#i can finally got to Battle arenas again

[pen-papers]

ooooh,i just found a way to stream my 3DS footage perfectly to my pc with this homebrew...

[cheolism]

DEVOTION

✰ — choi san x gang leader!f!reader ✷ — summary: after a year of fighting in a rebellion, san was tired of battle. like an angel, a goddess, you offered him peace.  ✰ — wc is approx. 12k ✷ — genre: nsfw, first meetings, mafia/gang society, simp!san, themes of worship, cultish if you squint, toxicity but san likes it ✰ — warnings: morally grey themes between both reader and san. violence, blood, and murder alongside other mature scenes, including those sexual in nature. in particular: literally licking someone else’s wounds, finger sucking, gagging, and oral sex. there is a heavy power imbalance with reader being the superior, but san is explicitly into this. he has a praise, humiliation, and devotion kink. non-sexual feet washing as a worshipping act. reader has pussy hair and is hinted to be a virgin, but not established. ✷ — rating: 18+. pay attention to the warnings.  ✰ — note: the reader in this fic is the leader of a gang, or a “sect” that inhabits a city and she is referred to as “the empress”. at one point san will lick blood off of the reader. i will put the beginning and ending of this sequence in bold so those who are disturbed can skip. thank you to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and offering words of enthusiasm to this fic!! i really appreciaste it <3

p r o l o g u e .

the city held its breath when you fall ill. it's a fleeting illness, your aunt, who was left regent in the wake of your illness, announced. the empress will return to her duties as quickly as possible.

and then nothing happened for six months.

rumors spread. you'd died and your death was kept a secret to prevent rival sects from trying to steal territory; you'd been kidnapped for ransom and the "sickness" is a smokescreen. some spoke of treachery, but that's quickly hushed up. for who would dare betray the empress, the sweet little lamb of a girl who crowns her citizens with flowers?

then your aunt was found dead in a pool. seemingly too suspicious to be a coincidence, you began to get better. 

the city let out a relieved breath.

you began to appear in public once more. the city basked in your attention. all seemed to thrive. you kept the city secure under your watch, each entrance and exit under firm surveillance, guards on the corners of streets with guns at their hips, politicians carrying suitcases of powder, corrupt men and women entering your penthouse and never seen leaving.

"it's wrong," said choi bada to his brother. "she'll run our sect to the ground."

and once again the city held its breath as choi bada took a single, nearly-perfect shot at you, missing by a mere breath.

war had begun.

choi san had no choice but to stand beside his brother. surely choi bada was right; he wouldn't steer san in the wrong direction. he wouldn't do the wrong thing.

public buildings were desecrated with bullets and blood. san got used to the feeling of fighting, of bruised muscles and blood staining his clothes. he was commanded to destroy a temple you had dedicated to the gods, offerings of the common and rich alike littering the white granite steps. and so he got used to the feeling of wrongness, of feeling as if he was walking a dark and dangerous path of sin.

then choi bada was killed.

the empress, it was relayed to san as he was chained to a wall, was giving him a choice: die beside his treacherous brother or fight in the empress's arena for her forgiveness.

in the end the choice was easy. after all, san had been fighting for the past year of his life. what was one last battle?

san would forever remember the face of the final body. his opponent’s face was a violent mixture of red and purple, blood staining his mouth and teeth. he was ugly from the brutality of the world, another testament to the harshness of the world. 

the crowd roared with approval. they were thirsty; fervent. 

it was deafening. the screams and shouts of the crowd nearly drowned out the thundering of blood in san’s ear, his adrenaline shooting through his body like waves crashing down against rock. he couldn’t think. he couldn’t do anything other than stand there in the arena, looking at the bodies littering the sand. 

“our winner!” declared a voice, loud and booming even without a microphone. the overseer moved into the arena, his clothes a bright, clean stain against the bloodied sand. he effortlessly wove around bodies to get to san. “our champion!”

the overseer grabbed san’s forearm. the other man’s hand was spotless against san’s skin, which had dirt and sand and sweat molded to flesh. san protested for a moment, instinctively pulling away. 

he had been fighting for as long as he could remember. touch meant hurt, and he had long stopped expecting otherwise. 

the overseer laughed at san, lips twisted thin and wide. he grabbed at san again. “keep easy, pup,” he hissed out. “you’ve won the fight. congratulations. but you won’t win the battle if you keep trying to bite.”

san wanted to punch this man. he remembered how the overseer had introduced him, the snake in wolf’s skin, the brother of the traitorous subordinate to the empress. he remembered the overseer glancing over him, loudly announcing that he’d do. 

san was just another pawn for entertainment to the overseer; to the crowd. he was just another puppy expected to sit and lay and play dumb. 

he’d been fighting for so long. who would fault him if he were to swing around and throw a punch into the overseer’s face? who’d disapprove if he were to slam the man into the ground, if he were to fucking drive his knee into his stomach? 

san made to draw back. he cast a wild look around, searching for something. instead of aid, his eyes caught on the large screen. for a split second he saw himself, feral and filled with hatred. then the screen switched, showing the empress. 

the empress’s lips were split in a smile, showing off the white of her teeth. she had her chin resting on her hand, watching; watching san.

“our champion!” the overseer yelled out once more. “the winner of our empress’s victory! choi san!”

the crowd’s praise grew to a frantic roar, rabid with their adoration. he couldn’t see them, the lights of the arena bright. they loved this, san knew; loved blood, loved fighting. it was a performance to them. it didn’t matter who was in the arena; they were all dispensable. 

who mattered was who walked out. 

“to the empress,” said the overseer, moving his hand to clap san’s shoulder. his nails dug into san’s flesh. “she was most impressed by your little performance.”

san let the overseer direct him from the arena. the crowd was alight with awe, despite knowing san. well: despite knowing san’s brother. despite knowing that for the past year san had fought alongside his brother, war replacing the blood in his veins, soft words replaced by venom. 

none of that mattered anymore. none of it mattered now that san had won, had survived a fight against forty-nine others. he was blessed, the crowd saw now; blessed by the gods and to be blessed by the empress. 

he had punched and murdered and shot relentlessly in the name of his brother for the past year. and as the overseer bid the guard to open the gate separating the sands of the arena from the crowd, san realized he wouldn’t be expected to fight anymore. 

because that was why he had been fighting, wasn’t it? 

he was bound by blood to fight alongside his brother. even as he realized it was wrong – fighting for the sake of it, fighting for the sake of power was wrong –  he had to stand beside his brother.

and now he was stepping from the arena, stepping from the sands of war and leaving behind bodies he had injured with his own hands. he realized he could leave it all behind. he walked in a prisoner, was walking out a winner. he won the empress’s crown; would wear the flowers of victory. 

it didn’t matter who was in the arena. 

who mattered was who walked out. 

his brother was no longer his ruler. 

now it was – 

“the empress,” the overseer began, speaking loudly into san’s ears as to be heard over the crowd. people reached out to press their fingers against san. he didn’t know why. he had been bathed before the arena, but it didn’t matter. he was covered in sweat and grime. he was bruised and scratched. 

someone pressed their fingers against san’s bicep. he flinched back, inadvertently pushing back into the overseer. the other man gripped san tight. “when you see the empress, you won’t look the empress in the eye. kneel at the empress’s feet. both knees, hands on the ground, forehead between. the empress will say your name. you will announce your wrongdoings and beg for forgiveness. if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory. don’t look at her. don’t say anything beyond what i have instructed you.”

the overseer directed san up the stands. there were all kinds of people: some wore tattered clothes; some suits, hair greased back; some industry uniforms. they were all youthful and vibrant beneath the arena lights. 

the empress and the empress’s court, as it were, were separated from the rest. the empress’s balcony overlooked the entire arena. only the elite within the gang – sect, san remembered, within the sect – were allowed to sit this far up, this near the empress. 

and it showed. they wore polished suits and glittering jewels. the holsters of guns were bedazzled and glimmering. instead of cans of beer, they held crystal glasses. these were the ones the empress trusted most – no, san corrected again. the empress doesn’t trust anyone. these are the ones that have gained, in one way or another, the empress’s approval. 

murderers and sellers; crooks and robbers. 

san was directed up a short staircase. he stepped foot onto the platform. the metal was covered in soft, lush rugs. incense was lit, overtaking the dusty air of the arena with a fragrant scent. it was purified; they were purifying the space. 

san’s eyes flitted over the rising smoke from the incense, and then he caught sight of the empress. 

caught sight of you. 

“eyes,” the overseer warned. 

san fixed his eyes onto the ground. the overseer guided him with a hand on the shoulder, steering him towards the center of the podium where you sat. once the overseer adjusted san so his shoulders were square with you, presumably, he dug his hand down onto san. san went, obediently, to his knees. 

his knees, bruised and raw from fighting, hit the soft carpet. san placed the palms of his hands down against the rug, his knuckles violently red from all the punching he had done, already swelling – and he placed his forehead down against the carpet. 

something settled the crowd, silence taking over and reigning. 

a voice broke through. “choi san,” you said, “younger brother to our dearest choi bada, of the formerly respected choi clan.”

your court tittered with laughter at the reminder of how far he had fallen. 

“no worry.” your voice neared. you had risen from your chair – your throne. “the man you were when you walked into the arena is no more. now you are before me, clean from your sins if you so wish to be. 

“tell me: choi bada spoke of treachery and murder, of annihilation of our precious sect; do you concur with your brother’s disastrous agenda?”

san spoke to the ground, but, he found, he was speaking from the heart. “no.”

two letters, one syllable. 

that’s all it took to renounce his brother, to turn his back on his brother’s corpse. 

“no,” you echoed. “yet you had fought alongside him. you had killed and burned alongside him. were you not his most trusted?”

san scraped his nails against the rug. “i was.”

you hummed. san thought he recognized the tune, but then it was gone just as he was able to reach out and catch the thread of it. “you could have chosen loyalty to this true emperor, as he proclaimed himself. my guard would have killed you alongside choi bada. and yet you entered my arena, fought, and won. you entered to leave your old life behind, yes? you entered to renounce your clan.”

“yes.”

“and so you will,” you said. “rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.”

slowly, as if you were a predator, a lion, and he were the prey, a mouse, san moved. he lifted himself from the bow. he did not stand. he remained kneeling, palms placed on the torn fabric stretching over his knees. san kept his face towards the ground. 

“let me see you.”

san thought back to the overseer and his warning: don’t look. he wasn’t to look at you. yet you were asking, were telling him to look. 

so san looked. 

and looked. 

maybe it was because for the past few years of his life he had been fighting. ever since his brother had declared himself the new emperor, had spurred a rebellion in the name of progression, of tradition, san had been fighting. perhaps he had been fighting since he was born, constantly trying to remain in the good graces of a temperamental, powerful older brother. 

regardless: san had been fighting for far too long, and he was tired. 

before he’d thrown the final punch; before the man with the bright smile tried to stab a knife into san’s thigh; before san had stepped foot into the arena, before his name had been announced to the masses; before his wrists and ankles were put in chains; before his brother announced his surrender, fuck, before he even announced his rebellion, san was tired of fighting. 

he wanted to fucking stop. 

‘if she forgives, you will earn the empress’s victory.’

and now you were before him, brilliant and beautiful and blinding, offering an end. 

you were confession and absolution. you were thunder clouds parting to reveal soft, ever-blue skies. you were serenity and stability. you were peace, an end to a life of war. 

you were beautiful. 

san drank you in greedily. he took in the shape of your nose, the curve of your lips; the fall of your hair, the way you were dressed plainly in white and clean of any jewelry despite the extravagance of the elite around you. 

your eyes widened as san didn’t look away from your gaze. the overseer hissed behind him. neither of you paid him any mind. instead san watched as a small, pleased smile teased at your lips. 

you stepped down from your throne. everyone seemed to hold their breath as you descended. san knew without looking this was being projected onto the screen. 

your feet were bare. san remembered you were not to step on unclean earth, were not to be touched by unclean hands; not to hear unclean words. your attendants, san had heard, were cleaned before aiding you. their nails, even, were cleaned meticulously. only the pure could touch you. 

“choi san,” you hummed again. you had a twinkle in your eyes. a more ignorant man would claim it to be innocence. san knew better. you were analyzing him. “your brother named you one of his most trusted, bid you to aid him in rebelling against our sect.”

“he did.” 

you waved your hand. an attendant stepped forward. he held a golden platter. upon it rested a circlet of flowers. san didn’t know flowers, but even the most ignorant concerning flowers would be able to recognize the small, white blossoms as wax flowers. as your flowers, as the empress’s victory. 

your blessing symbolized. only those worthy could wear it, show off the empress’s favor. it was a sign of their devotion to you; of your protection to them. to gain it was magnificent; to be stripped of it, deadly. 

“and you rejected choi bada.”

san furrowed his brows. he should lie; should say he rejected his brother, claim he felt it was the wrong thing to do from the beginning. he should claim his allegiance was only ever to you, his empress. 

but san couldn’t lie. not to himself; to you. 

“not at first.” the elite on the podium gasped. you shot the crowd a silencing look. san only carried on once your eyes were upon him once more. “he was my older brother. i thought he could do no wrong. it was – was my duty, my pleasure to be with him.”

you moved towards him, hands going to the crown of flowers. “until?”

“the temple,” san said, hesitating. “it – it was wrong. he was wrong. it was evil. cruel. horrible.”

you smiled down at him, the crown of flowers resting delicately on your fingers. “your heart is golden, young wolf.”

san shook his head. “if it was then i would’ve known from the beginning.”

“the plots of those closest to us,” you began, “are often concealed. we do not regard our precious ones with clear eyes, choi san.”

you were talking about your aunt. the one who had poisoned you for five years to weaken you, had used your illness to try and spread her territory and harvest your riches. who had exploited your youth, your naive innocence and trust and turned around and hurt you. 

perhaps you and san were alike. you both had been betrayed by those closest. 

san considered you. the line of your proud shoulders, the stability of your hands. you were the heavens revealed after a storm. you were his empress; his goddess. 

“no,” he said gently. “i should have known better. the gods have honored and blessed you as our empress. i should not have presumed any man to know better than the gods. i should have known better than to listen to my brother’s lies.”

“lies,” you repeated back. “i suppose he spoke of my imperfections. in some regard, he would not be wrong. i am mortal.”

san frowned. he lowered himself again. slowly san crawled forward, his bruise knuckles and bloodied forearms – not his blood, of course – stark against the soft white of the rug. he reached, with dirtied fingertips, for the hem of your long, white dress. he lifted it, and, like a devotee to a goddess, lowered his head and press his lips to your feet. 

he withdrew. 

“you are perfect,” he said. “any imperfections, spoken or thought, are lies. you are my empress. i would give myself to you for an eternity. i will give myself to you for an eternity.”

your face, for a split moment, was horribly vulnerable. he saw you not as an empress, as a queen of a city of sin, but as a woman. 

then, just as quickly, your face turned back into stone. 

“you would give yourself,” you said, “to me.”

“every part of me is yours,” san earnestly said. “body and soul.”

you glanced over him, eyes taking him in. san wondered what you saw. he wondered if you just saw the superficial part of him, what only appeared on the surface. if you saw the sharp cut of his eyes, the line of his jaw; the broad square of his shoulders and the bruises and scrapes that littered his skin. or if you saw beneath that. 

what lay beneath the surface of him, san did not know. he didn’t know if it was anything special – if he was anything special. he had killed and sinned just as any other person in the arena; had been taken as a prisoner. he was just as dirtied as everyone else. 

everyone but you. 

your shoulders relaxed back and you grew to your full height, an empress once more. you stepped to san, lifting the crown of wax flowers up for all to see. “the redeemed brother of choi bada,” you announced, “who prostrates himself before our gods and our great empire. this empress, low and humble before our heavenly fathers and mothers, accepts choi san into our empire with open arms. 

“let choi san spend the rest of his life in reparation to our empire. let him serve our great city in body and soul. let him prove himself devoted, and let us say no more of his past.”

and then you were placing the flower crown upon his head. 

the crowd roared with approval. 

you glided your fingers along his hair. he wanted to stop you. he knew his hair was greasy from sweat, knew his skin was dirty. he wasn’t clean. and yet you traced the side of his face with the pads of your fingers, let your nails skim along the line of his jaw. 

it was too much. it was too much. san couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him and he didn’t expect pain. here you were caressing him as if a lover, as if he were precious. it was too much. 

you brought your hands back to your body. you raised one up, palm out, for silence. the crowd quieted, reverent before their empress. 

when you spoke, your voice was stern with authority. “let it be shown our gods and empire is just. let it be known that our empire will not turn its back on those who repent. let it be known that i will not punish those who offer themselves wholly, who renounce their sins before me.”

your hands framed his jaw. you tilted san’s face up, and then you were pressing your lips to his forehead. 

san felt his entire body go numb. he couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. 

the crowd screamed fervently. you continued to speak, though san wondered if anyone was able to hear your words. 

“let it be known i will not turn my back on those who need me.”

and like a flower with the sun, san so desperately needed you. 

you stepped back. your face had grime around your mouth from where you had kissed san’s dirty forehead. a attendant stepped forward with a white cloth, but you waved them aside, letting the dirt remain. 

“bring him to my bath,” you ordered, gesturing towards san. you looked towards him, brows raised. “you will serve me, body and soul, yes?”

san nodded. 

you smiled. it was a small turn of the lip, but san felt it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

san couldn’t help but feel horribly out of place in your penthouse. 

it was the sort of place that he never would have stumbled into ordinarily. windows took up the entire wall, clean and giving him a view of the artificial glow of the city underneath the moon. the furniture and carpets were all white and spotless, the floor a mute beige that warmed the space. 

everything was all clean. there were no personal touches within the penthouse from what san could see as he was guided from the overly large living space to the master bathroom. everything was meticulously placed, offered no insight as to whom the owner of the penthouse – the entire building, really – was. 

there were flowers throughout the penthouse, san noted. they were the only source of life within, the only sign of color. geraniums and roses, lilies and petunias. they were spaced out as to not overwhelm and truly were the only things within the space that betrayed the character of the owner. 

the attendant slid open the door to the master bathroom. immediately san was hit with the gentle scent of vanilla and flowers, though he couldn’t place what particular sort of flower he was smelling. the bathroom’s size was in proportion to the rest of the apartment, meaning it was still considerably bigger than any bathroom san had stepped into before. 

the bath was already running, though san was tempted to call it a pool. it was longer and wider than any man or woman could possibly be, settled into the ground with shining white marble framing it. the bath only touched one wall, artificial stone breaking up the smooth texture of the rest of the room. 

the attendant moved about the bathroom, leaving san by the door. she turned off the faucet of the tub. “don’t worry about the water, there’s a heater in the tub.”

she went to the lights. the bright overhead lights dimmed; the wall scones lit up, giving the bathroom a dark, moody feel. 

“usually you should be scrubbed clean,” the attendant said, wrinkling her nose as she took san in. “obviously you haven’t bathed in days. but the empress insisted on leaving you as you are.”

the attendant went to the marble counter. she pressed on something, and then a cabinet door was opening. san wouldn’t have been able to guess anything was there at all, as there were no handles and he couldn’t see the frame of the door. 

she withdrew from the cabinet with white towels. “the empress will direct you on how to attend her. do not presume familiarity; do not mistake her kindness for permission. it’s hard to get blood out of stone.”

san’s eyes snapped to the white stone wall framing one side of the bath. it had been unassuming before, just another pretty feature; now it seemed to stand before him ominously, a stark warning. 

“you mean –” he broke off, brow furrowing. “the empress –?”

“our dear lady is not a sweet little lamb,” the attendant said, pride the undercurrent to her tone. she placed the towels on the white counter. she bumbled around, pulling things from drawers san hadn’t noticed. the attendant reached out for a vase of flowers, sweet little things with white petals and yellow centers. 

“the biggest mistake one can make is to presume her submissive in any respect,” the attendant advised him. “never presume to know more than her. never think, for a single second, that you aren’t eating out of the palm of her hand.”

san shifted back. you had been – well, not unassuming. but he hadn’t – didn’t – this picture the attendant was illustrating of you seemed so stark in comparison to the woman who had grabbed his face and kissed it so gently. he couldn’t imagine you like this. san couldn’t imagine you being a master manipulator, couldn’t imagine you having some secret agenda. he couldn’t imagine you, so benevolent and beautiful, being a snake wrapped in lamb’s wool. 

the attendant hummed, content with the flowers. she turned to san. she looked him up and down. “if you have some sort of secret agenda –”

“i don’t!” the words were forceful and sure as they escaped san’s lips. he frowned at the attendant, standing straight and staring down at her. he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the muscles of his arms clench from how rigidly he was holding himself. “i swore my body and soul to the empress. any person who dares to say otherwise is wrong.”

the attendant inclined her head. “so you say.”

and then you were walking into the bathroom. 

san felt his breath leave him all at once. even in the dim artificial lighting you were perfect. you were bare of any accessories, simply clothed in a white dress with your feet gently slapping against the floor. yet you were more beautiful than any gaudily clad creature san had ever seen. 

you said something to the attendant. san didn’t hear. he was too busy taking you in: the soft lines of your arms, the precious curves of your mouth. the way the very air around you seemed to sweeten with your presence, bending to your purity.

the attendant left, and then you were raising your arm up to finger at your earrings. 

and san saw red. 

literally. 

your forearm was painted a vibrant red, blood gently pulsing from a single cut. 

san was at your side in a second, his hands reaching out for your arm. he grabbed you, his hands cradling your forearm as he frowned down at the injury. 

“what happened –”

but san was cut off by your hand pressing into the tender meat of his neck. your thumb pinched mercilessly, making san shutter and his grip on your arm weaken. 

“down,” you hissed, sharp and severe. 

obediently san dropped to his knees, hands at your hips. ignoring your own injury you grabbed his hands, forcing them away. 

“don’t touch me,” you snapped, your injured arm darting out. you gripped his hair in your hand, nails digging into his scalp. you wrenched his face back, exposing the line of his throat and making him gasp into the humid air of the bath. “never, ever touch me without permission. you understand me?”

“you’re hurt,” san gasped out, eyebrows high on his face as he pressed his head back into your hand. it hurt, your grip on his hair harsh. yet he didn’t want to move away, didn’t want to move from the pain you were delivering onto him. “you’re hurt, empress.”

he watched through squinted eyes as your jaw, which had been jutted out in anger, softened. the corners of your mouth sagged from where your lips had been twisted from fury. 

your grip on his hair loosened. you clicked your tongue, stepping close. 

gone was all anger from your being. instead you moved close, your hand cradling san’s cheek. blood dripped from your wound, down onto his pants and the marble floor. 

you hummed down at him, thumb gently swiping along the sharp cut of his cheekbone. “i apologize,” you whispered, voice sweet. “forgive me. when a person rushes towards me i cannot help but react.”

san felt his heart clench at hearing you say such a thing. if it was up to him, you’d never feel fear again. never feel as if you were in danger, never feel anxiety or terror. you’d be safe; safe for ever and ever. he’d make you safe. he’d make the world safe for you.

“i should have known,” he said in apology. 

you smiled, then. you laughed softly. your fingers went to his black hair, pulling slightly as to expose his face to you further. “sweet boy,” you said. 

san turned his face towards your palm. you let him. he let his eyes flutter shut, nose tucking into the curve of your hand. he felt treasured like this; precious.

“next time you greet me,” you said, voice light, “remain still until you are acknowledged. understand?”

“yes, dear empress.”

you grinned down at him. “my sweet boy,” you cooed again. 

yes. 

yours.

“you are hurt,” san said. he blinked up at you, mouth pushed into a soft pout. “what happened?”

“nothing of consequence,” you returned. “i only worry about it staining your clothes.”

san frowned. you were hurt, and it wasn’t anything important?

“you could help me clean it,” you said, hesitant. 

san looked up at you. you were so beautiful and kind. you were a powerful woman, far above any else in superiority and worth. and yet you were allowing him to help you when you were in pain, when you were in need of aid. 

you, so innocent and – and holy, to be touched only by the pure, were letting san touch you. not only that, you would letting him clean you. 

“come on, pup,” you instructed, “clean me.”

slowly, as to not startle you again, san grabbed your arm in his hand. he moved your hand from his face, immediately missing it. but you had given him a task, and san would be deplorable if he were to hesitate in acting on it. 

when san touched his tongue to your blood, he found, to his astonishment, it tasted perfectly normal, as anyone’s blood would. it was tangy, tasted like rust. it wasn’t horrible, san found. it wasn’t revolutionary, of course; he wouldn’t go around drinking other’s blood. but it was, well, your blood, a symbol of your humanity, and you were letting him lick at it. 

you hummed softly, stepping close. you slid your free hand into his hair, petting softly. there was little space between the two of you. and san loved it. he couldn’t help but smile gently into your skin. san pressed a soft kiss to your arm, ignoring how he only seemed to further spread your blood. 

“so messy,” you said, and san peeked up at you. you were smiling down at him, and san swore he could see your eyes sparkle. “such a messy eater, choi san.”

he pressed another kiss to your skin. san alternated between kissing your arm and licking at your wound, his mouth overwhelmed by the tangy taste of your blood. he endured it, though. he couldn’t help himself. he felt, weirdly, as if he was drunk. 

it was almost as if this was some sort of drug; as if worshiping you were addictive. san was kneeling before you, blood smeared over his mouth, and he didn’t want to stand. he didn’t want to erase that gentle smile from your face. if that meant kneeling before you and licking your wounds, then –

well. 

he’d done worse things for more horrible people. 

eventually you pulled san away. your wound had long stopped bleeding. your arm wasn’t entirely clean, thin smears of bright crimson a blight against your skin. 

you cupped his face with both hands. you looked over him. san wondered what you saw. 

you pressed your fingers to the corner of his mouth, lightly following a path he was blind to. “you’re so messy,” you said again. “covered in blood and dirt.”

your fingers wandered over his face. san’s eyes fluttered. you followed the curve of his nose, the sharp jutting lines of his cheeks. 

“you are to attend me in the bath,” you said, voice a sweet song. “and yet you are covered in filth. you will wash before you serve me.”

then you stepped away. 

you went to the hidden cabinet the attendant had gone to earlier. you opened it, removing a white towel. 

“kneel in the shower,” you commanded. 

the shower was tall and large. the showerhead was large and like a saucer, and when you turned it on the water was like a trickle of rain. 

san went and kneeled in the shower underneath the water. 

“your clothes,” you said, tossing the white towel onto an ottoman beside the shower. “take your clothes off.”

san felt himself flush. you hadn’t said for him to take off of his clothes, and so he hadn’t thought of it. he felt sheepish; stupid. 

you didn’t make fun of him, though. you held out your hand. san stood, beginning to take off his clothes. you kept your eyes on him as he did so. first came his tank top. it was white originally, though the arena had dirtied it considerably with sand and other grime, and tight against him. once it was off he handed it to you. you took the shirt from him, letting it hang from your fingertips, continuing to let your eyes smooth over his abdomen and chest. 

next, his shoes and socks. he kicked those out of the shower. 

he only hesitated when his thumbs were hooking into the waistband of his underwear. 

you laughed at him, dropping his pants and shirt to the side. “don’t be shy now,” you teased. “are you not going to attend me? will you not wash my body with your hands? be naked and let us be on equal ground.”

and so he pushed his underwear down. he fought to get it over the swells of his thighs, but then they were quickly falling to his knees and onto the floor. 

you stared at him openly. 

san’s dick – regrettably – was at half mast. he felt as if he had been hard ever since you made him kneel in front of the arena crowd. and with you staring he felt a small sense of shame, but still his cock continued to harden, blood thickening it and letting it take on a darker hue. 

