it rather blatantly in Hush-Hush as they directly say 'too late to notice, you can't capture us' while framed in a square train cart and going so far as Sota making a square gesture with his fingers. an overt message conveyed in Wonderland is Wooyoung quite literally chained and confined on a square pedestal.

another shape that links the MVs is the use of triangles ↴

in a stark contrast to squares, triangles can represent rebellion, dissent, strength (tho this is shared with several other shapes,) and truth (which will tie into the final shape i'll address.) it's pretty obvious how this ties in with almost everything both BE:FIRST and ATEEZ represent and in my personal opinion it is very fun to keep an eye out for triangles throughout ATEEZ's media.

the final shape i've noticed a lot of is circles ↴

circles can be used to symbolize unity, truth, wholeness, harmony, enlightenment. this is obviously apparent in Wonderland where the lyrics repeatedly reference finding the truth, the door to the truth, etc.

all these shapes used in conjunction with each other create a blueprint narrative of ATEEZ's lore - overcoming oppression and control through rebellion and strength of self in the pursuit of truth and harmony. i imagine you can apply the same theory to many of BE:FIRST's videos (it'll be very fun for me to look through later and see if this is true) but Hush-Hush definitely has very obvious nods to this message.

this symbol is also shown in the beginning of the MV and i'm not entirely sure what it's supposed to be, if it's something related to BE:FIRST, a map of this metaphysical city, or something else entirely, but you'll see it incorporates all of these shapes as well.

if we want to touch on the hexagon in the center hexagons can be used to convey coherence, cooperation, connection, and balance.

the message of cooperation and connection is very interesting when applied to Hush-Hush as there are a few gestures throughout the MV that nod to a connection and cooperation between BE:FIRST and ATEEZ (which lends even more credit to your own theory anon!)

you'll see in this screenshot BE:FIRST holds their hands out, palms down, towards ATEEZ while the ATEEZ boys hold their hands palms up, as if to meet BE:FIRST's in unity.

here you can see Ryuhei??? and Mingi nearly forming a direct connection through touch (and perhaps a very loose 'Creation of Adam' reference if we want to squint and tilt our head 90 degrees?)

there are also continual references to escape and freedom which is backed with the visuals of several modes of transportation; cars, planes, the train, etc. this combined with the lyric 'we're living in a metafiction' (artificiality, parody, imitation) really solidifies the desire for escape and freedom from whatever force is oppressing them and keeping them in this warped reality.

and then we have the Escher stairs you mentioned being a theme between the two ↴

the sharp angles can also be a reference to shapes, especially in the case of Wonderland, but to me the stairs have always represented the uphill battle in front of them. sometimes following the truth, pursuing your goals, and holding to your own personal morals can be a struggle that seems insurmountable.

there's no one definitive meaning to Escher's 'Relativity" but many sources mention an altered or warped perspective, a loss of gravity (as you mentioned,) and an infinite labyrinth. regardless of the meaning, i do think they're also a great visual used in conjunction with the idea of a metafiction or warped reality.

if you wanted you could maybe also attribute ATEEZ's break through the glass as an escape from this reality or a separate reality that kept them isolated from BE:FIRST.

idk these are all just my own reads and interpretation of things, i truly think all takes are valid and i think that's the beauty of ATEEZ and videos like this. we all have different ideas and theories but at the end of the day they almost always lead us to the same conclusion, the journey there just looks a little different.

if you read this far i'm kissing your head. please anyone ALWAYS feel free to ask my thoughts on MVs, even old ones. i'm always looking to babble about lore and symbolism and shit.

[acutiewithagun]

Taglist: @oleander-nin @itsyagurlchip @radicallxser

Word count: 1,247

Trigger warnings: mention of police, sirens, and crime scenes. mentions of blood, death and injuries.

Mic Testing - Chapter Six - Warnings Come In Purple

The faint sound of sirens stirred your bout of sleep. Melvet nuzzles against your cheek as you sit up. You gave the small yokai a pat as you got out of bed and yawned. Slumber pulling at your tired brain. The quiet skitter of your spider followed you as you rubbed sleep from your eyes. It wasn't uncommon to hear sirens in this crime filled city, however it never stayed this close to your apartment.

You spot your roommate also out to see what the commotion was at three in the morning. The two of you briefly waved as you both walked out of your apartment and headed to the sidewalk.

Once outside you spot police cars, officers, and a police tape placed over an alleyway. It was right next to the building where you had your meeting the day prior. Curiously your roommate pulled you closer so you could investigate.

They always had an odd fascination with crime and mysteries. So you were used to being dragged into wacky situations. However not at three in the freaking morning. So you weren't too thrilled to be brought into a nearby alleyway to spy. They shushed you as they peered into the crime scene.

The officers were talking in hushed tones that made it difficult to eavesdrop. Suddenly you heard the name of your interviewer, Mike. Your roommate went stiff and pulled violently on your shirt. You gaze over to what they were pointing at and also froze in place.

Inside the alleyway lay a tarp, underneath peeked out blood stains. Your tired brain quickly woke up and started piecing a horror story together. Before you knew it you gagged and quickly covered your mouth as your roommate quickly pulled you towards the apartment building. Thoughts swirled in your mind. Is he ok? Did he die? Was it a mugging gone wrong? What happened!?

The only thing that pulled you away from your worries was your roommate gently shoving you onto your bed and Melvet snuggling against you. You snapped back to reality and waved to your roommate as they left. You softly stroked the small critter as it churred to comfort you.

Before long you had eventually fallen asleep somehow, only night terrors plagued your dreams. All about the possibilities of what could have happened to the man you had met a mere few hours ago. You were shaken awake quickly by your roommate who dragged you into the living room where the local news was playing.

Which was odd as neither of you watched the news much. However watching for a bit made you realize why your roommate had done what they did. On the screen was a story about what happened to Mike. Apparently he was brutally maimed early that morning. He was lucky to survive with amnesia and was absolutely disabled for the rest of his life.

Your hand somehow made it over your mouth as you stared at the disgusting photos of his injuries. He was very pushy, but he definitely didn't deserve that.

You flinched in surprise to see them interviewing Sabrina about what may have happened. The lizard yokai tearfully choked up her story. "Last I saw Mike he was waving to us at Random Radio Studio as he left to go home for the night. He isn't a bad person and never would have warranted his injuries. I'm so disappointed that I won't be able to work with him anymore." She wiped away tears as she was walked away from the news reporter by another lizard yokai. A smug smile graced her lips for a quick moment before she left the screen.

You shuddered and gazed over at your roommate who didn't seem to notice. You shifted in your seat as they interviewed a police officer that claimed they hadn't caught the culprit yet and to be wary. Then the story ended moving onto things like the weather.

That was your queue to leave, but as you stood there was a knock on the door. Seeing as you were already standing you walked over and opened the door. Nobody was on the other side and you were about to close the door when a flash of purple at your feet caught your attention. You looked down and it was a wrapped present. The wrapping paper was purple and a neat bow of your favorite color topped it off.

You carefully picked it up and noticed a tag with your name on it. There was no other name to identify where it came from. You gazed around to see if the person was hiding before hesitantly walking back into the apartment, closing the door.

"Who was it?" Your roommate's voice chimes from the kitchen and you turn to look at them. "No one? Just this box addressed to me." They frowned and ushered you to their side. You obliged as they were making eggs on the stove. They handed you their spatula and took the box to inspect it. That gave you a distraction as you worked on the eggs.

Your roommate turned the box in every which way before shaking it violently. You flinched at the suddenness of their actions before they pried into the present away from you. They opened the box and let out a disappointed hum.

"What is it?" You turned off the stove top and placed the eggs on a plate. They traded the opened box for their plate with a polite thank you. "Check for yourself. I was really hoping it was a bomb with time." They walked away as you shook your head with a fond smile. Your roommate plopped onto the couch as you headed for your room.

