#i think i went too hard with the glow but eh whatever

[astral-schools]

"here's what they don't tell you about finally feeling powerful: it's never enough."

[twst-drabbles]

Jamil 17

Summary: You and Jamil lay in his bed in his dorm room. While you’re very tired, you’re visibly not bothered by the social implications of being in the bed of another. Jamil, on the other hand, is a little too aware.

(I saw the birthday card and went “eh, why not?” and wrote this.)

Was this something common in your world? Where, out of nowhere, people will just casually ask their friends if they can sleep with them in their bed? Because that’s what you did to Jamil. You approached him, luckily out of earshot from anyone important, and asked that very question with zero shame.

“Hey Jamil? Mind if I sleep with you in your bed tonight?”

Jamil will admit, it took him a good five seconds for him to register the words. And, he will also admit that he banged his knee against the table he was cleaning. Hit it so hard actually that he curled up into a ball, and practically retreated into his hoodie because why would you ask that?! In broad daylight?!

But you know what’s the worst part about all this? Jamil actually got excited. Giddy even! When the hot flush flooding through his body finally settled, all that was left was this glowing feeling.

At the time, he thought that his charms have finally got to you. That all his efforts to be in your good graces have begun to bear fruit.

And so he said, “You know what? Yes, let’s do that. Setting aside the way you asked that, I think I can find it in my heart to forgive that.”

Past him’s an idiot. For all those times he thought himself above the hormonal college students, turns out Jamil was no better. He supposed it was only a matter of time before he was humbled.

And so here Jamil lays on his side of the bed, dressed in his best pajamas, surrounded by the best sheets and pillows he uses for special occasions, and you laying on your stomach, reading the next chapter for one of your classes.

You came in with a tired wave, bag at hand, and flopped over in his bed. And you’ve been in that pose since.

“So, this was what you meant.” Jamil said. Now that his judgment is clear again after an hour of doing nothing, he really should’ve known you didn’t mean anything special by what you asked. Shame on him for expecting an extra meaning to them.

“Hmm? Oh, was the way I asked weird?” You glanced towards him. Jamil recognizes that exhausted look weighing in your eyes. Perhaps, through the rose-tinted glasses, Jamil didn’t notice. Once again, shame on him. Jamil should suffocate himself with these pillows. “Sorry about that. I just really want one good night of sleep. Just one.”

The urge to hit himself with the pillows lessened. Jamil moved onto his stomach, and copied your position, propping his chin on the pile. “Is there something wrong with your bed?”

You put your phone down. “Weather’s getting hotter and I still don’t have a working air con. It gets so humid at night that I sweat through the night. Can barely get more than three hours of sleep at a time.”

…of course the headmage would neglect to give you something as simple as a stable heating and cooling. Leave it to him to ignore your problems while he goes off doing whatever else. Probably binge watching an old drama that’s not even any good.

“I can’t imagine it’s been easy to deal with. Though, I have to ask, why my bed? You have others that you’re closer to, don’t you?”

Others such as Ace and Deuce, but Jamil didn’t want to say their names. It’s childish but he doesn’t want to see if your eyes light up at their mere mention.

You stretched your spine and settled down. “Yeah I know other people, but–how do I say this–they’ll make it weird.”

Weird? Like how Jamil preparing everything from the lights, to the blankets and even stuffing his drawer with extra wipes just in case wasn’t weird? What?

“Wait, what you mean by weird?” Now Jamil’s worried. Did something happen for you to say that? Did someone do something to you?

You waved off his concern. “Well, see, originally I was just going to ask Rook since he doesn’t mind sharing spaces with anyone, but he’s also very into cuddling and I’m not in the mood for that.”

“That’s true, he’s very open about that kind of thin–wait you cuddled him before?” Since when?

“Cuddled him plenty of times. Rook gives the best hugs without trying to flirt with me. Anyways, Rook wasn’t an option, and neither are Ace and Deuce since there’s no room to spare. There was Leona but after that whole ordeal with Azul, I really don’t want to go back there. And as for asking Azul himself… I feel like he’d charge me for that. So, here I am.”

Oh. Well, when putting it like that, it does make sense doesn’t it? So long as you don’t figure out exactly what went through his head when you asked. He’ll just keep quiet about that.

Jamil sighed into his pillow. “While I want to ask why you didn’t ask Kalim, but I know him too well. A peaceful rest isn’t something he can give, not with the way he sleeps.”

You patted his shoulder and it took everything in Jamil to not jump out of his skin. “You get it. So, yeah, thanks Jamil, for not saying no. Honestly, I was ready to find an empty classroom and just sleeping in there.”

Jamil narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that. You’ll get in trouble. Just sleep here for the time being. When I have time, I’ll see about pestering Crowley into getting everything in order.”

“You do too much for me, Jamil. Really.”

While things didn’t play out the way he wanted to, the warmth flooding in his chest has not once went away. If anything, from the sight of your smile, it threatened to overflow.

This is nice, that you trust him like this.

“…alright, this is still bothering me. How did you and Rook even start cuddling in the first place?”

And can he add himself onto that list of people you cuddle with?

“Hahaha, yeah that is strange, right? Alright, may as well tell you.”

[fissions-chips]

tether

———————————————————————

When Tim makes an intriguing discovery in the back of Jon’s closet, it leads to a discussion- and a new interest.

———————————————————————

(discussion of nsfw, but no explicit nsfw)

  “Eh, Timmy! Could you grab my tie for me?” 

   Tim turned his face from the mirror, fingers nonetheless continuing to comb through his raven-dark hair, tidying the locks into a smoother look more appropriate for the gala he would be attending tonight. Pausing a moment to straighten out his collar, he called back. 

   “Which one?” 

   For a moment, there wasn’t an answer- then, the face of Jon Spiro appeared in the bathroom doorway, the man silhouetted against the smooth marble furnishings. Tim could see a number of necklaces clutched in his hand, the gold links quietly clattering and shifting about as Jon seemed to mull it over, fingers idly tapping on the wooden doorframe.

   “Uh… do you think it’d be too much if I said one of the gold ones?” 

   Craning his neck, Tim took in his partner’s outfit- mostly white, as it always was, ghost-pale jacket and pants, his earrings halfway in. He seemed to be in the middle of picking out the rest of his jewelry, a process that took a considerable amount of time, given the volume of his collection of pieces to choose from- all of them gold. His dress shirt was a light, robin’s egg blue, however, and Tim thought about it for a moment. 

   “Hmm… I don’t think so. Let me see what I can find.” 

   Abandoning his position by the bedroom mirror, he made his way into the larger of Jon’s two closets, this one lined with countless white-to-near-white suits, coats and other dress attire. When Tim had first seen it, he had laughed- Jon was well-known for his preference for a pale suit, but the man hadn’t expected it to make up nearly all of his clothing. In time he had come to learn there were different shades, some warm and some cool, varying by the season and whatever Jon decided to pair them with- his dress shirts, vests and ties brought some color into the closet, and Tim knew his ‘home’ clothes had a bit more variety, but it still seemed slightly comical in his mind. He hardly had to turn the lights on, for god’s sake- the pale fabrics practically glowed in the dark.

   Crouching, Tim winced at the small thud his prosthetic made against the floor, brushing aside some of Jon’s winter coats. There, he found the dresser that contained the man’s dress shirts and ties. 

   Tim began to rummage through, trying his best to keep things tidy as he went- Jon insisted on folding his own laundry, his put-away clothing lacking the sharp lines and creases of the Fowls’ own, folded by a Butler’s hand. Jon insisted on some autonomy from others’ service- as he picked up and peered at each tie, Tim wondered if that was simply one of the many differences between the world of old money and the new. The hard part was simply finding what he was looking for: most of Jon’s ties were darker colors, bright pinks or purples to match with his vests. 

   Catching sight of a metallic gleam at the furthest corner of the drawer, Tim reached out, startling when his fingers brushed cool metal instead of silken fabric. Lifting a brow, Tim reached further in, hooking his fingers around the object and pulling it free, a small clatter filling the air as he did. 

   Oh.

   Tilting his head, Tim looked down at the collar hooked upon his hand. The strap was of perfect white leather, unscuffed and unmarked, and not particularly thick- running his fingers along the inside, however, Tim found it had been lined with a softer fabric. Evenly spaced around its outer side were small, golden studs, glittering in the dim closet. They matched with the solid buckle, what he had originally spotted. Running his finger over one of the studs, Tim found them to be true, solid gold, giving it a heavier feel in his hand than one would expect for a simple dog’s collar. Even the stitches were of glittering, gilded thread. This is exceptionally well-made. 

   “-im. Tim!” 

   The raven-haired man startled as Jon’s voice suddenly broke through his thoughts, heavy footsteps sounding against the bedroom carpet as his partner leaned into the closet, the distinct clinking and clattering of his gait signaling that he’d finally picked his jewelry pieces for the evening. “Did you happen to find that tie-“ 

   “I didn’t know you had a dog.” Tim interrupted, turning his head to find Jon’s eyes stretched wide, his mouth slightly slack-jawed as he stared down at the object held in Tim’s hands. His gaze flickered to Tim’s face, and then back again- the other man watched as Jon’s face flushed scarlet. 