“cute,” you laughed again. “now on your knees.”

san returned to his knees. you stepped into the shower. you were still wearing your white dress, and you were ignoring the shower water as it rained down on you. 

slowly, leisurely, you reached for a bottle of soup. you squeezed out a small white liquid to your hand, and then you were stepping close. 

you were perhaps half a foot away. you were close enough to where all san had to do was lean his head forward to press his face into your stomach if he wanted to. 

your free hand went to his chin. you tipped his face up. you cupped water in your hand and then began washing his face. after a handful of seconds you were lathering his face in some sort of face wash, fingers gentle as you scrubbed. 

“you’re getting all wet,” san mumbled, opening an eye to peer up at you. 

you raised your brows at him. you rinsed off your hands, and then you were cleansing his face of the soap. “i’m bathing you,” you said simply. “why would i take off my clothes?”

san thought it was odd for a fleeting moment that you weren’t undressing despite the fact your dress was absolutely soaked, but then you were running your fingers through his hair. 

“you will have to keep yourself clean,” you instructed him. “especially if you are to attend me.”

“attend you?”

you scoffed. “did you not devote yourself to me, ‘body and soul’? regretting your words already, choi san?”

he hurriedly shook his head. you left him for a moment to reach for a bar of soap. 

“if you’re going to attend to me, ‘body and soul,’” you began, sliding the soap along his shoulders, “you will need to keep clean. you cannot touch me if you are dirty.”

you stilled. you tapped his chin with a finger. san looked up. your face was serious, your eyes sharp and mouth firm. “you are devoting yourself, yes?”

“until i die, empress.”

you relaxed, visibly pleased at san’s eagerness. “you will be mine. you are mine, then, choi san.”

“yours.”

you returned to cleaning him. he tried not to look at you too much. the white dress stuck to your skin as if it were your skin. san could see the curve of your breasts – tits felt too crude of a word to use for you – and the soft imprint of your nipples. 

“if you do well enough when you bathe me, you can be my bath attendant,” you declared. you stepped back. “stand.”

“bath attendant?” san stumbled to his feet, legs slightly numb from having been kneeling for so long. he’ll have to get used to it. he liked being on his knees for you. 

“‘body and soul,’” you reminded. “don’t you want to bathe me?”

san nodded. “so badly,” he said.

and he meant it. he thought about bathing you, his hands gently massaging soap into your hair. he’d wash whatever part you wanted. he’d take care to wash behind your ears and neck, to lightly rub soap over your breasts if your nipples were particularly sensitive. he’d even wash your pussy if you’d let him. 

san felt blood rush down to his dick at the thought. it was horribly, disastrously crude of him to think such a thing. he should be ashamed. 

you rubbed the bar of soap over him. your hand followed, sliding along his skin and smoothing the suds. your hands were sure as you slid them along his abdomen, thumb swiping over his muscled stomach. 

“so strong,” you said. “it would be a shame not to have you as a member of my personal guard.”

“‘body and soul.’”

you laughed at him, reaching up and pinching at one of his brown nipples. he hissed, dick throbbing as he reached up and cupped his own tits to protect them. “you are awfully devoted,” you teased. “it is a good thing you stumbled into my arena instead of someone else’s, choi san.”

“i wouldn’t be like this to anyone else,” san announced. his eyes flicked over your face. your hair was stuck along your forehead, and he could see that you had on mascara, the black liquid running over your cheeks. 

rise, choi san, and know that no hatred, no ill-will, will be held to you.

you had crowned him with the empress’s victory. you had promised him absolution of his sins. you were merciful. you were beautiful. 

“you wouldn’t have to be in my guard,” you murmured, moving around him. you went to his back. he felt acutely aware of you. the soap traveling over his skin, your hand smoothing over the muscles of his back. “you fought for one tyrant already. i will not be another.”

san let out a sharp breath. 

he turned. he looked down at you. 

“i’d do anything for you.”

for a moment you just stared at him, your hands stilling over his abdomen. the shower beat down on his back, water sliding along his body. 

“so much power for one woman to have,” you murmured. “turn back around.”

you continued to bathe him. your hands slid over his body. when your hands went to his dick, san couldn’t help but tense. you ran your fingers along the veins of his hips, letting them lead to the base of his cock. his cock was fully erect. you paid his tumultuous state no mind. you slid your hands along his dick methodically, touch sure and firm. 

san sucked in a deep breath, his hands going to your shoulders, searching for something to tether him. 

“hands off of me,” you ordered. your hand could just barely wrap around his dick. you slid your fist from the base of his cock to the tip, wrist twisting. 

san let out a groan, and he tried to ignore how high his voice went at the end of it. your hand continued to his balls, fondling lightly as you gave a perfunctory wash there, too. 

you released his dick. it flopped up to his stomach, and he couldn’t help but wince at the urgent need that shot through him, his cock throbbing. san wanted your hand wrapped around his dick again, wanted it so badly. 

“finish up,” you commanded. you stepped from the shower, dropping the bar of soap onto the ground, not bothering to hand it to him. 

san turned and bent over to grab the soap. when he straightened, he turned back to face towards where you had left him. you had one shoulder of your dress down around your elbow, your hands reaching up for the other as you watched san. 

he got, delightfully, the feeling as if you had been studying him while his back was turned. san felt, stupidly, as if he were a little mouse and you were the mighty lion. as if he was running frantically between your paws, searching for a way out as you continually shifted your paws, not giving him a way out. 

well –

san didn’t want a way out. 

if you wanted to play with him like cat and mouse, san would let you. you saved him. from what, san didn’t know, though he did know whatever his fate would have been had you neglected to acknowledge his victory would have been far worse than this; worse than standing naked in the bathroom of your penthouse, erection strained and wanting. 

you saved him; you wouldn’t hurt him. 

you gave him the empress’s victory. you would protect him. 

further: you asked him to bathe you, to guard you. 

you wanted him at your side. 

when san finished washing, all the dirt and grime of his old life swirling down the shower drain, he turned off the water. 

you had completely undressed, and were standing by the sunken tub. your dress and undergarments were scattered. san couldn’t help but let his eyes rove over you. he looked at the curve of your thighs and where the meat of them mellowed to bleed into your knees. san stared at the hair of your cunt, at the soft skin of your stomach; the hang of your tits and your nipples, hard due to them being exposed to the room. 

his dick ached. 

“get into the tub,” you ordered. 

the tub, san found, varies in depth. the steps were cold white marble, and when his foot was submerged beneath the water, it was extremely warm. the water was the sort of warm that would lure its occupants to sleep. 

when he crossed the tub, as the stairs were on one side and you the other, the level of the tub floor began to steepen. near the stairs, once he was off of them, the water only went to the middle of his thighs. as he neared you, the water began to slowly rise until it lapped against his lower hips, warm around the base of his cock. 

you had lowered yourself to sit on the edge of the tub when he climbed in. your legs were hanging over the edge, knees parted just enough for him to stand between them. 

you were grinning, the white of your teeth striking against the plush color of your lips. 

“what a predicament you have there,” you murmured, eyes flicking down to san’s dick. 

he felt blood rush to his face as you gazed unabashedly at his cock. “i –”

“clean my feet,” you interrupted. you leaned back on your hands, not concealing your body in the slightest. san looked over your stretchmarks, over the pebbling of your nipples. he wondered, fleetingly, if you’d let him lick them.

“your feet?”

“you said you would clean me,” you said. “go grab the soap.”

the soap, as it turned out, was on the other side of the tub. slowly san waded through the water, pushing against it. he grabbed the soaps, all flower-scented and bottled, and turned back to you. 

“shame,” you said. “i quite liked the other view of you.”

blood shot to his face again. san was sure his cheeks and ears were vibrantly red. 

“this view is not so bad either,” you amended. 

he knew you were talking about his abs and his dick, just as he knew you had been talking about his ass with the prior comment. san was being treated as if he were some piece for you to ogle at, and fuck, if that didn’t make his dick absolutely throb. 

you spread out your knees, letting san press close. he set the bottles beside you, and then he couldn’t help but let his hands hover over your hips. 

“you want to touch me?”

san looked up to you. your head was tilted slightly, and you were looking down your nose at him. he traced the curve of your jaw with his eyes, the line of your throat. he wanted to touch every inch of you. he wanted to devour you. 

“yes,” he said, voice hushed and yearning. 

you smiled, baring your teeth at him. you raised your leg, and then you were pressing your foot flat against his stomach. 

“clean me.”

and so san began to wash your feet. 

he cupped the water in his hand, bringing it up and letting the water escape his hand to trinkle over your foot. san ran his hand over your foot. despite the fact that you walked barefoot, as to represent your divinity, the underside of your foot was nearly clean. 

even as san finished cleaning one foot and shifted to the next, starting by rinsing it off, his erection didn’t flag. he continued to wash your foot, trying to ignore how his cock throbbed in tandem with his heart, how the warm water of the tub lapped over his balls and the base of his dick. 

you hummed as san finished washing your second foot, toes flexing in his hold. he smoothed his hand over the gentle incline of your foot, thumb swiping over your ankle. 

san looked down at your skin. your foot was drenched, your leg dry. he ran his fingers over your skin, letting the pads of his fingers drag along your flesh. san 

“could i –” san broke off, looking up at you. you raised your brows at him, waiting. “can i kiss your skin?”

you tilted your head. you flicked your eyes up and down his figure. eventually, slowly, you nodded. 

san felt his heart flutter in his chest. he bent over. he pressed the tip of his nose to your leg, feeling the slight bumps along your skin from where your shaven hairs were trying to break through. he let his lips ghost over your skin, torturing himself; appreciating you. 

san let his lips trail down your leg, and then he was at your ankle. 

slowly, but not hesitantly, he pressed a kiss to the skin there. 

you sucked in a breath. 

san pulled back slightly, looking up at you. his voice, when he spoke, seemed to come from deep within him. “you okay?”

“i’ve been worshiped before,” you said, in lieu of an answer, “but not quite like this.”

“shall i continue?”

san watched as you visibly shivered before him. his dick throbbed, a slight pearl of precum budding from the tip. 

you nodded. san pressed his lips to your ankle once more. 

san let his mouth move over your skin. he didn’t bite or lick or anything. he simply explored. his mouth was but a tool used for mapping, learning the rises and curves of your body. 

once san found he was satisfied with one leg, he shifted to the other. 

san’s mouth went to the crook of your knee. he turned your leg in his hand. he pressed his mouth to the part where your knee and thigh met, his nose pressing into the flesh as he mouthed at your skin. 

you let out a gentle sigh. it was slight, hardly there. san only heard it because he was so incredibly tuned into you. he wanted to listen to every hitch in breath, wanted to be able to see every twitch of a finger. san wanted to devote himself to you, and so he heard the slight breath that escaped you, the little exhale, as he kissed your thigh. 

his dick, horribly, angrily, throbbed. his balls were tight against him, precum beading and sliding along the head of his dick. 

you hummed at him, and then you were lowering your leg. “you’ve a problem.”

“it’s not a problem,” san said. he settled his hand on your knee, wanting to press his mouth back into your skin. “i can ignore it.”

you shook your head. “fuck yourself,” you said, words so horribly dirty compared to the white aura of pureness that clung to your identity like a shroud. “fuck your hand, choi san.”

san took his hand, the one not on you, and moved it to his dick. he didn’t begin fucking, instead intently watching you, as if he were a dog waiting for the command from his master to have the treat. 

“i told you what to do,” you said, voice dry. you shifted closer, thighs now dangling over the edge of the tub. 

san fisted his cock, immediately shivering into his touch. he felt as if he had been effectively edged for hours. san brought his hand down to the base of his dick, slowly, deliciously, dragging it up to the tip. the water smoothed the stroke, each motion of his hand making san keen into the touch. 

“how funny,” you said. san looked at you. you were still, eyes watching his hand as he fucked himself. “such a strong man driven to patheticness by the sight of a pair of tits.”

“no,” he groaned from the back of his throat. san thumbed at his dickhead, not bothering with the slit; being uncut, he was far too sensitive there to bother, the sensations too harsh for him. his foreskin glided with his strokes, concealing and revealing his tip in equal measure. 

“it’s you,” he got out eventually. “been – been hard.”

you chuckled at him. “since when? since i made you kneel for me in front of hundreds?”

san was quiet. he stilled his hand at the base of his dick, furtively bucking his hips into his hand, the sensation too little to do anything proper. 

“oh it was,” you said, glee gently curving around the edges of your voice. “you’re really into this devotion thing, aren’t you? into worship.”

“never been before.”

you laughed again. you reached out one foot, nudging against his thigh. san let out a choked noise, and then he was fucking his fist down onto his cock. 

“you get hard from kneeling to your empress,” you said. “the strong man who killed ten men before my eyes likes being made to bow in reverence. how fucking cute of you, choi san.”

san groaned, this one loud. he began fucking his fist in earnest, the strokes quick. you placed your legs on either side of his thighs, and then you were bringing him close, legs wrapping around him. 

“fucking choi bada’s general. likes bowing to the empress that demanded the death of his brother, hm? that it, choi san? just needed me to tell you what to do? you like me telling you what to do, choi san?”

“yes,” he hissed out. 

you laughed, loud and harsh. he opened his eyes to watch your chest heave with your laughter. you looked at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

“then cum,” you commanded. 

san’s orgasm ripped from him, balls tight and throbbing as his release tore through him. he couldn’t help but tip his head back, exposing the column of his throat, hand frantic as he worked over his dick. 

san didn’t stop fucking his hand until it was bordering on the edge of too much, little shocks of pain shooting through him. 

when san opened his eyes, satisfied, it was to the sight of you covered in his cum. 

thick and white, the fluid stuck to your skin. his cum was covering your thighs and stomach and tits, not great enough to completely conceal your skin, but still significant. 

san felt horrified. 

here you were, this pure, divine person in front of him. you wore white, your attendants had to clean themselves before even handing you a glass of water. and here you were: covered in his cum. 

“i suppose,” you drew out, “it is a good thing i’ll be bathing.”

you lifted a hand, going to swipe at some of the cum on your stomach. 

san darted out, his hand wrapping around your wrist. “don’t,” he said, urgent, “it’s dirty.”

“then you’ll just have to clean it,” you taunted back. 

you drew your hand through the cum on your stomach. you pressed your thumb to the fingers stained with san’s spunk. you inspected it, as if you were curious. 

then you held out your hand. 

“clean me.”

for a moment san was confused. his brow furrowed. he looked between your stained fingers and your face. 

you raised your brows. “clean my hand, choi san.” you paused, and then: “it’s the least you could do for touching me like you have.”

san felt himself blush. he reached out, both of his hands wrapping around your wrist. he was acutely aware of the fact that you were watching him, eyes not missing a single movement. 

san lifted your hand to his mouth. he hesitated for a moment. he pressed his lips against the tips of your fingers, and then he was moving them into his mouth. 

your skin was salty in his mouth, and slightly soapy from having bathed san. san didn’t take your fingers out, though. you had told him to do something, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do it. 

san guided your fingers further into his mouth. his spunk was on the tips of your fingers, and nearly immediately he could taste it. it was bitter and horrible, and san didn’t understand how anyone could swallow it.  

knowing you had commanded it, however, and not wanting to let you down, san continued to push your fingers into his mouth. he gagged when your fingers were halfway, the pads of your digits pressing gently against his tongue. 

you laughed. “oh cute,” you cooed. “poor little choi san can’t handle two fingers in his mouth, yeah?”

cheeks tinged with red, san fought against his gag reflex to slide your fingers further. he had to stop when he felt the tops of your nails at the far back of his mouth, the feeling of wanting to gag licking at the back of his throat. 

“don’t gag,” you said. “i hadn’t told you to take my fingers into your throat, but now that you’ve decided to do so, you will. swallow around my fingers, choi san.”

feeling bullied, but not disliking it, san swallowed around your fingers. 

his mouth went tight. he could feel the vacuum of it, the sucking sensation. 

“suck my fingers clean.” you shifted before him, your free hand reaching up to brush at your cheek as if you had an inch. “lick them.”

san ran his tongue over your fingers, gathering his cum from them. he swallowed again, only to immediately gag. san pulled away from your hand abruptly, lips pressing firmly together and throat working fervently to try and assure that there was nothing else foreign in his mouth. 

you wiped your hand over his shoulder. “how boring,” you said absently. 

“i’m sorry,” san apologized. he placed his hands on your knees. you didn’t immediately scold him. “it just felt weird.”

“it just felt weird,” you echoed back. “are you going to make it up to me?”

san nodded, and then he was pressing his face to your tits. 

instantly your arms were around him, hands sinking into his hair and nails digging. he hissed, and he heard you say his name, low and dangerous. 

but then san ran his tongue along the curve of your tit. he found he loved the first taste of it, the combination of your slightly sweaty skin and his spunk, and so san quickly licked a long stripe over your tit again. 

your fingers weakened in his hair, nails scraping lightly. you gripped the ends of his hair, and then you were pressing your nose to his ear. 

“you better lick me clean,” you muttered. “i don’t want to dirty the bath water with your spunk.”

san shivered in your hold. he didn’t know if it was from your command or how your voice spat out spunk. 

san ran the flat of his tongue over your skin. he licked at your tits as if it were his favorite meal. 

once you deemed them clean, you were pushing his face lower to your stomach. 

san, ever obedient to his empress, began cleaning you there, too. 

it was weirdly relaxing. san lapped at your skin. he continued even when most of the cum had been licked from your torso, just letting his tongue rove over your flesh. 

“good boy,” you eventually praised. 

then you were spreading out your legs, pushing san back. you were gentle with it, however, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest and his dick give a little lurch. 

“here,” you said, your hand sliding to your cunt. “don’t forget here.”

your cunt, in consideration with the staining of cum to your tits and stomach and thighs, did not need to be cleaned. 

but san found himself kneeling along the ledge that ran the complete length of the sunken tub, his fingers going to your cunt. 

he used his thumbs to spread your lower lips, nails scraping lightly against your damp pussy hair. for a moment san just looked, taking in the pretty shape of your cunt. 

then san was pressing his nose to your clit, tongue rolling out to lap at your hole. you were wet, the fluid bittersweet. san couldn’t help but lick at you again as soon as he had tasted you, running the broad width of his tongue up your pussy. 

you moaned out, the loudest san had heard from you thus far. 

and he found it absolutely addictive. 

san didn’t know if all cunts were like this; didn’t know if it merely pertained to your pussy. but san found himself completely fixated, letting his tongue run from your hole to your clit, gathering your fluid and swallowing it eagerly. 

he wanted to, quite simply, devour you. 

no – 

that wasn’t right – 

san wanted to worship you. 

your cunt was his altar, and san was devoted. he thrusted his tongue into your hole, licking at the rim. san moved his tongue to your clit, and that, too, he worshipped. he found it particularly addicting, the way you moaned and thighs tightened around him as he lapped at your clit.

san slid a finger into your hole, and you gasped out as you tightened down on it. your cunt clamped down on his fingers as it if were his cock, unwilling to let it go. your pussy milked his finger greedily as he ran his tongue over your clit messily, your hips in constant movement underneath him. 

“fuck,” you groaned out as his finger arched up, pressing against a spongey pat of your pussy. your voice was loud, echoing around the bathroom. fleetingly, san thought about the other attendants and how he didn’t want them to hear the precious sounds you were making, because then, honesty, he’d gave to punch them until they forgot their own name, but then you were tightening your thighs around him. 

fluid trickled around san’s finger as he thrust it in and out in rhythm with his licking of your clit. he lapped at the velvet area framing your clit, flicked his tongue rapidly against the spot in sporadic stimulation. 

eventually your moans crescendoed, and a rough call of “san!” burst from your mouth as your pussy tightened around his finger and fluid gushed from your cunt. 

san didn’t stop fucking his finger into you and licking at your pussy until you were hissing, physically pushing him away. 

you had laid down at some point, and now you were propped up on your elbows. your face was twisted into a scowl, chest heaving as you looked at him. 

for a few moments you didn’t say anything. you just stared at him. 

eventually you pushed yourself up off of the marble. your skin was covered in goosebumps, and when you ran your fingers along your hairline san saw sweat had collected there. 

you were shockingly quiet. 

san laid his hands on your thighs, coming close. “are you okay?”

you looked at him, brows furrowed. your eyes danced over his face, taking him in. 

then you scoffed, pushing him back. “you’ve got cunt juice on your face.”

you slid off of the edge of the tub and into the water. you were close to san due to him having been pressed against the edge. your hands went to his hips, and then you were moving him away from you, albeit not cruelly. 

san watched as you sunk down into the water, letting it come up to your neck. you grabbed a handful, wetting your face. 

“what do you want me to do?”

you glanced at him, eyelashes clumped together from the water. 

“i suppose you wash me,” you said. “no one has ever attended me in the bath before, so you won’t have a point of comparison. you can decide if that’s good or not.”

“no one’s served you in the bath before?” san frowned, moving to grab the face wash. it was, in a complete contrast to the white marble of the room, in a sweet pink bottle with little cartoon characters decorating the bottle. “that attendant said you had killed someone in here.”

you shrugged. you stepped to him, your hands on his abdomen. you angled your face up towards him, waiting. “i have. did. and can.”

san ignored the threat. he held the bottle in one hand, using his free hand to spread water over your face once more. he tried to ignore the proximity, the way your hands touched his stomach. 

he didn’t dare to ask at first, knowing it wasn’t his place. he was made to serve you, and san didn’t have a problem with that; he would never ask for anything different. more importantly: san didn’t want anything different. 

“what happened?” he squeezed some of the face wash onto his hand, and then he was gently rubbing it into your cheek. “why did you kill someone?”

“i’ve killed a lot of people,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut as san’s hand roamed over your face, applying the face wash. 

san hummed in acknowledgment. it was hard to think of you killing anyone, especially when you were like this. you were still in his hold, pliant as san ran his fingers over your face. you were soft and sweet, hands gentle against his abdomen, and he just couldn’t imagine you using those hands for sin. 

“you shouldn’t have to kill anyone.” san, satisfied with how your face was lathered with face wash, dipped his hand into the water. he then, gently, slowly as to not get any in your eyes, began to wash the soap off of your face. 

you frowned at his words. 

san, sensing you wanted to speak, wiped at your mouth. he pressed his thumb along your lips, swiping at the soap. 

“i am the empress of a large . . . enterprise,” you said. you peered at him. “to ask another to do such a thing without being willing to do it myself leads to dissent. i cannot be a good leader if i am unwilling to do what i ask of my followers.”

san felt a pang in his chest. he couldn’t help but feel admiration for you. the thought of you killing anyone, of bloodying your pure hands, filled san with such unease that it twisted at his stomach. but your explanation for the brutality filled him with pride. you were not some far-off, lofty creature urging worship. you were willing to do what had to be done. 

san decided, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, he was proud to be the one you crowned victorious. 

he smoothed his hand over your face one last time. san let the pads of his fingers trail over your chin, and when you didn’t immediately push back, he continued his exploration. san dragged his fingers down the column of your throat. he couldn’t help but watch his fingers travel. san settled his finger on your clavicle, letting his thumb drift down. 

“do you need your hair washed?” san’s voice was deep even to him, and he could feel blood rushing down to his cock. his dick throbbed as he smoothed his hand downward, the thumb gently gliding along the curve of your tit. 

your nails scraped against his abdomen. “no.”

san looked over your tits, admiring the hang of them, your pebbled nipples. he wanted to put his mouth on them, san decided. 

“i do need washed,” you announced. 

san pulled away. he immediately missed your body, missed your hands against his body. 

san grabbed the body soap, and then he was returning to you. 

“lift your arms,” he said, glancing you over. 

you hummed, tilting your head. you looked him up and down. “no,” you said. “i’m sure you’re capable.”

san hesitated before you. he wasn’t sure quite what you were saying at first. but then you raised your brows at him, waiting, and san felt his dick throb painfully as realization struck him. 

san slowly, haltingly, reached for your arm. san ran his hand over your arm, lathering your skin. he hesitated before sliding his hand along the underneath of your arm, fingertips pressing into your armpit. 

you stood still, letting san wash you. he was gentle but efficient, trying not to linger on any spot in particular. 

san tried to fight the instinct to just run his hands along your body and attach his mouth to your tit, wanting to worship. you were perfect and before him, and he didn’t know how long you would let him admire you for, and he sort of wanted to test it. 

eventually, you went to the ledge of the tub, climbing to rise up out of the tub. your skin immediately broke out into goosebumps, and, seemingly despite yourself, you shivered. 

you turned to him, water falling in droplets around you. “my legs,” you said. 

and so san began to wash your legs. he was careful here, too. he ran his hands along your calves, along the backs of your knees. san took care when cleaning the insides of your thighs, biting down on his lip to keep his touch from lingering. 

once he was done, he sunk his hands into the water to wash them. 

“i’ve finished,” he said, glancing over you. 

“not quite,” you returned. you sat back on the edge of the tub. you spread out your legs, baring your cunt. “you haven’t cleaned here.”

san blinked. 

he tilted his head, confused. “but i already cleaned you there, didn’t i?”

you sighed, rolling your eyes. “you’ve licked me,” you clarified. “i need to be cleaned, choi san. i can’t walk around with a dirty cunt.”

“do i – do i lick you again?”

“choi san,” you admonished, “who knows where your mouth has been? your fingers are clean enough.”

and so san went between your legs, your knees knocking against his arms. 

san smoothed his hands over the inside of your thighs, taking you in. he hadn’t been quite able to fully look at you before. now, with his dick throbbing and hard once more, he looked his fill. 

you were laid back against the cold marble. your tits were like mounds, rising with every breath you took. 

“you better hurry,” you announced into the bathroom air, “and clean my cunt before i get too cold.”

san swallowed his hesitation down. 

then he was sliding his hands to your cunt. 

he didn’t quite know what you were wanting from him. he didn’t know if there was a special soap you wanted him to use, if you truly meant for him to clean your pussy. san was a man confused, and you didn’t look like  you were going to give him any aid any time soon. 

san thought back to how he had cleaned your cunt earlier, lapping at it like a puppy. he decided you didn’t truly mean for him to clean your pussy. 

so san slid one of his wet fingers into your damp cunt, slow and rigid. 

he watched as your body tensed beneath him. you relaxed just as quickly. 

san, for a lack of a better word, swabbed your pussy with his finger. he searched within your cunt as if it were some vessel in need of cleaning, as if he were trying to find something hidden within you that needed addressing. 

eventually, though, you got tired of it. 

“a second finger, choi san.”

san withdrew his forefinger. he was gentle as he slid both fingers into your cunt, knowing two was significantly more of a stretch than just one. you let out a long breath as you forced your body not to react to the second intrusion, lashes fluttering. 

this time san took creative liberty. he scissored his fingers out, forcing your pussy walls to spread out and accommodate his digits. you weren’t loud, instead letting out gentle gasps. 

your pussy, san noted with some degree of excitement, was gaining dampness. the hair of your cunt had already been wet from the tub, but as your body began to dry, your cunt only seemed to maintain its moisture. 

as he scissored his fingers, feeling your walls resist and relent, a decidedly lewd and wet sound began to fill the bathroom. it was, of course, the sound of your cunt wetting itself, the slick noise produced by the near-constant move of his fingers within. 

san looked over your body. you were so angelic, all spread out on the marble. his dick throbbed in response to you and your beauty.  

san changed the angle of his hand, lowering himself so he could kneel along the ledge and get a better angle. he curled his fingers up towards the front of your body, hitting that branch of nerves that had your knees squeezing around him and mouth opening wide in a sweet gasp. 