Once inside you shut the door and sat on your bed with the box in your lap. Melvet crawled onto your shoulder and looked into the box, chirping curiously. You scratched the tiny spider, earning sweet purrs, before pulling the item out of the box. It was a small stuffed bunny. It was the same vibrant purple color as the wrapping paper had been. You shifted it around in your hands as you inspected it.

The stuffed toy seems relatively harmless so you placed it on your desk as Melvet hissed at it. "What's wrong, Melvet? Don't like bunnies?" You nuzzled with the small yokai as it pulled away. It jumped on your desk and started biting at the plush animal. You quickly pulled Melvet away from the stuffed bunny and placed the bunny in your dresser. Then you put Melvet on your bed. "Come on, it's just a stuffed animal. It can't hurt you or me."

Melvet still seemed hostile towards the strange gift. You will admit it did seem odd to receive a gift like that. However you figured it was just from Mr Kendly and his wife. They typically would give these types of gifts at random because of how sweet they were. You had an entire shelf full of stuffed animals and toy vehicles just from them. But you figured you'd keep the doll in the dresser until your spider calmed down.

Maybe it was the smell of the foreign toy that made your adorable little pet to freak out. You pushed it off and left the room with said arthropod to hang out with your roommate for a bit. Just to calm your nerves from that hectic morning.

It's just a stuffed purple bunny, what's the worst that could happen?

[actuallytybee]

Sometimes my autism does something I like to call "peasant food time" where I only want like bread, cheese, raw veggies and fruits. Sometimes a bit of grape juice in a wine cup.

Logically yeah I know peasants wouldn't have had access to most of those foods but I have a lizard in my brain so hush

[kalmiaphlox]

If You Give a Vampire a Polymorph Scroll Pt 1

AO3 Link / Masterlist

If you give a vampire a polymorph scroll, he's going to sow a little chaos. When he creates that chaos, he'll probably want someone by his side. When he has that someone, they are going to be very, very naughty.

Alternatively: Astarion turns Kalmia into a little lizard. They commit crimes and have fun because Astarion likes some chaos, and Kalmia will never deny him.

Main Tags: Tiny Dragon, Astarion wants some chaos, petty theft, ruining a festival, fluff

How quaint.

It's just them, all alone in this big house for a few days. No one to disturb, no one to interrupt. That means it's playtime.

His darling lizard is cleaning away, righting whatever mess she made for dinner, leaving it just as-it-was so not even Gale can complain upon their return. 

Oh, how he loves her. 

And how she loves him. 

They need some spice tonight though. Astarion has been plotting this for ages, ever since that first time. 

Kalmia will forgive him, she always does.

With her back to him as she scrubs at the counter tops, he unfurls the scroll in his hand, reading off the words there. Hopefully she doesn't resist the magic too much, he won't be able to escape the punishment for a failed attempt. “Mutatio Forma! ” 

In a burst of purple magic, where once stood a very charming woman, now lies a tiny bronze dragon. The rag she had been holding flops down on her body and she wiggles out in confusion as she takes in her changed appearance with a shriek. “You- Astarion! What do you think you're doing?!”

He sits on a stool with a malicious grin, pulling his legs up to protect them - not that she can hurt him like this. “I just wanted a little fun tonight, is that too much to ask?”

“Henich! Change me back!” She hisses and spits a small stream of celestial fire into the air. Awe, his little wyrm is throwing a tantrum. 

“I shall do no such thing, lizard. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this chance? Ah, ah! Watch the cabinets, you know Gale will notice any scuffs.”

The lizard is trying to reach him but the stool's legs aren't conducive to climbing, she just scrabbles fruitlessly at the wood.

Maybe he feels a little bad, Astarion won't torment his darling for too long when she can't fly. Of course, the second he picks her up around the midsection, the shrinking sickness kicks in and Kalmia is biting onto his wrist and arms like her life depends on it, but no harm comes to him. Funny as the scene is, he can't have her be mindless all night. 

Pulling a leather satchel from his pocket, he produces a small, round treat, “Your mother gave me these, she said it would help. Eat up.” And she does, barely even chewing as the treat goes down the gullet. Ravenous little freak.

Her emerald eyes blink up at him, some semblance of her lizard brain returning to normal. “You both are evil.”

“Yes, yes. You will have all night to remind me of said evilness. Now, shall we have some fun or would you rather pout?”

“Is it fun or trouble that we are having tonight?” 

He gives her a peck atop her snout. “Both, I hope. Let me change.” And with that, he deposits her on the countertop. Gale isn't here to shoo her away this time so she can have all the bread her lizard instincts command her to consume.

His clothes are already laid out in anticipation of this plan going well. And surprise, surprise, when Astarion returns back upstairs, Kalmia is gobbling up fruit left out in a bowl. He plucks her from her feast - is she already heavier? Gods below! - and places her around his shoulders where she cries for her lost meal. “Oh hush, I'll buy you more food at the market.”

“Why can't I enjoy it as myself , hmm? Think of how much nicer this could all be if we held hands , or I clung to your arm, or-”

Tempting… “Those can come later, little wyrm. Now be a good beastie for me and don't stray too far, I want to wander the festival stalls with a lizard on my shoulder.” 

She nibbles on his ear and this time he can actually feel the edges of her razor sharp teeth. Interesting. “Oh, so I don't even get to enjoy the festival? I'm stuck being a beast, like some- like shoulder-candy!”

“Hah! How right you are, darling. Off we go.” The portal sends them to Gale's tower in the Dock Ward, and their destination is the Sea Ward. The walk would be long on these crowded streets, but he spider-climbs up a roof, and hops to the next as Kalmia clings to his shoulder, grumbling constantly. 

She might not have said it in words, but clearly he's already been forgiven. The stubborn old wretch isn't one to go along with things lightly, but he doesn't doubt that she isn't already cooking up some just desserts . He'll enjoy what he can for the night until his retribution comes.

Finding an empty enough alley, they descend onto the streets, blending in with the rest of the crowd. Ahh, he should have left earlier to drop some orders off to Solixes’ and Leucian's stores, but his excitement at his little prank was too much, next time then.

Some magic festival is set up in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Waterdeep. These travelers know where to find the coin, but he's surprised that they could open here to begin with. Maybe this group caters to a higher clientele in general. 

Lucky for Astarion, he's filthy rich no thanks to the teeny dragon perched upon his shoulder. Not that he will ever spend a pearl of what she gives him. They belong to him now. 

“So, my love, we have a goal in mind tonight. Would you like to assist, be the proverbial devil on my shoulder?”

Kalmia rubs her warm, scaly neck against his cheek. “Oh, yes please.”

“There is a vendor here with the most luxurious fabrics I have ever laid eyes on, but darling, I don't want to pay the extravagant prices they've marked them up with. Even if they come straight from Myratma.” The pleading lilt in his voice is useless, she would help him even if he asked to slaughter every person on this street.

“And you need a distraction to steal it all?”

“I do! What do you say?”

There's a vicious glint in her glittering eyes. “There's a cart holding pseudodragons and faerie dragons that way,” She points with her snout. “Take me there and I'll create a very grand distraction.”

“Gods, I'm falling in love all over again.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Before we begin though, the food you promised me - and it must be bought.” 

Astarion groans in distaste but relents. “Fine!” He'll steal back what he can when their simple plan plays out. 

Drifting from meat to dessert stalls, he buys up everything his lizard points out. It's a damned fortune when her eyes are a thousand times bigger than her stomach. His mistake was offering in the first place, but he needs to keep the lizard brain engaged. 

A giant's feast now shoved away into his bags of holding and his wyrm devouring a meat skewer, he meanders his way to the cart selling the caged beasts. The fabric vendor isn't too far from here, once Kalmia is attending to her task, he'll be slipping into the shadows.