   Oh. Sudden understanding struck him like a bolt of lightning. 

   “Oh my god,” Jon muttered- one hand lifted to cover his face, a strangled little laugh slipping through his fingers, sounding a little more like hysteria that humor. “Fuckin’ hell.” 

   “Uh-“ Tim found himself stammering, his own face warming as sudden, sharp awkwardness filled the small room. “Would I be… incorrect in assuming this is yours, then?”

   For a moment, neither moved or spoke- Tim’s question hung in the air unanswered, the raven-haired man settling back on his heels and turning his gaze pointedly to the wall. He heard Jon let out a long, quiet sigh from behind his hand. 

   “…Yeah. Yeah, it’s mine.” 

   Clicking his tongue, Tim looked down again at the collar, fighting the urge to turn it in his hand and observe it more closely. At another glance, he could see now that it was built to be comfortable, the padded fabric of the interior and the lack of a breakaway suggesting it was, indeed, not for an animal. He tilted his head in though. 

   Tim wasn’t a prude, certainly not- he’d heard of this sort of thing before, but it had never really crossed into his own realm of experience, even rough as he liked it. In all truth, he’d just never really given the concept much thought. A collar begets a leash, he mused. What must that be like?

   Turning his head, he could see the flush to Jon’s features had even reached the tips of his ears, the man still hiding his face from view. His brow furrowed at the thought of the other man’s embarrassment at his hand, however accidentally. “I had no idea- forgive me.” 

   Jon was silent for another moment, before Tim heard him mutter something, slowly lowering his hand from his face. “It’s not your fault,” he sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he looked firmly at the floor. “I had no idea that thing was still in there- I haven’t seen it in years. Sorry.”

   Hmm? Tim blinked back at him. In years?

   “You’ve nothing, really, to be sorry about.” He said with a small shrug. “I’ve just… learned something new. That’s all.” 

   Tim waited quietly for Jon to turn away, or snatch the collar out of his hand, or even just to ask about finding a gold tie again. It wasn’t like the man to linger on a topic too long, particularly not something he found embarrassing. Instead, however, he found that Jon didn’t move, his gaze still locked onto the carpeted floor. His expression was one of deep thought, arms absentmindedly crossed in front of his chest, one hand fiddling with one of his rings, spinning it in his fingers. 

   It was unusual for his partner, and so, despite himself, Tim found himself asking- 

   “Would you… like to talk about it?” 

   Jon stiffened. “Huh?” Finally lifting his head from the floor, his stare focused on Tim’s own. “Why would I want to talk about it?” 

   Tim blinked back at him, before looking back to the collar in his hands. “You seem to be thinking quite a bit,” he answered smoothly. For a moment, he tried to picture the pressure of it around his own throat, being clipped by a lead to someone’s hand. The thought brought with it a quiet flicker of warmth in the pit of his stomach, sparking his interest further. “And… I’m a little curious, myself.” 

   Jon’s brow furrowed further, and Tim was once more pulled from his thoughts by the realization that he was likely overstepping. It was hidden away- I doubt he wanted anyone to find it. Embarrassment of his own filled his chest, and Tim looked away.

   “Or, I- nevermind. I’ll put it back-“

   “Give it here.” 

   Tim paused as the shadow across him shifted- looking up, he found Jon with arm outstretched, hand open and waiting. Without thought, he handed over the collar, Jon hooking one finger through the ring on its front and looking down at it. He tilted his head, chewing his lip for a moment, brow still furrowed- then, he straightened, reaching out once again to Tim, still crouched on the floor. 

   Suddenly aware of the growing ache in his bad leg, Tim took his hand gratefully and was pulled upright, Jon briefly steadying him with a hand to his arm before he pulled away. 

   With that, Jon walked out of the closet, the loop of leather still hooked in his hand- Tim followed, watching as the other man sat on the edge of the bed before glancing up to look him in the eye. 

   “If you’re going to ask about it, I’d rather you just do it. It’s better than either of us just sitting on it.” 

   Tim winced. “Really, we don’t have to- you don’t really seem in the mood to answer anything at the moment.” 

   Jon sighed again- Tim watched as his fingers flexed, twisting into the fabric of the duvet beneath him. “It’s…” He started, voice stretched thin like a wire pulled taut. “It’s fine, I promise. I’m just surprised- I thought I threw that out.” 

   “…How come?” 

   Tim’s voice was quiet, gentle- when he had first realized what he had discovered, the raven-haired man had simply thought it an awkward moment. Something in the uncertainty in Jon’s face, however, suggested there was more going on here. He was curious, yes- that little spark of interest still twisted in his stomach at the thought of being leashed, of Jon being leashed… but it wasn’t truly worth the other man’s discomfort. 

   Despite the tension weighing thick in the air, however, after a moment, Jon dipped his head. “It’s something I used to like, yeah- getting clipped to a leash, collar, all that. Y’know what I’m like- that kinda thing feels good to me. It feels… intimate…” His voice trickled off, like he was trying to find the word. 

   “…Vulnerable?” 

   Jon startled, Tim’s suggestion taking him by surprise. Still, after a second of thought, he nodded, necklaces clattering as he moved. 

   “Yeah. Vulnerable. I liked that part. It felt good to be… I don’t know, tethered? Something about it kept me rooted in my own skin for a little while. Being told what to do, directed, not having to think for myself for once- it was good.” 

   As he spoke, however, his eyes darkened slightly. Jon looked down at the collar still held in his fingers, turning it over and over in his hands, running his fingers over the studs. 

   “But after a little while, I started to realize that everyone else… didn’t really feel the same way. It wasn’t about the closeness of it.” Tim watched as a look of frustration briefly flickered over Jon’s face, his lip curling slightly. “It was just novel- Jon Spiro, criminal billionaire and enemy of all, dragged around on a fuckin’ chain. People found it funny.” 

   The look of anger then shifted, Jon’s voice growing a little quieter- one hand crept up to his throat, idly rubbing at the space beneath his jaw. “And I guess it was kinda funny, maybe, but they were fuckin’ rough about it- and I didn’t want to be choked and shit. I didn’t know these people. I was just hooking up, half of em’ were my enemies at some point or another.” Dropping the collar beside him on the bed, Jon began to fiddle with his bracelets instead, spinning them around and around his wrist, the gold catching the light and glittering. 

   “At some point, it clicked that it wasn’t really… safe, to keep doing. I had more people who wanted to kill me than people who I’d call ‘friends’ and suddenly it just wasn’t fun anymore. It just felt stupid.” Jon swallowed, then, staring down at the floor with wide, unblinking eyes. 

   “It-it wasn’t what I wanted. I’m not a dog.”

   His throat dipped, a small shift in the shadows of his jaw warning Tim that Jon had begun to grind his teeth. Ice-white eyes softened as the man stepped forward, slow and quiet, seating himself on the bed next to the other and offering his hand- without a word, Jon leaned into his open palm, eyes falling shut as he accepted the touch without complaint. 

   “No, you’re not,” Tim murmured. His other hand took Jon’s in his own and gently pried his fingers open, slotting them between his own. Jon’s thumb ran along the edge of his palm, the man heaving another quiet sigh. “Of course you’re not. Forgive me- I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories, dear.”

   “It’s not your fault,” Jon answered in kind, his voice rumbling against Tim’s open palm. He could feel the brush of earrings against his fingers, of necklaces against his wrist. “It’s been years- things are different now.” 

   Now, I have you. Even unsaid, Tim understood. 

   For a moment, neither moved- then, Jon let out a thoughtful hum. When Tim glanced up, he saw that same flicker of uncertainty across his face, the man’s voice quiet when he spoke again. 

   “…M’ not…opposed to trying it again.” 

   His words were half-muffled against Tim’s palm- nonetheless, the raven-haired man’s eyes widened slightly, his own head tilting. His brow furrowed. 

   “If you wanted.” 

   Jon nodded. “If I wanted,” he repeated.  One eye opened a little, meeting Tim’s own. “Might be nicer this time. I trust you.”

   Sudden emotion crept up in Tim’s throat, and the raven-haired man glanced away. “An honor.” He replied. 

   Straightening, he looked down at the collar left discarded on the bed between them- idly, he picked it up, running his fingers over the leather once more. Fiddling with the buckle a bit, Tim unfastened it, stretching the leather out and admiring the way the golden studs caught the light. Desperate to dispel some of the tension still hanging in the air between them, he spoke. 

   “Where did you get this? It’s very well-made.” 

   Jon stirred. “Hmm? Oh- it’s custom. I know a guy.” A flicker of a grin danced across his face, brief vanity glittering in Jon’s eyes as he gave Tim a look. “You think I’d put anything like that around my neck that wasn’t hand-made just for me, eh?” He snapped his teeth in a quick little laugh, high and cricket-like. “That’ll be the day.” 

   The laugh trickled off slightly as he took in the way Tim was staring at the collar in his hands, eyes half-lidded, but focused with pinpoint precision on each stitch and stud. Blinking owlishly, Jon started when Tim spoke again. 