“san,” you gasped out, and – 

– and fuck –

his name was a blessing falling from your lips. san had heard many beautiful things in his life: the song of a violin in an orchestra hall; the bubbling laughter of an infant; the silence that came after a year of battle. he had never thought a single word could be beautiful, thought it could be glorious when uttered, but the way you said his name made san feel as if it was gilded and sparkling. as if you were a goddess uttering a blessing. 

san bit down on his lip, and then his second hand was joining his first at your pussy. he began thrusting his fingers into your cunt in a decisively wicked and relentless rhythm, striking the branch of nerves perfectly. 

he coupled the sensation with slick swipes of his thumb over your clit. san watched as your body reacted beneath him, thighs lifting up off of the marble, hips eagerly trying to search something out. 

you gasped into the air, back arching. 

“won’t you say something?” your voice was raspy, and when he looked down at you your legs tightened around him, knee lifting up as if you were trying to cover yourself with it. “say something.”

“you’re perfect,” san said. 

when you came, cunt tight around his fingers and mouth open wide, he thought you were divine. 

san continued to fuck his fingers into your pussy as you came, though he gentled considerably. he drunk you in greedily, eyes darting over your body as you tried to catch your breath. 

he loved you, he thought.

eventually, you let out a strangled groan, your foot on his hip and pushing him back. 

san went obediently, pulling his hand from your pussy. he stepped off of the ledge and into the tub. 

you sat up, eyes distant. he didn’t know if it was from the force of your orgasm or not. for a few moments, you just sat before him, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a firm line. you were not, for a few minutes, tether to the earth. he wondered what you saw. 

san could see the moment you came back to yourself, blinking and seemingly shaking yourself out of whatever daze you had been in. 

“are you –”

“back,” you commanded. 

san moved further into the tub. you shifted, gently lowering yourself in. san watched as you stoically washed at your inner thighs and pussy, not caring to be particularly gentle or modest. 

deeming yourself clean, san supposed, you stood from the tub. 

he went to the edge, bracing his hands on the marble. “let me help –”

“no.”

you stood, water dripping down your figure. san watched as you went to the white towels. you took one and wrapped your hair up, your body shivering in the cold air. next you wrapped yourself, though you didn’t quite stop shivering. 

“clean yourself,” you announced. you didn’t look at him as you went to the door. “you’ll find things to make a bed for yourself in the living room. i am not to be disturbed.”

san pushed himself out of the tub, kneeling on the marble, lips ready to ask a question –

but you were gone, leaving san alone in the bath with the white flowers on the marble counter.

[nyx-is-missing]

Could u write one for clarisse where she's impressed with femR bc of how good she is at fighting and all and clarisse finds her incredibly attractive bc no one has challenged her the way R does?

And like a bit of pining until the two confess

Thank you!!

Breathtaking or taken

Clarisse la rue x fem!reader

Summary: when Clarisse finds a opponent worth of her, she is breathtaken.

Warnings: none really, just fluff, not a descriptive fight scene on sight cause mama dont know how to write that, so just fluff fluff, and mutual pining fluff

(Do i need to say its not proofread? No? Thank you)

Here is one of the main benefits of being a daughter of Athena, you'll know.

DIfferent from other gods, Athena will let your parent know it is her who they are talking to.

And if letting them know beforehand isnt enough, she will let them know when the baby is brought to them, and if your parent is smart enough to live up to her choice, you'll have time to learn a thing or two before being thrown into this world.

If your parent cares enough about you, you'll have time.

And sure as hell my mom cared.

Always the intelectual woman, historian, researcher, writter, my mom knew many things about ancient greece, she knew all the stories by heart, and she, of all people, knew what she needed to do, to preserve her only daughter, her sacred gift.

She teached me all i needed to learn without compromising myself, stories, languages, art...and fight.

Little girls my age were doing dance classes, were trying to be good enough for drama club, were playing tea party with their dolls or making a mess with their mom's make up.

Well...i.. i was doing martial arts, i was fencing, i had my face in a book every free time i got.

I always asked her about it, why was she so strict about never missing a fight leasson, her answer always made sense, there and now.

"The world is cruel, especially for little girls, someday i might not be all the time with you, someday, you'll fight your own battles, you need to be ready"

Every word, every single word is true.

And that is how i ended up here, in a arena of camp half blood, sparring with Clarisse, and winnig, by two points, yes, but winning.

It is clear nobody expected that from me, neither did she actually, i can see in her eyes.

Understandable, they expect Athena kids to be calm, find a solution, not fight her way out.

Honestly their looks dont bother me, i dont even think much of it, but Clarisse's looks, they got something more to them, like a kid who finally got the dog she really wanted.

"Aaand break time Clarrise, we'll continue this tomorrow, id like to enjoy the rest of my afternoon thank you"

I dropped the sword down and started to undo my armor while walking close to the exit.

"Wait wait wait, now? Already? C'mon i didnt even had time to figure out how do you do that... all of that"

She stood next to me, still holding her sword and honestly.. she was beautiful, yes she was sweaty now and yes she was mean to everyone but.. now...right now, she was beautiful, shining, in her element really, flushed cheeks and a smile she only had when with a sword in hand.

"I practice, ever since i was a kid, everyday, well expect in weekends but yeah, almost everyday... how do you do all that? You are good...-want some water?"

I offered her my bottle also motioning for her to walk with me, both wich she gladly accepted.

"I practice too...and i never said this to anyone but, you are good, great even, and look breathtaking"

We stop walking, we stop all actually.

"I look what, Clarisse?"

"Breathtaken- you look out of breath, do you want the water back?"

Ah.

Weeks later i found myself in the same scenario, sparring with Clarisse again, actually that is all i do when it comes to training, be with Clarisse

"C'mon curls, thats the best you've got? No need to go easy on me"

"Im not going easy, i already told you, you caught me distracted thats all- GIRL WIll YOU SUSH?"

She tried to block you with her sword, thankfully for her, a succeded attempt.

"How could i? You're so fun to mess with, gets all red n all"

"Oh you want to talk about getting red?"

In a moment i was on the floor, Clarisse on top of me, and i couldnt speak, all i could do was stare into her big brown eyes, who looked right into my soul.

"Cant speak anymore huh? Oh if you could see the red im seeing-"

Now this my ladies and gentlemen, this is what i call a shot of faith.

I raised my head a little and just..i kissed her, it was quick but I did it, and her face went blank.

"Now you are breathtaken Curls, how about that?"

"And you are still breathtaking"

Still?

Oh

Oh.

"You...like me Clarisse?"

"You didnt knew?"

Oh.

"....no..?"

"Would you walk away if i kissed you this time?"

"....no."

[ganondoodle]

rough beast ganondorf design + sketches + notes design combines the typical boar form (dark beast + cloud form from botw), the oni one (demon king gan) hint at the draconic one to come but keep part of his humanity with his clothing being mostly intact

as the battle with Demon King Ganondorf comes to an end, the sages previously knocked out start to wake up again, he is cornered and hurt and as fear of being imprisoned, tortured and exploited overwhelms him he transforms into the Beast form, breaking the arena you were fighting him in and him going for Zelda as she is the biggest threat (he remembers her destroying dark beast gan and she reminds him of sonia, who is the one you sealed his human body back in the day)

you and zelda flee through the cracks of the earth as more earthquakes happen with a beast at your heels thats now truly only out to kill as fast as possible as he burrows after you (first sketch)

the path takes you both just below the surface and as you are trapped in a dead end zelda shields herself and link with her light shield ability, which protects you both from immediate damage but cant soften the impact from gan charging at you, the impact of which breaks you all three to the surface and the battle takes place in the same spot as botws dark beast fight-

fight is very challenging as gan is smaller than the dark best version, jumping and charging at you while still able to cast spells, now truly throwing everything he can at you in the hopes of ending you both

fight ends with you shooting an arrow at zelda, her deflecting it at the right angle and it shooting off the enigma stone on gans forehead; he falls seemingly defeated and as zelda runs to take the stone away gan through sheer panic lunges for the stone triggering his dragon transformation and making way for the final fight

(summary of the end: in the final fight gan snatches up both link and zelda once he transformed into the black dragon and takes flight toward the sky, zelda falls from between his teeth and knowing that she cant get to link and help him in any way from the ground she, while falling, takes out the enigma stone she has kept in a save container in her backpack all this time and swallows it for her own transformation, in her white dragon form she takes active action and charges at gans head so link is freed, then supports him in the fight itself; at the end link plunges into dragon-gans mouth to reach the stone on the inside where he makes use of the 'medicine' previously made using the moonbloom taked from kogas secret lab, link and the stone are spit out and as gan reverses into a human and falls link is caught by zelda and he uses the second charge of it on her to bring her back as well; as all three fall from the skies as the sages have made their way through the tunnel that beast gan made earlier, they help link and zelda getting to the ground safely while the yiga do the same for gan - final end end isnt determined yet but this is waht i got so far and even if i have written this once before i felt it was fitting to do it again and no you cant tell me this is too much of a wishfulfillment thing bc it literally is just that as i cant actualyl change whats in the game, so even if im trying to make it all fit well together i can still do what i want nhakjdbgshdbhsjka)

(totk rewritten project)

[sydsaint]

*frantically drops this on the TL and runs away* The Pepsi man is fucking haunting me.

Summary: The reader has a jaded past with Punk and never thought she'd have to see him again. Until Survivor Series.

"Thanks for the assist, Y/N. Good looking out." Randy pats your arm gently with a friendly smile. 

"When it comes to Rhea? No problem at all, Randy." You nod as the rest of your Wargames team files out of the cage. 

You mingle with the team while laughing at the misfortune of Judgment Day still lingering in the cage. Then it happens. 

Cult of Personality blasts through the arena speakers and you choke on your laugh. Your eyes snap to the top of the ramp and you watch in disbelief as a figure walks through the curtain as the crowd screams at the top of their lungs. 

CM Punk. 

The arena becomes almost deafening as Punk runs around and enjoys his comeback with the crowd all cheering his name as loud as they can.

"You alright, N/N?" Jey sets a hand on your shoulder making you finally look away from the top of the ramp. 

"Fine. I'm fine." You nod. "Come on, let's head backstage. I'm sure that Hunter will want us for the media scrum in a bit." 

The group nods and everyone starts moving up the ramp toward the curtain. You wedge yourself between Sami and Jey and try to look as inconspicuous as possible. The group all pass Punk as he makes his way down the ramp and you do your absolute best to avoid his gaze. Because you know that if you do catch his eye then it's all over for you. 

Luck isn't on your side tonight, because as soon as you happen to glance to the side to smile at a fan holding a sign for you, Punk walks by. Your gaze meets a pair of enticing blue eyes and you curse under your breath. 'fuck' You whisper. 

"You sure that you're okay, Y/N?" Jey checks on you again once everyone is backstage. 

"I'm alright, Jey." You insist with another nod. "I'm just surprised is all. Just like everyone else is." You assure him. 

Jey nods and drops the subject for the moment. Everyone mingles around some more while waiting to see if anyone is needed for the media scrum. Jey and Cody get called to answer a few questions, and Seth wanders off to find Becky. This leaves you with Sami and Randy. 

"Hey, I just remembered something." Randy turns to you while you're talking to Sami. "Didn't you and Punk used to date before he left the company the first time?" He asks you. 

"We weren't dating!" You grind your teeth. 

Randy's eyebrows widen a bit at your outburst and he nods. "Right, sorry." He apologizes. "You knew him though, right? You were just starting out as a trainee if I remember right." 

"Yeah, I just got hired." You nod. "And now I'm a 5-time champion with absolutely no interest in CM Punk." You insist. though it's more to yourself than Randy and Sami. 

"No interest at all huh?" A familiar voice sounds behind you and you can already feel a headache coming on. "Well, I don't know about that, Y/N. Saying  you have zero interest in me is a little harsh, don't you think?" Punk comes sauntering through the curtain, still obviously high off the hype from his return. 

You lock eyes with Punk again but feel more confident in meeting his gaze this time. "Read my lips, hypocrite. Not interested." You answer him firmly. 

"Hypocrite?" Punk laughs and your stomach does a flip. "Sounds to me like you're overcompensating for something, sweetheart." He winks at you. 

"Oh you'd know all about overcompensating, wouldn't you?" You fire right back at him. 

Punk lets out another laugh and you know that you're starting to lose the battle. "Come on, sweetheart. We both know that just ain't true." He flashes a smug smile at you. 

"Alright!" Sami breaks up the dick-measuring contest with an awkward laugh. "Y/N, Randy and I are gonna head back to the locker room." He informs you. "You want to come with?" He offers you an easy way out of this whole situation. 

"Awe, leaving so soon, Y/N?" Punk flashes a fake frown. "But we were just getting to the fun part." 

Your mouth twitches and you turn to Sami. "I'll be there in a minute." You inform him. "I've got one final demon from my past that needs to be taken care of." You turn back to Punk with a scowl. 

"Oh, so I'm a demon now?" Punk teases you. 

"No." Yo, turn back to Punk. "You're a manipulator and a hypocrite." 

Another chuckle falls from Punk's lips as Randy and Sami walk off. "From what I remember, you didn't really mind being manipulated, sweetheart." He reminds you. 

"That was 10 years ago." You remind him right back. "I'm not some starstruck little girl fawning over the great CM Punk anymore. When you compare careers? You should be the one on your knees begging for my attention." You add. 

"You want me on my knees, sweetheart? All you have to do is ask." Punk taunts you. 

Your face heats up a smidge and you bite the inside of your cheek. Punk smiles as you wrack your brain for a comeback to his lewd remark. 

"Still speechless when it comes to me, huh, Y/N." Punk doesn't let up on his teasing. 

"Big talk coming from the main fired from two major companies for acting like an entitled brat." You fire back at him. 

"Oooo, ouch." Punk laughs your insult off. "And what have you been up to while I've been gone, Y/N?" He asks you. 

An opportunity presents itself and you don't hold back. "Main eventing Wrestlemania in front of hundreds of thousands of people." You remind him. "While you were doing what? Sitting on your couch with your dingy ass dog watching me be better than you? Or what? Getting into fights with kids that used to worship you like a hero?" You make a jab at his short-lived AEW career. 

Punk bows his head with a smile, acknowledging the burn. "Touche." He puts his hands up in defeat. "I'm staying at the same hotel as you tonight. Room 413." He steps towards you. "You talk a lot of game sugar, let's see if you can still back it up." He leans in and whispers in your ear before walking off with a self-satisfied smile. 

You remain in place as Punk walks off. "Fuck me." You groan when you think he's out of earshot finally. 

"Oh, I plan to, sweetheart!" Punk answers from across the room followed by a sinister laugh. 

[madaboutmunson]

Manowar

Prompt | "Gladiator" WC | 1303 Rating | T CW | Fighting Tags | Steve/Eddie, Fluff, Flirting, Fighting

---------------------------------------------------------

It hadn't meant to go this way for Eddie. This wasn't the kind of performer he had signed up to be. He sat with his still-wet post-wash hair, pulling on his armour and perusing the wall opposite for his weapon of choice.

He wondered who he would be facing today, where they would come from, why they had been thrown down here with him, or for some, why they would, of their own free will, come here to prove their prowess.

He could hear the crowd's roar as whoever it was, succeeded in their current stage of proceedings.

“Are you not entertained?” He heard a voice cry out, and that must be them. Cocky.

Eddie liked cocky. He liked sweeping the legs of cocky and looking down on them with a sneer and patronising laugh after they had looked at him like he didn't stand a chance.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall, was true…Sometimes. But the bigger the ego you get to crush, the sweeter the victory was true always.

Being a favourite in the arena, he often left him for last, and as the man cried out, “I don't think there is a single man here that can defeat me,” the crowd responded the only way they knew how when a contender mocked their sacred place of entertainment. They called his name—not his real name, of course—the name they had bestowed on him.

Manowar.

Not only because he was deadly, or his flowing tendrils of hair,  but one touch and his opponent was done for. Some opponents gave their openings for attack easily; they were clumsy and oafish. Others defended tightly, and though they were more of a challenge, he still would eventually find one, way before they found his.

“Man-o-war! Man-o-war!” the crowd got louder, and unlike the gods of old when Eddie’s worshippers called, he heeded them, stood tall, and walked out to defend their honour. As he walked out, the crowd whipped into a frenzy, and he was glad he’d chosen to wear his sunglasses to walk out with because they never fixed that damn spotlight that nearly blinded half the cast as they emerged at the top of the ramp. Also, it looked pretty lame, shielding your eyes from the light or squinting.

The presenter was about to say something, but Eddie ripped the mic from their hands. “Where is this pretender in my arena?” he sneered venomously, and the fans were out of their seats, waving his own merch or homemade signs back at him. “He’s right over their M-M-Manowar.” The presenter did an excellent job of acting afraid. Those improv classes he’d recommended were really paying off for him.

“And what does the pipsqueak do?” Eddie scoffed.

“He’s an elementary school teacher, sir.”

Eddie laughed loud and long in the best supervillain maniacal style possible. He tutted and shook his head, “And what name will I be hammering into his tombstone after I’m done here?”

The room fell away as two words pierced the air, coming from another mic in the arena, “Steve Harrington!” the voice rang out,  “and I’ll be the one chipping away Manowar when we’re done.” The breath that caught in his throat took his trash-talking with it, but he couldn’t lose his facade. He heard a section of kids cheer on their teacher loudly, and finally, a face he had never forgotten but had never expected to see again walked into the spotlight in front of the podiums they would battle on. Another reason Eddie was glad of the sunglasses was that they couldn't see the widening of his eyes as his greatest weakness came into view. A handsome guy with an ass you could bounce a nickel off of.

“Enough of the chit-chat,” Eddie grumbled. Play pushed the presenter away from him, stomped over to the podium, and tried his best not to flash a charming smile at the playboy he went to school with.

The battle lasted a matter of minutes, but Eddie let Steve get a few shots in before taking him down with his pugil stick, with a rapid strike to that plush behind and sent him tumbling to the crash mats below.

As was procedure, Eddie stood over him and mocked him but called for a mic as he poked at a reeling-from-the-fall Steve. “You were foolish to set forth that challenge to the arena, knowing I reside here,” Eddie's voice boomed around the arena. THIS IS MY HOUSE!” he bellowed, and the fans went crazy—all except the small pocket of kids and parents who had their Mr Harrington sign. For the first time, Eddie paused and looked around the crowd. “However, you did get a few amateur shots in. I enjoyed our duel. You were an adequate opponent for a change, “he said with overall arrogance but a tinge of compassion. He extended his hand down towards Steve, who grasped it quickly and firmly, allowing Eddie to pull him to his feet. Eddie gave him a nod and handed the mic back to the presenter to interview Steve post-duel and walked back to the changing room, signing a few things he could grab as he passed and waving to the fans, accepting cheers and boos with equal appreciation. As he started to get out of his garish outfit, he was startled by a much closer-than-expected but gentle “Hey.” Eddie jumped out of his skin, much to Steve’s amusement. “You shouldn’t be back here; this is for the regular cast only,” Eddie said half-heartedly. “I know, but I mean, I’m going home now anyway, thanks to you,” Steve said, still shining with sweat. His hair was unleashed from the helmet and looked, unfortunately, better than ever. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, and Eddie felt like a teenager again, watching Steve chat to some girl against the lockers. “Do you want an autograph or something?” Eddie huffed out a laugh and continued to get undressed, shamelessly testing a theory. Or maybe it was a hopeless dream. Steve’s eyes regretfully stayed on Eddie's face, and his dream was dashed. “Yeah, the kids would love that, actually,” he answered.

Eddie put his hands on his hips as he reached for his towel and washbag, “It usually helps if you hand over the things you want to be signed, Harrington.” “Well, I don't have them here,” Steve laughed.

Now Eddie was really confused. “So why are you back, he—” is all he managed to get out before he found his back up against the cold tiled wall, the tip of his nose brushing his, and one of Steve's hands planted firmly on the wall right next to his head. Steve’s shuddered breaths mingled with Eddie’s own, the mutual moisture settling light on his lips and fading away.

“I was thinking I could take you out to dinner, and then you could sign the other things at mine. Maybe for round two?” Steve’s intense but hooded gaze was flitting between Eddie's eyes and mouth, and he could hardly believe his luck. He wondered if he’d stepped in here, slipped and bumped his head.

Eddie licked his lips, almost catching Steve’s as he did so. A confident smirk began to creep on his lips. “Want me to send you crashing to the floor again, big boy?” Steve smiled and slowly created space between them again, taking Eddie’s sharpie and his wrist to extend out his arm to write something on it, “Dont wash it off, Munson. Meet me here at eight,” he said calmly with a wink and left Eddie to slump to the bench and wonder what the hell just happened.

Two things were for sure: he was washing with one arm out of the shower, and he would not be late.

[kit-williams]

Cuckoo Anon

Oh you bet your Chain Axe I Do! Had to stop last night because tired but I've got pretty good ideas for some other legions reactions to getting yoinked from their original timeline.

Disclaimer: Apologies if your fav legion doesn't appear here I only know enough about so many of them.

Word Bearers - Another group that's more Aware that the warp has something to do with this, though less able to actively affect it than say the Thousand Sons. Definitely in the group that Wants to establish contact with their original timeline because there's so many souls here in need of the warp's guidance. Until they're able to do that, they spend there time pouring over the various religious texts available here. Would speak up at a theology lecture to correct the speaker about the details of certain figures that they've actually met in their original timeline. Example: Nurgle. They also enjoy yoga for its meditative quality, though its less enjoyable for even the most yoga obsessed humans. The Word Bearers pair yoga with dark ritualistic chanting. Even in Gothic the humans recognize the words are...a bit unsettling.

Rating: Suddenly finding yourself running a...more intense version of a Bible camp as your Word Bearer instructs his group on the proper alignment of ritual circles with the Stars for their next venture. You just hope none of these will ever involve blood sacrifices.

War Hounds/World Eaters - Cut from the same cloth, even stitched with the same pins. Like the Iron Warriors these guys are actually Thriving (as much as they can) in this new environment. You'd think with everything being softened and pacified by the warp they'd go raving mad. But no, because that includes their nails and bloodlust. The nails still hurt, but its like a toothache most days compared to feeling like your brain is being stabbed. And they still crave battle, but there's sparring arenas and Astarte focused gyms in practically every city and marine base here. Plus the occasional chance to Really let loose on some human killer warbands. And if a Marine is sick of their nails completely they can be Removed! The instrument of their torment can be done away with (Chronic pain and migraines remain for most of them but again, far less pain than once was). This new clarity gives them room to reflect. The empire and chaos only found them useful when they were Hurting and Angry constantly. They were never allowed to be anything else. But with the humans here, especially with bonds that can sooth the nails completely, they finally can just....be.

Rating: Laying your head across your bonded humans lap with a fire crackling on a cold night. The scars from the nails twinge for a moment, causing you to hiss. Until your human coos, brushing the hair from your forehead, and at once the pain cools to nothing. You settle, not sure if you deserve this but decide you will accept it. You lean into your humans touch. You are both content.

Space Wolves - If War Hounds are the abused pups learning to love again, Space Wolves are the...Wolves learning to trust/work with humans for the first time. Space Wolves had interactions with humans in their timeline, but only those on their own planet would treat them like normal people. Everywhere else humans saw them as the Emperors Angels. Dangerous and Untouchable. So to have these humans approach them like neither of those groups kinda throws them off. They're not Afraid of them in a broad sense, but they're also not familiar enough yet. The two are finding their footing with eachother. Having a dog gets immediate points with a Space Wolf, they love pups. All shapes and kinds but they obvious lean towards more wolf like breeds. By the same token Space Wolves don't tolerate animal abuse. Any marine type Might decide to kill an animal abuser, a Space Wolf won't hesitate. If you're lucky they'll just steal neglected animals and leave the abuser with some property damage. At worst well...you get the idea.

Rating: Opening up that animal rehab shelter you've always wanted to Not because you thought you were finally  ready...but because your Space Wolf keeps bringing home strays, and neglected animals. But hey, seeing your big guy happily laying in a swarm of pups makes it all worth it. And the time you saw him literally send an abusive owner flying into your trash can for trying to take their dog back.

Death Guard - Weird idea, but they're doing okay. It's just that most of them are feral by choice rather than the Alpha legion's situation. The warp may make their haze of rot less dangerous here, but being near one is still Alot for an average human. Also the cities don't have enough Greenery. So the ferals stick to the forests and overgrown areas. Their presence boosts the cycles of life and decay, and they actually Clean!?!? Well yes, the litter and plastic trash, anything biodegradable can stay...or gets eaten. Yep I see Death Guard as the vultures or millipedes of space marines. They can eat Anything organic, and they enjoy the more fetid pieces. Many humans have been startled to find their garbage being raided after some spoiled leftovers were thrown out. And as far as personality goes they're actually pretty gentle. They see no reason to attack humans, they're natural miasma is still imparting the gifts of Nurgle occasionally so why bother? If a Death Guard bonds to a human that bond is deep and loving. The bond also helps their human resist their smell, and makes the human stronger against the illness miasma. Its not a perfect defense, energy still gets drained, but your Death Guard will always be there to lend a hand, claw, bone growth to help when you need it.

Rating: Hiking through the forest, and suddenly catching an awful smell. Your curiosity bids you follow it, lest it be a hiker that met an ill fate. As you get closer the greenery around you seems to grow larger, and more beautiful with every step. Literally bursting with life. You come to a small open area beneath the trees. The smell is strongest here, and you see a large misshapen green body. It raises its cupped hands, that hold something you can't identify, to a branch. A flower bud slowly opens to full and....a Butterfly flits to the new bloom from his palms. You stand in awe. The shape turns as you watch from behind a tree, your eyes meet through his helmet. You just...stare at eachother. And though you don't notice at the time, the scent no longer has presence in your mind.

Alpha Legion - (Only fitting that I finish off with the legion that gave me my name.) So honestly...kinda struggling. These fellas are so used to spying, and secrecy and playing games of 12D chess (even though doing that wasn't the best choice to begin with but I digress) and now they've been dropped in a place that has...none of that?? They're separated from their spy networks, no matter what side of their Timeline they were fighting on they only really have eachother now. The other legions are Very unwilling to trust them for obvious reasons. And they have a shit time making bonds with humans. Like seriously, f their lives right up. Like at least when they were just a cog in a clusterfuck of war, alliances, battles and betrayals, they didn't have to think and reflect about how Lonely they actually are. But...on the other hand, they're free to do as they please here. Sure the other marines are wary of them, but as long as they don't outright start shit things can go on tense but peaceful. Occasionally snatching some affection while disguised is okay, but still...they want something real. And when they do get that, whether the bond is truly like their fellow marines or slightly different, they Don't let go.

Rating: You came home to an Ultramarine in your house, only it didn't really...act like an ultra marine? It took no interest when you showed it your excel documents, didn't try to organize anything, and shied away from conversing with other loyalists. He Did help you out around the house, and was exceptionally affectionate. Most marines were some flavor of touch starved (except maybe Salamanders), but this seemed excessive. Then one night you woke up, and heard hushed but intense whispering. You peaked out of your bedroom to see your Ultramarine conversing with....himself!? Your eyes did not deceive, and your ears did not lie. Same voice, same armor, down to the same scratches and battle damage...but that was impossible! Your musings were interrupted by one of them getting louder.

"It is still My turn with the mortal!"

"You expanded your timetable in the schedule. That is Unfair brother, and you know it."

"This is not up for discussion, and You cannot be here right now! Do you want us to be thrown out completely!?"

"Maybe if we were simply Honest with them we wouldn't have to worry about that, but You insisted we stick to this charade. Well I'm SICK of it!" The ultra on the right lost his composure, and his form phased and shifted. Royal blue became teal and the helmet shifted to a form more resembling an octopus. An Alpha Legion marine...but that would mean...

