#i am so rusty drawing transformers

[nekkyousagiart]

[airaly]

I'm re-watching Transformers Prime after some years and man how i love that show <3

Sketching my two fav bots from the show as a treat (for me)

[cybertron-after-dark]

What are the humans like in wayward sparks? Are there any notable ones?

They're not necessarily as prominent in the story as they tend to be in any canon series that includes them, but they're definitely there. The bots spend the first arc just trying to survive on earth until they find a way home, and they have quite a few run ins with the locals. Most of which are relatively unhinged, many of which are not very friendly, because they crash in an itty bitty, rural new england mountain town called Ironwood, wayyyyy out in the sticks. Most residents aren't particularly afraid to fire at will when giant robot aliens decide to show up.

Least alien-friendly would be Rusty Williams, a local logger with one hell of a trigger finger for anyone and anything on his property he sees as a threat. Aliens, government agents asking a few too many questions, cops, whatever. All of them only get one warning.

Fortunately for the stranded Cybertronians, gunshots aren't really fatal or even particularly damaging long-term for giant robots that can put themselves back together if they sustain enough damage to fall to pieces. Unfortunately, they still do enough damage to tear through their outer armor layers and that tends to hurt like a bitch.

In the very least, there are plenty of humans around with their heads screwed on right that won't try to blast anything that looks at them funny. Like Rusty's Daughter, Crystal.

That said, Crystal is an elusive type. A middle schooler Going Through It, trying REALLY hard to be edgy so people stay away (hence the $2 Spirit Halloween horns headband), she'd really prefer to spend her free time hiding in the woods where nobody can perceive her. Thats been a little more difficult ever since a bunch of giant robots started stomping around out there and all they know about her is her dad is super cringe, so she's pretty scared of a bad first imprsssion.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to be friends with them (which she does lie about frequently because ew, genuine feelings), especially the Decepticons, because she thinks they're cooler, but she also knows her dad would flip his lid if he knew.

Also interested in approaching the Resident Aliens, is Marie Lambert.

Marie's only just recently moved into Ironwood. It's been a rocky transition to say the least. Her dad's a biologist, a real science-y type, and he moved out to the boonies to be closer to the wildlife. Marie's plenty used to being out in the sticks, camping trips with her dad were a regular occurrence before the move, but it's a little hard to get used to the new place when there aren't very many kids her age around. And the ones that are there aren't exactly very welcoming to flatlanders showing up taking over the place.

But in the very least, Marie makes ONE friend when she finds Crystal out in the woods. And a few more when they find what the adult residents of Ironwood have been telling them to stay the hell away from.

They don't approach them straightaway (mostly because their first encounter consists of watching Shockwave scare away Bumblebee, and Shockwave skulking off when he realizes he spooked the Autobot), but the next day at school they start Planning. They HAVE to know more about the robots, and they're willing to pool their resources and information to make that happen. They figure if there's two sides and they don't play nice with each other, it's easiest for one girl to pick one side and they tell each other whatever they can find out.

This begins several beautiful friendships

Marie chooses to gather info on the Autobots. Mostly because, well, they seem less scary and potentially friendlier. She tries the polite thing (which she's hoping will result in the least possible chance for things to go off the rails) and knocks right on their door. The bots aren't really sure how to respond to a very small, very shy alien critter that showed up right at their door to ask what they are and if she can hang out. Marie isn't sure if any of this was a good idea.

They turn out to be pretty welcoming, especially because organics that aren't actively shooting at them are a nice change of pace.

She gets especially close with Bumblebee. Hes comforting. Makes her feel like everything's going to be okay. She gets pretty anxious, and he's good at keeping her grounded. So far, anyway...

On Crystal's side, it's been... Well, it's been different.

The cons would not admit it on their deathbeds but good lord did Crystal scare the slag out of them when they first realized she was there. She snuck right on aboard their crashed ship and nobody noticed her for about 15 minutes.

After the initial scare, and a bunch of big bad giant robots scrambling around because there is a Tiny Squishy Critter in their Space and they do NOT know what to do about that, Crystal starts in trying to get answers. Answers most of the cons aren't particularly willing to give out (other than Shockwave, who is just very excited at the opportunity to make a new friend).

Megatron eventually deems her more or less harmless. She isn't really causing problems or hurting anyone, she doesn't appear to be hostile (other than hissing at Lugnut when he got too close), and he can't really fault the little gremlin for her curiosity. An ally in a foreign world can be very very valuable when you're stranded, so he lets her stay, "as long as she doesn't get in the way."

Marie and Crystal meet up at school during lunch to share notes. It gets confusing trying to keep track of everything when the two sides give conflicting information so often. The girls try to keep an open mind. Hard to remember things about someone you don't like, but they can't really figure out which version is true for any given story, but they're hoping if they spend enough time with their robot friends, they'll figure it out together.

Maybe they can even help the bots and the cons make up. It's just a silly fight, after all.

It's not like anyone's going to get hurt, right? They're all good people.

[bigmammallama5]

Finally, I have managed to write something again. It’s no joke when they say your physical health impacts your mental health and that you really shouldn’t push it when you aren’t well lmao. Dealing with body hurty this past near year has really made me desperately miss writing (and drawing, and goofing off in fandom in general). I’m still not quite better, but I’m getting there and hopefully will be back to normal soon (whatever my new normal will be). I still have many WIPS I want to get back to working on, but I come bearing a gift of a short oneshot to start. Thank you to all of you who are leaving kudos and comments on my fic, I’ll do my best to go through and answer some of you soon. <3

For @stnballoon, for being a wonderful and supportive human being not just to me but also to the supercorp fandom. I’m so grateful for you and your kind and patient positivity. I owe you so much more than this little gift.

Based off of an ask stnballoon sent me about the unfortunate perils of co-opted words having odd interpretations in business meetings. Please excuse any errors, I am... quite rusty after seven months.

[koffeesfancy]

Rapture Ch. 1 | Koffee x Reader

Summary: After relocating to Spanish Town, you find yourself being ostracized in university as the frog-obsessed weird girl with no friends. Your educational experience is less than rewarding until you become entangled in the beguiling world of a girl from the basketball team, whose cruel and teasing nature captivates and confounds you. This unexpected connection draws you into a whirlwind of emotions and self-discovery, transforming your path in ways you never imagined.

Genre: Dark-ish romance, fluff, angst, college!au

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2907

A/N: Ah yes, another chapter fic. I worked very hard on this one, dedicating a lot of focus and skill into it. I plan on this story having more conflict, general moodiness, and sexual tension even so it has a different rating from my other stories which are intended to be more humorous and light reads. Also, this time I experimented with all dialogue (minus the reader's) being in Jamaican patois with some American spellings and vocab. Although my family and community are Caribbean, I am not, so what I've written may be rusty. Feel free to correct me. I tried to find a balance between authentic conversation and accessibility. I may come back and make changes as the story progresses. Feedback is appreciated always. Enjoy <3

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

The science department at the University of Spanish Town was where the word “academia” went to die a slow, painful death. It was lovingly referred to as a social club among the other offices and anyone who knew it would laugh at its facade of molding young minds or pioneering research. The course load was light, deadlines were suggestions at best, and professors often skipped lectures altogether. Most students were either pre-med kids with rich parents or athletes looking for easy grades.

And then there was you, the starry-eyed idealist who thought the university’s environmental science degree would be your ticket to saving the rainforests. At seventeen, you had to move to your grandparents' house in a new city and chose the nearest, cheapest college with an e-sci program. If you’d had friends in your last year of school, they might have warned you about the university’s laid-back reputation. But your social awkwardness kept you in the dark, so here you were, blissfully ignorant and full of naivety.

Orientation felt like a bad sequel to secondary school. You hoped it would be your chance to finally break out of your shell, but nope. Everyone already had their cliques, and no one was interested in befriending the weird girl obsessed with frogs and trees. Professors (though friendly) lacked enthusiasm, lectures turned into casual chats, and your burning questions about conservation were met with bored shrugs. The syllabus promised exciting research and fieldwork, but instead, you were met with worksheets and outdated textbooks. Disillusionment set in fast as you realized you were being robbed of your dream.