   “What’s it like? Wearing it, I mean.”

   Tim, absentmindedly, began lifting his hands, intending to settle it around his own neck and fasten it- instead, however, he found it plucked from his fingers by Jon’s own. He looked up to find the other man slowly fastening it around his throat. His hands fastened it without looking with practiced ease- there was only the slightest hesitation of movement as he slipped it through the buckle. 

   “Look-“ Getting Tim’s attention, Jon held up two fingers and slipped them beneath the collar’s edge, flat against his throat. “Two fingers. No tighter.” Jon’s gaze was not on Tim’s own- he looked away, nonetheless continuing to speak as the other man shifted closer. 

   “The inside’s padded to make it comfortable, but you still need some breathing room. Other than that, it just kinda sits there.” Setting his thumb against one of the studs, Jon gave the collar a little push, spinning it around his neck with a small clinking sound. “And that’s pretty much it. After that point it’s up to whatever you want to do with it… ta-da.” He waved one hand in a small attempt of showmanship. Head bowed slightly, he gave Tim a look. 

   “How’s it look?” 

   Tim tilted his head, looking the other man up and down- ice-bright eyes half-lidded, the man flashed Jon a small smile. “Magnificent as ever- it suits you.” Then, he lifted a brow, the small smile taking on a note of humor. “It matches your outfit.” 

   Eyes widening, Jon barked a laugh, the sound quiet and sharp in the still air between them. “It does! It really-“ He paused, suddenly taking note of Tim’s outstretched hand, the other man leaning close, his gaze locked on the ring looped through the front of the collar. 

   Jon balked- Tim froze, expression shifting to one of apology as he realized what he had been about to do, without thinking. Glancing down, he watched as the other man’s fingers twisted into the duvet beneath them. Sudden awkwardness seized him, and Tim leaned back. “I…” 

   “It’s fine.” 

   Jon’s voice had a note of tension to it, thread pulled too sharply and threatening to snap completely- despite this, Tim watched as he turned his head away, moving no closer, but no longer flinching away either. Instead, the man waited patiently, shoulders stiffening at the sensation of Tim’s finger slowly hooking itself around the ring. The collar settled heavier against his neck, but the raven-haired man didn’t pull, and Tim saw a look of surprise flicker across his face.

   Then, slowly, a faint flush crept up his features, some of the tension melting away from Jon’s frame. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly- Tim could feel the slight dip of movement beneath his hand, and a quiet sort of warmth filled his chest and spread, down to the tips of his fingers. He thought, for a moment, of the roles reversed, he himself hooked on Jon’s hand and held there…Oh. I get it now.

   “Why’re you so interested in this anyway?”

   Tim was broken out of his thoughts by the rumble of the other man’s speech- Jon was looking at him now, one brow lifted slightly. Absentmindedly, he had taken Tim’s hand in his own, running his thumb along the fire-marked scarring that etched its way down the side of his palm. He, still, hadn’t pulled away.

   “Hmm? Oh-” Tim blinked back at him. “Well… I did say I was curious. This fascinates me. I’d like one.” 

    Jon stared back at him for a moment. Then, the words sank in, and his eyes widened. “Uh… oh. Oh. Yeah.” He swallowed. “You can get one.” 

   “We could pick up something on our way back?” 

   Jon’s brow furrowed- then, the other man gave him a sharp look. “Timmy, I’m not getting you one from a store.” 

   “But-“ 

   “Babe, no. I’ll get you a nice one, made just for you.” Tim felt a sharp tap against his chest as Jon jabbed a finger at him- then, the same hand drifted upwards, coming to rest at the joint between neck and shoulder. Jon peered at him, as if picturing something.

   “Maybe something with a little crescent moon on it, eh, Artemis? Something fancy- something expensive~”

   Tim hummed, mulling it over. He couldn’t lie- there was a vague appeal to him at the thought of wearing something bought from a store for someone’s hound. Tim didn’t mind the thought completely. But… he liked expensive things. He liked knowing he was expensive- and he knew Jon liked it too.

   “Perhaps.” 

   The other man watched him for a moment, one hand still on Tim’s own, the other resting near his collarbone- then, with a sigh, Jon pulled Tim’s fingers from the collar and stood, beginning to unfasten it. Tim was sorry to see it go. The man flashed him a sharp-toothed grin.

   “Well- least we know now that gold’ll work just fine, eh?”

— — — — — 

   “Jon?” 

   “Hmm?” 

   Tim didn’t turn his head to look at the other, focused instead on fixing his own tie (cobalt blue, to match his vest). Knotting it firmly and tucking it beneath his vest’s edge, he turned and leaned against the bathroom counter, watching as Jon finished his own tie, the metallic gleam of the golden fabric shining dully in the lights from above. 

   “Can I tell Butler?” 

   Jon froze, his fingers pausing mid-tying as his head whipped around, fixing Tim with an incredulous stare. “W-What?” He sputtered. “No!”

   Tim leaned back slightly, but didn’t protest, brows raised as he blinked back at Jon coolly. He didn’t answer, instead turning his gaze back at the far wall, hopping up onto the bathroom countertop. Three…two…

   “…Why?” 

   Tim tilted his head. “Two reasons,” he counted, holding up two fingers and ticking them off as he went. He could tell by the slight flush to Jon’s face that he had piqued his interest. “One, Butler is going to be curious as to where this new interest of mine has come from. I won’t tell, truly, if you’re uncomfortable with it- but he will wonder.” 

   Jon’s expression fell into the sort of half-frown Tim knew to be the other man acknowledging he might be right. “And the other?” He pressed. The red flush to his face sharpened slightly, and the other man knew he had him on a similar train of thought already.

   Tim flashed him a sharp-toothed smile of his own. “Two… Butler has two hands- perfect for two leashes. You and me- am I making my thoughts clear?” 

   “…Fine. Fine.” 

   “You see my vision.” 

   “Yeah, yeah-“ Jon reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping away at it for a moment- summoning their driver, Tim realized. 

   “C’mon, enough talk- we got somewhere to be.” 

[dilucslittleangel]

Il Dottore S/O HC's (nsfw warning)

(part 1 out of..??)

When the relationship first started, I'd rather like to think he doesn't know much about...good love. But the longer it went on, the more he learned and accepted.

Dottore mostly doesn't want you to be in his lab while he is experimenting. Either because if anything does go wrong you don't get hurt or..you don't mess up anything in his lab.

Since I believe he's from Fontaine, perhaps French nicknames? Examples: ChouChou(sweetie), Mon Ange (My Angel), Mon Chéri(m)/Chérie(f) (My darling), Ma moitié (my half, as in 'my better half').

As possesive as he is, whenever he has the time to, he'll follow you around anywhere (even if you don't want it)

As that mf is responsible for the ruin gards, he'll send one of to carry you to him, no matter where you are or in what situation you are.

You're probably the only one who gets to see what's under his mask the entire time when it's just you and him.

If he'd be away for studying more things to better his experiments, he'd send you letters everyday, expecting you to send one back.

He isn't one to say "I love you" in an direct way. More like things as: "You're mine" "I'll protect you" "Stay safe.." would be things he'd say. The only time's he'd probably say it is when you'd be almost falling asleep or just woke up. If you'd ask him about it, he'd deny he did so.

Dottore would..hate it if you'd call him by his actual name in a joking manner. He wants you to take him serious all the time...but you still degrade and bully each other.

As weird as it sounds.. He wants you to use his shampoo. He wants you to smell like him, perhaps he'd use yours.

He'd make sure you'd always eat and drink, if you'd just skip one meal (even if by accident), he'll force it down on you. He also isn't one who likes the cheapest of food, he'd always take you to expensive restaurants or cook a good healthy meal by himself.

He likes it when you sit on his lap while he does paper work. Your closeness gives him comfort, even if he doesn't realize it.

He could go off talking hours about his experiements and researches, loving it when you listen to it even if you don't understand half of it.

If you'd ever get lost, you'd needn't fear. Dottore one time build you and him a ring that would glow if you'd be nearby, it could also send out a small sound to alarm if one of you would need the other, no matter in what situation.

Unexpected rose banquet presents.

If something is bothering you, he'll just say it. Dottore doesn't like secrets.

Dottore loves you a lot, even if he doesn't show it in an physical way. He'd be one to give you things to show you he loves you, such as buying lots of things he thinks that fit to you. He has the money for it, so why not?

Though all secretly, he loves hugs from behind, cheek kisses and chest stroking.

Whenever he isn't busy all night to work, he'll cuddle with you in bed. When he has his mask off, his arms wrapped around you, you know he's actually a good hearted person deep inside.

If someone ever wrongs you, he'll take care of it.

If you aren't a fatui harbinger yourself or weren't strong enough, he'd rather keep you away from the other harbingers, or even keep you a secret.

If you can't take care of yourself, he'll do that.

„Je t'aime toujour, ma chéri/e...”he whispered as you were mere seconds away from drifting into the dream realm. His strong, but cold, arms around your body. Did you just imagine those words coming from the mouth of his?