The creatures are definitely stuffed in too tight cages, it will probably be a relief to free them - if that is Kalmia's intentions. 

“What a magnificent specimen you have there, saer. In all my days, I haven't seen one with such colors or scale patterns. Did you breed that beauty yourself?” The shop owner inquires.

Breed her? It takes all his power to not sneer in disgust at the man. She's not some run of the mill lizard, sold to ignorant parents! She's a full (half)- blooded dragon! His partner, who just so happens to be small at this moment…

Containing his snobbery, if only for this conversation, Astarion gives a tight smile. “No, I just found the beast wandering the woods and it took a liking to me.”

“Ay, amazing what bonds these little beings can form. Shame it lost its wings though. If you see one you like, or better yet, want to pass along that one's lineage, let m-”

Whipping around and stalking off to a secluded corner, he rips the skewer out of Kalmia's grubby claws, “Hey! I'm not-”

“Little wyrm, when you create your distraction, make sure that man can't recover any of his goods and services. You have plenty of food, hop to it.” 

She growls like a cat before throwing herself to the ground. “Ugh, fine. Once this is done, I want to go to the beach.”

“As you wish.” He watches as she scampers off, weaving between people's legs and diving under stalls. When her green-tipped tail has slipped under the beast seller, Astarion takes that as his cue to get into position. Who knows what chaos this feral dragon is about to unleash.

Finding a scroll of gust of wind , he stands at the ready. Even if the fabrics get a little dirty, this endeavor will still be well worth the sacrifice. He needs these for his projects.

A shout from behind gets his attention. The beast seller’s clothes are lit up in white flames while all the captive creatures are in the process of being freed by one tiny green dragon. Each beast that escapes its cage launches forward onto unsuspecting patrons and vendors, burning, magicking and attacking everything in sight.

Maybe next time, that man will learn not to cage such creatures.

Taking this chance in the ensuing disorder, Astarion casts gust of wind down the street, upending stalls and tables so all their contents go flying. 

People are cowering in terror and calling for the citywatch, he isn't going to wait for them to show up. Quickly locating the silks and patterned textiles that have scattered across the ground, Astarion begins the arduous task of shoving them into his bags of holding. He's not the only one looting though and he might have punched a random woman in the face when she reached for a bolt of his fabric. 

Alright, he's collected all his spoils, there's no way he can steal back his gold from the food stalls at this point, he needs to grab that damnably old lizard and run. 

Is he surprised to see that she sits on a pile of crates up high, breathing fire like the fiend that she is? No, of course not. He does also spot the beast vendor, trying to get to her. Now that won't do. 

Astarion shoves the man to the ground, cutting loose his very heavy coin purse and attaching it to his own belt, he places his dagger against the man's throat. “If I ever see you again, know that I will gut you. A word of advice though - animal handling isn't really your thing. ” He'd relish the meal right now, but there's too many people. It can wait. 

Flinging herself onto his shoulders, they make haste before the citywatch shows up. All it takes is one wrong person recognizing what he is and escape becomes that much more perilous, and he'd rather not break the polymorph spell yet. They're having so much fun! 

Returning back to the crowd, Astarion listens as Kalmia directs him to the beach. It's not one of his favorite locales, on account of him not being able to step foot in the ocean, but she indulged him, so it's time to return the favor.

There’s a bite to the wind as they near the beach and he shivers, wishing he would have brought a warming enchantment, but alas, he'll have to rely on his personal heater for comfort. 

Unfortunately, that won't pan out as the second his boots hit the sand, Kalmia dives to the ground, little legs kicking it up as she sprints towards the water. 

My puddle-loving weirdo.

He follows at a distance, watching as she splashes in the shallows and cackling when she's buffeted by large waves.

This night could not have gone better. 

Pulling two blankets out of a bag, he lays one on the ground to sit on while the other is wrapped around his shoulders, not that it does much, but it cuts the worst of the chill.

The beach is completely empty, so his frenzied love is making the most of it, barreling from one end to the other, flailing about tripping on grasses and rocks. 

“Little wyrm, I'm feeling quite neglected at this moment. Where's my love and affection?” He whines.

Her head pokes up from some bushes, cocking curiously at his words before racing his way, taking a giant leap and landing with a splat before him. 

Astarion frowns, unimpressed. Kalmia crawls towards him with excitement. “Irthiski, look! Look, look, look!” She wiggles vigorously, burying her body in the sand with just her head and tail kept above. Seems the pellet her mother provided is wearing off, her mind is regressing.

One wicked turn deserves another, hmm? “You performed well back there. Would you like one of your treats?” The tone is mocking, speaking to her the way one might a pet, but she takes no notice as she bursts forth from the sand, and runs in circles chasing her tail. 

Ugh, he doesn't have the energy to entertain these deranged dragon antics. 

A treat is proffered and she gnaws at it as if she's never eaten a day in her life. Her tail curls around his ankle and Astarion, against his better judgment, can't help but smile. Wild as she is, he wouldn't have it any other way.

But maybe it's time to return to normal, he'd like to be warm and-

“Evening! Rarely see anyone out here at this time of night.” A well-to-do young man approaches them from the beach entrance. Short blonde hair, soft features, an unmistakable innocence to him… Definitely the kind of man Astarion would have brought to Cazador once upon a time. 

And also the kind he might be attracted to in general, but well, his tastes have evolved to angry old women. Or really just the one in front of him that is giving more attention to a chunk of meat than him.

Woe is me.

He offers him a small acknowledgement in the hopes that he continues on quickly, but that is a mistake, the man takes that as interest. 

“I haven't seen you around, did you come in with the caravan?”

“No.” Does he look like some traveling carnie? These high born types, always expecting others to play into their mild interest… He knows it all too well.

The man has stepped closer, he's probably pleasant, Astarion doesn't care. He wants to spend time alone with his dragon, uninterrupted. They get bothered enough at home.

He's unsure what is running through that little lizard brain right now. She's frozen mid-bite on her meat, staring blankly, maybe she understands he's getting hit on right now or maybe she's just lost in a food haze.

Freak.

[freuleinanna]

trials (and errors)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 AO3

Chapter 3: Lovers

Love is not a static force. It needs a vector, and god help lovers whose vector is rage.

Masriel reunion (derogatory)!

Also, am I going to push my Marisa and Father MegaFail being besties (worsties) agenda? Yes, yes I am.

The crowd parts before the sinner.

No, to correct that: the crowd parts before a man of church who, in his turn, is followed by the sinner.

Either way, Marisa walks past lawmen and clerics hardly recognizing ones from the others in their black attires. The comfort of isolation has now scaled off of her entirely: after roaming endless stuffy rooms, the air feels too fresh to swallow, too brisk against the skin. Not unlike tiny cold burns. Her dress – the only moving spot of color – cuts through the pool of black drawing unreserved attention from all angles. Makes for an easy target. Whispers and looks hit it equally.

Oh, the prudes. A year back they'd stare even worse. Of course, a year back she was still a respectable, well-married lady they didn't mind eyeing occasionally as an indulgence, not a whore dragged out of exile. Maybe not the exact words she'll hear today, but surely the prevailing sentiment.

Marisa keeps her face neutral and wishes them all dead.

Another corridor, less packed with people.

'You'd profit from looking more sorry,' her guide mutters, finally slowing his step to walk side by side. 'Repentance will go a long way.'

He seems a bit nervous, but then he always does, that's the most Hugh MacPhail trait Marisa could think of. Heaven forbid people notice them frivolously conversing, today of all days. He throws lots of quick, alert glances around. The lizard daemon on his shoulder scans the space and gives him a little tap whenever someone gets too close – a note to drop his voice, or pause.

Marisa's tone, when she leans closer to reply, is a heartless mockery of his hushes.

'I think you underestimate how sick I am of acting sorry.'