“W-what’s the point of all this?” you once blurted out during another wasted lecture. Your voice was louder than you intended, cutting through the quiet chatter of the room. All eyes turned towards you, and you immediately felt the heat of a few dozen stares. Your cheeks burned as you realized what you had done. Professor Thomas looked up from his game of Candy Crush, raising an eyebrow with a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Di point?” he echoed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Mi nuh know- fi mek sure yuh stay outta trouble fi three years?"

The class snickered in unison, the professor’s nonchalant tone adding to your discomfort. You fidgeted in your seat, wishing you could sink into the floor and disappear. The feeling of being exposed and out of place washed over you in waves.

"Trouble? I just want to save the planet," you said, your voice coming out more defensive than you had intended. You could feel the tension in the room change as your classmates looked on with curious amusement.

"Save di planet?" Professor Thomas chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Yuh fi start wid di school first. Yuh ever see di state a di atrium?"

The class erupted in laughter, and your heart sank. You couldn’t help but feel immense regret for your outburst. The momentary courage you had felt evaporated, leaving behind a deep sense of embarrassment. You stared down at your notebook, the lines blurring as tears of frustration welled up in your eyes.

Why did you have to say anything? You berated yourself silently. The professor’s mocking tone and your classmates' laughter played on repeat in your mind. You felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone in a room full of people. The dream of making a difference seemed so far away now, buried under the weight of ridicule and self-doubt.

As the laughter died down, the professor returned to his game, and the class resumed its usual dull rhythm. But for you, the sting of embarrassment lingered. You scribbled aimlessly in your notebook, trying to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of failure. At that moment, the idea of saving the planet seemed not only daunting but almost impossible. How could you make a difference in the world when you couldn’t even stand up for yourself in a classroom?

From then on, you spent your breaks, like today, alone in the atrium while other students hung out in the canteen or on the lawn. The atrium was a small, gloomy courtyard with a wild assortment of shrubs, flowers, and a few young trees. No one had thought to maintain it in years, so vines covered virtually every surface and few of the light fixtures worked. The little jungle had become a place of solace for you amidst the alienating environment of the rest of the school. 

You sat on one of the vine-covered stone benches, knees drawn to your chest as you concentrated on sketching a scientific illustration of a Panamanian golden frog. The little frog waved her four toes, a common strategy to distract predators. You admired her bravery, wishing you had the same confidence to scare off your own bullies. 

Even in college, you were still the target of ridicule. Classmates snickered at your cozy fashion choices, making snide comments about their grandmas owning similar shoes or skirts. Your books had been hidden more than once, and your ideas were almost always shot down as doing too much during group projects.

You became utterly lost in illustrating the world of the little frog, your pencil dancing across the page as you brought her delicate form to life. Each stroke was a whisper of your own soul, etched in graphite and paper. Maybe in some ways, she was like you- a tiny creature fighting against a world that didn't understand her. She and her family were critically endangered, their vibrant green world shrinking day by day due to loss of habitat. You, too, had lost your home, forced to move in with your grandparents in Spanish Town for your final year of secondary school. 

By now, you had named the frog Bertha. The name felt right, a sturdy, old-fashioned one for such a resilient little being. Bertha had been uprooted from her home, just like you, and moved to a foreign terrarium in a desperate bid for preservation. You imagined she felt as lost and alone as you did, staring out at a world that seemed strange and unwelcoming. 

As you added the final touches to the picture, the jarring creak of the heavy iron door and voices shattered the tranquility of your sanctuary. Your head jerked up, heart pounding painfully in your chest. Your eyes darted to the entrance, partially obscured by the overgrown foliage that draped like a tattered curtain. Two figures stumbled into view, their shadows stretching long and distorted across the stone path as the bright light from the hall spilled into the atrium, casting an eerie glow.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the shifting light, but soon you recognized the intruders. Mikayla, a sophomore on the basketball team, and Gabriella, a senior biology major, were locked in a heated argument. Their voices were low, yet their words carried a weight that hung heavy in the air, each one dripping with frustration and tension. Mikayla's lean, athletic frame was rigid with barely contained anger, while Gabriella's hands gestured wildly, her usually composed demeanor fraying at the edges.

"Wah deh wrong wid you?" Gabriella demanded, her voice a mix of anger and desperation. Her dark curls framed a face etched with worry, eyes wide and searching. Even across the path, you could see the lines of stress and fatigue on her face.

Mikayla shrugged, her posture nonchalant, almost dismissive. "Nothing de wrong wid me. Yu eva deh overreacting," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. She folded her arms across her chest, her stance defensive and closed off.

Gabriella's face contorted with hurt, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Overreacting? Mi overreacting? Mi cyaa manage dis—mi cyaa manage wid yuh! Mi ave grad school applications, exams—"

"Yeh, and mi ave basketball," Mikayla shot back, her tone turning sharp and icy. "Mi cyaa manage wid yuh drama all di time."

Gabriella took a step back, her expression crumbling. "Mi? Mikayla, yuh know seh dis important fi mi," she said, her voice breaking. The desperation in her tone was clear, each word laced with pain.

Mikayla's eyes flashed with irritation, her jaw clenched tight. "And mi tired a be somebody secret. Duh yu even know o dat feels? Fi act like everything good all di time wen mi a go crazy?" Her voice was rising, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head, unable to form a response. She turned abruptly and hurried back into the building, her sobs echoing in the stillness left behind. The sound tugged at your heart, and you realized with a shock that you hadn’t known they were dating.

For a moment, Mikayla stood there, staring after Gabriella, her short frame silhouetted against the dusty windows. Shadows danced across her face, emphasizing the tension settling into her features. She clenched her fists at her sides, then, with a frustrated curse that echoed through the corridor, she kicked a rock lying on the stone tiles. The small stone skittered across the ground and rolled to a slow stop right by your foot, disrupting the fragile peace of your hidden sanctuary.

You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest, praying she wouldn’t notice you. But it was too late. Her sharp eyes, glinting with a mix of anger and surprise, locked onto yours. Time seemed to freeze, tension thick in the air. The silence was a heavy blanket, smothering and suffocating, as Mikayla's gaze bore into you.

She walked over, each step deliberate and measured, the sound of her sneakers echoing on the ground like a drumbeat in the quiet space. When she stopped in front of you, her gaze dropped to your sketchbook. For a long, excruciating moment, she just stood there, staring intently at the detailed drawing. Her expression softened, the harsh lines of anger and frustration melting away, replaced by something almost like curiosity, or perhaps some form of disbelief.

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable, as if the very air was holding its breath. You could feel the weight of her presence, the heat of her barely contained emotions radiating off her in waves. Finally, Mikayla straightened, her cat-like brown eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of understanding—in her gaze. It sent a wave of heat through your body that settled into the pit of your stomach. 

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile, the metal of her braces catching the dim light and glinting menacingly. It was a smile that held no warmth, only a cold amusement. She said nothing, her silence louder than any words could have been. Instead, she casually turned on her heel in a relaxed motion and left the atrium, her footsteps fading into the distance, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and your sketches.

As her footsteps faded, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The atrium seemed to return to its quiet self, but something had shifted. You glanced down at Bertha, her tiny feet perfectly drawn on the page. Maybe, like her, you could have found a way to stand up for yourself just now.

Why didn’t I say anything? Why did I just sit there like a scared rabbit? you thought, frustration bubbling up inside you. The encounter left you rattled, but also strangely intrigued. You also thought about what could have driven Mikayla to such cruelty and why had Gabriela been keeping their relationship a secret. Furthermore, you wondered why Mikayla looked at your sketchbook with such intensity. 

The questions swirled in your mind, mingling with the lingering echoes of their argument. You gathered your belongings and stood, brushing off your corduroy skirt. I should have done something. Said something you berated yourself. The atrium felt different now, as if the air itself had absorbed the tension of the confrontation. You took one last look around before heading to your next class, your mind still buzzing with the unexpected drama you had witnessed. In a place where you often felt invisible, today you had been a silent observer to a moment of raw human emotion, and it pathetically left you feeling more disconnected and confused than ever.

It had been days since the encounter in the atrium. Today, the sky was blanketed by gray rain that drizzled steadily outside. You sat in the corner next to a window, your tray of lunch untouched beside you, engrossed in sketching a white-lipped tree frog. The rhythmic patter of rain against the glass provided a soothing backdrop to your thoughts, lulling you into a comfortable daze.