Nsfw

Expect his sexual needs to come and go. He may not want sex at all and will completely brush you off. He’s difficult to read.

Funny to say, but he likes it when you degrade him during intimate times to show you the different.

He loves to get you all worked up until you’re practically on your knees begging for him. Fuels his ego.

When you're in his lab when he's just doing paper work, he'll torture you if you mess up any of his paperwork laying on the table neatly, even if it was just an inch.

He'll let you sit under his table, where he does his paper work, to suck him off while he works.

That man for sure has sharp teeth, so bloody 'love bites' are guaranteed.

•As kinky as Dottore is, he’s honestly not a sex freak, not even at all. He almost never fantasizes about sex throughout the day. He doesn’t find porn sexy, doesn’t look at magazines. Even if his partner is wearing a skimpy outfit he’s like "eh, whatever." That sort of stuff just doesn’t do anything for him. (had to edit here, pardon me.)

However...He pretty much demands eye contact. He needs to see your watery eyes staring up at him.

Whenever he takes you, it'll be deep and fast times. He'll often jokingly chuckle how pathetic you look when you feel close.

Tied up hands probably are a thing for him, bondage sometime's too but not all the time but he likes to see you having a hard time.

Master kink. Please.

“Oui, donne-moi tout, ma chéri/e. Juste pour moi, s’il vous plaît...”

Aftercare definitely is a thing he'll always do though, even if he isn't much of a deep romantic guy. Your well being is a big priority to him. He'll clean everything up, lay you down in his bed in his room and make sure you won't leave it till you've fully recovered. He'd even put his work on second spot to watch over you, something he doesn't always do. Usually his work and experiments are really important to him.

[thera-daydreams]

INDAY

± A Trese Fic ±

[Crispin/Basilio/Maliksi/Dominic x Skymaiden!Reader]

01: Noon at Ngayon (✓)

02: Ang Kambal na Anak ni Datu Talagbusao, Diyos ng Digmaan (Link)

03: Ang Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang (Link)

04: Ang Pinuno ng Mga Aswang (Link)

05: (Link) 06: (Link) 07: (Link)

01: Noon at Ngayon

Back then, long before you were born, your mother used to work as a katulong of the Trese Family and was very close to its matriarch, Miranda Trese. Coming from the province, she was no stranger to superstitions—even more so after knowing the work of Miranda's husband Anton Trese, who was actually the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila.

Years later, after giving birth to you around the same time Miranda gave birth to her twins (one a stillborn, unfortunately), it was you and Alexandra who became best buddies instead, as different your personalities were. You two had practically grown up together and you yourself heard countless stories of the supernatural from your Tito Anton. It wasn't that hard to believe when he and his sigbin companions would sometimes come home tracking blood prints on the floors (which you'd helped your mother clean up). Heck, you'd even met Señor Armanaz, the Great Stallion himself and the ruling tikbalang of the Armanaz herd. That pretty, white-haired diwata seemed extremely fond of you, too, which was evident when you'd sneak in with Alexandra to Tito Anton's meetings and she would smile (even wave) at you happily.

You had absolutely no idea why the fae-like lady was so nice to you, but you weren't complaining at all!

However, in spite of your experiences with the supernatural, you and your mother always believed that you were normal humans. In actuality, that was who you were for the majority of your childhood. It was only until Miranda herself saw a vision of you—a much older you—fighting the monsters of the Underworld alongside her own daughter. During dinnertime, Miranda told your mother that she saw you blessed by the heavens with powers that would aid in the battle against evil.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, right? Yeah, your mom thought so, too.

Your mother only laughed it off as she placed a steaming bowl of tinola in front of Alexandra's brothers, who instantly dug in like they haven't been fed in years.

"Boys! Dahan-dahan lang," Anton reprimanded his sons. "Or else you'll choke and the soup will come out of your noses!"

"Okay, Papa."

"Grabe ka naman, Miranda. I doubt that anything like that's going to happen to my daughter," your mom chuckled, watching your little hands try to feed Alexandra with a piece of chicken. "Unlike you guys, our lineage isn't anything special. Ordinaryo lang ang lahi namin."

Miranda sighed, looking at you and her only living daughter enjoying your time being kids, "I guess you're right. Baka panaginip lang talaga 'yun."

Anton glanced at her knowingly. Although he was aware that you and your mom didn't dabble in magic or anything like they did, he knew that whenever Miranda—one of the Seven Seers—had such vivid dreams, it was something of great importance. But he decided to say nothing, understanding how much your mother wanted to let you live as normal of a life possible in this household.

That was when you were seven years old. One year later, Miranda died fighting against a group of aswang who decided to betray Anton. Said man found the eight-year-old Alexandra hiding in a corner behind the waterfalls, scared and holding Sinag close to her heaving chest as she tried to hold her tearful sobs in.

Of course, a few days later, you and your mother attended the funeral with the mourning Trese family. All the brothers had done their best to stay strong, especially for their little sister who didn't fully understand yet what just happened. Little you ran towards Alexandra, holding her hand tightly as her mother's casket was lowered. Around you were various comrades, both human and non-human, paying their respects to their bereaved allies.

That day, as you turned your back to return to your mother's arms, you knew you would never forget the feeling of numerous unearthly eyes following your every movement.

Even they could sense that there was something about you, a so-called regular human child. You smelled human and had the aura of one, but there was something they couldn't place. It was like a tiny rock getting into your shoe, not coming out at all.

Much changed after that, but you and Alexandra remained close together. To your dismay, just after you graduated elementary, you and your mother had to move back to the province to stay with your sick grandparents. The last thing you could remember was kneeling in the back of the car, looking sadly through the rear windscreen as Alexandra and her brothers waved goodbye to you.

More than a decade had passed since then. You used to write letters to Alexandra, but after Hank told you she had to undergo the trials of the Puno ng Balete, you haven't heard from her (although Hank did disclose that she'd managed to come home safely, which was a great relief to you). You didn't blame her; you knew Tito Anton had passed away in the five years she was gone and that she had to take over the title of Lakan, as well as the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila. It was a demanding job! You remembered Tito Anton sometimes staying up all night—breakfast would be served and he would still be in his study, going over paperwork. On other days, he would be gone for consecutive nights handling cases all around Manila. You could only pray Alexandra was fine.

Your life had continued on, as well—you took care of your ill grandparents until they died, helped your mother in the province, went to a good highschool, then earned your degree in another prominent city that wasn't Manila.

Your mom actually recommended that you go to school somewhere else, given the constantly rising number of attacks in the capital of the country. And so you did. Life was hard, but normal until then.

The funny thing was that, when you reached the age of twenty-one, you finally understood why those supernatural creatures kept looking at you weirdly as a kid (and why Lady Diwata liked you so much).

What was even funnier was that the dramatic revelation came to you when you weren't in the Philippines. It was after you freshly graduated college, when you were traveling all over Asia to volunteer in charity projects. It was always your dream to one day expand your horizons not only beyond your province, but the Philippines itself, while also doing good in the world.

And here you were, walking that path you dreamt of.

The organization you luckily managed to become a member of provided everything you needed, and every few months, you would move from country to country. Because of that, you'd already been able to travel to so many places. First it was Thailand, then Indonesia, China, South Korea, India, Japan, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, and currently, you were in Vietnam. Visiting those places was fun and gave you a whole new perspective of the world you lived in; it was a... learning experience, too.

Still, that incident happened when you were in Thailand, when you were the last one in the rented apartment balcony taping up the boxes for the donation drive tomorrow. Yawning, you cut more duct tape and stuck them to the open boxes tightly.

"Inday," someone said from behind you. You didn't bother turning around, thinking it was one of your fellow volunteers looking for you this late at night. Probably your roommate. She was the only one who usually called you by your nickname instead of your real name.

"Hmm?" you hummed, taping up more boxes. "Papasok na ako sa kwarto, Lyn. I just have a few more boxes to close. Alam mong mapapagalitan ako kung may hindi madidistribute bukas."

"Hindi ako si Lyn."

You paused, then slowly turned around, flinching at the sudden bright light that shone right against your eyes. For a moment, akala mo namatay ka na at hinaharap mo si San Pedro.

It was a glowing figure in white whose face you couldn't clearly see, which frightened you even more.

"Ay, mama!" you exclaimed, shielding your eyes and falling to your knees. Then, you gasped loudly, patting your body and panicking with closed lids. "Oh my God, am I dead? Nasa heaven na po ba ako?" Your lips wobbled. "Ngayon pa nga lang ako nakaalis ng Pilipinas... I haven't even done all the things I've wanted to do! Hindi pa ako nakapagpaalam sa nanay ko—aray!"

You'd felt something hit the back of your head. Hard. It was the glowing figure in white, but now you could see their unimpressed face scowling at you.

"Kalma lang, Inday. Hindi ka pa patay, pero makinig ka nang mabuti," they shushed you urgently (you weren't sure if they were male or female). "Do not be afraid. I am a messenger from the heavens, and I bear great news!"