Without fail, a frowning look follows. He recoils from her touch, but in a manner that speaks of habit rather than resentment: Father MacPhail, always so diligent in his priestly ways. On some level, Marisa applauds him for not falling victim to her beguiling nature. On all others, she knows that statement lacks a great big ‘yet’. She scoffs, bemused.

'This is serious,' MacPhail snarks, clearly misinterpreting the sound.

Doesn't she know.

'I'm not sure... Yes, Father Jamison,' a shoulder tap – Hugh greets another cleric with a nod and waits until he's far enough behind them before continuing. 'I'm not sure you see how serious it is, Marisa.'

He appears genuinely concerned. There’s evidently an affection, except the why of it remains as elusive to Marisa as his goals. She’s twenty-three, Hugh is bearing on his forties. She would have understood physical desire, what woman of her looks wouldn’t, but it’s not all there is.

Hugh encourages her ambition. When she’s denied academic growth, Hugh suggests she takes advantage of her husband’s status, along with his access to the sacred libraries of the Magisterium, and puts her brain back to work. Hugh even writes to the Saint Sophia’s board and inquires about a place for a prominent young scholar to give her grounds.

It’s not exactly a patronage. She’s not exactly his protégé. Should the concept of friendship be more familiar to Marisa, she’d probably recognize the similarities, but the thought never visits her. Fits of spite do, though. Spending weeks locked up in a house, wallowing in rage and a mind-numbing lack of anything to do, certainly didn’t help her moods, but it wasn’t when it started. She’s always pushed away, and one time she didn’t, look what happened.

'What do I care if I’m done for anyway,' she hisses.

'Stupid girl,' MacPhail hisses back–

–and shoves her into a narrow passageway, making a sharp swerve. It would be wonderful to break his neck for calling her stupid, but she ambles angrily along in her heels until Hugh grabs her ‘round.

His eyes are transparent-green and heavy. Perhaps, the best precaution against sin: Marisa can't imagine them offering compassion. Better not sin at all than confess to those eyes.

'Now listen to me.' The lizard slides down his sleeve to the crook of the elbow and peers at the golden monkey, him staring up with a scowl. Hugh’s hands are crushing Marisa’s shoulders. 'They want to hear from Asriel – oh, don't make that face. They want to hear from him, and they will. But it's to determine his fate, or the child's. Yours is pretty much decided.'

'And what did I just say,' she breathes out, barely unclenching her teeth.

'They can easily make it worse.'

'Oh, I doubt that.'

'Want to try them?' Hard stones bump against the back. Why does everyone insist on shaking her today? 'Go ahead. See if you like being sent to a convent for the rest of your days.'

It’s so easy to dismiss. For the longest beautiful moment, threats are just threats and words are just words, mere noises they exchange. Silly, even. Marisa opens her mouth to say exactly that, venom already rising to soak up the tongue and every word it forms, when it hits her. It hits her good.

Raw, animal fear.

'No.'

'Oh, yes.'

Splashing all over, on her face, in her guts. Inches away, Hugh is being needlessly cruel, hammering in the point that’s already reached her with sternness one can only expect from a man of god.

'Maybe you'll get to Saint Sophia's still. I hear they offer a place for women in your position, setting them back on the path of righteousness. Repentance and prayers, all day, every day.'

'No!'

This time literally, Marisa pushes away with all her strength. Hugh takes a hard step back, the green of his eyes sparks up with fury. It only takes him a heartbeat to charge at Marisa again but as soon as he does, a painful grimace twists his face – his daemon falls from the sleeve. Kneeling hastily, distracted, he stretches an arm to the floor. The lizard climbs up quicker that the monkey can reach her, leaving black paws to crush air between them.

The four of them freeze, riled up and panting. Someone once said that tragedies caught mid-action always make for the most comic statues, and well, they weren’t wrong.

Marisa breaks first.

She groans in disgust, feeling ill. Serene hallways and dull clothes, never a spark of hope, or a new idea, or an interesting conversation, forever and ever, until she's dead. She'll go mad. She’s half there already.

'I will kill myself. I will kill myself if they do that, Hugh.'

And she means it.

Hugh straightens up, smoothing his clothes, his daemon once again on his shoulder.

'Then don't tease them,' he reasons sharply.

Then, perhaps seeing her distraught face, a little kinder, 'You're very young, Marisa. Think of the future. Don't dig yourself a grave.'

Marisa’s mind scatters, as wild as it was this morning, fingers fumbling with the dress in search of something to torture. Tugging at her consciousness, her daemon's presence. He is raging because she is. He is scared because she is. As if they haven't been horrible to each other all day (and many, many exiled days before that), he's offering support. Marisa cannot bear that any more than the horrid idea of a convent.

Her feelings are too big; that’s the issue, always has been. Swelling up beyond control, they’re threatening to crush this wormhole of a corridor – and they are not for the audience. She’ll feel them later, she decides, analyzing the way her skin stretches, as thin and unreliable as the membrane of a soap bubble; she’ll feel them when she has the space, or power to withstand them. Despite the deal tasting like bile at the back of her throat, making it for the hundredth time comes slightly easier. If only her soul would quit pushing her into emotional pits, always hanging about, always wanting to connect when she can bear it the least – if only he would just quit.

Weakling.

With a sharp headshake, Marisa folds her arms for composure and walks past him, ignoring the way his beautiful gilded tail falls and twitches, tucked between the legs. One day, she’ll walk far enough.

Hugh follows her, resuming the role of a silent guide.

It takes them a few more passages, each narrower than the other, to untangle themselves from a poorly lit cobweb and reach a more familiar part of the building. There are once again people in the corridors, so whispers and looks make their return. Hugh must have taken a longer route to avoid those, for her sake. For what it’s worth, it’s a gesture.

The path ends, as all merciful things do, far too quickly.

'You can wait here. They'll summon you.'

'Will you be there?'

A pause.

'No.'

To think, she had actually hoped.

Hugh leaves.

Anxiety doesn't.

The monkey almost gets jammed by the door because Marisa doesn't care enough to hold it. She hears a loud chatter, rushed steps – and fails to be touched. A golden lightning zings around as she presses her palms tightly to her ribs and takes a few hard, shuddering breaths. Her lungs are spasming. She’d very much like to throw something at her daemon to keep him fucking quiet because it’s all too much. All around, it’s all too much, it’s all…

'I thought you'd wear black.'

Ripping through her, a familiar voice.

Of course, now the monkey shuts up. The only sound bombarding the room is her own gasping for air. Marisa cuts it immediately, then breathes again, quieter, and opens her eyes. Invisible hooks are already pulling at her flesh in multiple directions – what's another one.

Asriel is standing a bit away, as sure as a death sentence: half-turned, cradling a glass at his chest. She doesn’t have it in her to be surprised. Whatever monstrosity they’ve committed together on a cosmic level must have been grander than murder and adultery combined because it’s bound them, pulling at the threads at the worst possible moments. Inside, a morbid feeling rises, about as gentle as a flood that breaks the dam: they won’t ever leave each other alone. She could climb the highest mountain of the farthest north, and he’d still be there.

Marisa gropes for the door handle, fully set on leaving; then doesn’t. Her eyes, for some reason, fixate on that drink Asriel's holding: something pleasantly amber, warm, leaving trails when swirled. A thirst that’s been tormenting her since the morning parts her lips – alcoholics have more will, for heaven’s sake. Marisa can't move. She doesn’t even blink, just holds herself perfectly still. Prey always does.

Asriel chuckles, noticing.

'Need a drink?'

She could kill him. She’s an open wound in indigo, and despises Asriel for seeing it. For mocking it, too. It takes an actual, physical effort to move her eyes up to his face, but finally – there he is, the bastard. Hard jaw and a five-day stubble. She also despises herself for knowing what his five-day stubble looks like.

He nods an invitation: a bottle on the table, some empty glasses.

'Don’t drink alone. Never ends well, especially for women.'