The canteen buzzed with the low hum of conversations, but you were lost in your own world, the frog's delicate form taking shape under your pencil. You meticulously added the tiny ridges along its back, the subtle curve of its legs. The drawing was almost complete when your peace was abruptly shattered.

Three trays clattered down on the table, and you jerked your head up in surprise. Mikayla, along with two other girls from the basketball team, had joined you. Lila, a cool senior who always seemed to be the center of attention, and Jaz, a junior who was perpetually giggly, were already deep in conversation as they approached. The three girls brought a whirlwind of energy with them, disrupting the tranquil bubble you had created.

"Eh, de sumady here?" Lila asked rhetorically, plopping down without waiting for an answer. Her auburn ‘fro was pulled into a puff, and her cheeks were still splashed with rain from outside. She glanced at your sketchbook with mild curiosity before dismissing it entirely. 

Jaz slid into the seat next to you, her tray clinking with a loud metallic scrape. Mikayla, her dark locs parted into two French braids, sat across from you. She gave you a brief nod, her expression unreadable. You hadn’t seen her since the strange encounter in the atrium and felt antsy being so close now.

They continued chatting and eating as if you weren't there, their laughter and banter filling the space between you. Lila was recounting a particularly amusing incident from practice, her hands animated as she spoke. Jaz laughed heartily, her voice ringing out above the din of the cafeteria. Mikayla smiled a bit but seemed more reserved, her eyes occasionally drifting towards you.

You felt a pang of anxiety, your mind scrambling for a way to escape the situation. Just as you were about to gather your things, Lila turned to you.

"Yu waan that?" she asked, picking up an apple from your tray with a mischievous grin. The green fruit was polished to a shine, and its crisp, tangy scent wafted over the table.

Before you could respond, Mikayla scowled at Lila. "Lila, yuh too rude! Yu cyaan jus thief from di gyal!" Her voice had a sharp edge to it, and her eyes flashed with a warning. Then, with a dramatic flourish, Mikayla snatched the apple from Lila's hand and took a bite herself. The crisp crunch echoed in the brief silence before the whole table erupted in laughter, the sound ringing in your ears.

You forced a smile, your heart pounding. The conversation shifted again, leaving you feeling even more out of place. Lila and Jaz resumed their animated discussion about the upcoming basketball game, their voices blending into the background noise of the cafeteria. Just as you were about to retreat back into your sketchbook, Jaz turned to you.

"Yaah a come tuh si wi tonight?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and she leaned in closer, her braids falling in loose waves around her face.

You hesitated, glancing nervously between the three girls. "Um, I wasn't planning to," you mumbled, your fingers tightening around your pencil. Your sketchbook suddenly felt like a flimsy shield against the social whirlwind.

"Nuh, yuh a guh ave fun- mi swear yuh a guh fulljoy it!" Jaz encouraged, her smile genuine. Her eyes were warm and inviting, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope.

Mikayla chuckled, the sound making you flinch. "Yeah, yu haffi come. Yu shud try mek friend dem fi once," she said, her tone teasing. Her eyes met yours briefly, and you saw a flicker of something—was it amusement or something else entirely?

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of awkwardness and forced conversation. The girls gossiped about their teammates, shared inside jokes, and included you in their banter a few times, though you mostly nodded and smiled, feeling like an outsider looking in.

Eventually, Lila and Jaz stood to leave, tossing casual goodbyes over their shoulders. Mikayla lingered behind, her eyes fixed on you. The cafeteria seemed to fade into the background, the noise dulling as she looked at you with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

"Mi expec tuh si yu tonight, Miss" she said directly, her voice holding a note of challenge. "Mi waan fi si yu deh.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving you with a swirling mix of emotions. You sat there for a moment, staring at the half-eaten apple on the table. Why had she invited you? What did she want? The questions gnawed at you, making it hard to concentrate as you gathered your things and left the canteen.

Table of Contents

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[tellurian-in-aristasia]

A firsthand account of traveling to London to stay in an Aristasian household

Hello Dear Hearts in the Cocktail Bar,

Well, here I am back on the Queen Mary, this time returning home to pit-America.

What a lovely time I had in Yvyanne; but, you see, I am actually taking Yvyanne home with me. For no longer am I an American. I am now an Aristasian! And although the Aristasian Embassy is located near Pit-London, Aristasia itself is manifested in little dots all over Telluria, including, I am happy to say, my little spot on the globe, located in Pit- america. I have so much to tell you darlings that I hardly know where to begin. Dear barmaid, help me clear my head with a Rusty Nail, would you?

Remember Elaine, the brunette in disguise who transformed little 'ole me into a blonde? Well, she is still here, but, true to brunette style, is now helping a couple of other more, um, needy girls understand their Aristasian selves. When I boarded the Queen Mary and met Elaine's lovely eyes, she knew at once that, after my visit to the Embassy, I was far enough along that I no longer needed her complete attention.

We are still quite fast friends, and I am not at all disappointed, for just seeing her give of herself to those two helpless little blondes (who by the way remind me so very much of Trudy and Rosie), makes my own sweet blonde heart swell. But more about my trip. I arrived at the Embassy all aflutter. Was my hat on straight? Did my gloves match the rest of my outfit? Was I going to be presentable to high Aristasian authorities? What if I forgot the many, many rules and requirements I had heard about?

Oh, how nervous I was as I stood at the door, waiting for it to be answered by some smartly clad serving girl! And, as it came about, there was good reason for the nervous part, for Aristasians do maintain high standards in all things. But, on the other dainty little hand, Aristasians are warm and loving, ready to help a girl be real and good in any way they can. If I could describe Aristasia in only one way, it would be thus: it is an utterly feminine world in which high standards and complete love dominate every single action and event. Absolute strictness married to absolute compassion. One without the other would leave a world crumbling. Both together create the closest thing to heaven on earth one can find. And that is my honest assessment.

More details later, Sweeties! But for now, I am going to take my leave of you cocktail bar pettes so that I might rejoin my lovely companions aboard the Queen Mary.

I left you girls last describing how I felt when I arrived at the Aristasian Embassy front door. Well, after I first stepped on to Aristasian soil, I was given a long interview with the Mistress of the House. She put me at my ease, telling me all I might expect and all that would be expected of me. A girl, especially a blonde, always likes to know just what is expected of her. That way, she feels nice and safe and all cozy-like. Don't you sweetums agree?

Then something so exciting happened that you'd never guess it in a million years. The maid who was supposed to serve the Mistress throughout the afternoon did not arrive, so guess who got to be maid? Little 'ole me! And there were some bongos who came for business reasons and I had to greet them at the door and take their coats and show them into the drawing room and serve them tea. How nervous I was! So much so that when they knocked at the door, as I was applying my lipstick, I crumbled the one tube I had brought with me! (But never fear, pettes, I managed to have nicely lipsticked lips the entire stay nevertheless).

I must say that I was a fine maid, even with just a few minutes of training. For, to be a good maid, one requires a maid's spirit more than a maid's training, if that makes any sense. Well, now I feel like a little girl showing off in her party frock, and it is a bit naughty of me to brag like this, but I just have to tell you girls that the bongos called the Mistress of the House later that day and asked her where she got her "new girl," because she was just sooooo subservient. Imagine my delight when I heard that! Blonde me. I was so happy on that first day of my visit, and on every day, as you sweet pettes will discover in time.

Source

[daja-the-hypnokitten]

Jukebox reviews part 28! For context, see my post “A Project”     under this same tag. If you want to see a full list of his EMCSA   stories, they can be found here, sorted alphabetically.And if you want to see some of his drabbles, check out his blog at @jukeboxemcsa

Double Vision

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/2/2016                                       mc ff

First - ok, do the Ljosalfar also exist in the world of this story? (then again, are the Ljosalfar even a distinction from the Dokkalfar that existed pre-Christian influence? I dunno, the mythology is fairly incomplete as it stands, and none of this has anythign to do with the story so why am I spending so much time on this anyway?) Second, why does getting hit on the head give Jo the Second Sight? Or did she always have the capacity for it, and the hit just catalyzed it? REGARDLESS, as none of that has anythign to do with the actual control part of the story, moving on. It's a good story. Very fantasy, but I grew up LOVING mythology, so even though I'm a little rusty on it, seeing something drawing on myth is lovely. And the idea of control that most folk dont' notice, and that even though she *does* notice it Jo can't resist? It works within the context of the story. The actual control we see is fairly pedestrian by EMCSA standards, but the worldbuilding done around it means I like this story much more than I might have otherwise. 8/10 spirals 

 Wide Awake

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/2/2016                                       mc mf md

This falls into the therapist abusing trust trope I strongly dislike, but outside of that it's well done and put together. If you like the trope, give this one a read! 