"Great news...?" you trailed off, then your eyes widened excitedly. "Like, nanalo ba ako ng lotto? Isang milyon? Bilyon? Hala! Wait, is this a Mama Mary moment? I'm not ready to be the next immaculate conception!"

They glared at you, making you shut up instantly. "Sorry, I'll shut up now," you apologized with a mumble. This person (thing?) was kind of... strict. Whatever did you do wrong? You were just sleep-deprived and running on energy drinks (as well as kape).

"I have come to tell you that you are the vessel of the last skymaiden," they revealed, arms wide open. The light around them seemed to grow even brighter, making you squint. You felt like you were about the go blind! "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N L/N."

At ayun, zero brain cells remaining. Tunay na nagloading screen ang brain mo. Nag-error at nagcrash pa nga siguro, eh.

"... Ha? Ano?"

You blinked, completely speechless—as seen by how wide your jaw had dropped open. It wasn't that you were unfamiliar with the biraddali, it was just that you'd only heard of them once when you were just a young child. Your Tita Miranda had mentioned they were long gone from the world of the supernatural.

"Oh no, me? A biraddali? You're joking," you stuttered out, pointing at yourself. "Aren't they extinct or something? And, uh... not human?"

They nodded, "Yes. It is correct that everyone in the mystical world thought that the biraddali were long gone, even before the colonizers came to conquer the native lands. However, before the skymaidens all disappeared, the youngest and most powerful one among the seven sisters sealed her soul away to the rivers of time until the strength of a heavenly being was needed to help purify the evils of the world." The figure floated closer to you. "That last biraddali's soul, along with its corresponding power, traits, and knowledge, had chosen to reside deep within you the moment you were conceived."

Honestly, how were you even supposed to react? Your life was nowhere near ready for something like this. Was this a prank by your friends? Your colleagues? The light around this person seemed too authentic to be fake, though.

You stayed in shock for an entire minute, silent. The being in front of you only waited for a response.

"Ano 'to, Sailor Moon? Winx Club?" you whispered to yourself, before slapping your own cheek and scolding yourself. A stinging red mark was left on your face. "Inday, kakamanhwa mo 'yan! Nasosobraan ka na ata, matulog ka na!"

Sighing heavily, you rubbed your face tiredly, still in disbelief that you—according to this stranger—were apparently some old soul from a species of ethereal beings that were long gone. It sounded like something out of those reincarnation webnovels you got addicted to. What now, you were the MC? Wattpad ka, girl?

"Look, this is a mistake. I still have to wake up early tomorrow to give out the donations," you spoke to the glowing being (or whatever it was), laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Either that or I must be hallucinating from sleep deprivation, because I'm definitely not a divine creature. You're probably just a product of my imagination. Sorry, I'm going to bed."

Bang!

At that moment, the power in the building went out. The only thing you could see was the thing who assumed you were a biraddali (they were so bright they were like a flashlight in the dark for you).

"Brownout?" you blinked. It felt wrong, though. It was eerily silent. "Did a fuse blow up?"

"Nagsimula na ang iyong unang pagsubok, Y/N," they announced seriously. "Creatures of the dark have already begun to take over this building. You may not have noticed, but all throughout your life, you have always been helping and giving. It is your nature as a being descended from the heavens themselves, and now, it is time for you to accept your destiny."

"Hoy, sandali lang! Sandali, sandali!" You were absolutely wide awake now as you heard the sounds of strange whispers around you. It was terrifyingly creepy, much creepier than whatever you'd seen back in the Trese Residence (and you'd seen a lot in that house). You did not want to be a part of a horror movie-like lifestyle. "Don't I have a choice in this?! I—I don't have any training or fighting skills! Hindi ako Alexandra Trese o Babaylan-Mandirigma! I'm not ready for this, holy sh—"

The candescent creature raised a brow at you, "Inday, I just told you that you have the power of a lost mystical being. And tell me, if you had the power to save your companions in this building from the forces of evil, would you save them?"

You were silent, knowing the answer.

"Well?" they prodded.

You bit your lip, "Oo naman. I'm not heartless!" But you were a little impulsive. And apparently, insane.

"That's what I thought. I just need you to believe in yourself," the being encouraged, gentler this time. It transformed into something smaller and rounder—like a ball of light. "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N, at marami kang kapangyarihan. Isa dito ay ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan, lalo na laban sa masasamang nilalang."

Bestie, what had you just gotten into?

You swallowed apprehensively, then nodded in determination, "Sige. So, how do I save the people in the building? Biraddali were said to be able to shapeshift, right? If I remember the tale correctly. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening to me right now."

"That's just one of your abilities, but I'll teach you. I'm actually your guide," they replied confidently. "With me, you'll be able to master your powers and exceed your capabilities in no time!"

"Wait! Anong pangalan mo?" you asked breathlessly, following them as they speedily flew out of the room. "Grabe, slow down! I'm not athletic! I haven't even exercised this week, goodness."

"... Gabay. Ako si Gabay."

Despite the adrenaline and fear running in your veins, you still grinned up at the ball of light, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Gabay."

This was just the beginning of your supernatural combat training abroad. When you returned to the Philippines three years later, you were stronger, faster, and more powerful than you'd ever felt before. It was crazy.

Oh, that guy who tried to rob you when you came back to Manila was crazy, too. The two identical-looking men in dark suits and white ties—you wondered how they were surviving the heat in that attire—could only watch in awe as you chased down that man who stole your bag while doing acrobatics and parkour.

"Uy, Kuya Crispin, sino kaya 'yun?"

"Ewan ko, Basilio."

"... She's kind of pretty. Type ko. Type mo rin ata."

"The more important question is, paano niya na nahuli ang magnanakaw?"

"Oo nga, no? One in a million chance 'yan dito sa Maynila, haha! Ang astig ni ate!"

(Next Chapter.)

± Author's Notes ±

Ayieee, type daw tayo ng kambal! 😌

How the hell did I write this entirely random thing in one day? 2k+ words? Ano daw? 😃⁉️

You know, this was supposed to just be a Trese one-shot or a bunch of drabbles for the characters I'm currently simping for... but it turned into a full-blown, shameless self-insert slash crackfic. Kakacellphone ko 'yan. 🤦‍♀️

Nagresearch pa ako ng articles about Filipino skymaidens because I wanted something similiar to the Japanese celestial maidens (tennyo). Very random idea but why not? Gusto ko ng badass Y/N na hindi takot lumaban sa mga mumu! 👻

Also, pagbigyan niyo nalang ang matandang 'to kasi ilang taon na akong hindi nagpopost ng mga writings ko. May track record pa naman ako bilang author na hindi nagtatapos ng mga fanfic, hehe. I also haven't read the comics so please forgive me for any inaccuracies and of course, misspellings/errors. Gusto ko lang matapos 'to para makakabalik na ako sa Jujutsu Kaisen. 🥲😗

Anyways, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Hit those heart, reblog, and follow buttons for updates! Just comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. ❤

[mymelodyheart]

Save The Date Chapter 9 ~London Watch~

Previously in Three Hearts ...

Jamie woke up to find Claire still fast asleep, and her arm draped across his middle. The trip, their long discussion and lovemaking must have worn her out. He knew he'd pushed too hard to get her to talk, but it was the only way to get as much information about the stalker as he could from his stubborn woman. It might have amounted to nothing but the fact that she'd open up about her fears was a huge step. 

Careful not to rouse Claire, he slid out of bed, put on some clothes and made his way to the living area. He had a plan that required to be set in motion before he made dinner, and Claire woke up. As a former soldier for SAS, he'd been trained to always anticipate an attack. This might not be in the war zone and the stalker, just some harmless man who had a crush on Claire, but this was one encounter he wanted to be prepared for. With their trip to London coming soon, he had to do something.

Grabbing his suitcase, he pulled out his laptop and set to work. 

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 Jamie inspected the turnout gathering around the foyer and wished he and Claire were somewhere else a little bit less crowded, having their own intimate dinner. Mary Hawkins' book release announcement and after-party were supposed to be the turning point in Claire's as well as Tom's writing career. He knew the bigwigs of the literary and entertainment world teemed the venue, and Claire and Tom were there to be seen to help endorse their soon to be released books and put Dreamcatcher Publishing company once more into the spotlight.

He handed the cloakroom attendant Claire's shawl and guided her through the crowd. Placing a possessive hand on the small of her back, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. "You followed John's advice way too literally, Sassenach," he whispered. "When he said ye needed to be seen, he didnae mean ye have to catch every bloke's attention in the room in that dress."

Her rouged lips broke into a wide smile as her hand smoothed over her tummy, a subconscious act she'd been doing a lot ever since she'd found out she was pregnant. The simple red off the shoulder pencil dress that went down past her knees would have been understated and modest if the soft material didn't showcase every curve of her body to perfection, revealing just the right amount of cleavage enough to tantalise. Her feet were encased in delicate strappy four-inch heels making her legs look a mile long, and her hair fastened high on her head, with wisps of tendrils spilling around her ears and caressing the back of her neck. Her creamy skin glowed against the fabric of the dress, and her eyes shone with anticipation.