The one you assumed to be Your marine spoke up. "Enough! I will not tolerate your insubordination! Leave now!"

The newly shifted marine stood his ground and sneered. "Why don't you Make me brother?!"

"Or you could....Both stay?" The two marines whipped their heads to face you. You stood in your pajamas, as the two armored marines stared in stunned silence.

"I...can explain." Your marine started, but you held up your hand.

"Its okay," You assured him, crossing the distance so you could look him in the eye.  "We do need to talk things over but...I think I understand why you felt you needed to do this." You turned to his brother. " Should've let me know we were having company. I think we could all use some hot chocolate."

Your second space marine perked up. "I hope you have enough supplies for us all."

"Two space marines and a human you mean?"

"Weeeeeell...." Knock, knock, knock. You turned to the door, and your space marine let his disguise shed as he reached for the handle. The door opened to reveal...1,2,3,4...yeah you were gonna need more hot chocolate.

Love these I really do you're making me blush

[metanarrates]

you got that genre and gender essay for us 👀

i might talk about gender in the hunger games a different time but right now im ready to talk about genre in it (FINALLY. sorry gamers ive been in the sludge for a while)

so one of the things that really struck me about the hunger games while reading is that it did not function strictly as an action genre story during the games themselves. the genre it actually seemed to be dipping into a lot of the time is wilderness survival. this is weird, for a couple of reasons.

for anyone unfamiliar with the wilderness survival genre, the underlying conflict tends to be rather slow-movingly paced. this isn't always the case - some wilderness survival stories do have limitations that force the plot to speed up - but in the vast majority of works I've seen, the main force the main character is working against is the slow-moving course of nature. there is a lot of time spent hunting, crafting, building shelters, tending to injuries. occasionally there are bursts of action, but the story is much more concerned with the daily work of solving more longterm survival problems than it is with more temporary threats. it's typically a story about endurance rather than urgency.

now, I like the genre just fine. I would even say suzanne collins does it decently well. the problem is that it doesn't actually suit the premise of the hunger games.

the hunger games is, on premise, a death game. for at least the first two books, the main setpiece of the story is the promise of the arena. it is a televised match where children have to kill each other for the entertainment of a crowd. this isn't a crazy uncommon subgenre or even main genre for action stories - there's a lot of story potential in forcing combatants to battle to the death against their will. my favorite novel, omniscient reader's viewpoint, has death game elements. when done well, it is tense, exciting, and asks questions about the culpability of both viewer and participants. oftentimes, the story's major theme is forcing the audience think about the way they may treat violence as spectacle. this is certainly something the hunger games also wants to do.

this premise carries a lot of intrinsic tensions. in a story where people are hunting one another in order to survive, the protagonist almost always is under threat, or nearly under threat, of being attacked. the tension of potentially having to kill adds another layer of tension. the demands of audience, in a story about violence as spectacle, serves to add another layer. the protagonist always has to look over their shoulder, to make sure that their audience can't hurt them if they become dissatisfied with the protagonist, and to be sure that they can fend off attackers at any given moment. to do otherwise, at least without justifying it, would be to undermine the logical stakes the premise introduces.

the end result, when done well, is a fast-paced action story with consistently heightened tension. you'll notice that this doesn't blend well with a slow-paced genre with a consistently low but omnipresent baseline tension.

through both games, again to collins' credit, there are a lot of high-tension action sequences. katniss does spend a good deal of time fighting, running, tensely hiding out, and dealing with high-octane environmental factors. however, I was consistently a little disappointed by how quickly a lot of these sequences ended. more importantly, I was confused by how often it would lead back into katniss skirting around the woods. she spends a ton of time fishing, hunting, chatting with allied tributes, scouting, and waiting around in a cave for peetas injuries to heal. the threat of the other tributes finding and killing her slips into the background. the audience in the capitol only matters occasionally. the minuitiae of surviving in a wilderness takes up major screentime. the threats intrinsic to the actiony premise stop being an immediate concern.

this inability to follow through on the established stakes totally kills my suspension of disbelief in the gamemakers as threats. very few people would be actually interested in continuously watching days-long, unedited livestreams of teenagers hunting and fishing and occasionally kissing. it doesn't make sense as a story about entertainment, because the events on screen would simply not be logically all that entertaining. the only reason the gamemakers don't act to force katniss towards more action is that collins plainly does not seem as interested in writing action. and that's really the root of the first two books' weird genre problem.

since collins seems to want to focus on wilderness survival rather than action, neither genre can properly shine. as a reader, i'm always feeling antsy whenever katniss takes a break to nap for a day, and I'm always frustrated whenever an an action scene is cut short instead of staying excitingly tense. the action stakes never feel believable to me because it seems like they only exist when the plot remembers they should. the survival stakes just feel like a tiresome chore in a story that should have much more urgent concerns. it's just a really weird choice. why write a death game story if you're often disinterested in the stuff the premise demands?

I also don't think that the rebellion/war story is done well in book 3, for similar pacing and tension issues (that book DRAGS in ways that actively undermine what it seems to be trying to do.) but this little essay has run on long enough. this has been a really longwinded way of saying "these books struggle a lot with tension and pacing and it makes them feel weird in how they play to their supposed premises," but I did want to approach it from a genre angle because that's what I was thinking about while reading. what is genre, after all, but a shorthand to communicate expected aspects of setting, focus, mechanical structure of a story?

[tkwrites]

Second Nature - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photos from Pinterest

Title: Second Nature

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: Grief, mentions of dead parents, making out (if I missed any, let me know)

Summary: Sequel to Worth the Wait, Quinn and Sarah have their second date. Getting to know each other in many ways is like second nature.

Word count: 5,900

Comments: This took a long time to write. I caught the bug, got swamped at work, lost it and finally caught it again. I'd love to know what you think and what you'd like to see next in their little universe.

Second Nature

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Quinn woke to three messages from Sarah. They had actually been delivered in the middle of the night - at 2am. He didn't see them until he stumbled into his bathroom in the morning, but they woke him right out of his listless journey to the sink. 

Thank you for last night. It was the best first date I've ever been on. 

I’d love to come over for dinner on Saturday. 

Maybe send me your address and I'll come there and we’ll see where the night goes? 

He did celebrate this time, pumping a fist in the air. It felt like a battle won that not only she was coming to his house and they could be alone, but also that he might be able to take her home. He felt like he’d slain a giant in winning her trust. Or, at least, he was on his way. He felt outrageously victorious. 

Twenty minutes before she was supposed to arrive, his phone rang. 

“Hey.” 

“Quinn?” 

“Sarah?’

 “Yeah. Hey, it’s raining buckets out here. Do you think you could come get me from the station?” 

“Of course,” he said, putting the asparagus he’d just pulled out of the fridge back into the dish, “I’ll be right there. Can you send me a pin?” 

He washed his hands, shut off the stove and ran out of the apartment. 

When he pulled out of the parking garage, his jeep was assaulted with rain. Huge, heavy drops of it that splashed and splattered over his windshield. 

He called when he got close, and she sprinted to his idling SUV. He’d even thrown the door open for her. 

“Oh my gosh,” she said, breathless, shutting out the heavy wind and rain, “I knew it was going to rain tonight, but I didn’t think it was gonna get this bad.” 

He glanced over at her. “I’m glad you called. I wouldn’t want you walking in this mess.” 

She giggled, “how noble of you.” 

“I’m serious,” he said, turning onto his street, “you would have been soaked by the time you made it.” 

It was true, she would have been. It had been shocking to come up from the platform and find that much water in the streets. It had only been drizzling when she left less than 20 minutes before. 

After he pulled into the parking garage, and into his reserved parking space by the elevator, he sprinted around the car to open her door. 

“Thank you,” she said, blushing. It had been a long, long time since someone had made such an effort. 

He scanned into the elevator and up to the penthouse. Sarah watched the numbers count up, feeling a little dizzy when they finally stopped at twenty.

When he let her into the apartment, she was overcome. In general, Quinn seemed like a nice, really normal guy who just happened to play sports professionally for a living. Standing in this gorgeous, penthouse, though, she thought about how much money he must be making playing hockey. It was certainly much, much more than she could ever make as a zoologist. She would never dare to even dream of an apartment like this. 

Her eyes caught on the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor and northern skyline. Even though everything was dark and moody outside, it made the warm, modern interior of his home feel more cozy. 

“Can I take your coat?” he asked, resting his hands on her shoulders as she looked around. Quinn loved this apartment, and it fit every bill - close to the arena, comfortable, and big enough to have a party - but at times like this when someone was gazing around in awe, it made him a bit uncomfortable. He never wanted to be better than anyone else, and didn’t think he was, but sometimes, he wondered why he was the one to deserve a top story penthouse in Gastown.

“You have such a beautiful house,” she said, still looking around at the plush dark furniture and modern, sleek lines. 

"Thanks. I can't take all the credit, though. It was furnished when I moved in." 

"Still, it's so lovely," she said, taking her bag off her shoulder. It clinked when it hit the ground. 

“Did you bring supplies?” he teased. 

“I brought wine. I wasn’t sure what you were cooking, so I bought a red and a white.” she said, turning to face him as he pulled the jacket off her arm. 

It was such a thoughtful thing for her to do that he paused for a moment before hanging her coat on the hook by the door. 

It was something out of a dream to have her in his house in her jeans and simple, blousey top. 

“I was just about to start cooking when you called, so come into the kitchen,” he said, taking her hand. 

He led her through the open concept living space that butted up to a small formal dining room before they reached the long, narrow kitchen. 

“Oh, I love your kitchen,” she said. “I've always loved a galley kitchen.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. 

“My mom was an interior designer, so we talked about this kind of stuff a lot.”

“Yeah? What does your dad do?”

“My dad was an aerospace engineer.”

“Was?” he repeated, dread filling his limbs. Surely, he was just retired. 

Her sad smile told him otherwise. “He died two years before mom did.”

Quinn set the wrapped salmon down and went to her. 

“Sarah, I'm so sorry,” he said, gathering her against him. 

“Thank you.” Accepting the embrace, she tucked her face into the curve of his neck and let him hold her. It was so rare for her to get this kind of physical affection, she relished it whenever it was offered. 

He pulled away, and looked into her face. She was so strong. How could anyone be this strong? To lose both your parents by the time you were twenty-four? He didn’t know how he’d survive. 

Suddenly, he was overcome with how much he liked her. Not just because she was pretty, which she was, but because she had so much character, so much strength in her spine. 

The red of her top made the blue in her eyes brighter and more vivid than he'd seen before. Words fell out of his mouth, "God, your eyes are pretty." 

“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile. “I really like your eyes too.”

He chuffed. “Brown. They're boring.”

She took a hold of his jaw and made him look at her. “They're not. Your eyes are the color of whiskey and I think they're really beautiful.”

A blush bloomed into his cheeks. 

"Plus, aren't they a little hazel?" she asked, studying him, "they looked kind of green on Thursday." 

He shrugged, "I've never really noticed." 

Continuing to look into his eyes, Sarah decided they were hazel. Even in the kitchen light, she could see flecks of green in them. 

Quinn was thinking about kissing her when she said, “so, how can I help?” 

“I’m cooking you dinner,” he reprimanded, “you can open the wine and talk to me.” 

A smile spread over her face. 

He handed her the corkscrew, and she got to work. When she turned around to ask for glasses, he already had them out on the counter for her. 

“So,” she did a little hop to sit on the counter next to where he was working, “how was your day?” 

“Good,” he said, “practice this morning."

“What does that look like? When you have practice in the morning, I mean.” 

“I’m usually up at 8, go to the rink and we have breakfast. Then we watch tape with some of the coaches, sometimes have a meeting, and then we’re on the ice for an hour or two. Then we have strength training, and lunch, and I’m off for the rest of the day unless we have a game.” 

“Could you teach me?” she asked. 

He looked up from snapping the ends off of the asparagus, “teach you what?” 

“About hockey. I started watching your games with my roommate Eunice, last week but I still don't really understand a lot of the rules. It’s so confusing.”

“You never watched hockey before?” he asked, feeling a corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. She had started watching for him?

“I’m from the desert. Ice hockey wasn’t really on the PE docket.” 

“And no one watched?”

“I’m sure some people did, but football was the big thing in my family. We were so thrilled when the Raiders came to Vegas, and we had our own team to cheer for.” 

“There’s a hockey team in Vegas now,” he said, his tone light and teasing. 

“I know,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. 

His eyes followed her movements, drinking in the shape of her mouth on the rim of the glass. 

“So you won’t teach me? You’re just going to let me flounder all on my own?” she teased when he didn’t answer. 

Laughing, he slid the asparagus into the oven before putting the salmon into a hot pan. It sizzled and snapped, and he stepped back to avoid getting hot oil on himself.

Once that was done, he moved to stand in front of her. 

Instinctively, her knees widened so he could stand between them.

“I’d love to teach you about hockey,” he said. 

This was ultimate flirting in Quinn’s book. Something he knew he could do. When someone wanted to talk about music, or art or classic cars, he was a fish out of water. But talking hockey? He could do that all day long. Convincing someone to like the sport he loved so much? There wasn't a more ideal situation. 

“Oh, good,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. 

This was a perfect evening. Casual and comfortable. Cooking for someone he - liked, and kissing her whenever he wanted, taking no worry of who might be watching. 

Letting himself get swept up in the kiss, he slid his hands over her hips and tried to commit her scent to memory. No matter what happened - though he was pretty sure nothing bad was ever going to happen with Sarah - he wanted to remember this. She smelled like a dream he’d had as a boy. Like vanilla and warm skin and fireside, summer nights. It was an outlandish notion, but he couldn’t shake it. 

All her life, Sarah had read stories about star-crossed, fated lovers thrown together by chance and circumstance and serendipity. But those were all just stories. Even when her grandpa talked about meeting her grandma - like they were always meant to be together, and just had to find each other to make it happen - it seemed like folklore. A tall tale he spun to make their love story seem more epic. 

These past few weeks with Quinn made her realize how it could be possible to meet someone and decide that marrying them seven days later was a good idea. She’d never do that, but experiencing this kind of attraction first hand made her grandparents seem a little less crazy. 

She didn’t know Quinn very well, but in a way it felt like she’d somehow known him all along. Everything felt so comfortable with him.

Something popped on the stove and Quinn pulled away to check on it. His tongue darted over his plush bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth briefly as he flipped the salmon. The action made something in Sarah ache for him. 

“How was your day?” he asked. “Were you at the aquarium?” 

“No, I’m usually only there Tuesday through Friday. I was working a special shift when you came in that Monday because we had so many school field trips that day.”

They could have missed each other so easily, the fact of it made him a little dizzy. 

“I finished all my midterms on Thursday, so I actually took the weekend off. My roommates and I went to the market this morning, and then I finished a bunch of stuff I’ve been putting off because of school.” 

“So it was a good day?” he asked. 

She nodded, “better now that I'm here.” 

Quinn felt himself grin. 

“This is so good,” she said after her first bite.

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you for cooking,” she said, “It’s such a treat to get a home cooked meal.” 

His shock must have shown his face. 

She laughed, “I never have time to cook with school and work. I’m usually eating a sandwich for dinner.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. "That was my freshman year whenever I was away from the dining hall." 

“Yeah? I assumed you didn’t go to college. I thought players were drafted and that was that.” 

He shrugged. “I actually played a year of college hockey before I was drafted. Some guys don't need any extra development after the draft, my younger brother Jack didn’t. But some guys need a few years in college or the minors before they're ready.  I needed a little more development before I could come into the NHL, so I played another year at Michigan.” 

“Did you like it?”

"College?" She nodded and he continued,  "I loved it. It was time for me to move up to the NHL, but I wouldn’t have been too mad to stay there until I graduated.”

“Did you finish your degree?” she asked. 

“Yeah. In Communications.” 

“Did your mom teach you to cook?” 

Quinn couldn’t help but snort, “no.” 

Realizing how rude that sounded, he rushed to explain, “my mom is a great cook, but I really had to learn over COVID when I wasn’t allowed out.” 

“You weren’t allowed out?” she repeated. 

“They were really concerned about us getting sick, so the only time we could go out was to go to the rink or to games.”

“That sounds awful.” 

“It was, and I still got COVID twice,” he said ruefully. “So I had to learn to cook because I couldn’t go out to eat. I watched a lot of cooking shows,” he admitted with a smile.

“So what do your parents do?”

“Mom stayed at home, mostly, but she did broadcasting for women's hockey for a while before she had us kids, and dad was a development coach for a long time in the AHL and NHL.”

An amused smile spread over her lips, “so you really had no choice, did you? It was all hockey all the time in your house.” 

“I mean, my parents would have been happy with whatever we decided to do, but it was pretty impossible to avoid.” 

Her smile got bigger, and Quinn found himself smiling back. 

“When did you start playing?” 

“When I was three.” 

He jumped on a question of his own before she could get another one in, “when did you know you wanted to study the ocean?” 

Smiling, she rolled her eyes at herself. “It was a pretty classic girl who grows up in a desert, land-locked state is obsessed with what she doesn’t have. But it really kicked into gear when I moved to Hawaii after I graduated with my undergrad.” 

“Hawaii?” he asked. 

She swallowed hard and took a sip of wine, “yeah. I moved pretty soon after my dad died. I got an internship working for a conservation group on Kauai, and just kind of ran away with it,” she said. “I felt like I found my calling there in a way.” 

“Why didn’t you study there?” 

“Well, it’s really expensive to live and study in Hawaii,” she said, “and my mom died, and I found out pretty soon after that I couldn’t be that far away from my family.” 

This was the second time she’d mentioned needing to be close by family. Quinn felt like there was something she wasn’t telling him, but didn’t want to push, it would probably come out with time.  

They finished their meal in companionable conversation, getting to know each other more. He learned about her research on octopus social behavior, and she learned about some of his teammates, who were his best friends in the city. 

Sarah insisted on doing the dishes. “I may not be much of a cook, but I do know how to clean,” she said. 

Quinn followed her into the kitchen. He was getting antsy. He wanted to kiss her. 

“What did you have in mind for the rest of the night?” she asked, looking up from loading plates in the dishwasher. 

Making out. Really, he wanted to pull her into his bed, but he was only one half of that equation and the last thing he wanted was to scare her away now. 

“I'm not really sure. I figured we'd figure it out together,” he said. 

Something in Sarah melted a little at his words. It was good to have a plan sometimes. And sometimes, it was good to let the evening take you where it wanted. 

Meeting his eyes, she said, “I like the sound of that.”

After a house tour, they ended up upstairs, on his favorite couch. Gray suede softer than anything he’d ever owned. He'd been meaning to ask his real estate agent if he could take it with him when he left. 

Fingers entwined, she tugged him closer, letting her lips fall against his. 

A distinct feeling of, finally, seeped through Quinn as he deepened the kiss. One hand woven into her hair, while the other caressed her waist.

Sarah’s fingers slid behind his neck, pulling him closer. God, she wanted him so much closer. 

A breathy moan escaped her mouth when he brushed his tongue over hers just so.

Her body drove her next actions, pulling herself into his lap, knees bracketing his hips as she rested her weight on his thighs. 

He sucked in a deep breath. 

She pulled away to look into his face, “is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding too fast, he didn’t want her to go anywhere. He hadn’t been shocked so much as trying to brace himself. 

Smiling, she leaned in again. Just as their lips met, words she'd been thinking for the past eleven days tumbled out of her mouth and into his, “I really like you, Quinn.”

His heart twisted at the tenderness, and he pulled back to look into her eyes as he responded, “I really like you, too, Sarah.”

His sincerity burrowed into her and hummed there, heating her from the inside out. Nudging his mouth with hers again, she sighed. This kiss was far more tender and slow than any of the ones before. It wasn’t so much passion as it was an expression of gratitude for companionship, and hope for the future. 

In a way, these kinds of beginnings in their relationship felt perfunctory, like they needed to get through them in order to get to the good stuff. Still, Quinn didn’t want to rush. 

Their kiss in the kitchen felt like a glimpse into a future time when the awkwardness of firsts was done away. It had taken months to get that comfortable with his last girlfriend, June. She hadn’t been as into him as he’d been into her (and hadn't been afraid to wield that fact like a sword), so that had been most of the problem. He didn’t get that game playing vibe from Sarah; just this reciprocated, gentle passion like he’d never experienced before. They even seemed to naturally kiss at the same pace. 

Her kisses were unlike anything he’d experienced. Hot, of course, but there was an underlying tenderness and safety he hadn’t known he was seeking. 

It didn’t take long for the gentleness to evaporate. After a few minutes, Sarah angled herself closer. Desperate to feel more of his skin, her fingers snuck under his shirt, splaying over his stomach.

He grunted at the skin to skin contact and felt his temperature spike.

That was it. With that sexy grunt, she was a woman possessed. “Can I take this off?” she asked, tugging at the hem of his shirt, too anxious to wait for a more natural moment. 

He leaned away from the couch to grab the collar and stripped the fabric over his head before throwing it on the floor. 

Giggling, she went back to kissing him, letting her hands explore his shoulders and chest. Feeling the smattering of coarse hair there, visions of how it would feel brushing her own chest flooded her mind. She had to stop herself from rubbing up against him like a cat.

His hands snuck under her shirt, and set fire to her skin. Sitting back on his thighs, she stripped her shirt off, letting it drop to the floor by his. 

Quinn sucked in a shallow breath. His heart kicked forcefully into his spine as if to ask, are you seeing this? 

He was and he couldn't believe it either. 

The bra she wore was dark blue, and cradled her breasts so they swelled gently above the fabric. Lace peeked over the solid lining, drawing shapes on her skin.

It had been a stroke of genius when she decided to buy this bra, even though at the time, she didn’t have anyone but herself to wear it for. Comfortable for the most part, it made her boobs look killer: pushed up and round. It was a confidence booster to just wear it under her clothing. Getting ready earlier in the day, Sarah knew herself well enough to know there was more than a slim chance she'd end up losing her shirt. She wanted this to be the first bra he saw her in.

Finally forcing his eyes up to her face, he found her nervously biting her lip, a hopeful sort of look in her eyes. 

“You’re…" He didn’t want to come off cheesy, or like he was trying too hard, but eventually, he just said what was going through his mind. Cheese be damned. "Jesus, you’re so pretty, Sarah.” 

She flushed the most adorable shade of pink. “Thank you.” 

He pulled her in to kiss her again. He wanted her so much. 

“Leave that on,” she said, moving his hands away from the clasp of her bra, not quite ready for him to see the stretch marks and asymmetry of her breasts. 

“Okay,” he whispered against her lips, entwining his fingers with hers. 

It was such a respectful, sweet gesture that she almost took her bra off anyway just because she liked him so much.  

The temptation to look at her more grew too strong and he pulled away. 

He kept their hands laced together as his eyes roved over her, from her soft stomach to the curve that dipped from hip to chest. 

His eyes caught on something dark peeing out from under the band of her bra. 

“Do you have a tattoo?” he asked. 

She nodded, lifting her left arm and twisting her torso to show him. 

“Is it a tree?” 

Looking down, she realized that while the roots and poem intertwined into them were visible, the thick band of this bra covered most of the design. 

Her hands were moving before she really had time to think it through. The need to know if he would accept this part of her consumed her until she was doing something she'd just asked him not to. Consequences be damned. She wanted to show him this part of herself - this reminder she'd had permanently added to her body. 

Quinn watched, enthralled, as she wrapped her right arm in front of her to cup her left breast, reaching back to unsnap her bra with the other hand. His mind raced with images of his hands replacing hers. 

Keeping her bra flush to her, she dropped her left shoulder until the strap fell, pulling the band forward. 

Even though he knew she would stay covered, his breathing still jumped when she lifted her arm. 

“The tree is based on a beech tree that was in my grandma's backyard. We used to play in it all the time.” 

"Can I touch it?" he asked reverently. 

"Yeah," her voice was breathy. 

The tree was a sepia photograph - dark brown, expertly detailed roots, trunk and branches leading up to lighter, autumn toned leaves that looked as if they might just blow away with the right gust of wind. 

“What do the roots say?” he asked, tracing his finger over the fine cursive text, looping and weaving itself among the chaotic web of lines. 

Goosebumps rippled over her skin. 

“It’s a poem my mom had hanging in our house. It says, ‘Good timber does not grow with ease: / The stronger the wind, the stronger the trees; / The further the sky, the greater the length; / The more the storm, the more the strength. / By sun and cold, by rain and snow, / In trees and men good timbers grow.’” 

It had been a long time since someone had seen her tattoo close enough to ask about the poem, and she’d had to recite it. Saying the words out loud after so long choked her voice with emotion. She tried to not let it overwhelm her, but it was like trying to stop a dam from collapsing when it had already cracked. Tears pooled in her vision.

Quinn stared at her for a few heartbeats, terrified to fail, before his common sense and advice from his mom kicked in. His first thought was to hold her, but she would probably be uncomfortable with her bra undone like it was. So, he threaded the strap back onto her shoulder and clumsily hooked the clasp together - that was something he’d never done before - before wrapping his arms around her. 

Sarah was stunned, but welcomed the embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. This act of receiving care and comfort when she started to cry, only made her want to cry more, this time out of gratitude. 

This was something she’d never dared to say out loud when her friends asked about the kind of man she wanted. It was impossible to explain to someone that had never lost a loved one. She wanted a man who wasn’t afraid of her grief, and wouldn’t try to solve it. She’d written that very phrase in her journal, and it seemed the Universe held onto that wish until both she and Quinn were ready. 

“What can I do?” he asked, feeling so inadequately prepared. 

A small laugh chuffed out of her mouth at the absurdity that he felt he needed to do more. “This is enough. This is exactly what I need.”

A sigh breathed through his body and he tightened his hold around her. 

It was a bizarre situation. Cuddling on their third date with shirts off because Sarah had started crying over a poem her mother had loved. It wasn’t where she had envisioned the night to be going in the slightest. 

She sat up and blinked the moisture on her lashes onto her finger, leaving streaks of mascara on her skin. “I’m sorry.” 

He shook his head, letting his hands rest at her hips. When he’d called her for advice, his mom told him how sometimes, grief just came up and swept you away, and the best thing he could do as a support was be there. Be a physical presence, tethering her to the shore so she could find her way back. 

A forced little, self conscious laugh escaped her chest, and she reached behind to re-clasp her bra. He’d done up only two of the three clasps and on the wrong hooks.   

“That was my first time,” he said, self-deprecating. “Can you tell?”  

She laughed - fully, out loud - and it banished the tears from her eyes. 

“I really like this,” he said, brushing his thumb over the roots winding to the front of her ribcage. “I like that it’s something so important to you, and has so many memories in it. It’s not like one of those sticker tattoos, you know?” 

One of those adorned her thigh. A heart small enough, it could be mistaken for a birthmark in the right light. She’d gotten it on a drunken dare, and was glad she’d had enough sense at the time to at least pick something simple. 

“You don’t like sticker tattoos?” 

“Tattoos are so permanent, I think they should mean something. I have a friend that has a whole bunch of dumb stuff tattooed on his arm just because he can.” 

Quinn’s hand was still on her side. The feeling of his warm palm on her skin was grounding and comforting. 

The rest of the night was spent kissing and cuddling. Her bra stayed on, though she thought about flinging it across the room more than once when he asked if he could touch her there, and then did, heating her blood to a boil. 

When Quinn’s phone buzzed with an alarm at 11, he pulled away reluctantly and smiled at her dazed, over-kissed expression. Memorizing the feeling of her skin to sustain him through the night, he ran his palm from its place on the back of her neck to the small of her back.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost as if he was trying to keep himself from hearing it. “I’m really sorry, I have practice in the morning, and a game tomorrow.” 