 Take Me Home Tonight

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/9/2016                                       mc mf md

I don't know what to say about this story. It's so far out of my general realm of control I like that I have no frame of reference for it. It's half possession, half mind control of a different sort, and just not my style. But If you like dream and possession magic, give it a go? 

 Forever Your Girl

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/16/2016                                     mc mf md cb rb

Huh, from the title I was expecting this to be a Girls(tm) story, not a superhero story, and not such a tragic one at that. Oh, it has its moments of heat, during the transformation that takes place, but the end of it is just tragic. To be forced to continue loving someone who's dead, unable to truly mourn, No matter how much heat is in the rest of the story, I can't find it hot on the whole with that layer of tragedy underlying it. it's a GOOD story, just ... another one that isn't really erotica to me. 5/10 spirals 

 Trust and Obey

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/23/2016                                     mc ff hu

This story feels like a cross between Green Eggs and Ham and The Cat in the Hat. I get distracted by the couplets, especially the occasional slant rhyme, and honestly Dr Seuess-esque language in an erotica story is just offputting. 3/10 spirals 

 X, Y and Zee

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/30/2016                                     mc ff

... There is no IRB in the country that would approve this story, so this isn't just self-funded, but there can't be any meaningful oversight either. Also, her work needs more footnotes. Also, she clearly needs to review what we've learned from the Stanford Prison experiment; any time a researcher directly involves themselves in the experiment, as she did, it skews objectivity, and makes it less generalizable. We also ought to be presented with the method of recruitment; the nature of the recruitment can bias who is likely to apply. Further, any experiment of this sort should have included a boiler plate "you may revoke consent at any time" clause. Which clearly X was not provided. Putting the design/framing of the story aside, this is ... well, clearly it bothers me a little bit, given my science background, in the ways that it betrays the doctor's intentions with it. Which makes sense in context, but I get distracted considering how I'd improve the experiment. And it's a solid experiment for the goal of "how can I make girls want to have sex with me," rather than "how can I test response to authority?" - they *are* two different questions. The external view of the shifting mindset is less to my taste, and X's clear distress makes this less hot than it would be otherwise. 5/10 spirals 

 Kissing Disease

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/6/2016                                       mc ff mf fd md

Nope, I had to nope out of this one. I can't with stories of a pandemic spreading and people minimizing it until it's undeniable that it has to be worse that they say it is. I just can't. 

 Skeleton Key

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/13/2016                                     mc mf md

This one is a lot more magic than my preference, though the sudden internal changes are fascinating and add some heat for me. And Merrion acknowledging that he's being unethical actually makes me feel better, in some ways? I at least have more hope that he'll treat Paula right after this. And she clearly is getting something out of it, too, which helps. But it does come down to just being too magic for my tastes - though if you like magical artifacts driving the control, give this one a look. 6/10 spirals 

 The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/20/2016                                     mc mf ff fd hm

I never quite understand how pleasure is that overwhelming for folk. It can be fun to play with, sure, but to make me completely let go around someone who puts me on edge? I don't get it and never will. Especially given the context of their interaction here. Maybe I'm just too ace to ever truly grok it, though. But the way she uses the sensation to take control, to build an effective overload induction as she does? It's well done and well written, if a bit cold for my personal preferences.  7/10 spirals 

 Zone Out

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/27/2016                                     mc

Another induction, and one that would be *really* good for folk who have trouble staying completely focused on a hypnotist, if it were a recording rather than a text induction, as it was clearly written to be read aloud.  The way it uses the idea of focusing on something other than the hypnotist, and letting their voice (and I want to say her, because I'm hearing Lady Ru'etha's voice reading it in my head, for all it's Jukebox's words) just slip past the conscious awareness. It does, of course, include arousal and orgasm suggestions, so be aware of that if you're susceptible to text inductions, but I also recommend hypnotists read this one and take some inspiration for if playing with folk who are easily distracted when trancing. 9/10 spirals

[hannukahmatata]

Hello! I'm Esme.

I'm just gonna give you the scoop real quick.

I'm later 20's, use she/her exclusively (no they/them, please!) and white/Jewish. This is my personal/fanart blog! I'll post other stuff, but for the most part, I'm going to focus on art and writing.

This blog encourages engagement. Send stuff and comment, please!!!

I also do blog-based RP! I have a couple blogs, and I might reblog art for those blogs here to show it off. I'm not listing URLs because that will get outdated... so fast. I'll @ them in the relevant art.

I ask that only people 18 years or older follow me. I don't plan on posting Adult Content here, but I'm more comfortable interacting with people around my age. Thank you for understanding.

This is a trans safe space, including nonbinary people and people w/ neopronouns! Please be respectful of other peoples' identities or see the door!

Currently interested in Writing/Drawing for:

Transformers Animated

Teen Titans

Steven Universe (drawing only)

Batman: The Brave and the Bold

Fallen London (and franchise)

Cube Escape/Rusty Lake

Welcome Home

DHMIS

Slay the Princess

Dragon Age

BG3

A couple VERY specific canon/oc ships

For various reasons, I am not interested in writing/drawing for the following fandoms:

H.P

Ha.zbin/Hellu.va

Heta.lia

AO/T

Hom.est.uck

Descendants

More to be added as I think of them

I'm a shameless OC/Canon shipper. Here's a sampler below:

Lorelei (Luminous)/Doc Ock (AU Raimiverse)

Lorelei (Luminous)/Gentleman Ghost (Batman: The Brave and the Bold)

Lorelei (Luminous)/The Voice of the Hero (Slay the Princess)

Lorelei (Luminous)/Sans (Undertale)

Lorelei Taverell/Halsin Silverbough (BG3)

Lorelei Sabrae (Luminous Lavellan)/Emmrich Volkarin (Dragon Age: The Veilguard)

Lorelei Sabrae (Luminous Lavellan)/The Viper (Dragon Age: The Veilguard)

Lorelei (Luminous)/Maxim Horvath (Sorcerer's Apprentice)

Naomi Sato/Sportacus (Lazytown)

Naomi Sato/Wally Darling (Welcome Home)

Tyra Welter/Prowl (Transformers Animated)

Tyra Welter/Wheatley (Portal 2)

Una Tav/Shadowheart (BG3)

... and the list will most certainly get longer.

I'm currently only taking requests if I reblog an art challenge meme, and I do not have a Patreon/Ko-fi. This is purely hobby work, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. Requests may open up at some point.

Links and the like to come soon! Thanks!

[numbur1goobah]

SOBBING IM SO FUCKING SORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN ACTIVE ON HERE MUCH, ESPECIALLY.. okay okay I'll give a thorough explanation..

I have been in the Transformers fandom for about 2 years straight with barley any breaks, drawing them and indulging in Transformers wasn't very healthy for me, because it's the only thing I thought about, talked about , drew and cosplayed. But lately I've been staying away from this app and getting back into older fandoms and doodling the characters! AHEM EHM.. Cuphead But I'm sorry I'm not as active on this app or this account, I don't mean to hurt anyone. Especially you Rusty, you silly goober, you are amazing!

And take this doodle, I hope this is enough to excuse my absence on this app, again I am sincerely sorry.

Me every time one of my beloved mutuals don’t interact with me for a long period of time:

I know they’re busy or something but it makes me go through 10 stages of grief in a matter of seconds-

COUGH…@robotwithanr…COUGH…

[bartholomewillustrated]

oh my boys... oh my BOYS!!!! it's been so long ;;0;; I fin a l l y got around to reading the issues of Treads and Circuits I had sitting on my to-read pile for Ages and I got blindsided by The Kiss and it brought back a lot of feeeeeeelings for these two Big Bad Booooooys I love them so muuuuuch

[mawwart]

KRIS WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DANCING

[bitegore]

hahaha fuck.