Every word – a taunt. Between the grown hair and the shirt sleeves he, for once, didn’t roll up, it is the same man Marisa knew, yet as soon as the haunting spreads, the image falters. Something fundamental in him has changed, sending a sting of sharp loss right to the heart. It’s not in the stance, or in the voice, or the clothes; more subtle than the line of his cheekbones, less obvious than a grey streak falling on his forehead. His eyes are different, she thinks. The way Asriel is laughing, it only makes them darker with hard, grim triumph. Like he’s playing a game that he knows to inevitably end in a massacre.

Still, it is him.

It is him.

Marisa tries out different phrases in her mind. I hate you. How are you. Are you well.

She says none of it.

Out of nowhere, a long silvery shadow moves across the floor, causing her daemon to perk up in what feels like acidic burns in her lungs. Stelmaria brushes past Asriel’s knees, and for a moment, Marisa loses her god-given, natural ability to breathe. It feels murderous, hope. Whoever invented it must have been a sick brute.

The monkey glances over for permission he knows he won’t have, but the sadness in him. Sadness and excitement, beating somewhere so deep in her own heart she's choking on it. Marisa clenches her fists, pushes it down, and glares a warning. It isn’t a conversation, those have withered between them like flowers on a fighting arena until nothing remained but orders: chisels and scalpels, to carve, to mold. With the same woeful expression, her soul ignores her. Never been mellow, this one, yet now he turns away, treading a few careful steps to sit before the leopard, quiet and mesmerized.

It’s so different from the way he sat this morning, aiming for a strike across Marisa's face. He's looking. He's admiring.

Stelmaria lowers her big head. A touch more–

At the same time, Marisa and Asriel jerk their chins, and the daemons instantly return, yanked back, looking ashamed and scolded. Just before Stelmaria hides behind the table again, she finds Marisa’s eyes. Fresh burns sizzle with guilt. It shouldn’t be possible to hate one part of the same soul, yet love the other.

Asriel seems shaken, too. Conflicted even – he who has always been as one with his daemon. Get used to it, Marisa wants to say but locks her lips for fear of saying something else entirely.

'Well.' He rubs his eyes.

'Well,' she echoes.

Well, first words poorly spent. Should have been something eloquent and scathing.

'She speaks,' Asriel smirks from across the room and just like that, he’s back at it. That first glimpse of a man he’ll become, unparalleled in strength and coldness, goes unnoticed by Marisa at the moment, but will scratch her memory for years to come.

He waits for a reply. With every second, his face falls a little, until finally he just shrugs and starts walking around the table. Wanders mindlessly, deeper into the room. It's someone's study, must be. A giant desk is set on a podium at the far wall. Asriel sips from the glass going shamelessly through the papers lying around, so uninterested in her presence it fires Marisa's insides right up. Oh, she speaks. She will maim you with words as soon as she decides what to say.

Fists and hair, she marches up to him. Asriel doesn’t even fully turn, just looks at her sideways: walls and walls and walls behind storm-cloud eyes. She forgot he was tall. Beginnings of a rough beard make him older in appearance, but that’s the thing. That’s the thing. He is young, and so is she, and youth is violent.

'You have ruined everything.'

Asriel raises his eyebrows, dully unintrigued.

'Exactly what?'

Her emotions are a swarm of foul bugs rubbing wings. Exactly what, he asks. How to even formulate it.

Being thrown back so far, the road she'd taken seems but a vague thread near horizon, completely out of her reach.

Exactly what.

Every door that's now closed, every victory clawed out in battles turned to ashes. All scarcely accumulated freedom, taken.

Him offering her marriage without even realizing how that would be the last shovel of dirt into her grave of public acceptance, and then acting so offended about her refusal.

Exactly fucking what.

The crippling, boiling fear of living out her life among brainless clucks interested only in talking of sin and salvation, because one damned reckless man fired a pistol and did not have a decency to miss, blowing it all out of proportion.

'You killed Edward.'

'Ah,' Asriel exhales throwing his head back, and Marisa feels deranged enough to go for the jugular with nothing but her teeth. Then he looks down again. 'You must have loved him so.'

Massacre.

…massacre.

A slap rings through the air. Immediately, Marisa’s palm stings, stunned from the impact, Asriel's sharp inhale lingering on the skin. His posture, if only for a second, changes to resemble that of an animal ready to chase its prey. Marisa half-wishes he did, because the alternative is watching him slowly straighten his shoulders and sneer in a way that drops the temperature in the whole room.

She hears Stelmaria growl behind him. That, for some reason, feels like an even bigger betrayal because she's never growled at Marisa before.

Asriel touches his cheek. Nods pensively as his eyes wander to the table. Something long and silvery finds its way into his hand – a letter opener, with a thin blade and a richly incrusted handle. A piece of value, it seems. Asriel keeps turning it in his fingers.

'That's right,' he says at last. There's nothing right about that. 'That is exactly why we're here. Let's cut each other's throats and be done with it.'

He doesn't mean, of course, literally – although Marisa wouldn't exclude it. When he looks up, it's like stepping under the waterfall, except instead of water, there's resentment hurling its rushing weight off the cliff. It breaks Marisa's bones a little, just so she can barely stand, but not much else. She wonders where her fear went. As she explores every last corner of herself, she only finds white-hot rage.

Marisa doesn't mean it either, of course, even when she forces his hand out of spite. A silver blade – not too sharp, but sharp enough – presses against her neck: move it sideways, and it will leave a cut. Asriel's palm is wrapped around the handle, warm in her grip.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

They're standing so close you’d think them lovers. Swallowing, Marisa feels the metal scrape her skin with intimacy only sharp edges possess. Asriel stares at the motion with a truly horrible expression. On his face, hunger is bleeding into hatred and contempt has a tinge of admiration to it, all feelings rooting so deep in each other it’s like excavating ancient history from ice. Ice cuts your hands, parting with secrets.

His chest rises, Marisa can feel it with her own.

'You're insufferable,' says he, a man who made her a widow in her twenties when she had plans for life.

Way behind, the monkey lets out a loud hiss – always closer at their worst. Up dart Asriel’s eyes, above Marisa’s shoulder, and she suspects her own eyes looked about the same when she saw Stelmaria. Full of longing. There’s a lot about connecting with someone’s daemon: for one, it doesn’t often happen. For all else, and that’s a nuisance if you come to hate the person, the connection doesn’t break.

No, that’s not it. Connection leaves room for all kinds of things twisted into it, when in reality, you’re specifically unable not to love.

She wakes disoriented, dizzy from the gentlest aching in her heart, only to find Asriel asleep with a ball of golden fur curled comfortably under his arm, the memory flashes and fades in a second. She’d never felt weaker. She’d never felt happier. She’s holding a knife to her own throat and doesn't know how to tell Asriel that she wants to crawl inside his chest. Slither between the ribs, and nestle against his giant pulsating heart, and stay there for a while before returning to her normal size and ripping him up from the inside. A payback for every good thing she still remembers.

'I hate you.'

Asriel blinks. Looks at her again. His hand is very steady, tangled in vines of Marisa's fingers.

'I've taken the child,' he says a little hoarsely, 'just so you know.'

Oh, that is low. And somehow even worse than I hate you, too.

That one time, when they were fighting, Asriel asked, 'Would you rather I’d let your goddamn husband kill our child?' Well, not asked; he was shouting like a madman. Doesn't matter. 'WOULD YOU RATHER I’D LET YOUR GODDAMN HUSBAND KILL OUR CHILD?!' And Marisa thought, yes. Yes, you idiot. Children are replaceable. You know what isn't? Reputation.

Her reasoning hasn't changed much over the days of isolation. Ignoring every reason, her body keeps exploding with the need of a child she doesn't want. There’s not a chance Asriel could have guessed, but pushing random buttons seems to be just as efficient as inflicting pain on purpose.