She nodded, pursing her lips, which were flushed and more pouty than usual. “Can you take me home, then?” 

The last remnants of the test anxiety he’d been feeling blew away. “Of course.”  

Watching unashamedly as she pulled her shirt on, Quinn tried to commit the way she moved to memory. He wanted to remember everything about this night. 

Reaching for his hand, Sarah still felt a small thrill when he took it as they walked to the elevator. 

As she directed him to her apartment in Yaletown, she watched his profile in the city lights. 

“Have you broken your nose?” 

Laughter bubbled out of him, and he glanced over. “Yeah, a couple of times. Why?” 

“I just wondered,” she said, “You have a really distinctive nose.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Yes.” 

She told him to turn left and pointed to her building. 

He stopped in front of her apartment building. “Are you still taking tomorrow off?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you…” he didn’t know why he was so nervous about this, “do you want to come to the game? I can get you a ticket.” 

A smile beamed over her face, “I’d love that. Do you think my roommates could come too? They’d never forgive me if I went without them.” 

“Sure.” 

“Am I supposed to wear your jersey?” 

He grimaced and shook his head, “no. Just wear whatever you want. I always think it’s kind of weird when girls wear my jersey.” In some ways, he’d love to see his name across her back, but not at a game. She’d be just another fangirl there. 

“Okay.” she leaned over the console to kiss him. 

He fumbled for the gear shift and slid the car into park. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said when she pulled away a while later. 

After watching her scan into the building, Quinn drove the ten minutes home knowing, having won her trust in this way, he would sleep like a rock. 

Both Eunice and Jane were in the living room when Sarah opened the apartment door. Eunice immediately shut off the TV, effectively blowing their cover that they were awake for any other reason than talking to her. 

"How was it?" Jane demanded. 

Sarah allowed herself a moment of self indulgence, and sank dramatically into the giant black chair Jane had inherited from her cousin's best friend’s brother or something equally convoluted.

"It was so good."

"Did you fuck?"

"Eunice," Jane reprimanded, rolling her eyes. "It was only their second date."

"So? I'd be stripping him down the second I got him alone."

Sarah cut in before Jane could snark back or Eunice could say something even worse, "No, we didn't. But we made out and if it's any indication of what's to come, it'll be amazing."

"Tell us everything."

The last time Sarah had rehashed a date minute for minute, she'd been in Hawaii, home from the first of many dates with her last boyfriend. She'd forgotten how exciting it could be. 

"Oh man," Eunice said when she was done. "That sounds so magical."

"It really was."

"I like the way you talk about him, like it's fate or something." Jane said dreamily. 

"It feels like fate," Sarah admitted. "It feels like something just plopped us together."

Eunice sighed. "I want that so much."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Quinn invited me to the game tomorrow."

"Oh, that's exciting," Eunice said, voice lacking any and all excitement. She was failing to look like she wasn't pouting. 

"I told him you'd never forgive me if I went without you, so he's getting tickets for all three of us."

"Really?" Eunice squealed as she took Jane's hands, forcing her to stand and started jumping around the living room. "I've never been to a game in person! Is he getting us rinkside?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask. I was just glad he was getting three tickets."

"You have to wear his jersey. I have one you can borrow."

"Oh," Sarah paused, "he actually told me he didn't want me to."

Eunice looked perplexed for a long moment before she continued her jumping that was sure to wake their downstairs neighbors. “I'll wear it then.”

The following evening, Quinn wasn't sure what to expect as he skated out for warm up. He'd sent Sarah the tickets and asked if she would stay after the game so he could take her home, which she'd agreed to. He had warned her it might be a while before he was ready to go, and she’d assured him she would bring a book. He didn't ask her if she would be there for warm ups or if she would be down at the glass instead of up by the box. 

He did a lap, and didn't see her. He felt on edge in a way he didn't usually before a game. Hockey was something he could practically do in his sleep. It was a learned and inherited skill he'd been honing for the past 18 years. But knowing she was watching made him a little bit nervous. 

When he went back to run some passing drills, he spotted her at the glass wearing a simple blue shirt that matched his colors under a black jacket. Her hair was in an intricate braid, twined around her head like a crown. She looked so much better than she would have wearing a jersey. 

He skated over to her and knocked on the glass to get her attention. 

Her roommate shrieked and Sarah turned. A beautiful, easy smile bloomed on her face. He smiled back in a way he usually didn't allow himself to in public. 

He grabbed a puck and tossed it over the glass for her. It was dumb, he knew that, but it was all he had to offer at that moment. 

When he went back into the drill, Conor was the first to skate up beside him, "who is that?"

Quinn felt himself blush and tried to brush it off, but Petey saddled up to both of them. 

"Is that Sarah?" He asked. 

"Sarah?" Conor repeated, a smirk on his face. "Who is Sarah?"

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[msbarrybeeson]

Before You Go | Future Leo X GN!Reader (Part V)

A/N: This is legit the longest part yet. How time flies when I write. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. To be honest, reader feedback boosts my motivation to write anything in the first place.

Summary: You’re both adopting-parents of Casey. After years of being raised in an underground base, seven-year-old Casey got to finally see the overgrounds. Bunch of fluff and family interactions.

Reader: Gender-neutral pronouns are used, except the terms “(Mama / Papa)” are also used. Second POV.

Pairing: Rise! Future! Leonardo X Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count:  ~3660

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / ...

~

“Woo! Let’s go Leo!”

Beneath the surface was a battle, surrounded by refugees onlooking their leader, Master Leonardo, against one of Big Mama’s top fighters.

Cheers boomed and echoed the cavern. It was supposed to be a practice round for Leo to better his swordsmanship. Alas, nothing could stop the interest of spectators.

Leo leaped over a giant shuriken being flung at him, making his way right at his opponent. Right when he managed to get close, a hammer smashed him into the ground. Dust and dirt flying from the impact.

The crowd groaned, feeling the phantom pain.

You stood high above in a ledge, watching alongside Leo’s brothers and April. You couldn’t help but wince, worried that all these battles might do your blue wrong if the Kraang ever discovered your base. 

In fact, shouldn’t anyone be concerned at the slightest that the Kraang might hear the commotion? All caution was thrown out the window. You hadn’t even realize Donnie had all the time in his world to build an arena. 

..He hadn’t happened to bother the DIGG band to do this, did he?

In your peripheral vision, a short figure hopped up and down next to you.

“(Mama / Papa)! You promised to take me above!” Casey whined. Though his patience was running low, his youthful curiousity was on high.

“I’m aware. But just be a bit more patient,” you assured. “Your father’s having a big show right now. He’s fighting one of Big Mama’s strongest.”

His eyes glimmered. The seven-year-old hopped again, wanting to see past the ledge. He always had a big interest for fighters and becoming a skilled one. Did he know how? He wasn’t sure at the moment. 

“Really!? I wanna see, I wanna see!”

He yelped as Raph picked him up and sat him on his shoulders. “Gosh, Casey, you’ve got to chill out. Papa’s not goin’ anywhere.” The snapping turtle grinned. “Seeing things better now?”

“Thanks, Uncle Raph!”

The audience roared loudly again. Leo swiped his ōdachi to open up multiple portals. He leaped across from one to another to another. Making a strike. Yes, Leo’s challenger was much larger, strength incomprehensible even, but could they match his speed?

You smiled, seeing Casey in absolute awe.

“You can do it, Papa!” he yelled.

Leo jumped onto one of his opponent’s many arms. His form front-flipping to slash the head. Moments passed and a gash sent the fighter recoiling.

To top it off, he opened a portal underneath them, before another one appeared high above. This time, he anchored his ōdachi in the dirt. He gave his wrists a few twists. And as Big Mama’s fighter fell through.. Leo took a swing and—!

WHHIIIRROOSH!

A heavy wave. A burst of wind. A strong blast from Leo’s contact with his opponent went and knocked everyone off their balance!

Some chunks of the ledge you and your friends were standing in even broke off.

.

.

.

The stunned crowd erupted into cheers. Casey was leaning off of Raph’s head, wide eyes and beaming astonishment on his face. 

“WOW, THAT’S SO COOL!” 

Raph, on the other hand, felt cold sweat the moment he had his own balance faltering from the kid’s movement. “Woah woah! Easy there!”

“Let’s go, baby!” Mikey jumped. “There’s our Leee-oh!”

April examined the knackered ledge. “Yeesh! If he was any stronger, Big Mama’s fighter ain’t gonna be the only one going down.” 

“A safety hazard?” Donnie was appalled. “Great.. another thing for my agenda..”

A quick sigh of relief fell from your lips and you laughed. “Okay okay, you guys. Casey’s been waiting for his time above-ground. Let’s get Leo before we head up.”

.

.

.

“Don’t get too worked up, Big Mama.” Leo smirked. “It’s all just practice.”

The old Spider yōkai huffed. “Yes yes. I was simply hoping that it could’ve been just a tad more entertaining of a show..” She turned her head to her knocked-out fighter, laying against the wall of the arena. “Unfortunate it is to have my Champion thrown off his feet with ease— do you not have other turtley-doos partaking? Perhaps the orange one would do nicely.”

Leo let out a laugh. “Unfortunately, for you, Big Mama, we got another schedule going for today. So how ‘bout you give us a call.. a week later. Sound good?”

“Bu—.”

“Muy bien. ¡Adiós!” He waved.

“Papa!” Leo saw Casey running. He opened his arms for the boy to catch a hug. “You were so cool, Papa! You were like: swish, swash, woosh!”

“You guys were watching me!?” He seemed embarrassed.

“Hello? You got a whole ass arena here, and you think we wouldn’t check out all this screaming going on?”

“Tsk. I mean, I would’ve continued on with my projects if only Mikey and April didn’t drag me outside my lab,” Donnie spoke monotonously.

Leo then faced you.

“Wasn’t he cool, (Mama / Papa)!”

You only grinned, arms crossed. “Yes, sweetheart. He was so cool.. as expected of the greatest ninja I’ve ever known.” A flush of red caught Leo’s face as he coughed into his scarf, and everyone else being mildly amused.

“L-Let’s get moving everyone.”

“Now, child, it’s imperative for you to know that you shouldn’t be all too excited about traversing above-ground,” Donnie lectured, while the group arrived by the elevating system. “I assume your Papa and (Mama / Papa) told you about the Kraang?”

“Yes, Uncle Don!”

“Good. Be aware you are always at risk of being caught in their sight. One detected motion and they could be running here—.”

“Why do we have a ladder when we could just use this thing?”

“That’s a ridicu— I mean, good question, Casey.” Donnie saved himself. “The way up the ladder is far more narrow, a better option if you want to exit the base in a more discreet method. What we’re using can take multiple beings at the same time. 

A big risk in return, however, is that we can easily be spotted. When we reach the top, you’ll see that this Eleva-Don has a dome covered in rock and soil.”

“To camoflauge?”

“Hm.. Can’t necessarily consider it camoflauge, but sure, the purpose is to hide the entrance to this base.”

.

.

“How long does it take to go up?”

“..Now that you mentioned it,” Raph wondered. “Shouldn’t we be up a minute ago?”

Donnie hummed. “..Give me a moment— my bad, I forgot I had implemented another button to push, because some morons kept forgetting their equipment.”

The group reached the entrance. It was like the purple’s description. There was a sturdy dome over and a sealed doorway being the only thing separating Casey’s eyes from the outside world. But he had to admit: he felt a bit nervous. His small hand took yours, and you tightened your grip to comfort the boy.

Leo stepped on the other side of Casey, eyes narrowing.

“Casey, before I open the entrance, you must brace yourself,” Donnie warned. “There are hot winds blowing and dry air outside. Move your eyes away from any flying dust too. 

In fact, be quick to cover your eyes. You’re not used to the light.

..Do you understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Don.”

The hinges turned. And as told, a bright light beamed through and the boy had to clasp his hands over. It was blinding, especially for someone who had spent his whole life in dim undergrounds. 

It took a long while. 

He felt the winds drying the moisture off his skin, even the sweat he released.. Bit by bit, Casey’s fingers separated. His sights eventually adjusted to seeing his shoes. Then, from side to side upon his parents’ footwear. Then, some prickly brush nearby. 

And then.. the horizon.

He didn’t know what to expect. He heard all the recreations from his uncles and aunt. He heard more from the refugees. They all said the same thing: red skies and dried.

However, somehow, this was more than he could’ve dreamt of.

There were skeletons, bones of different kinds on the ground. Large boulders to play hide and seek in. Flying cotton balls to make a snow ball.

Casey looked back at the horizon. There afar was a giant city. Broken, yet it was still a magnificent city in his mind. Tall skyscrapers were shattered in half, ragged edges remained.

But his amazement stopped at the sky, bloody-colored skies and dark clouds. Right above New York City was a floating.. ship of some sort. It looked like that one yōkai’s eyeball, always plopping out and back in.

The boy cowered behind your leg. 

He tugged onto your hand. “Hey (Mama / Papa)?” You looked down. “I thought you said you found bunch of things and food here. Why is it so empty?”

“Empty?”

“Yeah.”

“..It might look like that. But I promise you, Casey, there’s more to it than meets the eye. It’s been many years away, so expect that a lot is buried in sand and dirt.” You began leading him. “Come along.”

“..That’s.. kind of boring. What about fighting Kraang and stuff?”

“Hm.. You know..” You just noticed: there were barely monsters in your area. Could they have gone to the city? Best of luck to the others going then.

“How can you find anything?”

“That’s easy,” Mikey spoke up. “The best way is to catch a glimmer, some sort of sparkle on the ground. Sometimes, you’ll find something valuable.”

“..Oh! Like this?” The boy picked up an empty plastic chip bag. Mikey deadpanned.. and cleared his throat. “My poor boy, of course not. That’s useless trash.” For a moment, Doctor Delicate Touch came out. He snatched it away and threw it behind him.

“If you see anything more like that, toss it right behind you. Or even better, don’t pick it up. Trust me, it’ll save you so much time.” 

Casey slumped. This wasn’t the finders-keepers experience he was... He shook his head. Whatever, he should just follow you instead—.

Another sparkle in the distance. This one gleamed brighter than that chip bag.

He glimpsed around. You were a couple of feet away. Mikey disappeared. His Papa in a couple of feet in the opposite direction. The red-eared turtle appeared to be casting his gaze at the landscape, arms crossed. The others? Didn’t follow their path.

At least, he had his parents.

The boy moved closer. It was in an open box? There was some really smooth-looking cloth on the inside. Cushioned in it, there was.. a long necklace.. He recognized what a necklace should look be, many refugees had one of their own to cherish. 

Oh, hold on.. there were two necklaces?

He examined the pendant. Shiny. Silver-like. It looked like a heart, except there seemed to be a gash right in the middle. “Oh..” 

It was broken..

.

.

An idea lit up.

Casey took the box, brushing off the sediment, closed it, and shoved it down one of his pockets. Maybe Uncle Don could help him.

“Oho? What do you have there, Case?” He flinched when he heard his father from behind. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“Don’t scare me, Papa!”

“Pfft. You’re just like (Mama / Papa).”

The boy fiddled his fingers, before reaching back into the pocket. He pulled out the box. “I found this necklace.. but.. it’s broken. I thought Uncle Don might fix it!”

Leo took the box from his hands. He chuckled.

“It’s not a broken necklace, buddy. These are couple necklaces.”

“Couple necklaces?”

“They can be two separate ones.. Put them together though..” Leo clicked the two halves in place. “..And they become a whole.”

“They look.. a lot shinier together!” Casey admired.

“Yeah.” Leo’s eyes squinted as he smiled. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“What about ‘friendship’ necklaces? Are those any different?”

The red-eared turtle blinked. He realized he assumed these were meant for couples. Maybe it was because everything that came in pairs reminded him of he and—.

“Oh, I have an idea!” Casey proposed, grabbing the box from Leo’s hand. He faced himself in your direction. “Maybe these can be for you and (Ma / Pa)—mmrph!”

“Hm?” Your head turned towards them. “Did you two call me?”

“Uh! No no!” Leo frantically waved his hand off. “We didn’t say anything.. at all! You can keep doing your own thing, (Name).”

Blinked once, twice. You shrugged, eyes down on the ground.

Leo sighed, releasing his other hand from the kid’s mouth. “Bah! Papa! What was that for? Don’t you show (Mama / Papa) about this? They’ll love it a lot!”

“Shh shh.. I’m sure they will, Case. But.. I have another idea on how we can show them. Okay?” The red-eared turtle proceeded to whisper into the boy’s ear, hoping you wouldn’t catch it if you tried.

The seven-year-old clasped his mouth, eyes sparkling. He nodded his head.

.

.

“Find anything, (Name)?” April asked, the group rendezvousing.

You sighed. “Only packets of vegetable seeds.”

“Hey, more food, the better.”

“Let’s just hope Todd will be able to work his magic on them.”

“Knowin’ he raised who-knows-how-many puppies back then, m’sure he could handle a couple of plants.”

“What about you?”

“The city’s tough to get through as ever. We only got a couple of blankets and scraps of metal for Don. You didn’t come to the city?”

“With a child who barely knows how to nagivate out here?”

“Point taken. How’s the kid doing?”

“..I.. I think he likes the rummaging.” 

“Why’d you hesitate to say that? Giving me a scare for a sec.” April laughed behind her hand. “That’s good, that’s good. Gives ‘nother reason for him to go out more.”

“Just as long as he watches himself.”

“Have some faith in him, (Name).”

“Of course.” You closed your eyes. “Commander O’Neil.”

“H-Hey!” She wrapped her arm around your neck, while you laughed. “Thought I said I don’t want my own friends calling me that.”

“Do you not like it?” 

“Yeah I do, but..” April pulled away and rubbed her arm. “I don’t want you guys to forget what we all were before.”

Your breath paused.

She continued, “We were all close friends. If we start calling each other these formalities, I.. don’t know how different we’ll treat each other.”

“...”

“Man.” April almost felt her eyes sting. “Young me wouldn’t be this emotional over some title. Only in our late twenties, and we’re already talkin’ like we’re gonna die.”

You chuckled. “This world’s making us old, isn’t it?”

“Sure is..” 

Your friend slowly faced the base entrance. “Guess we better return. Boys! Let’s head back!” she called out. They moved along, except for Leo and Casey. They stood in place and gave a knowing look at each other.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Leo! Casey!” April shouted again, only to be stopped by Donnie. He pushed her off, whispering something in her ear. Raph, strolling behind and past you, tapped your shoulder. Then, Mikey winked.

You were confused.

What was going on?

“(Name),” your blue called, signalling for you to come with them. “Casey and I got something to show you.”

They led to a short hill, where the three of you sat watching the horizon. The whole world might’ve changed dramatically, sunrises and sets still exist.

“Vegetable seeds weren’t the only thing you found, was it.”

“How perceptive.” You snorted. “No.. there was something else. When we walked further an hour ago, there was something I recognize..”

You pulled out something wrapped in a brown cloth and unwapped it.

It was.. Cassandra’s hockey stick.

Leo’s eyes widened. “You.. No way..”

“I can’t believe it was intact after many years..” You teared up, holding the stick close to your chest. “I thought it disappeared with her..”

“..She probably dropped it, switching to her hyperbeam guns..,” Leo guessed. “You chose not to tell April?”

“Hey.. I get emotional talking about anything related to Cassandra to anyone else. You’re the only other guy who knew exactly what happened anyway..”

Casey was perplexed. 

He tugged onto the blue scarf. “..Papa? Why’s (Mama / Papa) crying over a.. wooden stick? Who is she talking about?”

“Don’t ask me, buddy. Your (Mama / Papa) knows this person a lot more than I do.”

You moved your arm, pulling the boy close to you. “Casey.. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while..” You gazed down at him. “Did you know you have another parent?”

“...”

Casey was absolutely shocked, flabbergasted, open jaw and wide eyes.

Meanwhile, Leo was dying on the inside. You couldn’t help but laugh as well. “Heyy! Are you trying to joke around?” 

“Sorry sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh,” you quieted down. “But it’s true.”

You pulled out a photograph. There was you, Leo, and everyone else.. except for an unfamiliar woman with piercings and a paler complexion in darker clothing. Casey took a closer look. “She’s also my Mom?”

“Yes, she is.”

Casey then glared at Leo, who was taken aback by the kid’s offended expression. “..(Mama / Papa),” he not-so-quietly whispered. “..Did Papa cheat on you?”

The red-eared turtle coughed hard. He was ready to argue, charge at the boy for even thinking he would do that to you. Where did he even learn the concept of cheating? Those gossiping girls who somehow remembered everything from their high school career?

“Hey—!”

“Don’t worry, he may seem like the kind, but he would never.” You teasingly smiled, testing Leo. “You actually have two fathers.”

“How come he isn’t in the photo?”

“..He just.. doesn’t like pictures.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

“What about other Mom? How come I’ve never seen her?”

You sighed. “Casey.. You know how sometimes Papa and I go out to make sure no Kraang comes near us?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you miss us when we’re gone?”

The boy fiddled his fingers. “Even though Uncle Mikey.. Uncle Raph.. Auntie April.. and sometimes Uncle Don take good care of me, I still wish you were there with me.”

“And we miss you too.” You tightened your embrace. “That’s because we love you, Casey. We are both always worried that something can happen and we won’t be there to help you. 

But we also have a job to do for everyone, to make sure we are all safe.”

“..Is that why other Mom is not here?”

“Correct. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. In fact, she was willing to fight the whole world to make sure you’re in good hands.” You tapped his chest. “She had to fight the Kraang too. She knew she won’t be able to see you for a long time. Because she loves you so much, she wants only the most capable to raise you.”

“...It’s okay, (Mama / Papa). You don’t have to say it like that.”

You felt yourself freeze.

“I’m growing up. I can handle it,” Casey assured. “..Is she up in the stars?”

“..She is.”

His arms wrapped around your back and Leo’s shell. “Well.. In my heart, you’ll always be my (Mama / Papa) and Papa to me. Nothing will ever change how much I love you.”

You inhaled, struggling to keep a stoic face.

Leo covered half of his face in his scarf. In the end, even he couldn’t hide his feelings. He decided to give you both a sudden big hug himself. “Gah! Come here, you two! You really know how to make a grown man cry.”

“Ah, Leo! You’re.. hurting.. our lungs..!” In reluctance, the turtle released you. “Look what happened, your Papa’s turning into an sobbing mess.”

“This was a heartwarming moment for me, (Name). Don’t you dare judge.”

Casey bit his lip. This was when he made his move.

“Oooh. Did you know Papa can also turn into romance?”

Leo froze.

“Hey hey, hold on there, buddy..” A nervous chuckle. “Couldn’t you give a cue? We’re.. doing this right now, no warning?” 

“But this was your plan!” Casey countered. “Stand up, both of you!” You followed along. The hockey stick set aside for now. At this point, better not to ask more questions.

“(Mama / Papa).. Papa says he has something special to show you.” The boy gave Leo a box.. Indiscreet as he was, he tried. A grin appeared on his face when he scurried off behind a nearby rock.

“So.. I’m guessing this had to be related to my name called back there.” You put your hands on your hips.

“He’s still learning his social cues. He’ll get his self-awareness from me, you’ll see.” Leo cleared his throat. “Anyways.. (Name).. it’s been a long time since we got together. Even longer when we first met.. say about twelve years ago. 

Gotta admit.. first impressions weren’t special.

You were just another high school kid. You were the second human I know to ever like hanging out with us mutants. You just seemed like another person to me.

But you were.. considerate.. kind. I wasn’t used to having someone actually listening to me, ‘cause we were all idiots back then. The gang and I would only fool around, bite each other and all.

It wasn’t until you.. said something.. Those words to me..” He felt his hand reaching out. 

You took it in both of yours. There was a light in your eyes. You remembered exactly what that moment was. Your voice slipped, 

“..You have always been my champion..”

Leo’s grip tightened as he immediately went down on both knees. “No one.. no one’s ever said that to me... I couldn’t help it anymore. 

I couldn’t help looking your way every time you were there.

As much as I hate to swallow my pride, I couldn’t help but act all cool and badass whenever you’re looking.. even though most times didn’t work out so well.

You were the only one who believed in me.. and I knew it has to be you.”

Then, Leo released your hands. He took the box out and opened it. “I know it isn’t an overrated ring.. but..” The two heart halves revealing themselves on separate chains.

“(Name).. Will you.. marry me?” 

.

.

.

“..Yes.” You were tearing up again. “Yes! But..!” 

His heart suddenly chipped itself off. That last word was never assumed to be a good sign. “Is there something wrong? ..God.. did I do this too soon?”

You, though, were trying not to snicker. “No no. It’s just.. you’re supposed to propose on one knee, Leo! Not both!”

“They chose to question that over the whole ‘apocalypse proposal’?” Donnie muttered to the others. “How does anyone even consider that as romantic?”

“Donnie, shut your aro-ace ass.” 

Your blue turned red. Embarassed, his face was flushed. He groaned, “Not the teasing right now. Is being the only person to get me on both not enough for you?” 

“Hm. We’ll just have to see how we do in bed.”

Leo choked. 

“WHAT—.”

“(NAME), NOT IN FRONT OF THE KID!” Raph screamed.

[katyspersonal]

Okay the last post about SoTE progress for today!! (3/3)

1) So, after I defeated Romina, I of course....

came back and finally got to that bridge area that I wanted to get to!!!

Yes, I just wanted to get to that side of the map where I saw a Horned Knight that I just really wanted to murder for some reason XD However, to my surprise, I saw another Dancing Lion boss ;-; That one was a hard battle and I could not have imagined to need to do that AGAIN ;-; But my way layed through that spot, and also I am a perfectionist..

1.1) But surprisingly, at the Stage 2, it summoned several Basylisks and started to use Deathblight! That was significant for me! So yesterday I concluded that Scarlet Rot, Deathblight and Formless Blood (? is this even a correct term) all spawn flies and plants? And whereas Romina of course raised Scarlet Rot here since the buds in Rauh church she brought here were not always rotten, some Hornsent here use same flies swarms as Mohg's people! Seeing how a Dancing Lion here uses Deathblight, but no Deathroot was anywhere on its arena, I felt even more convinced that these three powers are basically Pokemon Eevelutions of the same initial concept, 'stagnation', whereas fly sickness that fell upon Hornsent is its initial unaltered form! + I guess all Hornsent in Rauh are runaways from Belurat particularly, then?

2) I finally killed that poor particular Horned Knight whom I had eyes on as soon as I saw them!!!!! They've dropped the greatsword if I remember correctly? Happy end! XDDD

3) So... Yeah, at last, finally, FINALLY I proceeded and burnt the sealing tree. I got to explore Enir-Ilim! It was already beautiful, with all the pale yellow trees. Took me some time to adjust, though, the place was tangled from the start!

4) Yeah yeah Inquisitors are female feminism wins whatever

Vfggghgjhgv unironically though, I love subversion of the trope xD

5) Something creepy/funny happened along the way though, I was laughing so hard wtfffff gfbfgcbfg

OKAY SO at some point my joy from the new location went down because my focus shifted towards the memory of the final boss, and I just remembered how much I dreaded them.. so, I broke my vow to not fuel the negativity which is already abundant and wrote a rant(ish) post about how much that decision soured otherwise amazing DLC and ranted about Radahn (disliking about his involvement, not the character jfhyggfg). And what do you think? That frankly sour post got eaten by Tumblr!