My computer cable has abruptly stopped working unless I keep it in one position. The replacement is $60 USD. My go-to solution is to open emergency drawing commissions, but I don't have access to my tablet. Given the way these things go is that first this part of the cable breaks and then it breaks altogether, i am currently on a very ticking clock :)

SO! opening emergency writing commissions! 1 cent a word. No minimum wordcount.

I write for the Transformers fandom primarily but also love working with ocs of all colors and stripes. I'll write you sfw or nsfw, but I don't write smut terribly often and am rusty on it. If you want me to work for a fandom I'm unfamiliar with, please send me up to twenty references in the form of fanworks between 1000 and 10,000 words long, and I will do my best to form my characterization off of that.

I'll link my ao3 with most of my writing in a reblog.

No restrictions. You got any weird, underrepresented kink? Want to see the robots talk in numbers for 2k words? Want someone to write the most dead-dove aro relationship ever to cross the pages of ao3 and never see it anywhere ever? I'll do my damnedest to take genuinely whatever request you have and turn it into reality.

tldr: hahaha i need money or else my computer is gonna be completely dead. pay me to write you things

[solomonish]

things my heart used to know (solomon x reader)

You find yourself stuck in an unusual contraption with Solomon, where the only way out is to take a trip through his memories that he was not prepared to take.

Based on Once Upon a December

Ao3 link: here!

With a spectacular grunt, you rammed your shoulder against a suspicious spot in the wall, hoping that just maybe you could bring the whole wall down or convince someone to help you out or something. Chances of that were low: you and Solomon had been alone when the mysterious magical device activated, trapping you both inside. Trying to shove the more hopeless thoughts of never escaping away, you continued to push at the wall, as if one spot would give and open up to let the two of you out.

Solomon was behind you, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked the picture of calm, a small smile playing with the corners of his mouth as he listened to your struggle. When you looked at him with the intention of giving him a glare, you saw the dim light in the box had turned from white to gold. With a cocked eyebrow, you pushed away from the wall as you felt it morph from stone to something smoother. “What’s…”

“It’s deciding which form to take,” Solomon answered as if that told you anything. Met with silence, he chuckled and pushed himself off of the wall to make his way over to you. “We’re in a memory box.”

“A memory box?” Inadvertently, you stepped closer to him, only stopping when your arm brushed gently across his. The sensation of the walls changing beneath your hands put the horrible thought of your hands getting stuck in a partially-morphed wall, and you wanted to stick next to him in case that really did happen.

Clearly amused, Solomon looked down at you, the teasing smirk on his face making him look much more condescending than he normally did. “Yes. They require a strong magical energy to work, and typically only work once. They’re especially popular with those of us who...have a lot of memories to sift through, but they can be used by anyone. I’m surprised this one lasted so long without being used...” 

As he talked, he walked forward, noting how you stuck close to his side and looked around nervously. The darkness was slowly dissipating and the focused light began to expand into a broader golden glow. The box transformed into a long hallway, the end opening into a room you couldn’t quite see into. Curiously, the walls around you started to shine, taking on their own gilded form. Intricate shapes were carved into the gold, reaching tall like palm trees. In front of each carving stood a gold pedestal, each with some artifact on it that looked to you like they belonged in a museum. 

Finally pulling apart from his side, you ran your fingers over one of the trees. The walls seemed stable, thankfully. “You seem to know a lot about these memory boxes. Have you used one before? Oooh, or did you create them?”

He picked up a small statuette, his gaze darkening for a moment as he stared at it absently. “I...am familiar with how they work.”

He placed the statuette down with a solid clink, drawing your attention from the wall and stopping you from commenting about how utterly unhelpful his response was. Had you said something wrong? His footsteps were faster than before as he made his way down the hall, barely glancing at the walls as if he had seen them before. Well, actually, he probably had. As far as you were aware, you didn’t have an intricate temple in your memories, so this must be coming from him.

Scurrying after him, you followed him through the shadowed doorway and stepped into a room that was just as ornate but not at all connected to the hallway you were just in. While the hall looked like some temple from the first century, the ballroom-like space before you seemed much more recent, if not still at least a hundred years old. You were standing on a high landing, having emerged from an archway several feet taller than you. You weren’t an architect or archaeologist, but you could guess the style of the architecture was different. Maybe...more European? Of some sort? Cringing, you tried to push the image of your humanities professor scowling at you out of your head and slowed your own steps, choosing instead to look at the high ceilings around you.

“I’ve never seen a place like this before…” You murmured in awe. Though the room was dark and clearly abandoned, you still felt a still kind of magic around you, different from what you normally felt around Solomon. He was a few feet to your left, looking at a separate old artifact and standing before a table littered with them. If you squinted, you could see what looked like wings stretched across a long serving dish, the paint chipped and faded. You couldn’t tell if it was an angel or a bird - the pinched expression on Solomon’s face didn’t give you any clues, either. A chill settled in the room, but only you shuddered, suddenly realizing that you were an intruder in these unfamiliar rooms. The thought had you awkwardly kicking at the worn rugs beneath you, the threads dirty and torn yet somehow still looking expensive.

Without a word, Solomon dug around in the bag he was carrying with him, hastily looking for something. You watched him drop it unceremoniously on the ground, bringing up a cloud of dirt around it. In his hand was the notebook he used to teach you different runes, a faint glow coming from the page following the stroke of his pen. The sound of the page being ripped from the binding seemed to fill the room, followed by his steady footsteps as he made his way to the grand staircase. You watched him go, only turning your head so as not to draw his attention.

After he passed, you cautiously sauntered over to the table Solomon was standing at, stooping to pick up the bag he left behind. Slinging the long strap across your chest, you picked up a bear figurine gilded in chipping gold, turning it so that it caught the light. All of the figures before you seemed to be masterful pieces of craftsmanship, regal things to be envied yet somehow seeming personal.  You were almost afraid to touch them for fear of offending the unknown owner.

Your hand fell to your side, bumping a cool metal box on the way and nearly knocking it off the table. Thankfully, you caught it and brought it to your face. Opening up the small lid to reveal another bear, this one standing up as if dancing one half of the tango, you gently turned it around to find the crank. It was old and a bit rusty, but still you turned it gently once, twice, three times until you could feel the springs coiled so tightly they might break. For a moment, you held your breath, then - 

Nothing. No sound came out of the box.

"Hmph. That's a shame," You murmured, tapping the side gently with your finger. Unsurprisingly, that didn't work and you set the box down on the table again. Turning over your shoulder, you called out, "So, what is this pl- ack!"

Just as you turned, a small display of glitter resembling fireworks shot out from Solomon's hand, the shimmering ash eating away at the paper that hovered in midair. Your shout of surprise didn't stir him, his back rigid and still facing you.. The quiet fizzle that caught you off guard became a visible stream of magic curling around him and you before spreading to the far corners of the room. 

You watched as the shadows were pushed into the walls before entirely disappearing, the magic gilding the ballroom and mending the disrepair it had fallen into. Tapestries unfurled to hang on the wall as the vibrancy of the old portraits returned. Overhead, empty arches found themselves holding large, crystalline chandeliers that bathed the room in a welcoming glow. Behind you, the music box started playing, the tune sounding like a full orchestra even if you knew it should only be a dissonant metallic tin. The extravagance caught your breath, nearly distracting you from the way the paintings began to shift and colors bled together.

With another wave of his hand, Solomon drew figures from the painting, hundreds spilling out as if a day had been broken. A few emerged from the floor, entering the ballroom the same way one would step out of a lake and onto the shore. Some of the figures wire masks, hiding their identity with the facade of thespian comedy. Others came as they were, wearing the same face in a variety of expressions. Despite the period clothing and many different hairstyles, the face was eerily familiar.

You watched ghoulish duplicates of Solomon traipse around the floor or mingle, talking to invisible counterparts animatedly. The figures that were not identical were faceless, aside from the occasional partner that seemed to exist in greater detail than any version of Solomon. The figures never stepped a foot on the staircase that was now covered in a rich red carpet - somehow, they were completely unaware of your presence yet seemed to know and respect that you and your Solomon lived in reality. They were citizens of the mindscape, figments of the past, and the barrier between what is and what was should not have been breached.

So caught up in your shock were you that you failed to notice Solomon head down the stairs, as if in a trance, and breach that barrier.