Another hard swallow.

'Is she safe?' Marisa strikes the perfect dry, pragmatic tone despite the most vicious yearning building underneath.

'From you? Yes.'

'Good.'

It is good. She doesn't know what her body could enslave her to do if there existed the slightest chance of getting near that child. It is very, very good that Asriel hates her enough to spare her the turmoil. She’s almost grateful.

'I'll fight you to death.' It’s not a warning, not a threat, he simply states the fact. They say all the wrong words. Come to think of it, they're both really bad at saying the right ones.

'Mine on yours?'

Oh.

Right there, it slips away from her: yours, with a trill, throat slightly vibrating against the blade. She blinks. That unexpected soft rolling from the language Marisa only spoke in childhood, and still it creeps into her voice whenever her heart is turbulent enough. Maybe it's stuck. Maybe she's stuck. Just an emotional child who's used to mumbling excuses in French, drowning in chamomile.

But she isn't excusing herself now.

Asriel's eyes narrow – of course, he knows that little thing about her, that little sign of her weakness. What an inconvenient thing for lovers to share everything. He'll wander off to the world holding that knowledge above her head like a sword, and Marisa couldn't torture it out of him if she tried. There are parts in her that to Asriel, by Asriel, will never be un-known. The thought is dooming.

Asriel is watching her, their hands entwined over the handle of a knife pressed to her neck. That's probably the best description of what he is to her.

'Have courage, Marisa Delamare,' he says finally, butchering her maiden name into a vague pronunciation of its meaning: de la mer – of the sea. Thorold, for some reason, was ecstatic to learn it, and Asriel...

You're a sea creature through and through.

He never called her anything but Delamare in private.

I love you, sea creature.

'Have courage to hate me.'

He hugs Marisa then. She fights back on instinct, only there's no space between his arm pulling her close and the blade that the bastard doesn't even lower. She reaches for Asriel’s shoulders to push him away. She ends up clinging to him. Nothing about it makes sense, except that her heart is slowly shredding itself to pieces with longing and hatred. That makes perfect damn sense. As they stand in this monstrous embrace, Marisa thinks that if it's always going to be like this, them meeting by chance and instantly wanting to be whole, she'd rather just step forward and slit her throat now.

She also plans on never forgiving him for kissing her hair: after all, she is young, and youth is full of always' and nevers, among other things that rarely stand the test of time.

Asriel's hand is unresisting when she takes the knife from it; silver clanks back on the wooden table, and then it’s quiet. Still close, they stop holding each other.

'Right,' Marisa exhales, taking a step back before meeting his eyes again: storm-blue and sapphire-blue, on the same spectrum, yet irreconcilably different. 'So, let's go kill each other. It'll make a great show.'

She turns to leave. Asriel grabs her wrist.

'I won't spare you, Marisa.'

'I don't need you to.'

His lips are dry and angry, then wet from hers. No fight this time. Resistance takes a coherent line of thought from the impulse to the action, and Marisa is not in possession of such a treasure anymore. Her impulses and actions are all over the place mixing, overlapping, clashing to the point of disaster. It’s all too much.

Somewhere close, their daemons are grumbling in the softest voices. Opening her mouth to Asriel’s tongue, she imagines them playing: gleams of silver and gold, small hands curled around a thick neck, caressing the spotted fur. Noses pressed together; slightly out of breath, because they are. Kind, kind. The sheer need for the same kindness twists Marisa’s insides, leaving her vulnerable, malleable like a piece of clay in Asriel’s arms when all he’s giving her is rough. Not at all like a lover saying farewell, just rough – merciless even, scratching her with a beard, grabbing her, squeezing so hard that her hips are already anticipating the bruises, and soft like bruised skin, she takes it.

Her daemon whimpers in pain in Stelmaria’s claws, and only then, mid-kiss, Marisa chokes on understanding. They’re not lovers, and they aren’t saying farewell. Whatever she’s doing is her fault entirely because Asriel is sealing a deal they made, a deal to crush each other, stealing her breath and lips to sign on the horrors. Only forward with it now.

He leaves abruptly without giving Marisa a second look, just a slight push as he lets go of her, the slightness of it delivering the worst insult. Stelmaria shadows his step across the room – the leopard’s head hangs low, but it’s not enough to matter, let alone change anything – and out of the door.

There's nothing else.

Except – the monkey racing around.

Except – Marisa's own hot gasps and the furious tears she blinks away. That’s what you get for remembering good things, that vile feeling of being killed in a very precise, specific way. She should have stuck with rage. She should have put another promise into her kisses, a violent one. The regret of giving away tenderness slashes at her stomach with full ferocity of a too-late realization.

She tries to rub Asriel's hands off. She rubs, then rubs more: her palms fire up immediately from the dress, but the handprints persist. At least in the process she disturbs a sore spot from when the maid pinched her this morning. It's better to focus on that. Focusing on honest physical pain, Marisa finds, mostly helps.

She allows herself one sip from Asriel's forgotten glass.

Then downs it.

[ebbing-terror]

'Is that so...?'

Yhea. She figured as much...

The end of Lynn's stick sat motionless against the sand and a soft breath puffed from her, dejected.

she'd have an easier time making a statue laugh...

Though there was no point in it, Lynn's eyes followed the call of her name where an eerily benevolent smile waited for her, grinding salt in the wound of failure. Look at him, going as far as to squint a little as if he could actually feel anything.

He had the same cold smile of a surgeon promising it wouldn't hurt a bit.

And there came the gentle patronizing.

"Yhea, I know that..."

Lynn nodded earnestly. Mahito had told her about Gojo.

Seriously, she wasn't a dumb little kid and she was tired of being treated that way. 'Geto's' lofty counsel might work on his followers but Lynn wasn't a lost lamb, she chose to live amongst the wolves, ignoring the danger at every turn. She was a reckless thing.

Besides, why did Lynn have to be afraid of anything when she was under the arm of such a powerful curse?

Her mother hadn't stuck around to teach Lynn any better, to warn her of about the dangers of playing with monsters and loving the wrong person....

Come to think of it....

Kenjaku had this odd habit of being almost motherly... Was it how Geto, the real Geto, truly was? Was it a learned behavior carried from a previous host? Had Kenjaku ever truly been human at all?

Lynn was certain there was a lizard brain occupying 'Geto's' cranium...Maybe she just watched too many horror movies....

Murky lakes gazed out onto the ocean. Crystal clear waters caressed the shore with hushed whispers, gifting the sands with the occasional crustacean or two.

A crab scuttled near Lynn, it's brilliant, carnelian color and robust size catching her eye. Something inside the girl jumped, driven by excitable instinct she dropped the stick and dove forward, snatching up the creature. A wave swallowed her hand but it didn't pull away her shiny prize, tearing it from the tide.

She watched spindly legs kick and big claws snap uselessly. Lynn had it by the rear, fingers and thumb firm on the crab's back and belly.

"He let me go, though..."

She held the crab up, observing it's intricate limbs and beady eyes.

"Guess he had better things to do..."

Though it didn't really seem like it with the way he was mozying around. Mahito was right. The guy acted like he was nothing but leg below his nipples.

"it's kinda hard to believe someone like that...Is the strongest..."

Even someone like her could tell...

Her voice was a little more solemn then, remembering the gravity of Satoru's presence...How easily he could've killed her...How fucked she was without Mahito around....

Lynn curled a finger and held it near the crab, it was only a matter of time before it clamped her.

"Ow."

It didn't hurt that much.

A smirk crawled across Lynn's lips suddenly, sending a teasing, slick look to the deboniar man.

"Sorcerers are all pretty pretentious, aren't they~?"

Silly little monkey. She thought she was being funny.

Lynn was crouched down, using a stick to draw aimless shapes in the sand. With an elbow propped upon a knee she rested her cheek in that palm, observing the scribbles she made as if it were her very own zen garden.