And yes, I know, Tumblr is a broken website and all that, but listen.. It never made the posts disappear for me. Ever. It could glitch out a post with bad internet and randomly publish it later as I log in, it could glitch an ask response and not have the draft saved thus losing it. It has invisible ask glitch and glitch where same post gets reblogged from 3 to 5 times. It never just made post disappear instead of being posted even with delay or giving me error message. Never. Ever. Ever. Except for now. The one time I spoke unkindly about that choice, not just "mannn weird how it wasn't foreshadowed :("

So since I am infamous amongst my friends for my super bizarre coincidences regarding fictional characters ( @heraldofcrow and @val-of-the-north witnessed so many they can swear I am cursed) me and my friend are joking that Miquella is real and he nuked the post for talking shit about his blorbo LMAOOOOOOO FFGDHTGG WTFFFFF 🤣

6) OK sorry hghgggggf Anyways, to my DELIGHT, I discovered variant of Hornsent Knights that wore smaller variant of Dancing Lions masks and use their powers like lighting and blizzard.... fun... :/

7) *points like in the meme* HEY I KNOW THIS ITEM, IT WAS SWORD OF ABUNDANCE AND DECAY REPRESENTING MALENIA AND MIQUELLA IN BETA VARIANT! XDDD

Kind of ironic how it is called 'Euphoria', because I could not be less happy about that lore being cut, all for...... *looks around in case if Miquella is somewhere in the walls*

8) There were so many nooks.. I found a secret passageway on accident, by trying to run from an old lady spamming so many spells under my feet that I was BARELY able to move! 🤦‍♂️

That eventually led me to a part of Belurat that I didn't get to explore before! Yes, the bridge above that area was where I picked Euphoria in! But below was poisonous swamp (truly a Miyazaki lol) where I got to fight a GREEN variant of Tree Spirit! It just dropped a Horn Charm that boosted poison and Rot resistance!

^ This find, though, was interesting for me, because it is a variant of a glove that was dropped by an NPC Maddening Hand earlier! That one had eyes and dealt Frenzy and specified to be weapon of Hornsent hunted by their own as heretics, but it was also forged in yearning for revenge! So, it is not even that exceptional; for Hornsent, it is a cultural thing to stitch a weapon of revenge from the skin of the victims! Kind of like giving victims a chance to strike back, albeit in death. Very poetic.

9) There was a lot of running, and a lot of getting lost. Found Spirit Ashes of Horned Knight, too (nothing new about them in description), had to use Rainbow Stones to finally stop running in circles, found Ancient Somber Smithing Stone secret via elevator (good because I ran out of them).. and THIIIIIIS:

I wondered where was the head piece of this set! Pieces of it are scattered and I found all previous three! And, again, isn't it interesting how white birds (death) are here, whereas bird variant of Horned Knights were favored 'gold' birds? Second half of Twin Bird is gold life bird guuuuuyyys-

10) Okay, eventually I've met Leda telling me to step away! I was given the choice to summon Thiollier and Ansbach, presumably because I finished their questlines, so I did! It just felt like it would be more fun.. and it WAS! Holy shit gfgggcbch I did NOT expect the ultimate NPC showdown XD And, again, Freyja and Ansbach had an actual CONVERSATION! Look, this is a breakthrough for Soulsborne games, trust me they just DON'T have characters interact "on screen"!

10.1) HOLY SHIT THOUGH DANE ACTUALLY SAID SOMETHING o_o GDGTHCJBB

10.2) No, seriously, I just wanted to jump on Tumblr and post just this! The best fucking moment

11) Instant interest:

Which Outer God? Is it one we know of, or some random guy? I decided to not think about it too hard, yesterday it ended in an over 3 hours long brainstorming and my brain still short-circuits! But maybe later! ...I am sure at some point I'll find a similar pattern in the game itself and it will all click..

^ They were both picked by a respective final boss personally.. Simon+Brador to Ludwig+Laurence moment and so on

^ *points like in a meme AGAIN* Hey I read about it in a post, she killed all other Needle Knights! And by the way, I never found the seal (?) that revealed that lore! @val-of-the-north help bvbgggvh

12) Ansbach also had a dialogue after that battle to praise Thiollier's poisoning skills! That was lovely!

13) I kind of wondered though: why could not we summon Vengeance-Seeking Hornsent in this battle too, if we did his questline correctly? That would make fair 4 Miquella Simps vs 4 of "us" battle! Like, why just cast away the character to have him die as invader somewhere in Scarlet Rot place? I later realized that it would crash the "balance" of the final boss later, and I guess he was the "safest" to leave behind since he already had his goal (to see Messmer die)! Whereas other two target Miquella in particular!

13.1) This distribution is still a meme material for shitposts about characters doing competitive sport, fighting in an online game etc hfgfggbhcbx 4 vs 4

14) I actually checked and just like I thought, the last painting secret was only accessible after burning the seal!

Yeah no shit man we could tell

15) So.... yeah, finally, I've met the final boss. I never wanted to fight Radahn again; he somehow gave me problems even on Torrent with all the friends summons, and now I have to somehow dodge him in a small arena т.т Or maybe I am dumb and this is just my skill issue idk gfggjhhy

16) I actually got to the second stage first try somehow! It often happens how I play better when I still don't even know what I am doing XD And...

Okay, is this a good time to say that so far I only was spoilered some footage and lore, but not the voicelines? So.. I shared that story already some time, but a few months before the DLC, I was simply one of the people here 101% convinced about Miquella being kind and the good guy and all! I wasn't like aggressive or anything about it unlike some more avid fans (got stabbed by Bewitching Branch, did you? :p), but still also said "they should read something besides Berserk" or "people are reading into 'fearsome empyrean' line too deep". However, as DLC was approaching, at some point I had an extremely vivid dream where Miquella appeared to me, and his vibe was exactly like in the DLC in retrospective! Okay, maybe more sinister; not cold or evil, just... "forceful" in a similar way, "for my sake".

So, back then, not only that dream permanently altered my brain chemistry to accept and become open to "evil/manipulative Miquella" interpretations, but also helped me to Expect Anything which softened the blow regarding the DLC xd I had a shock moment, but far not as bad as other fans from 'this' camp! ...... so now, I found out that his voice is EXACTLY like it was in my dream 2 months ago. 🌛I really am cursed LMAOOOO WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME XDDDD

_____________

Like I said I am a dumb looser with skill issue so I've been trying to beat the boss for next 2+ hours and still didn't.. I will probably get them next time, for now I have to travel for a week and then work again т.т Watching what insane ways YouTube come up maybe will help..

I also one time got a grab attack where Radahn snatches Tarnished and says "I promise you a thousand years voyage of compassion" which got me flustered a little and already made it harder to play, but NOW that I think of it, Ranni also said "a thousand years voyage (under wisdom of stars") 🤔 So that's at least two Demigods hinting at how whatever order (or lack of) they establish won't/can't last forever, but only for 'thousand of years'! Good to know that any system, good or bad, will eventually crumble x) Gwyn: TRIGGERED

All in all, it is a very hard battle and I can't see shit in second phase, everything is too bright. But also oddly enough, I no longer dread new lore/final this much..? Meeting the final boss in person helped to finally accept actual Miquella and get over my prior mental image for good, and I am no longer hung up on Radahn involvement beyond 'some more foreshadowing needs to go in base game via patch now'. I start to wonder whether I simply got caught in the shared disappointment mood and effect of not having the full picture rather than actually dreaded thing from the start? It reminds me of that time when I was clowning agreeing that Malenia was unfair boss but only when I fought her like 70 times myself I realized I exagerrated hfhyggh Not saying Twin Dunces is a good battle, but just saying I don't dread it as much as I thought from spoiler and getting there MYSELF helped

[buckets-and-trees]

Hehe. 😇

This Mafia Bucky means business.

Now... Did you unknowingly tap into this image as exactly the Bucky I have tucked away on a story I've told no one about?

Maybe...

And because I'm feeling a little wild this Wednesday, WHY NOT LIFT SOMETHING OUT OF THE MESSY WIP AND PUT IT OUT THERE???

Working title for the AU is currently Shedding My Velvet...

Bucky turns to his head to the left, and Steve monitoring the security cameras and on comms with him, asks, "What do you see?"

“Green cardigan,” Bucky specifies.

To his credit, Steve doesn't let much of the smirk Bucky knows he must be smirking to bleed through his tone as he responds on the ear piece. "Got it. Running her through the database now."

One he takes his seat in the crowd, Bucky only glances back your way twice more before the boss of the Bronx finally shows up for their meeting.

Quill’s not late, they arranged to arrive at staggered times to draw less attention, but Bucky never likes to wait. Still, he chose to arrive first because he didn’t want Quill ahead of him in any way in any arena.

“Barnes,” the man says in greeting.

“Quill,” Bucky returns.

Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes, but he wants to every time he sees this man in the dark red leather jacket he’s built into his identity.

Quill waits for Bucky to speak, but Bucky doesn’t. He’s not verbose by any means, and he knows it irks Quill, especially when Bucky forces him to speak first. So he waits in the silence waiting for Quill to push the conversation they've both come here to have forward.

“Tony says you’ll agree if I agree.”

“Yes," Bucky affirms.

“Well, I agree.”

Bucky nods. He doesn’t respect Peter Quill, but he has no professional qualms. He neither trusts nor mistrusts him, but he does know Quill is a man of his word, and he’s got a track record of reliability within the accords of The Five. Bucky told Tony as much, and that’s why they were sitting on this bench. If Bucky heard it with his own ears, it would be done. He’d still monitor with a healthy amount of skepticism as he always did, but that was modus operandi.

“Then we leave Queens to the kid.”

“Eighteen months,” Bucky states.

Bucky nods again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve stand from his bench and leave.

“And you think Danvers will stay out of it?”

Bucky scoffs, and this time he does roll his eyes. “Come on, Quill, you know Danvers has made it clear she barely deigns to deal with us and only indulges the accords to make sure she can operate her own territory as if we don’t exist.”

“All right, all right, I was just getting your read on the situation.”

“You and I are ostensibly the wildcards.”

If there were to be a turf war over trying to expand the territory and take over Queens, it would be Manhattan, the Bronx, and Brooklyn who stood to gain. Tony had already stated he would maintain status quo. Tony and Ben hadn’t been in power, but they’d both been around when the accords of the five had been fought out, and they’d battled through the chaos before the lines were drawn. Tony and Ben were old school, and they’d respected each other when they both came into power, ascending around the same time.

They were quiet again, but in this moment, the impatience on Quill’s end for Bucky’s silences had been put on pause.

“He’s young,” he finally said.

Bucky shrugged. “So were we.”

“He’s too young,” Quill qualified. It wasn’t a criticism; it was said remorsefully.

Bucky sighed. “Maybe.”

Ben Parker had been clear that his nephew Peter would take over Queens, had been unquestionably preparing him to take over, but everyone expected it to be another ten years and retirement before Ben was out of the scene, not an ascension due to a brutal murder of the mob boss, killer still unknown and at large.

After a few moments, Quill speaks again. “We done here?”

Bucky nods. They both stand, shake hands, and then turn their backs on each other and depart. Bucky looks to Steve first, then his eyes flick to the now-empty table where you had been, and then back to Steve, who falls into step with him as they walk away from the meet.

“Quill agreed to the terms,” Bucky starts. “Eighteen months from the day of Ben’s funeral to let Peter Parker step in and establish his power in Queens.”

“We knew he would.”

They both slip into the back of the black SUV at the curb, and once they’re settled in, Bucky turns to Steve. “Now tell me what you really want to tell me. You’re hardly keeping the grin off your face.”

Steve then lets the smile break freely - but it's warm, not gloating. “As it is the first time you have ever had me look into the identity of a stranger you’ve developed a crush on at first sight, you can’t blame me for being incredibly happy about this.”

Bucky grunts.

“I’ve got preliminary findings for you from Joaquin,” he starts.

“Torres?” Bucky protests. “You put the new kid on this?”

“He is our intelligence guy. Who else would I put on it?”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“He’s younger than us,” Steve continues, “doesn’t make him a kid. We’re past the days when we were the young guys in this business. You’ve been nothing but impressed with him up to this point, and he’s coming up on a year with us.”

“Fine. Continue.”

“I already told him to keep this close to the chest. You, me, him – not even Sam.”

“Sam is the last person who gets to learn about anything like this.”

Steve laughs. “He’s already got her identity narrowed down to two possibilities and he’s confident he’ll have the full dossier ready to report by the time you come out of your meeting with Tony.”

[niko-aspin]

Tales of Torment au update time!!!! (I will use small text again!)

First off, we have Divine rivalry. Aka Karen's yelling and even kicking each other's butt's.

And we all have a new enemy opponent type known as Divine Champions! Aka people who succumb to the Divine curse and are lost under the Divine's influence (or propaganda).

The first one, Vona/player and CK fight, actually comes from the Blackrock calvary!

It also introduces a new attack pattern for both sides! It acts like the slingshots in base game, but the number of hits can vary in a big range of numbers. (Ex. 20 hits or 10 hits!) And theoretically, you can attack infinitely with this attack pattern if you had the energy!

Also, if you are curious, all battle areas/arenas for Divine Champions are like a crumbling version of the place they came from!

Heres a translation for different mechanics atm: Ticks! = health points!

Now, to plot stuff! Shelenski almost dies again but is saved in the nick of time! And Vona/player now has the first out of many cursed swords and an ally! And both CK and Vona/player got sent to the hospital after beating a Divine Champion, CK literally got impaled by a spear, and there are no plans for him to die, so don't worry! We also had the first possession episode for Vona/player in the story.

And finally, some very basic stats:

Vona/player has extremely high stats as they've won battles over the span of 5 years, but they don't have the ability to equip battle cards except for call cards. (self explanatory as allies tend to stick by them) most attacks they preform deal HEAVY amounts of damage which ends up one shotting most enemies anything at a boss level or mini boss will take 2 to 5 hits.

Cruel King was freed from his ice dagger curse and has gotten a very fast mental recovery! He deals the same amounts of damage like base game, but his health is beefer thanks to him wearing his old adventurer armor. He does now knows the new attack pattern and is slowly getting used to it! (He originally thought it was cheating because he's never even seen anything like it, lol)

And that's all! Have a great day or night!

• yyayy ^^

[popculturebuffet]

Uncle Scrooge: The Secret Santa Spell Review (comission by WeirdKev27)

Happy Holidays all you Happy People. It's that time of year again, time to haul out the holly and the breadcrumbs because we're talking about ducks again. Yes while I haven't talked about ducks nearly enough on this blog as of late, finding a Ducktale for christmas has always been a priority.

This year though Kev took the reigns on this one after realizing this was a tradition, and found me TWO. We were originally going to do the darkwing duck christmas special, something I didn't know existed and still know little about on purpose and still plan to next year.. but then... he found this. See back in 2021 I reviewed the Carl Barks comic a letter to santa. You can find the review here.

But the main takeaway is it features THIS iconic scene

Look saying i'm a simple man would be a boldfaced lie, but sometimes it's the simple things like an absurdly rich duck and his nephew fighting to the death with heavy machinery so one of them can give their nephew's the remaining machine as a christmas present that bring me joy on this holiday season.

That said after years of basking in the warm glow of having randomly found a comic about Scrooge and Donald battling to the death with steam shovels, I found something just as holly jolly.. and just as gloriously, wonderfully nuts. My friends it's time I introduced you to the Secret Santa spell.

Again Kev, my producer of sorts, deserves the credit here: he found this in Disney Christmas Parade, IDW's christmas anthology they printed every year for a while, and god bless him for it as this story is gold. It's a genuinely good, well done Magica story that thanks to taking place on christmas and involving a claus somehow less thought out than the one where if you kill Santa you become Santa, figgy pudding, a murder tree, and a volcano finale, is also completely bonkers and I love every second of it. This is a geninely fantastic scrooge story and one worth taking a look for yourself if you can find it online since it's out of print. For those of you who can't or simply don't wanna, come with me under the cut as we explore the hap happiest christmas since bing crosby tap danced with danny fucking kaye while Donald and Scrooge tried to pummel each other with steam shovels.

This story comes to us from writers Fransico Artibani, Lello Arena and artest Silvio Cambolli. I hadn't heard of any of these people before this as i'm not really up on my itallian duck comics but they do an excellent job here and I certainly will be looking out for more of their stories.

For this story we open at the bin a few days before christmas as everything's winding down for the holiday and Donald's doing one of his last bits of slave labor for Scrooge when two Scottish obviously suspcious carollers show up. Scrooge apparently gets so many that both are and aren't villians in disguise he's worked up a bit of an extreme solution.. granted he wanted to just pour oil on them but then legal got involved.

So he has to go with the Virtuetron 3000, an elaborate setup he had gyro work up that puts MIND READING HELMETS

Yup i'ts magica.. I mean I can't blame Scrooge for being suspcious, turning her shadow into a teenager to sneak into the mansion only for said teenager to fall in love with scrooge's daughter, this ain't, but i'm less concered with Magica and Co's half baked scheme and more concered a man who underpays his employees, quite literally owns the town, and already has a fairly sketchy moral compass has MIND CONTROL technology.. and giant killer robots

You'd think this would be an out of character expendature... but he got it from a reliable presidental source

Scrooge did all this so he could have a restful christmas. Magica.. isn't having the same as she has some uninvited guests.

Okay so some introductions are in order as i'm sure some of you had the same reaction I did

Thankfully Inducks also indexed who they are. Starting with the one I DID recognize, the little tyke is Magica's niece Minima, the basis for Lena and Magica's exact oppisite: kind, selfless, cheery. The only thing she isn't inverted on is magical talent, as Minima has a knack for it.

The two strangers are Rosolio and Gramma DeSpell. Yes GRAMMA, that's magica's grandma. What's intresting is there's two distinct versions of the character that don't really contradict each other, with this one in the 90's becoming a bigger fixture, and there being nothing to say this isn't the same character given a Sabrina the Teenage Witch style makeover, just a few years BEFORE Zelda and Hilda's got there's in fact. Go figure. She's a bit of a hippie and tries to talk down Magica from her schemes.

Her sidekick here, and sexual harasser, is Rosolio, a mildly inepet magician who followed her from italy to hit on her.

So Magica's about ready to just abandon her magic shop and go.. fuck off or whatever when Minima innocently brings up something...

Yes folks, this is indeed our premise: Santa put in a clause in his magic that's somehow weirder than "If tim allen shoves you off a room tim allen become santa claus" or "If tim allen dosen't find a wife in time he ceases to be santa claus" or.. let's just say anything tim allen adjacent. If you wish for something seven times and happen to be some sort of spellcaster, you get it, regardless of morality, intent or what it actually is. Which DOES mean good news for one little boy man robot

But still raises a LOT of questions. It's not a bad concept, that asking for something enough means santa will take pity but why isn't their restraints? Why has Magica, someone Santa would objectively not liked asked 7 times? why have we only heard about a magic version of the junior woodchuck guidebook this once? why didn't we get a fourth season of ducktales so Frank could adapt this? These are the things that keep me up at night. This is also a thing that keeps me up at night.

Donald just admit you need glasses instead of taking it out on your children, for all our sakes!

So Magica goes to the north poll to deliver letter 7 personally while Gramma.. only stops Rogoilo from going with her then hopes she'll be okay.

Magicia isn't as an elf being pulled by a sleigh full of pengys and getting there late notices her. Honestly we wouldn't have this plot at all if the best boy pengy wasn't busy.

Magica is frozen solid and is revived by 30 cc's of hot chocolate. I don't know if Tom Hanks sang to her, he was also busy that christmas

Magcia repays this kindness by busting up the north poll, going on a rampage to find Santa since the elves handle letters. Keep in mind this ENTIRE act of the story, her getting frozen, her going on a rampage, her bringing an evil dead tree to life before fighting an army of teddy bears and snowman

YUP. You didn't think the insanity stopped at mind policing, killer robots, santa clauses and improperly placed penguins did you? Nope we get a full on offscreen lord of the rings battle complete with ents simply because Magicia wants to gloat in person. And despite this section being padding.. it works. of COURSE magicia would want to gloat to santa, of COURSE she coudln't wait for Christmas day. It's totlaly in character and her singing oh christmas tree or spitting out hot chocolate are just.. such nice character touches. Of course she's so dedicated to being evil she hates something sweet. OF COURSE.

It's something neat about this comic: i'ts bonkers, no question.. but it's also simply fantastic on it's own merit. The idea of Magica getting a santa wish is neat on it's own, but the story then uses Minima to anchor it: she's frustrated it seems her aunt will never be happy and always obess over the dime, and thus teleports to the bin to take it from her, not understanding WHY it's precious to scrooge or WHY her aunt wants it, simply wanting to make her aunt happy. No one even knows; the thought police helmet's don't scan ill intent.. because there isn't none. It's just an innocent child wanting to bring her Aunt christmas. This version of Minima reminds me a LOT of 87 webby, and it's in the best way: innocent , kind, selfless.. all the good things.

Anyways Santa finally goes to confront magica, wondering why she's doing this the answers no.. and forgetting his own stupid policy until it's too late, with her asking for the dime and him entering a trance to go get it.

It's christmas eve and Scrooge is bored as nothing's going on. Disturbingly he wants to know how litigatoins are going. Those orphans aren't going to be forced out into the snow themsleves, ghosts of past buisness partners be dammned!

Scrooge is interuptted from taling to Mrs. Quackfaster byt he arrival of santa. Thinking it's magica in a disguise , he sicks a robot guard dog on her he turns into a sheep.

But then we get the crowner, the weirdest, best, and most wonderful thing in this story.. I present...

I"ll level with you all, while holiday shopping was easy this year, i've still been dealing with a lot of seasonal depression and regular ole depression. It's been a long month with loved ones in the hosptial (nothing serious but also nothing you need to know about in full), work piling up and me not even taking the time to enjoy some of my gifts. I've had plenty of kind people, thoughtful gifts, and wonderful friends but sometimes the stress of this job, as much as I love it, and the world can get to you. So getting to just relax and review a comic where Santa turns Scrooge's bin into a giant figgy pudding while under hypnosis.. it helps> it warms the spirit and reminds me why I do this. For the joy of good stories.. and for the wonder of nonsense.

For those who like me wondered what Figgy Pudding actually even is, wonmder no more: it's a traditional british pudding made out of animal fat. You no doubt have more questions but we have more story

So Santa snaps out of it once he gives Magica the time and she teleports out. Scrooge asks santa to go get it.. but despite you know having TURNED SCROOGE'S BIN INTO PUDDING and stolen his prized possesion, he's .. less than helpful.

I just.. dude... man.. santa dude man claus... Christmas is important. It brigns joy to children and it's why youd o this. I get that. But how does "I need to return the dime I stole while BRAINWASHED due to a stupid bit of magic I never bothered to undo or work up a backup plan for", equate to "greed begats greed'.

For starters the Dime.. isn't just a dime.. and you should know this. Your santa. You know everything about a person, it's your deal. This dime was the first bit of honest money Scrooge ever earned, a reminder of what he started, something he dearly loves and treasures not because it's MONEY but because of what it means. And even not knowing that Scrooge didn't start any of this shit. Scrooge has to constantly ward off Magicia's crap, something you DO for a fact know as you rejected her wish till your dumbass magic kicked in. She's not trying to steal his hoarded gross amount of money, she's trying to take the dime and she's trying to do it for an evil plan. YOU KNOW BETTER SANTA.

Granted this could be a christmastime grift as Santa gets Scrooge to promise a big dinner and bonuses for everyone in duckburg, so he could've simply been fleecing scooge.. and I prefer that interprtation as it fits santa better: Santa would WANT to make up for what he did with magica and WANT to stop her because Santa is a kind, caring person. And even if she hadn't used the santa spell against him, she still attacked his elves out of spite. I prefer to think he would've helped anyway but knew Scrooge deserved to be taught a lesson which, fair play to the big guy.. Scrooge ABSOLUTELY did.

So they go to stop him while Magica goes to show off her dime.. and minima realizes Magica didn't open her present and thus dosen'jt know and is about to make an oopsie.

So Scrooge and Santa go to stop her, but can't... luckily thanks to Minima giving Scrooge a chocolate coin instead of giving her the midas touch, the spell gives her...

It's an excellent brick joke on Magicia hating chocolate, and a great visual. it temproarily makes her the sweetst duck in the world.. which leads to some shipping bait

But a genuinely sweet ending for Minima who, if for one moment and only thanks to magic.. gets to enjoy her aunt. I mean Magica becoming sweet thanks to choclate magic is KINDA Messed up.. but it's hard to not enjoy a child who simply wanted her aunt to be happy.. getting that for one breif moment.

I still feel bad for her as this won't lass, Magicia will be back to her abuse hateful self.. but I can't begrudge a kind, innocent little witch her happy ending. I just don't have it in me. It's not forever, Magicia gets herself back.. but for one day.. she'll treat her family how they deserve. And Rogilo how he really dosen't but you can't have everything now can you?

So because we can't just end on the sweet moment, Santa assures Scrooge the figgy pudding bin will turn back after christmas.. but until then.. he has a promise to fufill.

Every christmas story should end with the whole town eating a rich man's property. Hell EVERY christmas should. Eat the rich's buildings kids!

This story is excellent. Really werid? yes. Having a pretty bonkers ending for no reason? Yes. Is said ending hilarious, the throughline of Minima heartfelt, and the zanier stuff also really funny? Entirely. It's a well done Scrooge story set around christmas with santa's indgiance at helping scrooge being the only thing I really don't like. Had he phrased it less as "you brought this on yourself" and more "you don't deserve it after how you've treated your employees" it'd make more sense. Still one little bump dosen't ruin the figgy pudding.. I think. I don't know how figgy pudding works. I do like this story though and highly recommend it. Thanks for reading.

[irisinthemoon]

Until I Found You, Pt. 7

[Part. 1], [Part. 2], [Part. 3], [Part. 4], [Part. 5], [Part. 6], [Part. 7]

Hey guys! I am so sorry for not updating in such a long time! I actually had this sitting on my drafts for a while but hadn't been to find the time to edit much less to post it. Since I already graduated high school and summer vacation has started, I finally found some time to write the next few chapters along with posting this one. I will try to write as much as I can considering that I will start College in August and I am not sure how much time I will have on my hands.

P.S. To the one who assumed I was dead, I am alive! Hahaha! But that message you sent did make my day. I had a good laugh for a while after reading it.

Summery: The festival is about to start and with that, the NRC students will finally see what has happened to their two companions.

_____________________________________________________________

“Sorry for the inconvenience, I had to deal with a few issues before coming here.” Professor Trein explained. His tone was soft but stern, giving Rollo the impression that the man was someone who was soft but also tough when needed be. “It’s alright Professor Trein, we are just glad that you were able to make it before the last performance.”

Just as Eliott had said, the professor would have managed to make it before the closing performance. To which he could see the older man was glad for. “I thank you. I also hope my students and charges haven't given you too much trouble.”

“None at all, I am glad to have been able to talk to them while we are here.”

It was a lie, Rollo found them quite repulsing. Always relying on magic to save the day, showing it off without any self restraint. Not to mention that darn purple cat that kept sending him mocking smirks each time their eyes locked. 

“Then I am glad.” Guiding the professor to one of the chairs, Rollo then gestures for the other students to follow along. Taking his seat, Professor Trein furrowed his eyebrows when he noticed the lack of two of his charges. “May I ask, where are Shroud and Leblanche?” Once again, Jules jabs Eliott who had snorted. 

“It seems that both of them were taken by these ‘hunters’.” Answered Malleus, still looking confused about the whole ordeal. At this, the professor’s eyes widened in disbelief. He turns to look at Rollo for confirmation. “Yes, we had been on our way to the battle arena so that we wouldn’t run into them. Unfortunately, they had catched on and took Idia and Neige.”