Once you saw him slipping between the ghostly figures, expertly sidestepping them as if he had studied their waltz for years, you called out to him. But he did not answer, too focused on the people milling around him. Maybe your voice was drowned out by the faux chorus around you. With a huff, you gripped the strap across your chest and followed him, walking down the stairs so quickly you almost tripped.

The moment you reached the foot of the stairs, you felt as though you had stepped into a bubble. With a close eye on the figures around you, you picked your way through the crowd with significantly less grace than Solomon. You never lost sight of him in his dark clothes, the dancers only distorting his image as if you were looking through water or a warped mirror as they passed in front of your line of sight. One pair accidentally passed through you, sending a harsh arctic chill down your spine. You watched that Solomon, his hair slightly neater and sporting a ridiculous frilly neck accessory you might have made fun of under different circumstances, pay no mind to you and instead look down at his companion. His expression was mischievous, scheming, but the woman he was dancing with had a face of static, barring you from reading her reaction.

Clutching tighter to the bag strap, you hastened your pace and tried to maneuver through the spirits, occasionally brushing your elbow or hip through the people around you. Each time it sent a different shiver through you, some icy while others were warm and tingled your skin. Surrounded by phantom Solomons only made you more eager to find your place next to the real one again, but the static shock you got from passing through the hurdles made you all the more careful in your steps. Who knew finding your way through a crowd you could walk right through would be harder than finding your way through a collection of solid bodies?

Near the center of the room, you found yourself in an open area with Solomon, your Solomon, standing in the middle. It seemed the translucent versions of himself knew to steer clear of him. You watched, standing just on the edge of where the crowd seemed to circle around him, watching as he took in his surroundings. Then, slowly, Solomon turned to you as if realizing for the first time that you were there.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All your words tangled together, the confusion only growing when Solomon reached a hand out to you, palm up. The gaze he held you in was unfocused, his expression the closest to unkind you had ever seen. Even if there were no right decisions, rejecting his offer to dance seemed like the absolute wrong one. With the same timid air as a schoolgirl at her first dance, you placed your hand in his. For a moment, you felt vulnerable as you untucked your arms from your chest, only to feel at ease once Solomon pulled you in. His hand fell to your waist with a practiced ease. If he had been focused, maybe you would've felt butterflies swarming in your stomach, or maybe you would've laughed nervously. His far away gaze kept the joy down, and instead you pressed your lips in a tight line, watching him closely and allowing him to take the lead.

He fell into step with his doppelgangers, directing you through a path of the specters with the firm hand on your waist. Your time at Diavolo's party helped a little, but back then you hadn't been so worried about your partner. (Well, aside from the time Lucifer asked to dance with you only to threaten you - but then you were more worried about what your partner would do to you and not his emotional wellbeing.) It was all you could do to avoid stumbling over your own feet, barely missing his ties with your heavy steps. 

"Solomon…" You breathed out, noticing how his gaze stuck to the spirits for a moment too long before turning to you. Your questions died in your throat - Are you okay? What's happening? What memory is this? How do we get out of here? - but he could read your expression clear as day, even with his mind preoccupied. 

"These are all memories of me," He explained, leading you into a turn and  arely avoiding one of his copies. "I didn't have a specific memory in mind when we activated the box, so...perhaps it just started to play all of them in one."

"So you've been here before?" You asked, astonished.

"It's...familiar. I've been to lots of places. It's hard to tell."

A pair of dancers blew through you, sending a spark down both of your spines. You turned your head to see a version of Solomon look both ways, checking for onlookers that were nowhere to be found, before tenderly reaching towards the face of the man beside him. Before they could meet, Solomon turned you so his body was between you and the romantic scene, but you were able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. It was completely smooth, like an unchisled head to a statue. 

Solomon didn't make eye contact with you, a faint blush painting his cheeks. You squeezed his hand in the only reassurance you could give. "I don't mean to pry."

There was no answer, and you couldn't blame him. Even if you hadn't meant to peer into his memories, you were witnessing versions of himself he didn't tell you about, versions of himself he might not even remember. You didn't know if he was dancing with you to angle you away from the things he didn't want to see or just to keep you close, but the fact that you were even around to be swept up in the sea of Solomons was too personal for him to dwell on.

With an almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Solomon's attention was grabbed by someone on the other end of the room. His grip on your hand tightened and he tucked you slightly closer to himself, spinning you in order to turn your course. You couldn't keep up with his faster footwork, nearly tumbling to the ground and only saved by his firm grasp. Solomon wasn't paying attention to you, though; his focus was on whoever he was pursuing, his turns tight as he guided you into a small circle around the room. 

The fast turns were making you dizzy, unexpectedly jostling you every time his target moved from his sight. Feebly, you used the hand resting on his shoulder to push him gently away, asking him to stop. The more he spun, the harder you pushed, occasionally asking him to slow down. He wasn't hurting you, but you were hoping that if you could get his attention he might stop. The figures around you were whirling, spinning, disorienting you - was that how dizzy and overwhelmed he felt every day, or just now? 

Without warning, the figures around you stretched an arm out as their partners spun away from them, their fingers barely brushing past each other as they disappeared into thin air. As the remain figures turned to fade into their own memories, Solomon did the same to you. You tried to keep your hands connected, hoping maybe if you kept your fingertips on his he could you bring you back to him bring his thoughts with you. That didn't happen, and you felt your fingertips drag across his palm as you stumbled backwards.

Brushing your hair out of your face, you huffed and looked around. It was just you and Solomon in the room again, the Golden facade having faded back into the dim, abandoned ballroom from before. Solomon was staring at a blank space a few feet from the wall, his face scrunched as if watching the world rip something from him. Perhaps he was; perhaps he was watching one of the few faces he could remember beside his own, maybe one of the ones he loved, fade away from his grasp again.

This wasn't about you - clearly, none of the memories were for you to see - but you felt a creeping loneliness settling around you. Solomon was not only lost in his own world, but in hundreds of his own worlds, where details blurred and recognizable friendly faces were a luxury. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you noticed that the music box was now playing music, the kind you'd expect from such a dainty trinket. Now, the sound seemed hollow and eerie, far from how charming you thought it would be before.

Hesitantly, you took one step towards him as the song dwindled to a stop, but the click of your shoe echoed far too aggressively in the room. The walls were slowly returning to the non-descript box you were in before, but Solomon wasn't moving from his spot. The memories would always be swirling around in his head, you supposed. He had to take his time to bridge the gap between you - even if to you, it seemed insurmountable and ever-growing.

[skellebonez]

Hey, hey Skelle. 41and 51 with Spider Queen/Macaque/Wukong with the three adjusting to Spider Wukong and the first two trying not to be obvious that they're having a crisis.

Oh I know these two are absolute fucking disasters after Spider Wukong happens. They are the biggest bi/pan disasters and Wukong knows it. Here is some very important artwork that you need to be aware of (because I use them as references).

Spoilers for, well. Everything.

Can you teach me how to do that?/Can you two save the kissing for later?

"You did this," Macaque said bluntly to the Spider Queen, not taking his eyes off the display in front of them. "You did this and I don't know whether to thank you or hate you."

"I am aware," she sighed, only looking away to look down at the four armed and four eyed spider monkie beside her. "Is this a formal complaint?"

"Take a wild guess," Macaque managed out out, resting his head in his palm as he tried to stop the swishing of his tail.

"You're hopeless."

She turned back to watch Sun Wukong effortlessly move things around his island. It was always easy for him, it would take no effort for the Monkey King to move a tree with one hand. Except now... now he was a six armed and massively tall Spider Monkie just like Macaque. Only taller. With two more arms.. And always shirtless. And as he displayed this massive amount of strength he was gently grooming one of his many monkey subjects so carefully in his extra arms.

A dangerous sight for his two partners to behold.

~

Things had calmed down a lot since, well, everything that happened. Most of their lives were much less hectic with Spider Queen and her family combining with Team MK and the White Bone Spirit finally dealt with.

But that didn't mean they could afford to just relax all the time. There were still enemies out there, more so with the side switching and the reveal of MK being Spider Queen's son, and given the transformations both immortal monkies went through they needed to stretch and move around to keep themselves in decent shape. So that was how they found themselves in a light sparring match, working out excess energy and finding it more enjoyable than they had in centuries.

"You're getting rusty, Peaches!" Macaque teased, using his four arms to cartwheel sideways and then backwards with much more ease than he ever had before. "Come on, you have to have some kind of trick up your non-existent sleeves!"