She turned to face him and glanced up to meet his gaze. "I wore this dress for you," she said, letting out a soft exhalation of breath. 

"Did ye now? For a moment there, I wasnae so sure," he teased.

"I can't allow you to have wandering eyes." Her hands coasted over his chest and rested on his shoulders. "And as for you, my love, you don't even need to try. You always look dashing in whatever you choose to wear."

Jamie looked down at his own attire. He'd opted to wear a black dress shirt underneath his blazer and dark jeans for the occasion, forgoing to adhere to formal wear protocol of suits and ties. "Not too shabby for ye?"

She shook her head as she appraised him. "Not at all. In fact, you look ruggedly handsome. Kind of sexy when you break the rules. It suits you and no pun intended."

He couldn't help but grin. "Handsome, eh? Didnae think ye'd noticed with all the menfolk here all primped up, smelling like they'd bathed in cologne and strutting around like peacocks.

"Oh, I definitely noticed." She smiled. "And so did a lot of lassies."

He kept his gaze on her, not interested in finding out whether she was stroking his ego or not. "Ye ken well, I only have eyes for ye."

"And so do I." She hooked her arm to his and patted his forearm. "So shall we then?"

Jamie led Claire through the gilded double doors that opened into a massive open space and instantly noticed Claire's friends, former work colleagues, and John Grey assembled in a group. Wanting to dodge the bedlam of greetings, introductions and small talks for as long as possible, he steered Claire towards the bar, where he ordered her a virgin mojito and a single malt for himself. 

A five-piece band played a lively tempo in the background, enticing guests to fill the dancefloor as waiters in their elegant black and white uniform enthusiastically served Champagne, canapés and hors d'oeuvres. As he scanned the room, he was momentarily blinded by the ostentatious display of men in their designer suits and women in an array of shimmering silks and satins. Everyone seemed perfectly done up, from their sun-kissed skin, refined dialogue to their artificial smile.

Jamie realised a handful of celebrities and TV network moguls were in attendance, and some were rubbing elbows with Mary Hawkins. He wasn't surprised. After all, she'd had several bestselling novels under her belt and had a massive worldwide following. He wondered how many production companies had approached her to discuss making her books into a movie or TV series. Apparently, Mary had been offered several attractive propositions in the past, but she was careful to settle. She'd heard far too many accounts of books making it into movies or TV series and ambitious screenwriters deviating from the author's storyline. Though Mary understood changes were necessary for film adaptations, she didn't want her work ripped apart just for the sake of ratings. If her books were going to be made into a film, it had to be mainly on her own terms.

He watched Claire as she sipped her nonalcoholic cocktail and surveyed the room with wide eyes. So far, she seemed at ease and didn't seem perturbed, probably too awestruck with all the hype going on around her. He ought to relax too and enjoy their evening. He'd done what he needed to do, albeit over the top, and Claire was safe. 

Before they'd left Broch Mordha, Jamie had enlisted the help of his former SAS comrade, turned private investigator, Taran MacQuarrie, also known as Taz. Taz was based in London and had strong affiliations to Scotland Yard and MI6, making him the best option for the job. So when Jamie had received the report of the background check on all employees of Dreamcatcher and the guests invited to Mary's book press release after-party, he'd been relieved to find out everyone had come up clean, including his main suspect, Alex Randall.

But why did it felt wrong to be here? They might be in a roomful of polished people, but it didn't mean there weren't any characters with unsavoury intentions in their midst. Once again, Jamie dispelled his dark thoughts and tried to relax.

"Ye ken we dinnae have to stay long if it all gets too much." 

Claire glanced at him looking surprised, her glass suspended halfway to her lips. "We just got here." Her expression suddenly turned worried. "Are you alright?"

He hurried to explain. "Oh, aye, of course. It's just that, aah ..." He did his best to look composed as more guests arrived. "I was just thinking about your condition and the baby."

Her face spread into a slow smile as she put her drink down at the bar counter. "Aww, look at you ...having a midwife crisis."

Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets. "Very funny. So ...when are we telling our family and friends about our baby?"

"Well, since I'm not showing yet, and if you don't mind, I want to keep this for ourselves a little bit longer." She lit up when something caught Claire's attention over his shoulder. "I'm fairly certain Mary wouldn't want me stealing her thunder tonight, even if your intention is only to let everyone know I'm yours. Especially Alex. And speaking of the devil, he is coming our way, and I would appreciate it a lot if you could be nicer to him."

Biting his tongue, Jamie turned to see Alex Randall heading in their direction. Automatically, he slid a protective arm around Claire's bare shoulders and stiffly nodded in acknowledgement.

"Jamie!" Alex greeted, playfully letting out a low whistle of approval at the sight of Claire. Alex Randall had been an editor at Dreamcatcher long before Claire joined the publishing company and was well-liked by his peers for his laid back manner and over the top chipper disposition. Too bad Claire liked the smug-looking bastard too.

"Alex," Jamie responded.

"Aah, the epitome of Lady in Red." Alex took Claire's hand and twirled her around before giving her a kiss on both cheeks. "Look what you've done. I now have that mental soundtrack playing in my head. I have a very bad feeling it won't stop unless we dance to it later. So what do you think? Want to help out this poor chap when you have a moment? That's, of course, if Jamie wouldn't mind."

Claire let out a hearty belly laugh. Though it wasn't one of those measured smiles or soft giggles he'd often seen in women flirting, he didn't know whether to be bothered by her delight at Alex's smooth line or captured by her open beauty. One thing for sure, he didn't like it one bit that Alex had made her laugh.

"Very slick, Alex. Very slick, indeed," she gasped, wiping a tear at the corner of her eye. 

Jamie couldn't help but scowl, but Alex just chuckled, a flash of mischief crossing his face. "Just wanted to grab the opportunity to hang out with the most beautiful woman in the room while I still can. Reading the looks you're getting, I have a feeling every bloke present here would love the chance to dance with you. I thought I'd join the queue while I still can."

Claire made an unladylike snort. "Typical smooth operator reasoning."

Alex grinned but stopped when he saw Jamie's expression. "And I'm also reading Jamie's look as not too please by the attention you're getting."

If Jamie hadn't known for a fact that Alex was seeing someone from a piece of information he'd retrieved from Taz, he wouldn't have tolerated the editor's blatant flirting with his fianceé.

Jamie's hand slid around Claire's waist once more and brought her back against his side as Alex watched the gesture with barely hidden amusement. Jamie tamped down the urge to throttle Alex and kept his face neutral. "So, are ye here on yer own? Or do ye have a plus one ye're no' being attentive to?" Jamie asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Ah, yes, I had a date. But alas!" Alex dramatically clutched his chest before winking at Claire. "She had to postpone last minute because of some work-related emergency, so I had no choice but to bring a mardy plus one to accompany me."

"Oh!" Claire's face pulled into a disappointed look. "That's a shame, Alex. I would have loved to meet her. So who did you bring with you instead?"

Alex's phone rang, and his hand immediately shot to the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He gave Claire an apologetic look. "Got to take this. See you around?"

"Of course." Claire motioned for him to go. "We'll catch up later."

Alex nodded to Jamie and directed a smile to Claire. "Yeah, catch up later," he echoed, squeezing her arm before disappearing into the crowd.

"See what I meant about yer editor being handsy?"

Claire sighed and turned to face him, a mixture of amusement and disapproval carving out her features. He bet she wished Alex's date had made an appearance if only to prove a point. But that wouldn't have mattered. The stalker could be in their vicinity, and every man who looked at Claire with even the slightest interest made them a suspect in Jamie's mind. He wondered who Alex had brought with him as he made a mental note to find out this one detail he hadn't accounted for.

She squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. "Alex didn't mean anything by it, Jamie. He's sweet to all the women in the office, and he's a natural-born flirt. He is what he is. He's probably using the same line he used on me on another girl as we speak."

He frowned at her casual explanation. "I doubt it," was all he could say as another group made their way to the bar, making him more vigilant, if not on edge. It looked like every debonair erudite had come tonight, and every one of them knew Claire by name. But his jealousy was secondary to Claire's safety, even if it was a spinning ball of spikes rattling around in his stomach. He shielded Claire with his body as more people jostled to get her and the bartenders' attention. When his phone buzzed in his breast pocket, he subtly snuck it out to read the screen and found there's a text message from Taz.

Ah, shite!

Jamie looked around and was relieved to see Tom heading their way. 

"Who was that on the phone?" Claire asked as Jamie motioned for Tom to hurry over.

He glanced down at her upturned face. He didn't have the presence of mind to make up some excuse. He had to call Taz and find out if there was something important he needed to know. Inwardly flinching, he lied through his teeth. "It's work-related, I think. I have to make a call just to check, and I need ye to stay put. Tom is on his way."

Her lips curved into a smile. "I'll be here."

Tom slapped Jamie on the back when he finally reached them. "There ye both are. Mary was looking for ye ..."

Jamie steered Tom and cleared his throat. "Listen, pal," he said in a low voice, not wanting Claire to hear. "I have an important phone call to make. Can ye please keep an eye on, Claire? I shan't take long."