“Will they be alright?”

“Yes, this is a small tradition the City of Flowers has. Once the opening ceremony is over, we will be able to recover your companions.” 

Deuce lets out a dejected sigh. “They will miss the performance then…” This time, it is Rollo who jabs Eliott on the ribs to stop him from snorting. “Worry not, they will have front row seats to it.” Said Jules with a serene (evil) smile. 

He had explained the event as best as he could without revealing the reason as to why they needed to capture two people. Seems like he wanted to make them wonder, or just make them worry more than they already were.

“Is that what they meant by choosing two ‘special and esteemed’ guests?” Asked Ruggie, ears twitching at the noise the crowd was making. Eliott nods, he still looked like he wanted to laugh but was keeping it together. “You can say that, but as Jules had said, they will in no way shape or form be harmed.”

That seemed to settle the professor’s worries.

Taking a seat, Rollo lets himself relax for a moment. Soon he will be able to see you, then once the tour is over with, he and you would be able to relax and spend some time together before his duties get in the way. A nudge from his left snapped him out of his thoughts, turning to face Jules, he gestured for him to speak.

“You alright? Earlier, when Chen’ya was talking to you, you got this angry and moody look on your face. Did something happen?” His peach-haired friend asked, eyes lingering at the cat beast-man who was off talking to Riddle. “Everything is fine, just trying to get on my nerves.” Much like every student that had come as guests since stepping foot into Nobel Bell. Eliott didn’t look convinced, a concern frown on his lips. 

“Do you need us to take over the touring?” Adds Jules from his right, red eyes casting a glance at Azul, who had been looking at them. In a lower voice he said, “We don’t mind, you can spend your day with [name].”

Shaking his head, Rollo puts his hand up in order to stop them from talking. “It’s fine, it’s my duty as student council president to show our guests around.” His eyes lock with Azul’s, who simply gives him a kind smile. One that makes him curl his lip in disgust. Covering his face again with his purple handkerchief, Rollo looks away. “Plus, I promised her she could join us. She wants to meet Yuu and Grim.”

If he could, he would have left the whole ‘greeting guests’ thing off to the welcome committee. They always took care of these kinds of things, but since he had been the one to request for the NRC and RSA students to come here, and so he must be the one to show them around. The City of Flowers hardly let anyone enter, especially when it came to the academy. Only those who got the invitation to attend the academy could get in without a problem.

And those who didn’t go to the academy, had extended family here, or were on business trips, had to get special permission from the chief in charge of the city. Rollo had to play his part, that meant spending time with the guests as much as it killed him. He couldn’t let Jules’s hard work in trying to convince the chief in letting a few guests in, down the drain.

And the idea of just leaving the two other people that he tolerated at best (no matter what you said, he will not call them friends. The Great Seven know Eliott and Jules will tease him about it relentlessly.) to deal with this hot mess of students. Though, he could say Neige and Yuu were about the only decent ones from the group. And yet, Neige’s unnatural kindness sent a shiver down his spine. 

No one should be that kind.

Before any of the two began teasing him about letting you join them, the loud sound of trumpets cut them off. The familiar rhythm of the drums and trumpets make the crowd instantly cheer, and causes him to sit straight, paying full attention into the arena where a bunch or performers come out dressed as villagers. Jules and Eliott instantly quiet down, eyes eager to see the last performance. Much like Rollo, both had been looking forward to seeing you perform. 

“Maybe you've heard of a terrible place where the scoundrels of Paris Collect in a lair.”

The ‘villagers’ began singing in union, walking at the beat of the trombone. The crowd also began to clap along with the beat, some of them even joining on the singing. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the way Epel nodded along. 

“Maybe you've heard of that mythical place of the Court of Miracles!” 

The giant double doors of the battle arena opened up, and in came you strolling on top of Snowflake, a dark red, white, and black jester dress, a matching hat and mask on your persona. You were sitting sideways, guiding the black stallion as he did the mini dance moves with the beat of the music. Your lips were painted a dark deep red, set on a smirk as your eyes looked over the crowd.  

“Hello, you're there!”

Your voice mixed in with the rest of your companions and crowd, causing even more cheering. A mixture of amazement and surprised gasps could be heard from the other students. Rook was smiling, a light blush on his face, and Rollo remembered something the third year had told him when he had introduced himself. About being the protector of beauty. Guess Rollo can agree with him on you being beautiful, no matter what you wore or how you presented yourself, you were always breathtaking. 

“Where the lame can walk and the blind can see!”

The stallion makes a stop in front of Rollo and his charges. You smirk at them, looking as proud as he felt. “But the dead don't talk, so you won't be around to reveal what you've found!” Your voice was full of joy as you sang, making sure to cast each of the guests a look of mischief before grabbing a bunch of bead festival necklaces from your satchel and throwing it at them.

Sebek lets out an unceremonial shriek, trying to prevent the necklaces from finding a way to Malleus’s horns. Silver catches three of them, a black, green, and aurora one. His eyes stare at you, a small amused smile on his lips as he slips the green one on Sebek, places the aurora one on himself and gives the black one to Malleus. Who smiles, (Rollo gagged a bit), and slips it on, glad to be included in the whole thing.

Azul, Jamil, and Ruggie each have a yellow, maroon, and blue one around their necks, joy filled smiles that don’t scream irritation or shadiness. Deuce holds a red one for Riddle who takes it with a smile as he gives a blue one to Deuce in return. Epel is already wearing a deep rich purple one, matching with Rook. 

Yuu is smiling, laughter escaping his lips as he slips a bright blue necklace on Grim’s neck, the boy matching with his companion. Chen’ya laughs, seeming to make it his mission to catch as many necklaces as he can while wearing five different colors around his neck. 

Grabbing one that had got caught on his chair, he hands it to Professor Trein, who mumbles a thanks as he continues to watch the performance. 

“We have a method for spies and intruders rather like hornets protecting their hive. Here in the Court of Miracles, where it's a miracle if you get out alive!” 

This time, you sing along with the crowd and performers. Some of the students begin singing along with you while clapping to the beat of the song. Jules waves his pointed finger while singing, Eliott claps, a bright smile on his face. Rollo huffs in amusement but even he couldn’t fight off the tiny smile as he watched you gain more confidence with each step and word.

A softer tone takes place after singing the last part, and on cue the five jesters that had cornered them appear in multiple purples of smoke. The leader, Yellow Jester, takes a deep bow as she waves to the crowd. Smirking when her eyes landed on the group. Deuce and Epel gasp and point at them, eyes wide in recognition. 

Yellow jester laughs as they look confused as begins following you and Snowflake with a jump to her step. Jules and Eliott both cover their mouths to prevent from full blown laughing, both already knowing that the moment the music picks up on its usual beat, they will be in for a surprise. 

“Now! Bring forth the intruders who dare step into our Court Of Miracles!” Your voice is booming, bringing everyone to pay attention to you. The Yellow jester laughs while taking a deep bow. “Why yes! We must bring the criminals in for you to judge!” With an elegant twirl, she points at Purple Jester and Blue Jester, “You heard our esteem Judge! Bring forth the intruders!”

“She’s the judge?!” Exclaimed Epel. A few of the other students are just as shocked as he is. “But, what does she mean by intruders?” Asked Jamil, looked once again guarded. “Did we break a rule by accident?” Adds Azul, eyes focusing on the crowd.

Before they could keep asking, the music picked up pace, and in came the answer they had all been seeking. Coming in, tied up with rope and white pieces of cloth covering their mouths, were Idia and Neige. Though, Neige looked a little more composed than Idia did. 

“What are they doing there?!” Riddle and Deuce both yelled at the same time.

Professor Trein looked shocked, but from his lack of action, Rollo assumed he already knew what this was. “Holy- Idia looks like he is about to piss his pants!” Grim laughs as Yuu tried to scold him, worry in his brown eyes. “That is if he hasn’t already!” Adds Ruggie, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. 

“Justice is swift in the Court of Miracles, I am the lawyers and judge all in one!” You sang as you trotted towards the two rope bound students who were now on their knees. Idia shrieks, his cry muffled as he stares at you, bugged eye. From his point of view, it looked like the grim reaper had comed to take his soul. Neige flinched a bit, but schooled his expression. He knew you weren’t going to hurt them, but he will admit. It was intimidating watching you reach them with that huge horse.

“We like to get the trial over with quickly because it's the sentence that's really the fun!”

In a flurry of movements, you pull Snowflake away and reach to pet the two of them The gentle tap you give them caused Idia to flinch and Neige to tilt his head on confusion. You laugh at this, sharp and mocking. Rollo’s chest fills with pride, honestly, he can see why they chose you to be the main act this year. You truly were amazing. 

“Any last words?” 

Idia begins shaking back and forth furiously, his muffle shrieks being heard even from where Rollo was sitting. Neige’s are a lot more tame, but you could see the way he is suitably struggling in. You smirk once again and pull away, “That's what they all say.” That just makes Idia panic even more. 

“Now that we've seen all the evidence-!” One of the jester boys sings before being sharply interrupted by one of the ‘villagers’. A young woman dressed in a plain beige dress raised her hand, and from his left, he heard a multitude of sighs of relief from the other student. Eliott snorted, holding his stomach of all the laughing he had done.  

“Wait! I object!”

“Overruled!” You yelled back.

“I object!” 

“Quiet!” You yelled again, fake frustration in your voice.

“Dang!” Said the woman softly as she lowered her hand down. The crowd laughs, cheers going around the battle arena. 

“We find you totally innocent, which is the worst crime of all…” You sang sadly while holding a hand over your heart, Snowflake’s reins in your other hand. In union, the other jesters follow, with exaggerated frowns on their painted lips. Riddle furrows his eyebrows, “What does she mean that they are innocent and then say that it’s one of the worst crimes?” 

Professor Trein chuckles, shaking his head. This causes his students to look at him in confusion. Malleus tilted his head, a small smile on his lips, he looked confused but he was still enjoying himself. Rollo rolled his eyes, the prince looked ridiculous with those colorful necklaces around his neck. (Sebek had made it his personal mission to collect as many as he could for Malleus when he saw how happy it made him wearing one.)

“So you're going to hang!” You and the crowd sang, full of cheer as you raised your hand into the air and bowed as much as you could while riding Snowflake. 

Rollo had been prepared for two types of reactions: One, the cheers of the crowd as they all agreed with your ‘choice’ while also clapping. (That was the majority of the crowd). Two, the gasps of shock and horrified yells from the students he was with as they all objected with your ‘choice’. 

Rollo has a tiny smirk on his lips, Eliott and Jules laughing out loud on either side of him. Professor Trein laughed lightly, shoulders shaking from the reaction of his students. Chen’ya also laughed, eyes watching the chaos unfold. Then there were the loud shrieks of Idia as they dragged him out and back into the double doors he had come out of. Neige had a look of realization when he looked into the crowd, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. 

Turning to Rollo and his group, you smirk and bow.

“W-Wait! I am sure we can think of something to help them!” Deuce and Epel tried to hold you back by calling out to you. Their voices coated with panic for their two upper-classmen. You turn back to face them, a haughty smirk on your lips. Placing a finger up to your lips is a quiet motion, you winked at them before fully turning around and guiding Snowflake into the double doors. 

The five jesters all bowed to the crowd, then in a purple cloud, vanished just as the double doors to the battle arena closed. The crowd went wild, cheers could be heard in every direction as people clapped and hooted. All of them were overjoyed at the performance, for it meant that the long week festival had officially begun. 

Clapping along with the crowd, Rollo smiled. It was small, and barely even visible unless you really looked into it. Professor Trein and Chen’ya cheered along, each wearing a different smile. Jules and Eliott hooted, calling out your name as they cheered. The other students all stared in a mixture of confusion, and a little worried at the fate their two other companions may bear. 

Clearing his throat, Rollo stood up from his chair and gestured for the others to do the same. “It’s best if we leave now, before the crowd gets rowdy.” Both his secretary and vice-president follow his lead, Professor Trein nods and tells his students and charges to do the same. There are some who voice their disagreement in just leaving, worried over their two companions. Rollo sighs, a little irritated but lets Professor Trein handle them as they make their way out.

“Worry not, they are both fine.” Said the older man, “This is all part of the tradition here in the City of Flowers.” At this, Riddle and Azul perk up. “Tradition?” Asked Azul, casting a glance at Jules who looked away, an innocent smile on his lips. The group continues to walk away from the crowd, following Rollo as he moves swiftly through the bodies of people. “Yes, I will explain it as we go to retrieve Shroud and Leblanche.”

Rollo was thankful he didn’t have to deal with them anymore. With a sigh, he continues to walk, Jules and Eliott both laughing at his side. 

______

Just as you mounted off Snowflake, you heard a shriek so loud that it startled your stallion. Quickly, you began mumbling words of comfort so the black stallion won’t run off like he had done months prior to getting scared by one of the students by accident. Frowning, you hand Snowflake to one of the stable boys and head to wear you could hear the shrieking and sobbing. 

A multitude of the performers surrounded two people, the two that had been selected by the hunters you notice, and it seemed like they were trying to calm down the one with blue fiery hair. For a few seconds, you stare at the boy in amazement. Not once in your stay here had you seen someone with that kind of hair. It looked incredibly beautiful and unique, it brought a smile to your face.

The boy let another sob, breaking you from your trace. Clearing your throat, you quickly maneuvered yourself around the bodies and into the center where the boy was crying. “Is everything alright?” You asked. And in an instant he turned to face you so quickly that you feared he would snap his neck by the speed he had used. 

“YOU!” The boy lunged at you, and having little time to react, both of you landed on the ground. You yelp in surprise and pain from the landing as the boy clung to you, babbling in both fear and anger. “I HAVE DONE NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS!” You wince at the volume of his voice. Two of the girls nearby tried to help you off the ground while another two did their best to remove the crying boy from you. “THIS IS WHY I NEVER GO TO NORMIE EVENTS! I END UP GETTING KIDNAP ONE WAY OR ANOTHER!”

You tried to calm him down, confusion and worry mixed together as you did your best to soothe his worries. But every time you tried to push him away he would hold you tighter as if you were a lifeline. “Idia! Please let them go! They don’t mean any harm!” Your eyes glanced towards the honey voice. If you weren’t stuck in this situation, you would have gasped at how pretty the boy looked. 

“FIRST IS THE DAMN GHOST BRIDE NOW I WILL END UP WITH MY HEAD ON A NOSE BEFORE I MAKE IT TO PREMIER OF MY FAVORITE ANIME!” Tears and snot left the boy, some of it smearing onto your outfit. Had it been anyone else or any other situation, you would have been angry, after all, the dress wasn’t even yours. 

The ravenette went to help the two other girls pull Idia away from you, his voice calm and collected as he did so. With the help of one of the performers, you stood up and dusted away the dirt off your outfit. After making sure that the snot could be washed off, you turn back to the crying boy. Taking off the mask, you gave it to the performer that helped you and walked towards Idia and the pretty boy. 

The ends of Idia’s hair were turning red the more he struggled from the grip the others had on him. “Thank the seven that we casted a magic nullification spell on him.” Anna, the yellow jester said, eyes wide as he watched Idia struggle even more. “We would have been dealing with more than screaming and shouting.” 

You could only imagine. If the boy was like this without any magic, you wondered what he would do if he could cast spells. Without thinking, you rubbed the magical ring on your right hand. It was much like the ones the student at Nobel Bell wore, the only difference was that it wasn’t for casting magic, but for protection. Something Rollo had given you with the persimmon of the Headmage. 

“Did you guys inform him of why he had been taken away?” You asked, looking at her with serious eyes. She looks away, a nervous smile on her lips. “About that…they are two of the many guests President Flamm invited.” At this you stare at her in disbelief. “Why would you take two of his guests?!” More importantly, how did they manage to take them if Rollo was there?

“He gave us the ok! I swear [name]! We asked before we even took them! If he had said no, we would have just taken Jules and Eliott!” 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Idia’s shouts were starting to gather more attention. “I’ll go deal with him. Go and find Rollo, we don’t want more attention on us.” 

“You sure?” Asked Anna, eyes casting a worry look towards the fighting Idia. You nod, “Yeah, I’ll calm him down and explain why he had been dragged here.” Anna sighs but compiles. Leaving you with two of Rollo’s guests along with the other girls helping you, you sigh again and put on your best smile.

Thank the seven you knew how to put on a good act, even under pressure. 

“Hey! I am so sorry for the misunderstanding!” You raised your voice in order to be heard from all the yelling and shouting. Idia halts his struggling, yellow eyes looking at you with small tears. “We will not hurt you,” you added softly, “So please, stop shouting. The horses are getting agitated and if you keep making too much noise they will try to get out and possibly hurt others and themselves.” 

As if to make a point, Snowflake huffed. The stable boy you had given your stallion to shrugged at your questioning look. “I tried taking him back but he refused to move.” Snowflake huffed again in agreement. Shaking your head, you turn back to look at Idia and  begin walking towards him. “Look, they will unhand you but you need to calm down. It’s a lot to ask, especially when you don’t know why you are here in the first place.”  

Idia squints his yellow eyes, suspicion in them as he slowly puts his hands on his sweater pocket. Something blue flashed from the corner of your vision, but before you could get a quick look, it was already gone. 

“...Fine…” 

With a multitude sighs of relief, the girls unhand him. Some give him a small glare while others give him a sympathetic smile. They all leave except the pretty boy and your horse who the stable boy decided to tie up before taking his leave. If you could read his thoughts, you would almost bet that he was having a good time witnessing whatever was about to happen. 

Smiling once more, you gesture for the two boys to take a seat on the nearby bench. “Now, take a seat. I will explain everything. But before we begin, my name is [Name] [Last name]. I am a first year student at Noble Bell College.”

“Nice to meet you, again, sorry for the inconvenience.” The raven hair boy spoke, a sweet smile on his rosy lips. “My name is Neige Leblanche and the person next to me is Idia Shroud.” He gestures to the flame haired boy. “Well, I do apologize, Idia and Neige.” Standing up, you offer a light bow. “I didn’t know that both of you hadn’t been informed about the stunt we pulled.”

In all honesty you thought Rollo would have explained it to them the moment they arrived in order to avoid a situation like this one. Especially to people who didn’t know a single thing about the week long masquerade. You had known about it since you would be part of the act, and Rollo had warned you in case you were chosen as the ‘intruder’ and if you put yourself in their shoes, they had every right to act the way they were. 

“It’s alright! Every place has their own traditions! We should have done more research about the City of Flowers before coming, so that is a mistake on our part.” Reassured Neige as he gestured you to sit down. Idia frowns, a scowl taking place on his face. “Doesn't excuse the fact that Flamm didn't even give a warning…" 

You laughed nervously, between you and Rollo, no one knew of the childish streak the third year had. While he remained mature and a role model student in the public face, Rollo was a whole other person when he was behind doors. Much like Jules and Eliott, he tended to cause mayhap and chaos. Many times, he enjoyed watching it while laughing. This was one for those moments. And perhaps it was karma considering that you tended to join his little misadventures. 

"I'm sure he wanted to warn you but hadn't been given enough time…hunters do tend to appear out of nowhere."

"Now that you mentioned it, he had been in a hurry to get us to the battle arena." Thank the seven for Neige! You nod enthusiastically. "See? He probably couldn't explain it on time!"

"He had more than enough time! We spent nearly all morning with him!" Exclaimed Idia, anger clear on his face. You gulp, "I'm sure Rollo didn't want to spoil the surprise!" Neige (bless his soul) quickly came to the rescue. "Yeah! Many of the students in our group had questions and he had been there to answer them. Plus, even with Jules and Eliott helping him, he still had a handful!"

Idia shot Neige a small glare but didn’t say anything back. Taking this as an opportunity, you spoke up again. “Well, then let me make up for it!” Clapping your hands together, you shot them a smile. “Now, let me start by explaining the reason you two were stuck as this years’ intruders.” 

With that you launched off to a very long, and hopefully not so boring explanation. 

The whole tradition started off in honor of the Court Of Miracles, a place rumored to house people who were hiding from the monsters that used to roam the City of Flowers. The place could only be found by a special map and only a few selected had ownership of said map. While the place may have been hard to find, it didn’t mean that it was impossible. 

Many times, monsters and people with the wrong intentions would try to intrude the place, and in order to keep it safe along with the people living there, a few fellow jesters would capture them and execute them. The leader of the group of jesters was often referred to as the Judge while the other five jesters would be called the hunters. 

The Judge would be the one to take care of dealing the final order while the five hunters would do the capturing. That was how they managed to keep the place safe for so long. That was until two people had come. They were about to be executed if it hadn’t been for a young woman who knew them and concluded that they were no threat to the Court of Miracles. Because those two people were in fact friends of the young women and they wanted to help the fair judge, the one who wanted freedom for the City of Flowers, in defeating the monsters.

Hence, they had earned the privilege of leaving and entering in exchange for help. And so, in order to make sure people remember the bravery of the people, the people in the City of Flowers made it a tradition to start off the festival with the song and performance. Which also included having two intruders and a Judge who guided five jesters. 

But the citizens wanted to add a twist to it in order to make it fun and memorable. Instead of just choosing the two intruders like how they chose the Judge and jesters, they decided to select the two remaining people on the day of the festival by capturing two unsuspected people and bringing them forth. 

“And that is why Rollo didn’t stop them from taking you, he knew the two of you wouldn’t be in danger.” You finish off your explanation by doing a last attempt in saving some face for Rollo. Neige clapped his hands at your performance while Idia just looked even more perplexed. “And people agreed this was a good idea?!” He asked after a minute or two. 

“Well, many liked it! And many more hope to get chosen for it!”

“What is so good about being kidnapped?!”

You did your best to hold in a sigh of frustration. Instead, you shot him a bright smile, one you were sure looked forced but no longer cared. “The reason many hope to get picked is this.” Holding the object up, you showed them the prize. Neige gasped at it, eyes shining with curiosity while Idia just looked even more done.

“...A dream catcher necklace…?”

“Don’t give me that look!” Huffing you began explaining, again. “Remember the map I mentioned that led to the Court of Miracles? This is a mock imitation of it. It’s not the real thing, no one knows how it actually looked liked.”

Giving one of the two necklaces to Neige, you continued. “Much like the rumored map, this one is a map of the city. It will show you different locations and what not. The catch to it however, is that you will have to figure out the locations yourself, once you do, a prize will be given. You have until the end of the week to figure it out.”

Idia takes the necklace you offered, yellow eyes looking it over with hidden curiosity. He no longer looked angry, which was a win for you. “It’s like a scavenger hunt?” Asked Neige. You nod, “You need to find the locations on the map, once you do, it will glow, meaning that the location has been found. It should be about ten locations each.”

“And the prize?” Idia mumbled, eyes still glued to the necklace. “Ah…about that, I don’t have a clue as to what it is.” This time, his yellow eyes trained on you, brows furrow. You smile nervously. “From what I heard, not a single person has been able to find the actual prize. Many get close but the last location is the one that no one is able to find.”

From what Eliott and Jules had told you, when they had been selected as the intruders during their first year, both had worked together in order to find all the locations. That had helped them cover most of their base in three days, letting them have the rest of the week to figure out where the last location was. Yet no matter how much either of them looked, they couldn’t figure it out. Even with Rollo’s help, both didn’t manage to finish the quest. 

It was the same for past students who were picked, not one was able to find the last location. 

“Huh…now that sounds interesting.” A sudden sharp smile appeared on Idia’s face as he began to giggle. You stare at him confused and a little worried. Neige didn’t seem affected by it, but he did share the same enthusiasm as Idia. More or less. 

“And people can help you with this right?” Asked Neige. “Yep, since the locations switch up every year, asking for the old ones won’t work but you can receive assistance.” Pointing at the little purple jewels on the string, you explain further. “No one is in charge of placing the locations. The ones who do are the stones here, I have no clue where they come from though. All I know is that they chose the locations and once you finish with it, you give it back to the Headmage.”

Idia hums, he runs his fingers through the small diamond beads. Neige does the same, though he looks more joyish that Idia, who still has that sharp smirk. You don’t question it nor do you point it out. This was better than having Idia panic.

Anyways, the important thing was that there was no more noise and the people with their horses could pass by without fearing that the horses would act out. Plus, Anna would be here with Rollo soon, though, looking at your outfit you grimace. You could feel your sweat sticking to the fabric of the outfit. You wanted to go take a quick shower and change to the school’s female uniform. The robes would be getting in your way, especially when you planned to walk around with Rollo for the day. And from the looks of it, the warm weather may get a bit more warmer. While you preferred pants over anything else, the skirt of the female uniform will allow for easy movement and it will keep you cool. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Anna to come back with Rollo. Standing up from your position, you greeted the third year. Without sparing a single glance at the two other boys, he made his way to you, a worried frown on his face. Grabbing your face in a gentle grip, he pulls you close. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. A little tired from the performance but nothing I can’t deal with.”

He still looked unconvinced, placing your hands on top of his own, you gave him a confident look. “Really, I am fine. Plus, I had Anna get you since Idia was panicking.” Gesturing towards the blue haired boy, who was too busy looking at the dreamcatcher necklace. “I managed to calm him down, but I didn’t want to leave them alone, especially when he is one of your guests.”

Sure, you could have asked one of the performers to stay with both Neige and Idia but you also felt a little guilty at scaring them. It would be better for you to wait and explain the situation than leave and let someone else deal with Idia’s outburst. Rollo sighs, annoyance clear in his green eyes as he looks at the smirking boy. “I heard he had tackled you.”

“Ah, yeah but I didn’t get hurt. He was just panicking and it’s understandable considering that he got taken away without any context.”

Rollo avoids your gaze at your pointed look. “...The hunters got there before I could explain.”

“Anna said that you gave them the ok to take two of the guests.”

“...”

Shaking your head, you sigh, a little smile on your face. It’s not like you could blame him for not telling them. Much to everyone's surprise (except you) Rollo tended to be a bit mischievous and just like any other teenager, he enjoyed pulling little pranks on others. Of course, he did this when no one was looking or when he knew it wouldn’t harm others. Most of the time, you helped him with it. 

Like last month, you had helped him get back at Eliott and Jules for teasing him. It had started with Rollo admitting that he had a fondness for banana milk. Both boys had teased him for a while, it was unexpected for someone like Rollo to like something so sweet. Rollo had enough of it at some point and with your help, both of you plotted how to get back at both of your friends. Till this day, Eliott and Jules both still have glitter in their hair.

“Ah, Rollo! I do apologize for the earlier outburst. It had taken us by surprise.” Neige spoke up, brown eyes on the both of you. Startled, Rollo pulled away from you and regarded the raven head boy with a nod. “Yes, I also apologize. I had intended to explain to you all the traditions we have here but I hadn’t made it on time.”

Idia snorted, yellow eyes casting a glare at the third year but didn’t comment anything. “It’s alright, you wanted to have the element of surprise.” Once again, you thanked Neige. He was doing his best to convince Idia that it had been all harmless fun. Though, Idia didn’t look very convinced  at all. Clearing his throat, Rollo gives them both a nod.

“Right, I will be taking you back to the group. They are waiting by the entrance of the battle arena.” He then turns to you. “Will you be joining us?”

“I will, I just need to take a quick shower and change my clothes.” Twirling in your jester outfit you show it off. “I don’t wanna walk around in this. Not that it is a bad outfit, but I am not used to dressing up like this.”

Halting, you fully look at the pale boy. His face was a little red from what you could tell. He was hiding his face behind his infamous purple handkerchief but you could see the tip of his ears turning red. “R-Right…then we will wait for you in the city.”