Scratch scratch scratch!

Too reckless and thoughtless to be anything of the sort, but Lynn was enjoying herself- occupied.

She swished the stick, erasing the grooves the made to provide herself a blank canvas again, dragging sloppy stars into existence.

"Guess who I bumped into the other day..."

She didn't give Kenjaku the chance.

"It was that Gojo guy..."

Her eyes wandered over to the body-hopper, waiting for something that never happened- for Kenjaku's expression to shift. A raise of his brow, a dimming of that serpent-like smile- for those dead eyes to show a flicker of genuine intrest...Anything...

Unwaveringly resigned...His voice never strayed above or below that singular barline that was a perpetual, even, monotone.

IT WAS SO CREEPY!!!! And not in the fun way...

No, it reminded Lynn of some twisted doctor. Unfeeling, serving his own interests, harvesting those who were useful...Something about 'Geto' really got under her skin...And hospitals...She didn't like those either...

Oh!

Her thoughts had wandered into sterile, blinding white corridors and the eerie sensation of a long needle sliding deep into her arm. Hospitals gave her the creeps. And so did 'Geto'.

She tried to make her staring subtle, eyes straining at their corners trying to get as good a look at Kenjaku without turning her head. If he knew she was watching him then he might deliberately withhold any reaction that came, right? Lynn would.

"I was on my way home one day and ran into him on the street- or, his forcefield."

It was pretty scary. Gojo had seen right through her, knew exactly what she was and who she hung around...And let her go about her way.

"Just thought you'd like to know.."

She continued scraping the sand, only pretending to give up on revoking a reaction out of 'Geto', trying to bait him into asking about the encounter, but she had a churning suspicion all she'd get would be a 'That's nice.' or some placid, detatched response of the sort.

MOST SORCERERS WILL LIVE OUT THE ENTIRETY of their lives believing cursed energy to be a singular thing — whimsically, in a similar way to how non-sorcerers perceive it. The popular franchise 'Star Wars' had set a useful reference for that sort of understanding; cursed energy would be paralleled to 'the force' as an added element of sorts that was only palpable for some and directly linked to the human condition & sentimentalities. For a lifetime or two, Kenjaku had fallen victim to this narrow-minded rhetoric, as well. That was, until they'd met Master Tengen.

[ ... ]

Violet eyes linger over the tabloid page as it's nonchalantly flipped. One forgettable smile gives way to another, one bland life-story of a modern day celebrity exchanged for more superficial gossip. You would think that creatures blessed - or cursed - with such longetivity would have a rekindled interest in watching the world progress. But the humans of this age entertain themselves with the same things they did centuries ago — religion, breeding, food. Societal rules are not as flexible as they believe them to be; the passage of time shapes their traditions as meticulously as river-waters do the bedrock, but in that grander scheme of things, not much has changed. Humans are still squabbling over the same things they were a thousand years ago.

The world, as it is, is a very finite, predictable thing.

And dreadfully boring.

His glare trails over to the girl crouched on Dagon's sands. A thin brow quirks over the mention, her intent plain in the way she restarted her little project anew. A new attempt at garnering attention from them was imminent — she was similar to Mahito in that way. But Kenjaku has lived around capricious curses long enough to know; no matter how well they immitate it, the human nature will always elude them. For as exceptional as Mahito may be when it comes to performing the full spectrum of human emotion, it is his nature.

With that same tranquility, 'Geto's' eyes return to the page, just as Dagon squirts a water pillar in the distance and the waves lick the sands a little higher, just enough to tease his painted toenails with a sea-spritz. With a hum, he crosses one muscly leg over the other, lets full lips curl into a half-smirk without parting with the pages. Lynn, at first glimpse, is that naive girl in every mother's cautionary tale towards her daughter, swept aside by a dangerous creature; how else could someone like her find themselves lounging in a special grade's domain among cursed spirits?

But Kenjaku has never been the sort to settle for short-sighted conclusions — has Mahito put her up to this? Clearly, this is throwing bait but to what end? In either case, the metaphorical jab at her intrigue is returned with a serene cadence.

❝ Is that so. ❞ The tabloid lowers to offer an amicable smile that lacks warmth. He sits up, lingers on the plastic chaise lounge a moment longer, briefly noting the pattern of scattering stars the girl had busied herself with. ❝ Lynn-chan? ❞ A soft utterance beckons her gaze. There's a slight crinkle to Geto's own.

❝ You know, Gojo Satoru is not only the strongest sorcerer alive, but also one of very few special grade sorcerers currently in service. That practically means that if a powerful cursed spirit's presence was detected, he would be the one summoned to find and excorcise it. ❞ Kenjaku's tone is as lax as ever, but the implication is made very clear. The girl has displayed a profound disregard for her own security by being here, after all — but she is invested in a certain curse.

[queerpontmercy]

real talk i am so tired of job applications. and yeah it’s boring to have the same complaint for months but fuck it i’m just exhausted. and i don’t want to grovel anymore.

[momtaku]

I really love your Eren posts, considering he's probs the most controversial character in the story rn in terms of the fandom. Your posts always come off as completley unbiased swaying to neither side, only stating what we know for sure and what we can assume about him, his motivations, goal, mindset, etc. A description I like is that he's just a guy with a heart way too big for his body and a burden way too big for his shoulders. But he's still human and makes mistakes and that's why I love him

I’d love to agree with you and accept your lovely compliment but believe me when I say that I aggressively fight my bias every time I write about him. I recognize that everything you say about him is true and when I focus on those things I am in a good headspace about him. He’s a fascinating literary character who is loved by a large portion of the fandom. His ability to keep moving forward is inspirational for many.  I respect that. And in my heart I want him to be a hero in this story. I am not enjoying the literary trashing that he’s taking.

[mrskurono]

Separately, but how much convincing do Atsushi, Aku, and Chuuya need to have spontaneous, semi-public sex (or oral) with reader ~ 👀 (if you can answer! Thanks for your time, you are a brilliant writer!)

a/n: my brain has pms but god damn it I won't try my best; also Chuuya looks beautiful in this theme like hot damn type: headcanons tags: fem!Reader, public (obviously), mentions of; handjobs, oral (giving + receiving), vaginal fingering, cockwarming, vaginal sex, ranchiness ♡

Honestly, the easiest out of the three to convince to do anything you damn well want

You've seen this man's will to tell people no

It's nonexistent and telling you no is literally a fate worse than death to him

Dr. Yosano is busy in her office, Kunikida is clocked out for the day and Dazai never stays late so where's the harm?

When your gaze lingers a little longer on Atsushi across the desk from you, admiring how handsome he is with his brows pinched in thought

Unaware of your gaze until you're sitting right next to him, leaning in on your elbow and slipping your free hand between his thighs

Met with a decisive squeak of surprise from how hard he was concentrating

Atsushi can't help the hushed demand of what you're doing while his cheeks turn seven shades darker

"You looked good working."

"We're working!!!"

"But shouldn't overtime be rewarded?"

Be if your hand groping him through his slacks or the half lidded dreamy look you have casted over at him, Atsushi can't say no

Not when your fingers fiddle with his zipper silently. Only the sparse tapping of his fingers on his laptop being stunted as you free his cock from his pants

Fingers curled around his length and pumping him slowly under the desk

Thank for all the agency's cluttered desk as no one can see a thing but you two sitting together like normal

Far from normal though as beads of sweat trickle along Atsushi's hairline

His labored breathing almost like an echo in the nearly empty office space

Atsushi fighting with all his will to stay silent until he's forced to grip the edge of the desk

White knuckles, chewing on his lips as his cock throbs in your hand

Getting caught isn't in either of your agendas so the second you feel him gasp and throb in your grasp

That's when you lean in and coo softly as Atsushi cums all over a napkin you pocketed from lunch

Watching his thick creamy cum soil the paper as you pump him a few more times for good measures

Atsushi a little dizzy when you lean over and kiss him on the cheek

"Let's clock out, we're not done here weretiger."