Spider Queen watched from the sidelines in the shade, shaking her head at the terrible banter. "Speak for yourself."

Wukong didn't say anything, just smirked and rushed at his partner. Macaque strafed to the side, easily dogging the kicks and punches and finding himself let laughter bubble up as the fight continued. It had been so long since their last spar and he felt almost as good as he had ever been!

And then Wukong gently grabbed his face.

Distantly he felt four hands wrap around his four wrists and that was all the warning he got before Wukong flipped them sideways and Macaque landed backwards in the dirt.

He froze, the six armed spider monkie's top set of hands cupping his face like it was made of glass. He was suddenly very aware of exactly how close the other's face was to his own, how the lighter hair of his sideburns blended into his regular hair now, how bright green the other's eyes were and how wide his pupils were (was that normal? he couldn't think well enough to remember), and how excessively tall he was. He was so tall.

"I win," Wukong announced, hands now cradling the back of Macaque's head to keep it from hitting the dirt and wrists still held captive in his hands. He chuckled as he rolled them over again, so easy and so strong and Macaque felt like his own limbs were putty as Wukong sat back against a nearby boulder. He only watched with a wry smile as Macaque fell forward, hand out between two of his own arms to catch himself before he face planted into the other's chest. He felt Wukong let his wrists go, his middle arms on either side going to rest on his waist in some fashion and one of hi lower hands running up and down his back with claws digging through the coarse fur.

He didn't move the hands cradling his face.

"You're cute like this, you know."

Wukong said this with a soft low chuckle, and Macaque tensed up as he felt the taller's hand move from running along his spine to trail up the back of his tail from base to tip. His now massive stature making this a much easier endeavor, especially when Macaque's traitorous tail lifted of it's own accord to meet the touch against it.

All Macaque could do was tense as his fur poofed up, ears flared out, face flushed red, and an odd choking noise that sounded like it was mixed with a deflating tire escaped his mouth.

"Oh no... oh no, he has it baaaaaad," Spider Queen breathed from a distance, unable to hide the flush of her own face. "I made him more powerful... he's doing this on purpose, I know it."

Eventually Wukong stood the two of them up and had to run off to take care of some of the baby monkeys on their island home, leaving Macaque to stand there. And watch. As he left.

Then he immediately covered his face with his hands and screamed into them.

Spider Queen snuck away from Macaque later in the day, finding the courage to ask Wukong "Can you teach me how to do that?"

He laughed but obliged.

~

Spider Queen wasn't unused to moving around on her real legs, she'd done it before. Like when she had tricked Pigsy (and Tang by association) at the food market that long long time ago. But she had relied on her mech so much since then and had been ripped from it so violently, torn from it in a way that wasn't supposed to disconnect her from it at all, and then spent so much time in... whatever plane she was trapped in within the Trigram Furnace that walking again was difficult at times.

Then again... maybe if she hadn't insisted to herself that she needed to wear longer dressed and massive pumps and wedges and heels to make herself taller, so that she wouldn't have to crane her neck to look at her partners and so they wouldn't have to strain their backs to look at her... maybe she wouldn't be in this position.

Not that she was complaining. Oh no. Complaints about this exact scenario left the second it started.

She'd followed at least some of her partner's insistence that she stop wearing stilettos until she got the hang of safer heels. She was wearing wedges this time, still tall and extreme and probably not the best for someone still recovering. But she managed well enough.

Until she stumbled standing from the stool at Pigsy's, her legs more tired from the walk then she had expected.

It almost felt like it happened in slow motion. She was headed face first toward the floor. Then two arms grabbed her from behind, then another two, then when her momentum stopped a fifth and sixth brushed her hair away from her face as Wukong stood her up back onto shaky feet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his grip loose but not entirely letting go yet. "Do your legs hurt?"

"N-no," she stuttered out, trying her best to keep her face impartial and to not let the blush forming take hold. "They're just... tired, I suppose."

"That's good," Wukong said, shaking his head after a moment. "Well, it's not good they're tired, but still. How about I help you get home?"

"UH... ok?" She said softly, and instantly she was off the ground.

And Wukong was off the ground.

They were both off the ground, the Monkey King lounged lazily on his cloud and Spider Queen cradled carefully in two of his sets of arms with her head resting on his chest. And... oh no. This was nice actually.

She felt her face flush more.

"Comfortable?" Wukong asked, tone low and soft with a smirk on his face as he moved it closer and she knew that he was doing it on purpose again. His pupils were oddly dilated as well... spiders and monkeys didn't do that, they weren't cats, but this was the monkey king and demons purred so... who knows.

"Yes," was the high pitched squeak that escaped her, and who knows what would have happened if a loud cough had not sounded from Pigsy.

Oh right. They were in his shop still.

"Can you two save the kissing for later? When you're not blocking the entrance to my shop, maybe?"

Wukong only laughed and zipped out of the store on his cloud, hugging Spider Queen more firmly against his chest.

... she needed to wear even more heels if this is where it got her.

~

The two were pressed into and laid their heads on either side of the partner's chest, the couch almost just a smidgen too small for all of them. But Wukong had fallen asleep in between them and they didn't have the hearts to wake him up. His head rested on one of his top arms, the other lazily slung over the back of the couch, while the other two wrapped around Spider Queen and Macaque softly.

Protectively.

One of Macaque's own arms was reaching over to hold Spider Queen's hand softly.

"Thank you," Macaque said after a moment. "I am with drawing my formal complaint."

She couldn't help but laugh.

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.

[mefiman]

I posted 2,942 times in 2021

34 posts created (1%)

2908 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 85.5 posts.

I added 4,246 tags in 2021

#dbz - 1956 posts

#piccohan - 899 posts

#transformers animated - 411 posts

#unknown artist - 306 posts

#tfa megop - 217 posts

#pixiv - 123 posts

#truten - 86 posts

#kixillu - 86 posts

#piccoku - 84 posts

#tfa megatron - 78 posts

Longest Tag: 83 characters

#goku doesn't understand why gohan doesn't like fighting and training as much as him

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Itty bitty baby with Papa.

17 notes • Posted 2021-04-18 11:57:28 GMT

#4

My Megop Kids, BurningPassion and Maganous with @enderdragon17's Megop Kid, Roí Ziz in softbody since I didn't have enough energy to draw robot frames... So long I haven't drawn TFA stuff, must be getting rusty...

17 notes • Posted 2021-06-22 04:22:17 GMT

#3

I was going through some BaronJitsu posts when I thought about my good friend, @rottmntrulesall and wondered how she was doing. I chanced upon my past gift to her which was a drabble and realized I never drew her take on TMNT Venus de Milo. So, I decided to draw her cuddling Grandpa Mons' fluffy tail. ^^

And here is my idea of Monsrage's and @rottmntrulesall's OC, Hamato Hikari's little cubs should they happen to bond and mate in the near future. I credit her for giving the names Akihiro and Chitose while I created the name Louji (obviously from the cubs' relative, Lou Jitsu). Both Mons and Hika would love these bundles of floof and mischief to no end. 😁

17 notes • Posted 2021-09-04 09:26:31 GMT

#2

Long time ago, me and @marco95z discussed about his OC Valimar and the idea of him having creators from an old RP. So after time procrastinating, here they are! My present for my dearest bud! I give him permission to use them and give them any names of his liking as long as I am given credit of creating them in the first place! ^^

20 notes • Posted 2021-06-16 15:24:32 GMT

#1

Hamato Family’s First Visit to the Hidden City

Story request by @rottmntrulesall. Hope you enjoy the story, bud! ^^

"C'mon, everyone! Hurry up!" Michelangelo's impatience was obvious in his excitement. He and his siblings were finally going to show their dad's relatives for the first time to the Hidden City for two reasons; one: to view the many wonders of the other world and two: to have a formal, proper meeting with Draxum's parents. The latter part had instilled some unease into the Hamato siblings, especially Saki who was wary about stepping foot into a mysterious world and was about to see for himself the father and mother of the "monster" who altered his younger brother many years ago.

"Are you sure this place is safe?" Hamato Kenji asked. Raphael glanced at his uncle, understanding his uncle's concerns. "We've been there a lot, Uncle Kenji! We did encounter a few dangers there before but other than that, the people there don't usually attack humans unless provoked." Raph assured his uncle.