Tom cast a worried look between Jamie and Claire. "Everything alright?"

Jamie waved a hand in dismissal, hating how he felt about leaving Claire in a roomful of people he didn't know. "Aye, aye. I just dinnae want her on her own ...ye ken, with the stalker and all that."

Tom nodded his understanding. "Nae bother. I'll take her over to our seats." He pointed at where Mary was sat, next to John Grey. "It's table number five, near the stage."

"Got it!" Satisfied Claire was in good hands, Jamie gave her a quick kiss before leaving her side, hoping Taz's message wasn't any form of bad news.

...........

Bored with the political chatter, Claire's eyes roamed and landed on what looked like a gallery in the other end of the room. Curiosity piqued, she leaned over to Tom, who was sat next to her and placed a hand on his arm to get his attention. 

Tom smiled. "Ye need a drink?"

She shook her head and pointed in the direction of the gallery. "I'm just going to stroll over there. I think there are some paintings on display."

Tom's brows furrowed as he shifted in his seat. "I think ye should wait for Jamie. He's really worried about ye wondering about, especially with the stalker at large. He'll be here any minute."

She huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. "I appreciate all the fuss, but look, you have a good view of the adjacent room, and it's not that far ... twenty-five yards, give or take?"

Tom pursed his lips. "I'll go with ye."

"No!" Claire finished her drink and dabbed her lips with a napkin. "I'm not among strangers. I know most of the people here. Besides, Mary's glass looks like it needs topping up. It's her evening, so fuss over her."

Resignation tinged his voice. "I cannae stop ye, can I? I swear to God, I'm gonnae get the brunt of this when Jamie comes back, and he finds ye've wandered off."

Claire laughed out loud. "Don't be so dramatic. You can't lose me with my red dress. I stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of blacks. I'll be easy to spot." She quickly excused herself from the table before Tom could stop her and stood up. 

Humming under her breath to the strains of Elton John's "Can You Feel The Love Tonight," she made her way through the maze of tables, nodding and smiling in acknowledgement at familiar faces. Her steps carried her past the dancefloor and straight into the brightly lit room filled with contemporary paintings and modern sculptures. Claire held her breath as she itched to take a closer look and examine the stories behind each artwork.

Her attention immediately latched onto the abstract interpretation of the famous skyline on the River Thames, titled The London Eye by Night. She smiled as she admired the earthy texture and harmonious colours the artist used, evoking memories from her time in London and of her mother's love of painting.

"Ah, maybe I should turn into a painting to get your attention."

She whirled around. A man sauntered in, his eyes filled with a mixture of something dark and playful humour. His chocolate brown hair was long and neatly tied back in a low ponytail, giving him the look of a rockstar who beguiled women to be part of his groupies. He was clean-shaven with thin lips and a nose that dominated his angular features. Dressed in all black and well-buffed leather shoes, he presented a smooth, confident air just by standing, appearing much younger than his cultured voice. Though he looked familiar, Claire couldn't place him in any of her circles or associates.

"Are you an artist?" She turned her back and renewed her examination of the painting, tipping her head to the side. "I don't mean to stereotype, but I've always envisioned male painters having long hair."

The heels of his shoes clicked against the floor as he moved. He stopped a few feet away from her to look at the Canary Wharf canvas. "Yes, I'm an artist. As for my hair, I grew it out of rebellion. My father thought long hair was unbecoming." 

"Still?"

"No. Nowadays, I forget it's growing. Over the years, it's grown on me, and I'm used to it."

She smiled to herself. "Are any of these here in exhibition yours?" 

"No," he replied. "My work is, let's say ...too vulgar for the mass' tastes."

"Pornographic?"

"Pornographic is a paltry word to describe my work. I paint people's darkest sexual fantasies ...particular fetishes that border the lines of risks, consent and reason."

An awkward silence settled as Claire tried to discern if he was teasing or not. 

She glanced over his way and saw a hint of madness gleamed in his dark eyes, but she put it down to the eccentricity that most creative artists have. She sensed he was the type of person who liked to shock people and have fun with their reactions. Laughter bubbled to her lips as she turned to face him.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "You don't believe me?"

She shook her head, still laughing. "I do believe you, but I have a feeling you are making fun of me."

He bowed his head theatrically and placed a hand on his chest. "Ah, you wound me and my fragile heart."

"And you played with my delicate sensibilities," she teased.

"I suppose you're right, and I apologise."

"Nothing to apologise. I was teasing as well."

His face broke into a smile that could only be described as bordering deranged. 

He cleared his throat. "Actually, you'd be the perfect muse for my work ..." Stroking his jaw, he looked her up and down, openly scrutinising her. "The colour blood red suits you, you know that. It shows off your porcelain skin to perfection. I can think of countless ways how I would paint you in that dress."

Claire tried not to be offended, rationalising he was only studying her with a keen artist's eyes. "This dress would hardly inspire a fetish art masterpiece."

A slow smile curled his lips. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. Ever heard of autoerotic asphyxiation?"

A disturbing image flashed through Claire's mind. "Something akin to depriving someone or yourself of oxygen?"

"Actually, it's the practice of sexual self-stimulation while causing oneself to experience asphyxia. For some, it heightens the sexual experience. There are many methods to induce this, for example, strangulation, neck or chest compression, suffocation, or inhaling chemicals." He cocked his head as if in contemplation. "If you would allow me, I'd paint you in that dress, your hands cuffed above head, your lipstick smeared, and your face covered in cellophane."

She let out a high-pitch nervous laugh. "I'm not quite sure whether to be flattered or not, but I don't think my fiancé would be too thrilled with the idea of me modelling a sexual fantasy."

He feigned disheartenment. "Ah, you're engaged! That's a pity."

She raised her hand to show off her engagement ring, ignoring the unease settling in her stomach as he stepped closer to take a closer look. "I thought you already noticed," she pointed out, annoyed at herself when her voice squeaked, making her confidence for her safety waver a bit.

"Perhaps. To be perfectly honest, I pay no heed to such things. Nowadays, women put them on to deter attention." He leaned in ever so slightly, and she caught a whiff of his expensive perfume, making her mildly nauseous. 

She took stock of her surrounding. They were alone in the gallery room, and she could see Mary's party in full swing through the doorless entrance and wondered if Jamie was back yet. She forced a smile as she looked past his shoulder, her thoughts distracting her a second too long. She wasn't prepared when he stuck a hand out in front of her, almost making her jump.

"We haven't been formally introduced yet."

"Oh!" She looked at his hand and then his face. She really needed to go, or Jamie would start to worry. This had gone on for far too long. A quick, no-fuss introduction, and then she would be out of there. She took his hand and smiled. "I'm Claire, Claire Beauchamp. Listen, I have to ..."

"Claire, lovely Claire. I've been waiting for so long to make your acquaintance. Alex talks so highly of you."

She paused, her hand still in his, and suddenly, it dawned on her why he looked so familiar. "Are you related to Alex by any chance?"

"That I am," he said, chuckling as he brought her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. With a glint in his eyes, he smiled. "Alex is my brother. My name is Jonathan Randall. But you may call me Jack." He let go of her hand and took a step back. "Now that we're no longer strangers, would you like to dance with me?" he asked with a flourished swing of his arm.

A wave of relief washed over her. Jack was no longer a stranger. Though he was an odd character, this was Alex's brother. A quick whirl on the dancefloor was harmless, and they'd be surrounded by her friends and acquaintances.

Grateful for the chance to finally escape the gallery, Claire didn't dwell on the aftermath of Jamie finding out she'd wandered off. Nodding, she took Jack's hand once more and allowed him to lead her out onto the floor, where several bodies danced to a love ballad. Finding an open space, he pulled her into his arms as her eyes landed on the main entrance, and she wondered why several police officers were walking in and scouring the room.

  Dear Readers,

I was supposed to publish my update yesterday but got stuck with the ending. So I took a whole day off from writing, and I'm glad I did because it has definitely done wonders. The moment I sat back in front of my computer, my writing started to flow again despite the bloody blower making a racket outside.

Well, after that palaver with the writer's block, I hope you're pleased to finally make Alex and Jack Randall's acquaintance. It only took about nine chapters before I was able to bring them up. I thought they'd come up sooner.

Anyway, they're here now and would love to hear what you thought of the latest instalment. Thank you all for reading and your feedback, as always, and I'm looking forward to your comments. Take care, and hope you're all having an enjoyable, safe, healthy summer. X

[travellingarmy]

║Venti║ Frappuccino

Requested from Wattpad.

Gender-neutral.

Modern AU. Fluff.

Word count: 2.3k

---

With the sound of the bell the hang just above the entrance, you would be greeted by the smell of a freshly brewed cup of coffee mixed with a sweet aroma from the many pastries that you would see before you.

Working at the cafe was no easy feat with the many people coming in and out in random times but as a university student that still had to pay for their tuition and dormitory whilst still having extra money left over for food, you couldn't complain. Well, not that you would complain. You found joy in being a barista.