Don't be fooled, Ranpo knows but all you have to do is slip him a snack heh

Second best bet to get him to do anything you want to

And if it's at the Black Lizard's base of operations while they're out?

Well that's just a free pass right there isn't it?

Chuuya's as easy as a book to read so when he's spent the last twenty or so minutes looking at you chewing gum and popping it with a satisfying snap

It's pretty obvious where his mind is

"Your coat hides shit when you're that hard Nakahara."

Que an outburst that only lasts as long as brushing his cheek and snapping the gum inches from his lips last

He cannot say no to the idea of your lips wrapped around his cock

And such a petite sized man makes for the neatest blow jobs <3

Ravishing him with your attentive tongue, even if it's bubblegum flavored spit, Chuuya can't keep his moans to a minimum as you take him all in your mouth

Dumb enough to let you do it nearly out in the open at the base

Doesn't matter bc his brain is in his dick and you can suck out every last braincell he has by slurping down his cum the second he twitches in your mouth

Chuuya does have nice tasting cum though ♡

Doesn't stop there though bc he's not about to leave something half done and the mission won't have anyone back for a while right?

Can't keep his lips off your clit in the moments you lick him clean

Expert little tongue with a man hungry for your juices won't stop the cascading orgasm that Chuuya draws from you

Clit throbbing against his tongue as he stuffs his gloved fingers in you just to ride out your orgasm

Man on his knees knows to lick his hand clean so there's no evidence to be found ♡

Evidence is found when poor Tachihara keeps walking in on Chuuya on his knees, RIP Tachihara's sanity

Sighs...the hardest just ton convince to have sex regularly

And if there's even a minor chance of getting caught, Akutagawa will not so much as allow a kiss on the cheek

That leaves getting, creative, to spice it up

Your best chance for a touchy Akutagawa is whenever he's recouping or down under the weather

And who doesn't get a little horny when they're sick?

"My...looks like you could use some help there huh?"

He might be laid up on the couch but Akutagawa is acutely aware of the half hard on you're spying through his clothes

Everyone does have their daily routine and daily missions and should be gone well into the evening

Perhaps indulging in the human touch wouldn't kill him when he thinks its in the clear

Poor thing sick like this but good thing his cock still works for you ♡

Snuggles quickly turn to some nice slow spooning sex

Wiggling your ass back on his hip bones to feel his cock twitch as deep in you as possible

Akutagaw groaning and gripping your sides with his face buried in the back of your neck

He's sick but god do you make him forget that for a moment

Grinding yourself on him in the tiny confines of the couch

Leaving his cock slick with your juices as you take the position as conveniently to let you play with yourself

Toying with your clit until you've lost the number of times you climaxed with him buried inside you

Each time making him moan harder and twitch inside you while just the simple sensation of your walls milking him makes Akutagawa wanna cum

But the second either of you hear the door creak, your bodies freeze

Covered in a blanket, tucked together on the couch, the rest of the Lizards can't help but comment on how cute it is that you're snuggling with the boss

Without knowing Akutagawa is pumping you full of cum bc the lil perv can't believe he got caught with his cock balls deep in you ♡

Again poor Tachihara knows but...alas is his cross to bare heh

[some-of-the-crow-witches]

i got the “smart” tism and i still hyperfixate on stupid stuff

i was told i have i high iq. i cannot shucking spell. i am failing in school. i used to get reelly overwhelked at least once a day because there was this annoying little mother shucker who would deliberately talk loudly and get in my face every single cod damn day and wouldn’t even stop after i broke down crying or even after i went and hid. and then the annotating in ela would make it impossible to reed and since it didn’t make sense to me (both the annotations and why we should annotate) so i was always behind and it was for a grade and the pressure would make it feel like everyone was watching me and then i’d break down again. i have no friends that aren’t neurodivergent. i had never had friends until now. i am going to destroy humanity. (except for the cool people(which, let’s face it, are all probably autistic, meaning that the entire population of the earth will be autistic when i’m done)) in seventh grade i had a friend who could tell you almost anyfin about the brain and the natures of disorders but could go nonverbal for quite a while (usual one month at max) if there’s was a super loud noise. we also both use fish puns in the daily life. i tend to ramble. i’m gonna keep on tolkien despite my better judgement. i can’t touch some rubber without scratching my hand until i bleed afterwards. if you put your phone up to my ear and play somefin do i can hear it then im gonna start scratching and try to to my ear off because i just really hate close noises. this even hampens with certain people if they’re talking to close and have a certain voice. for some reason this doesn’t hampen with headphones. i love headphones. i say things as they are so naturally im absolute shot at comforting people and i also sound like a bitch. i am pretty bitchy though, like i hear what im saying i just don’t care. i picked all the butterfly wings off my moms car and now i have a bunch of them doing along with a dropped lizard tail. i have a bird corpse under my bed. no one knows about it. they’re macerating. i named my roadkill bird gwen. i named a corpse. i have an imaginary friend. this is a common thing among autistic people. her name is millie. she is a witch. she lives in the ceiling and loves hugs. all the little creatures made of splotches of darkness love her. they make my life a little harder. i also name them. there’s hush, just, sherk, chills, cloak bitch, sleep, jeff, and many more. i was hyperfixating on torture for quite a while. i still love torture but now fixating on vulture culture. i love shiny things and antique boxes. i love shiny things. i should probably stop talking now.

moral of the story there is no distinct “low-functioning” and “high-functioning” It. Is. A. Spectrum.

Neurotypical people when they realize that Autism is an actual disability and doesn’t always make you super genius Sheldon Cooper intelligent like in the media

[o-rchidae]

Terrortober 2022 Day 19 - Gun

Neil ‘the rat guy’ Hickey, or to be more accurate the tropical rodent keeper, was the owner of an impressive set of guns. His biceps, not actual guns, but he also owned an air rifle and a tranquilizer dart gun, Billy wasn’t sure why. He was often reprimanded for taking his work shirt off in the Tropical Realm enclosure, although Billy wasn’t complaining. The dude must have been a complete gym nut because he was absolutely shredded. One time he had noticed Billy ogling him and very slowly and suggestively stripped to the waist, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Billy had been so flustered they had to leave.

Finally, Billy worked up the courage to talk to him. They had heard some rumours about him, that he sold weed on the side. Billy wasn’t the biggest fan of edibles, they made them feel as though they were trapped in their own brain, but they were willing to partake if there was the possibility of sex.

There he was, helping Solly and Pilkington set up a new lizard tank, shovelling mulch, biceps flexing.

“Alright,” Hickey said in greeting, “Billy isn’t it? From the café?” Neil said.

“Yeah, hi. Look I was wondering if you were selling today.” Billy stammered.

“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you as being into that.”

“Er, it’s for my anxiety.”

“Cool. Cool. I’m taking a cigarette break, meet me in the nocturnal animal house in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later and Billy was waiting restlessly in the dark trying to find the Aye-aye. They had been working here for two years and they had never seen it and was beginning to think that it didn’t exist. They were startled by a tap on their shoulder.

“So what can I get you?” Hickey whispered. There was no one else there but somehow the atmosphere required hushed tones. “I’ve been growing a hybrid strain, very mellow, should be good for what you want. I’m calling it Moon Safari, you know, like the album.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” Billy said.

“It’s a tenner for a gram if you want to try it out first or I can give you an eighth for forty.”

Damn, Billy hadn’t thought this far ahead, as they realised they didn’t have any cash on them.

“I um…” they said hesitantly. “I don’t have any money. This was just an excuse to talk to you.”

Hickey was quiet for a moment then let out a wheezy laugh.

“That is… adorable,” he said, “Tell you what, go out with me on Friday and I might consider giving you a free sample.”

Read the rest here