"There are a lot of places to visit like the many resorts and spas if you want to have a massage and ooh, Señor Hueso's Run of the Mill Pizza where they make one of the best pizzas! I know the manager of that place, we're amigos~" Leonardo took the chance to quip in.

"I can't wait to see Grandpa Mons again! Wait till you guys meet him yourselves, he's the nicest, sweetest grandpa you'll ever meet! He's still as strong as he's gentle!" Mikey said happily.

"I wonder if Grandma Chemia has some wicked new inventions to show me!" Donatello exclaimed.

"This would be my first time seeing my grandparents, Arachne..." Ariadne whispered to her best friend, Arachne.

"You've never seen them before?" Her friend asked.

"Once when I was a baby... I haven't seen them for years." The yokai femme told Arachne.

"Alright, kids, you've shown us all that you're excited to bring us to visit the Hidden City, Mikey, can you open the portal now?" Splinter asked.

"Sure, Dad!" Mikey got to work quickly.

Draxum felt a tinge of anxiety inside himself. He could not recall the last time he visited his creators ever since he moved out of home to pursue his alchemy researching, away from his parents' constant arguments, half of which is about their preferred methods of raising him. It was a surprise how those two still manage to live under the same roof despite their obvious clashing personalities. He guessed that they tolerated each other just for his sake. His parents had never produced any more offspring after him and one of Arachne’s parents...

"Hey, are you okay, Dad?" A female voice asked him. Draxum jolted from his pondering to find that his daughter, Poison Ivy asking him out of concern. He just gave a small smile as he ran his clawed hands over her helmet. "Am fine, just thinking about your grandparents." He assured her. He marveled how Ivy much had grown from the last time he scientifically created her with his and Lou Jitsu's DNAs; she being so tiny as a developed newborn infant growing in a liquid chamber to a young lady around the boys' ages. From what he knew later on, Splinter raised her along with the Turtles. Ivy had lived her life at first as a normal human teenager until her yokai genes started appearing. The initial discovery of her origins did shake her world but over time, she had learnt to accept and use them to assist her brothers in their adventures. She was intelligent like Draxum and his mother with his father's gentle, mature nature as well as Splinter/Lou's sassiness. She loved to study on botany and coincidently, her powers involved using vines and summoning plant like monsters at will. She recently revealed her sexuality preference as a lesbian and had a girlfriend who is a fellow classmate and witch trainee/apprentice in disguise. Both her creators and siblings were happy for her. As of now, she was cradling her younger sister, Venus de Milo was giggling and squealing as April, Ariadne and Arachne cooed and tickled her belly.

The group watched Mikey draw a symbol on the wall at an alley. Once the symbol was drawn, an open portal revealed. The Hamato siblings' mouths went ajar, not believing what they just saw. "if you think that's mind blowing, you haven't seen nothing yet!" Mikey grinned. His three other brothers and the three girls each took hold of one of their Hamato uncles and aunts's hands. The moment they all jumped into that portal, they found themselves staring at a massive part of a what seemed to be a huge city. The sky above was unlike Earth's skies; instead it was orange with some brown. The architecture of the buildings there were monster shaped with some tall, castle like structures far away from the city. There were a lot of people of all shapes, sizes, colors and appearances walking, running, passing by each other, buying their needs or doing their usual business trades. The Turtle family allowed their Hamato relatives to take in their first view around them. Saki's eyes were bulging out of his sockets, he could not believe for his life what he was seeing. Anthropomorphic, mostly consisting of animal, everyday objects, monstrous and supernatural like individuals roamed every part of the streets around him, he felt as if he was having a strange dream that defied logic! Nori on the other hand, looked right and left, taking in interesting sights that captured her attention. Underneath a calm façade, Kenji was freaking out internally at the new, foreign view. Hiroki was squealing in delight similar to a child had just discovered a world made of toys and sweets. Her twin, Hikari was a bit calmer than his sister, feeling a thrill of danger running through his veins. Last but not least, the youngest Hamato sibling, Mei's stance looked poker face yet she looked around to see if there were any Gothic like people that she can interact with. The Turtles and the girls grinned, seeing the reactions of the others.

"What do you think? Surreal, huh?" They ask.

"Amazing.."

"Fascinating..."

"I can't believe what I'm seeing..."

"Someone please tell me that I'm dreaming..." Saki mumbled, still not believing.

"No, you're not," Draxum replied, going straight to the point with an indifferent expression. "May we please hurry to my parents' house, I bet they're waiting for our arrival..."

"Oh yeah!" Mikey clapped both his hands once. "Lead the way, Draxy!"

Draxum sighed as he took the lead of the group. Along the way, there were a few whispers around and behind Draxum coming from the city people but Splinter and Ivy took hold of both his hands and gave a comforting, assuring squeeze, making him feel better. Ariadne gave her uncle a comforting hand on to his shoulder. They were soon out of the main city square to a further distance into the woods. They had to climb up a hill for a while until they reached a big mansion residing there.

"We are here at last. My childhood home..." Draxum said, looking at the grassy, serene valley below, reminiscing the times where he as a little one ran galloping around the field, cartwheeling with glee among the flowers and his sire teaching him the basics on how to defend himself the predator way. Both father and son spend their days in the early years, sparring with each other...

"Draxum, my son!" The former alchemist warrior villain snapped out of his memories to find himself being engulfed into the arms of none other than his dear, loving old father, Monsrage who brought his only son into a crushing bear hug which knocked the wind out of his lungs. "How have you been, my little baby boy? It's rare that you visit us but it's so wonderful to see you bring your family along! How delightful!" the older yokai gushed, his bushy tail wagging with unlimited enthusiasm like an excited puppy. Monsrage was rather huge and muscular with perked up, pointy ears, silky straight black hair unchanged through time and a fairly long beard to match. Like Draxum before, he wore a battle mask. He had a significant dark upperlip. His body had different shades of blue just like his son, Draxum when he was armored. Monsrage's eyes were the same like Draxum's. His feet in particular, was a noticeable difference. Unlike his wife and son, his feet were shaped like a lion's paws, fitting for him coming from a predator species.

"Father, it's great to see you... but can you please let go now? I can't breathe..." Draxum choked out, being smothered by his sire's busty chest. Monsrage immediately loosened his grip, apologizing profusely while checking to see if he had accidently broken any of his son's bones. Draxum shook his head, smiling a little. His sire had never changed all these years, still a concerned worrywart. And he bet his mother had not either...

Chemia on the other hand, was greeting the rest of the visitors with feverish energy. She was a redhead with shades of pink for her skin colour and her ears, long and drooped. Her eyes had a little twinkle in them, a part of her eccentric personality and plump, red lips. Like her husband, she wore a mask. Donnie, April, Arachne and Ivy were given a whirlwind hug the moment they came in front of her. Monsrage went back to the mansion with his son to give the new visitors, the Hamatos, April, and Arachne a warm greeting as well as welcome his beloved grandchildren with his signature bear hug and proceed to pepper their faces with smooches which they were delighted to have especially Mikey, Ariadne, Ivy and Venus. Monsrage and Chemia ushered them all into their humble abode. The Hamatos were initially skeptical about meeting Draxum's family but they were soon warmed up to them. Later on, the mansion was filled with guffaws of laughter as Monsrage showed them all baby pictures of his son which embarrased the poor warrior scientist. Donnie, April and Ivy were treated to Grandma Chemia's latest creations. Monsrage himself had a blast, playing with Venus and sparring with the Turtles and the girls. Arachne was delighted to meet her grandparents as a young adolescent, telling them about her achievements, adventures and that her own parents are doing well. The Hamatos became comfortable talking with Draxum's parents over some snack delicacies. Overall, everyone had a wonderful time at the Hidden City.

I had fun writing this! Was tiring but oh so worth it.

The Hamato siblings (minus Lou/Splinter) and Venus de Milo belong to @rottmntrulesall while Ariadne and Arachne are the OCs of @mikeykawaii/@mikey-ho. Monsrage, Chemia and Poison Ivy along with the mention of the witch girlfriend belong to me, @mefiman. I hope you don’t mind me incorporating your girls into this story, @mikeykawaii but I’ve been dying to add them in, especially Ari meeting her grandparents! ^^ 

24 notes • Posted 2021-07-20 08:25:44 GMT

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