Nodding, you agree with him before turning your attention towards the two other boys. Both were staring at the two of you. Neige with a small soft smile and a knowing look in his eyes. Idia looked a little annoyed but also had a look of longing. You didn’t question it, whatever was going on was their own deal. “Then, I will join you all later!”

With a bow, you waved to them goodbye, then, without thinking much, pressed a chaste kiss on Rollo’s cheek. You left the stables without looking back, a silly smile decorating your lips.

[velidewrites]

Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter II || Chapter III || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter I: May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favour

From the Treaty of the Treason:

In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and female between the ages of 12 and 21 at a public “Reaping.”

These Tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains.

Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games.

***

The sun rose over the forest, waking up her prey.

Most of them had not yet shaken off winter’s cold embrace, buried safely underground in a deep slumber. But it was spring now—still in its early days, perhaps, though like many others in District 12, Feyre Archeron had exhausted her patience.

She was ready to hunt.

The morning frost covered the ground beneath her feet as she looked for animal prints. She’d take anything, at this point—the past few months had been colder than expected, and their icy breeze seemed to have permanently settled in the pit of her stomach, growling occasionally to remind her of its presence. As if she hadn’t already known. Hunger, these days, felt like the most stable companion she’d had in years.

A bush rattled somewhere, cutting through the silence, and Feyre’s grip on her bow tightened.

With her mind cursing the loud, heavy boots she’d chosen for the hunt—the only pair she owned apart from her slippers, really—she made way towards the sound, each step careful not to alert her prey. She’d done that too many times, stepping on a dried out branch like a fool, moments before firing the fatal shot. She couldn’t afford to do that again.

The bush rattled again, and Feyre reached for an arrow.

Please, please be a deer.

Another rattle. Feyre took another step, her heart pounding in her chest.

A deer would be good. More than good, actually—a catch like this would feed her and her family for a week, if not more. She could almost picture the look on Elain’s face as she placed its carcass on the kitchen table. Her sister could use some good news after the winter they’d had, and especially on a day like this.

Feyre shook her head, forcing her mind back into focus.

Two winters ago, she’d caught a wolf. It had been the best day of her life. Her family didn’t know hunger for three weeks, and Elain had sewn her a flimsy fur coat. Even Nesta had smiled a little bit.

I take back my wish, Feyre thought. Can you be a wolf instead?

The bush rattled for the final time, and, with a loud gurgle, her victim made its final step into the light.

“Oh, please,” Feyre groaned out loud, and fired the arrow straight through the turkey’s heart.

Served her right for setting her hopes so high. A wolf. How ridiculous, she thought, kneeling by the dead bird to pull the arrow out. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Feyre murmured. “At least you’re fat. Thanks for that, I guess.”

“You are disturbingly good at that,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Feyre shot up to her feet, whipping her head to its source. “Shit,” she swore, placing a hand on her racing heart. “You scared me!”

Arms crossed as he leaned against a tree, Isaac offered her a coy smile. “Sorry,” he said, his shaggy brown curls shimmering in the sun as he angled his head in wonder. “Who’s this little guy?”

Feyre raised the bird in front of her, making the show of displaying it in its full might. “That,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips, “is my dinner.”

“Ah,” Isaac said. “Not a great way to start off the day. For him, I mean.”

Feyre shrugged, pulling the arrow out of the squelching flesh. “We all have to survive somehow.”

Something flashed in Isaac’s eyes as he took in her words. “Yes,” he said, his expression dimming. “I know.”

Feyre bit on her lip, her head dipping to the bloodied arrow in her hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Relax, Feyre,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I just came to watch you hunt.”

Shoving the turkey into her hunting bag, Feyre grimaced. “I’m afraid you’re in for a huge disappointment.”

“Still nothing, huh?”

“Just this pathetic little guy,” she said, patting the brown leather, then frowned. “I probably shouldn’t say that minutes after killing him.”

Isaac stared at her for a moment, then at the bag, its worn-out fabric already staining red. “He’s no less pathetic than the rest of us,” he finally said.

“What do you mean?” Feyre asked.

But Isaac had already turned away, his gaze focused on a point high up in the trees, where another bird chirped a sad melody.

“Mockingjay,” Isaac hummed, those absent eyes closing in content.

Pain stung at her chest as she watched him, so close within her reach, and yet so far away. She had barely known him before he returned from the Capitol two years ago, but she did remember him as the kind baker’s son who had always used to smile.

Now, Isaac only smiled when his mind escaped to a better place.

Sometimes, Feyre wished he would take her there with him—somewhere where she wouldn’t have to worry about the cold, the hunger, the looming realisation that this wretched reality would never change. Perhaps that was why she felt so drawn to him—in a world of pain and uncertainty, Isaac was a brief escape to peace.

“Do you know what day it is, Feyre?” his voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She assumed he’d dismissed her presence by now.

She answered him anyway.

“The Reaping.”

Isaac nodded. “The Capitol’s hunt.”

Feyre’s brows knotted in confusion. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at.”

At last, Isaac turned to her with a sigh. “How different, do you think, are we from your turkey?” He gestured to the bag at her side. “We, too, live out our lives in fear, our only hope to escape those who prey upon us.” Isaac shrugged. “The answer, Feyre, is: you and that turkey? You’re one and the same. The Capitol’s forest is only a little larger.”

A shiver went down her spine at the words, spoken behind the border yet dangerous nonetheless. They wouldn’t—couldn’t—hurt Isaac, not anymore, but her? She was fair game, and Isaac’s reflections were treason.

He must have realised this, and he flinched visibly, as if shaking off some haze. “I think I should go,” Isaac said, turning to her again with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Ignoring the cold filling her veins, Feyre nodded. “I’ll walk you home.”

They walked through the forest, neither of them saying a word, even the mockingjays having seemingly decided to stay behind. Feyre couldn’t blame them. In Panem, not even birds were safe.

Especially not in District Twelve. Frankly, Feyre was surprised birds as beautiful as the mockingjay had still bothered to visit the place. Only ravens and magpies seemed to remain now, pests, as Nesta liked to call them, though Feyre had never agreed. They were drawn to jewels—to anything that glinted, really—scouting for any sparkle in the ground they could find. As if the stars they’d flown with in the night had not been enough. Feyre envied them, if anything. She used to dream of touching the stars, too.

Even the jewels were out of her reach, so far out, in fact, that she counted herself lucky if she managed to get her hands on coal. Coal, minerals—for the longest time, they had been her district’s export. The mines hid wonders of immeasurable beauty and infinite riches, her father used to tell her. Immeasurable beauty and infinite riches—it was no wonder the Capitol would put its hands all over them as soon as they’d see the light of day.

Isaac used to work at the mines, just like her father had. He never had to—his own father’s bakery had been doing a good enough job to sustain the family over the winter—but he volunteered. Feyre didn’t know the whole story, but according to Elain, Isaac had taken an old man’s place, too sick to answer the Capitol’s call to labour. And so, at seventeen, her friend had gone into the mines to become “his District’s pride.”

He had only stayed there two years, of course. Feyre remembered that day as clear as yesterday.

It had been the first time she’d been allowed to watch the Hunger Games. In what Nesta had called a foolish, ridiculous effort to spare them from the world’s cruelty, their father would send them to bed early, every night from the day the Games began to the day they ended. Nesta and Elain would always sneak out, watching the screen in horror from where Father could not see. Feyre had stayed, and would continue to do so until he died.

She was seventeen, and Nesta has hardly shared Father’s sentiment. It’s my last year, she’d said. If they choose me, at least I’ll have some comfort in knowing my sister are watching until the very end.

But they had not chosen Nesta, a girl called Clare Beddor taking the female Tribute’s title. She’d died almost immediately.

The last time Feyre had seen Clare—in real life, not getting butchered on the small screen at her kitchen counter—was when she stood in front of the District’s Hall of Justice, tears streaming down her face as she shook the hand of the male Tribute beside her.

Isaac Hale had not cried that day.

He never cried after his return, either, though he was never quite the same. The Capitol hadn’t let him mentor last year, and from the rumours, he wouldn’t mentor in this edition, either. He’s getting a well-deserved rest, the news would say. He’s gone mad, the locals would whisper. But Feyre knew they were all wrong.

Isaac was simply…broken.

“Mind your head,” he told her gently as they leaned under the electric fence.

She’d have to turn right to head home, but Feyre had promised to walk him back to the Victors’ Village, and she fully intended on keeping that promise.

She’d never been into his house. He told here there were cameras.

The noise grew louder, and soon enough, they reached the black market, its merchants shouting over each other, each of them claiming to have the freshest, most affordable produce from Eleven. Feyre avoided them all like the plague, unless she herself had something to trade. It had been far more enjoyable to look at their stock knowing she could do more than simply look.

“Does my eye deceive me?” A raspy laugh reached them. “Feyre Archeron, back from the hunt!”

She turned to the old man with a polite smile. “I’ve got nothing for you today, Andras.”

His one, yellow eye narrowed. “And Isaac Hale, back from the dead.”

Beside her, Isaac paled.

Feyre gripped the sleeve of his tunic, nudging him forward. “I’ll come on a better day,” she offered. The man only shrugged.

Isaac stopped her at the end of the street. “I can make my way from here.”

Her brows furrowed. “It’s okay, I can…”

He placed a hand on her arm. “Feyre. Go home, eat your turkey. I’ll be okay.”

Her hand covered his own, and she did her best to keep herself intact. “We could run away, you know.” She swallowed hard. “We could get away with it, you and I.”

For the first time, Isaac truly and openly smiled. “I’ll see you at the Reaping, Feyre.”

***

The smell of blood and carcass filled the house as soon as Feyre stepped foot inside.

Living on the outskirts of the District borders was a blessing, really. Feyre couldn’t imagine having to sneak past the centre’s Peacekeepers with a bow in hand and arrows on her back—not if she wanted to make it out alive, or with fifteen lashes taking her quiver’s place at the very least.

She had already learned her lesson once, though, with five long scars creasing her back if she ever dared forget it. She wouldn’t—that one time was enough to make her cautious. On busier days, she’d leave her hunting gear in the small hollow of the oak tree five minutes north of the electric fence. If any of the Peacekeepers confiscated her bow, it would be over. She could sell everything she owned, and she still most likely wouldn’t have been able to afford one. Bows, after all, were illegal to civilians, and the black market prices had been absurd these days.

And so, the only thing carried by Feyre today was the dead, bloodied turkey, her bag heavy with its stench. It was worse than she thought, it seemed, judging by the sickly green hue of Elain’s skin as she handed her the bird.

“Feyre,” her name came with a sigh of relief. “You’re home early.”

“Still nothing?” Nesta cut in, rising from the chair at the kitchen table.

Feyre’s lips formed a thin line. “This was the best I could do.”

Silence fell over the room, filled only by the distant sounds of scratchy caws—ravens, Feyre realised, picking whatever lunch they could find off the streets.

Elain, thankfully, was the one to break it. “I laid out some clean clothes for you on the bed.” The one bed they all shared all winter, keeping each other warm. “So that you can look nice at the…later today.”

Elain wiped her hands on the apron nervously, trying to mask the way they shook as she almost said the word that made her skin crawl and the blood drain from her face. The Reaping.

Her throat tight, Feyre forced her eyes back to her sister’s face. “Thank you.”

Elain nodded, still trembling slightly as she placed the turkey on the red-stained cutting board. Feyre’s heart clenched at the sight, her own dread forgotten in light of Elain’s, who’d been enduring this for far too long. Who, year after year, had watched her neighbours, her friends, leave and never return. Slaughtered on a tiny screen the Capitol had forced into their house, their anguished screams the only goodbye they could offer. Elain, for whom this Reaping could only mean one thing—death or freedom, a permanent release from Panem’s blood debt.

At twenty-one, this year marked the last time Elain could be drafted as District Twelve’s female tribute. It also marked her name being added to the pool for the tenth time. Tenth.

They all knew what it meant.

“You’re not going to be chosen,” Feyre said, her voice cutting through the dismal silence. “There are so many people your age in our District. They’re going to draw someone else’s name, and you’re going to go about your day like you do each year,” she dragged the words out, her eyes never leaving her sister’s. She could only hope they carried as much confidence as her tone did. “And then, you’ll finally be free. Like Nesta,” Feyre looked to her eldest sister, who nodded in affirmation. “And like so many others in Twelve. Okay?”

Elain loosed a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said, and took Feyre’s hands in hers. “We both will. You only have two years left, and then everything is going to be fine. Better.”

It was true—she did have two years left, but it seemed as though each year, there were less and less of District Twelve’s kids left. At the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, her name would be in the pool eight times.

Nesta’s name had never been drawn, and neither would Elain’s. Perhaps fate would be merciful to the Archeron sisters—perhaps it would see the life they led each day and decide it was punishment enough.

Feyre squeezed her sister’s hands back, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Of course.”

At last, her sister smiled, then let go, her hands moving to smooth out her apron yet again. “I’ll draw you a bath. You stink, you know.”

Feyre laughed at that. “I know.”

With a small shake of her head, Elain disappeared into the adjacent room, the door clicking lightly behind her.

“They probably wouldn’t mind seeing you with blood on your hands,” Nesta’s voice sounded behind her. “It’s how they like us best.”

Feyre turned to meet the icy blue of her stare. “A little help would have been appreciated.”

Nesta waved a hand. “You and I both know she won’t stop fidgeting until it’s all over.”

With a sigh, Feyre dropped to the wooden seat, her forehead resting against the roughened table’s surface. A wave of tiredness crashed into her all of a sudden, washing over every aching limb until she wanted nothing but to fall asleep right where she was sat. “I suppose you’re right.”

A loud creak of the chair moving beside her signalled Nesta taking her seat.

“Was there truly nothing in the woods?” her sister finally asked.

That woke Feyre right back up. “You think I lied before?”

“Of course not,” Nesta said calmly, crossing her arms on the table. “I just think you should take a break for a day or two. You might even find more of those birds if you’re well-rested.”

Teeth digging into the inside of her cheek, Feyre accused, “You’re making fun of me.”

“I really am not,” Nesta sighed, two slender fingers moving to rub her temple. “But Feyre, this turkey you caught will last us three days at best. What then?”

Anger began to boil in the pit of her stomach, rising steadily with each word. “Nesta, I already told you I’m doing the best I can.”

Another sigh. “I know, Feyre, I only mean that…”

“If you’re so dissatisfied with my hunting, maybe you should try it out yourself.”

Nesta straightened in her seat. “That is not what I meant.”

Her hands curled into fists. “No, I think that’s precisely what you meant.” She met Nesta’s gaze and her eyes narrowed. “Winter or not, I hunt every single day. What do you do to help us survive?”

Flames rose in Nesta's cold, hardened stare, her jaw clenching tight as she measured Feyre’s form beside her. “You have no idea,” she said, her tone practically seething, “You have no idea what I’ve done to help this family. What I’ve been doing ever since Father gave up on us, then died like the coward he was. What I’ll continue to do,” she added, her voice breaking slightly, “until both you and Elain no longer need me.”

Feyre opened her mouth, but it was Elain’s words that sounded beside her. “We’ll always need you, Nesta.”

Feyre turned to face her, and Elain reached for both her sisters’ hands, her doe-like eyes shining with concern. “We’ll always need each other.”

Neither of them said anything, and Elain released them with a sigh. “Your bath is ready, Feyre.”

Feyre rose from the table, stepping towards the bathroom before turning to face Nesta one last time. “Will you skin the turkey while I’m gone?”

With a small nod, Nesta stood as well. “Of course."

***

Elain had chosen a pretty dress, long and made of blue linen, though Feyre still thought she looked ridiculous. It didn’t help that her sister decided a braid would be most suitable for such an outfit, golden-brown and thrown over the side of Feyre’s shoulder. She wouldn’t be surprised if she got thrown in with the fourteen year olds.

When the alarm sounded, all thoughts of the dress and her hair evaporated from Feyre’s head.

“It’s time,” Nesta told them, already at the door.

Feyre took Elain’s hand and squeezed it once. Her sister did not answer.

They walked with the crowd, large and beige and never-ending. At least the spring breeze accompanied them, and, not for the first time in her life, Feyre was grateful Twelve rarely suffered a scorching sun.

Families moved slowly around them, an aura of whispers and murmurs hanging in the air as parents assured their kids that it would all turn out okay. Feyre had never wanted nothing more than to believe them.

“Feyre,” Elain said quietly, her jaw tight enough for Feyre to notice how hard she fought to keep it from trembling.

She squeezed her hand once more. “I’ll tell you what, Elain,” she said. “When we get back, we’ll each have another, small serving of the turkey. Okay?” she asked, and Elain nodded. “Good. It will give you something to look forward to. For the entirety of this Reaping, I want you to think of nothing but how good the food is going to be.”

“It was really nice,” Elain admitted.

Feyre smiled. “Exactly.”

“Peacekeepers,” Nesta warned beside them. They were getting close, the massive sign in the distance signalling they have reached the Hall of Justice.

“Wait, Nesta—” Elain began.

Nesta looked firmly into her eyes. “I’ll see you soon. Do not make a scene.”

With a hard swallow, Elain nodded.

And with that, Nesta moved aside to join the audience of grieving parents, siblings and friends.

“Elain,” Feyre told her one last time. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”

Elain exclaimed in shock as a white-dressed, masked man grabbed her arm, pulling them apart. She thrashed for only a second before realising she was being held by a Peacekeeper.

“Registration,” the man barked.

Elain nodded frantically, and Feyre dared one last look at her sister before joining her queue.

Moments later, she was greeted by a stern-looking woman whose expression reminded her of Nesta.

“Name.”

“Feyre Archeron,” she breathed.

It would be okay. She’d done this millions of times.

Without another word, the woman reached for her hand, pulling it toward her violently before pricking her finger to draw blood. Feyre hissed as she pressed the fresh cut to a piece of paper, right beneath an awfully bad photo of her, dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks more hollow than the deepest of Twelve’s mines.

Some things never change, Feyre thought bitterly.

With that, she joined her sector, taking her place somewhere in the middle—close enough to see the large, white screen set beside the stage, but far enough to not be able to make out the faces of the Hall’s officials, standing straight and dressed in grey.

The queues behind her shortened within minutes, and when the last child took their place in the audience, the screen lit up without warning.

“War,” a voice rumbled over the crowds, old and wise and with a hint of grandfatherly authority that she’d gotten to know so well over the years. “Terrible war.

“Such a vile, cruel act,” President Hybern’s words continued to sound over the speakers, with images of smoke and fire flaring up the screen one by one. “An act that pushed our country into its greatest trial.”

Another bomb set off with an amplified thud.

“Seventy-four years ago, the thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Their malevolence spreading nothing but hate and destruction over Panem.” Now, the screen showed the Districts—Seven and Ten, from what little Feyre could make out—with their Halls of Justice on fire, their buildings nothing more than gravel on the streets. Another image showed a woman holding a small child, crying out in agony over its lifeless body. “Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This,” the President emphasised over a clip of children weeping, “was the uprising that rocked our land until nothing remained.”

A girl standing beside Feyre sucked in a breath.

“And then came the peace,” the President’s voice was now calm, serene, as the screen displayed Eleven’s wheat fields, floating atop the wind’s gentle breeze. “A Capitol rose up from the ashes and created a new era of prosperity. Of love. Of family.” A child ran up to their mother, launching into her arms, both of them laughing in happiness.

“But peace comes at a cost,” Hybern warned. “Together as a nation, we swore we would never know such destruction again. Would never know such treason again.”

Feyre almost rolled her eyes, bracing herself for what was coming.

“And so it was decreed,” President Hybern announced proudly, “that each year, the Districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice.” A young man on the screen stood on a podium topless, his muscles glistening in the sun, as he threw up his hands in victory. “The lone victor,” the President continued, “bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of the Capitol’s generosity and forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future. This is how we stand together. As a family, as a nation. As Panem.”

With that, the video cut off.

Feyre had never heard the District’s centre be so silent.

And then, the door flung open, and a woman stepped in, her hands joined in a loud applause.

“Wasn’t this just beautiful?” she asked into the microphone at the stage’s centre, her voice dripping with syrup.

Feyre hadn’t seen her before—the Capitol must’ve sent someone new.

She was beautiful, to be sure—everyone in the Capitol was, or so the Districts were told, at least. Her face was covered with a thick layer of foundation so white she would have merged into the Hall’s wall behind her had it not been for her hair—crimson red, and long, falling in waves to her back and crowned with large black flowers Feyre had never seen in her life.

Feyre could just barely make out her face—nothing special, she decided. Dark eyes, straight nose. Pretty, she supposed, though she might have not been the best person to consult on such matters. Coal, on the other hand…

She didn’t even realise she’d snorted at her inner dialogue until the girl beside her elbowed her straight in the guts. She muttered a low “Ow!” before the girl’s glare told her all she needed to know.

Diverting her attention back to the crimson woman, Feyre listened again. “Now,” she crooned. “The time has come for us to select our courageous Tributes!” she clapped her hands again, and Feyre thought she had never seen a more idiotic spectacle in her life.

The woman winked, red-painted lips twisting in a smile. “If you were paying attention to the lovely video, you know we’re going to choose one lovely man and woman for the absolute honour of representing District Twelve!”

For a woman like her, Feyre supposed, everything must have been lovely. Even the imminent deaths of the two children she was about to hand-pick from her ridiculous crystal bowl.

“As always,” she winked again. “Ladies first.”

With a loud click of her heels on the wooden stage, she made way towards the bowl on Feyre’s right, a perfectly manicured hand dipping inside.

Feyre’s heard stopped. This was the time.

A few more seconds, and it will all be over.

Breathe.

Elain, I’ll let you have my extra serving, she swore in her head. Just let it all be over.

In the few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Feyre wondered if the bowl was made from real crystal, and if yes, if it had been her father’s dead hands that mined it.

And then, the crimson woman pulled out two cards.

She weighed them down in each hand, making a show of choosing before settling on the card on her left, the right card dropping back into the bowl.

Torturously slowly, she stepped back to the microphone and opened the card, her delighted smile now clear on the screen at the stage.

“The female tribute from District Twelve is…” She looked to the crowd, her eyebrows rising in feigned suspense. “Elain Archeron.”

No.

No no no no no no

“Elain Archeron?”

Please.

The ringing in her head was deafening.

“Where is the lovely Elain?”

Please.

Someone pushed Elain out of the crowd, her usually beautiful face now white as death.

Feyre’s whole body burned as she watched Elain move toward the stage on shaky legs.

“There you are! Oh, you’re gorgeous!” the crimson woman praised. “Come closer, dear, let us all have a look at you!”

A Peacekeeper pushed her closer, and Elain stumbled over a step.

Not Elain.

It couldn’t have been Elain.

It shouldn’t have been Elain.

No.

“No,” Feyre said out loud, her legs moving on their own accord. “No!” She shouted, pushing her way out of the crowd. “ELAIN!”

Elain’s head whipped back, and those doe eyes have never held such fear.

Two Peacekeepers reached her in seconds, holding Feyre back and into the crowd again. “No! LET ME GO!” Feyre trashed, kicking one of them in the shin.

She forced herself free.

“I VOLUNTEER!” Feyre shrieked with a strength her lungs had never known before.

Her entire body stilled, as if she’d surprised it just as much as the crowd around her.

“I volunteer as Tribute.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

“My, my!” the presenter wondered. “I believe we have a volunteer!”

The crowd began to murmur.

“Come on up, my dear.”

It had only been by Feyre’s sheer will that her feet carried her forward. She didn’t stop until she reached Elain, still frozen in place.

“Feyre,” Elain breathed, tears falling freely down her face.

“It’s okay,” Feyre whispered. “You’re okay.”

She didn’t know how she managed her way through the stairs and onto the stage, but within the next few moments, Feyre stood beside the crimson woman, her appearance even more ghastly up close.

“What is your name, my dear?” she asked.

Feyre looked over the crowd, her head still spinning.

Someone subtly cleared their throat beside her.

“What?” she turned toward the sound.

“I asked about your name, dear.”

“Feyre,” her voice was hoarse, and she swallowed hard. “Feyre Archeron.”

“Ah,” the woman acknowledged with a motherly nod. “And am I right in assuming that was your sister whose place you have just taken?”

Feyre nodded, her eyes still searching the crowd. “Yes.” Was Elain safe? Was Nesta? “Yes.”

“Well, Feyre Archeron, you are District Twelve’s first volunteer!” she turned to the microphone, addressing the crowd. “Such bravery. Such heart. Congratulations, lovely Feyre.”

Congratulations?

The woman clasped her hands together. “And now for the gentlemen!” she said happily, making her way to the other bowl.

Feyre’s heart sank as she realised her sisters were no longer in the crowd, and neither was Isaac. What happened to them? Where did they take them?

Oh, Isaac, Feyre thought. We should have ran away.

“The male Tribute from District Twelve,” the woman’s voice sounded loudly beside her again, shaking Feyre out of her daze, “is Tamlin Rosethorn.”

The florist’s son.

He stepped out of the crowd, pale yet standing tall and strong. His muscles reflected through his white shirt as he stepped onto the stage.

“Go on,” the woman encouraged with a smile. “Shake hands.”

Tamlin locked her hand in a tight grip, and as Feyre met his emerald gaze, she wondered if he would kill her first.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Tributes from District Twelve!” she exclaimed for the final time to no applause but the sound of Panem’s anthem playing over the speakers. “Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favour!”

“Come now,” she now addressed the two of them directly. “Inside.”

Feyre did not know how she got pushed into one of the Hall’s rooms and sat on a chair, the door locking her inside. “Wait here,” a muffled voice told her.

So Feyre waited.

An eternity, or maybe a second, had passed when the door opened again, two figures launching themselves in.

Feyre shot up from her seat.

“One minute,” the muffled voice told them.

Elain was sobbing as she threw her arms around Feyre’s neck. “Feyre. My beautiful Feyre.”

“Everything will be okay,” Feyre told her, forcing strength into her voice.

For Elain.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Feyre. I would’ve—”

“It’s done now,” Feyre said, pulling away to meet her sister’s gaze. “Listen, I don’t have much time.”

“Promise you will make it out,” Elain begged.

“I promise,” Feyre lied.

Her head now turned to Nesta, who began, “Feyre—”

“I need you to listen to me carefully,” Feyre cut her off. “My bow and arrows are hidden in the tallest oak tree in the forest, five minutes north of the fence by the house. Talk to Isaac. He will teach you how to shoot.” Nesta nodded, and for the first time, Feyre saw silver lining her sister’s eyes. “Take care of her.”

Nesta nodded again. “I always have.”

Feyre loosed a breath of relief. “I know,” she said, then pulled Nesta into their embrace.

“Time’s up,” someone said behind them, and Feyre took a step back.

“Try to win. Please,” Nesta told her.

There was nothing else to say, so Feyre said nothing. Soon, her sisters were escorted out.

“You only have thirty seconds,” a Peacekeeper told her, and another visitor appeared in the doorway.

“Isaac,” Feyre breathed, but he stopped her before she could waste their time with nothing but empty goodbyes.

“You can hunt,” he said, his eyes cleared and more determined than ever. “Use it.”

Feyre shook her head. “We both know I’m already dead, Isaac.”

He opened his mouth, but Feyre stopped him. “Take care of them. Please, promise that whatever you do, you won’t let them starve.”

At that, Isaac wrapped his arms around her. “I will,” he whispered into her ear. “I promise.”

They looked at each other one last time, and Feyre said, “We should’ve run away, like I told you.”

He offered her a sad smile. “You’d never leave your sisters, Feyre. Only death could ever stand between you.”

“Yes,” Feyre said, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I know.”

With that, Isaac left, and as the door closed quietly behind him, Feyre stepped into her new reality.

She was truly alone.

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