"(Y/N), you're zoning out. Come on, we still have customers to serve to." Barbara taps your shoulder, gaining your attention. "Ah, sorry," you muttered, turning to your station. "Hehe, there's no need to apologies. I assume that you have an exam coming up?" she asks, eyeing you from the corner of her eyes as a customer waltz inside. You hummed and nod slightly. "It's a good thing that I met Master Diluc. Otherwise, I don't think I would be cut out to major in business."

After getting the order from the random customer, she returns to have a chat with you. "Stop with the 'Master Diluc'." She laughs. "It's a bit old-fashioned, don't you think?" And indeed it was, but he comes from a wealthy family so you saw it best to address him formally. "And don't be so hard on yourself and say negative things about your own capabilities! You entered this university by your own smarts! Diluc is smart as well, yes, but he got in due to connections along with his brother. That says something a lot about you."

Barbara was always good at cheering people up and supporting them. One can tell that she was quite popular in high school. She wasn't in the same major as you so you ended up being friends through working in the same cafe. She majored in music-- not that it should surprise anyone. With one look at her, you could definitely tell without even knowing her personally. You saw it best that she would become an idol and her personality will help her with that.

You smile at the blonde. "Thanks." She waves her hand in front of her in small motions in dismissal. "I'm just stating facts." You both returned your focus on your job afterwards, listening in on the chatter of others instead. Most were students so they mainly talked about their studies.

The bell rang once again, getting your attention. Coming in, was a usual customer that you learned comes around at 2 in the afternoon; during your shifts. Yes, there were other customers that you would recognize-- making them usual customers as well but this one was quite distinctive, you'd say. He had dark hair that was always braided on both sides of his head that had a natural teal at the tips of it. He would always come alone, only carrying his backpack- that had his laptop- and a notebook.

You don't know who he was but you figured that what made you so intrigued with him was his fluorescent green eyes that would seemingly glow even in the day. It was truly unique.

You look at Barbara who was busy making another customer's order and decided that you would be the one taking his order. Coming up to the counter, you put on a smile as usual. "Hello, what can I get you?" you repeat the words that you grew to familiarize yourself with as if you were a robot being programmed to say it to people you take orders from. In fact, you already know what he will get but it was something you had to say every time.

"Hi, can I get a venti-sized Matcha Green Tea Frappuccino and two double-chocolate chunk brownie?" he says, not needing to look at the menu. You nod, punching in the code of the ordered drink and snacks. "Please wait at the side." You see him walk away from the counter and take his phone out, seemingly texting somebody.

You made the drink in no time and brought it over to the pick-up counter along with his brownies. "Thank you," he said and take his order, then walking to a table and place his things. He sat down and took out his laptop and started jotting things down in his notebook, looking up at the screen from time to time.

You noticed that he brings in new notebooks every week. A waste of paper, you thought. You wonder what major he was in to go through so many notebooks each week but it was rather hard. You guessed business, but you have never seen him around the area so that flopped. He looked like a porcelain doll with his small, pale face and skinny body- that looked as if it would be easy to break- that you guessed he was probably majoring in one of the arts-- visual arts, drama, music. Something that someone with his size could take. You asked Barbara if he was majoring in music but she answered that she has never seen him around.

Well, no matter. The thought alone doesn't bother you as it doesn't hold any importance.

-

The following week, you didn't go to work and so did Barbara. Well, it wasn't as if you chose not to go to work, rather, it was because the cafe was getting renovated so it had to temporarily close.

Since you had no work to go to, you focused all your energy in your studies. When you aren't studying, you enjoy what little time you had to relax before suddenly getting the urge to study even more so that you don't fail-- sometimes even studying with Diluc outside in the campus grounds.

During those times, you looked out for the guy who usually came to the cafe in the afternoon but to no avail. At this point, you are wondering if he truly goes to the university. That was soon to be answered, however, when you went shopping for more school supplies. The area was located closer to the entrance of the campus so it was quite far away since your department was across the place. The department that was closest to the stores was the arts. It was always lively there with the students showing off their talent and skills. You loved going near there because it looked fun.

After purchasing the needed supplies, you walked back whilst looking at the students and whatever they were up to. Once near the exit that would say that you were no longer in the arts, you hear the strumming of a guitar not too far to your left. It was a rather familiar music but you didn't know what the song was or where you heard it.

You would have just acknowledged that it as a good piece of music and walk away if it wasn't for the fact that when the music stopped, a sigh was heard and the person shifted, allowing you to see their side profile that hid behind a small tree.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the person that dawned familiarity. You finally found him! With that said, your question as to what he was majoring was answered. Music. Looking at him, you see that he looked somewhat annoyed, looking at a piece of paper beside him, brows furrowing. All those papers that you have seen him scribble onto and later crumble it because it dissatisfied him were most likely his other works.

He was so focused on fixing the notes in his paper that he has not felt you watching him. His state made you pity the male. It was most likely a stressful thing to make music with the right notes that satisfied oneself. He was most likely here because the cafe was closed.

An idea came to but you don't know if you should go through with it, not wanting to appear like a creep to him by making a homemade Matcha Green Tea Frappuccino and giving it to him. That thought was quickly changed and decided that you will do just that tomorrow when you looked at him a bit longer.

-

You waited until it was 2 in the afternoon to make him his frappuccino and bring it over. You were glad to see him at the same spot at the same time. Otherwise, you wouldn't know what to do if he didn't show up. Now thinking about it, you always see him at 2 in the afternoon and wondered if he knew of his routine.

Walking closer, you see that he had more papers and notebooks than what he usually brings to the cafe. "Um, excuse me.." At that, you felt awkward that you walked up to a stranger and began a conversation just to give him a drink.

He looks up, his eyes seeming to glow brighter when they landed on you. "Oh, aren't you the one working at that cafe?" he asks, not needing to specify which cafe since he remembers you. You hummed and nodded. "Aren't you majoring in business? What brings you here?" Your breathing hitched when you saw him smile that you almost forgot the reason as to why you were there. It was adorable.

"Huh? How did you know I majored in business?" you ask. "When you aren't working, I see you studying with Master Diluc.. And I heard your conversation with Barbara from time to time," he answers. "Eh? You know Diluc and Barbara?" Your eyes widened in surprise.

"Well, I know Master Diluc because my brother has a business relationship with his father. As for Barbara, I see her exit class every time I go in," he says. Ah, so that's why Barbara doesn't know him. They have different times, you thought. "Anyway, care to answer my question?" His smile was still on his face when he asked. He seemed more relaxed than when he was working in his music. "Oh, right, I saw you yesterday and thought that you might need something sweet." You offered him the frappuccino as well as some homebaked brownies. "Ah! Thank you." His closed smile soon reveals his teeth, closing his eyes that crinkled at the corner. He accepts the drink and snacks. "Hey, why don't you sit down? It is a long walk from where you came from, yes? And it would be rude to just shoo you so soon." He pats the empty space beside him. "Ah.. Okay.." You hesitantly agreed, not wanting to make him sad at your early leave.

When you sat down, you suddenly felt more aware and felt the awkward tension-- well, you only felt the awkwardness in the air. He seemed fine, sipping the drink freely. Then, "Wah! This is good," he compliments. "I can tell when you make my drink and when your friend makes them." He leans close, putting a hand near his mouth as if to whisper to you. "Don't tell your friend, but I really like it when you make my drinks." He winks. You chuckled, feeling warm inside. "So, what is your name?" he asks, leaning away to give you space. "(Y/N). What about you?" "Venti!"

You smiled. "So, Venti, do you only play the guitar?" you ask, eyeing the wooden instrument on his lap. He shook his head. "I play instruments from all families-- the strings, woodwind, brass, percussion, keyboard, and guitar," he says. "However, I don't play the bigger instruments that require to be picked up because they are too heavy. I also don't really like drums. I find them too loud." You were amazed to know that he could play so many instruments. You have only tried a hand at the piano that you later gave up in high school.

"Which instrument do you like the most?" you asked, seeing as he already said which instrument he doesn't like playing. "Oh, that's easy! The lyre!" His eyes sparkled at the thought of the instrument. "There aren't many occasions where I can play the instrument so I play other instruments like the guitar."

It could be because your major was not appealing and boring that you found yourself interested in the topic at hand and started asking more questions. "Did you get a teacher to help you play the instruments?" He shook his head. "I have lots of books at home to learn from so I taught myself." If you weren't already surprised at his talent, you would be now. "All those instruments?" you ask. He nods proudly.

"Oh! Since you are here, care to listen to a song I've made?" he asks, eager to show you what he could do. You nod excitedly. He laughs and adjusted himself to be more comfortable when playing the guitar.

The song wasn't finished but it was enough to have you breathless. "I don't know how many times I had to rewrite the same notes but I hope this one sounded better?" he asks, turning to you when he stopped playing. You nod. "It sounded amazing!" The compliment made him bashful, scratching the back of his head as he chuckles. "I'm glad you think so! I hope I can finish this soon." He turns his head to look at the paper before returning his focus on you. "Will you listen to it when I finished?" You did not hesitate and nodded.

It wasn't too long since you two started chatting but it felt as if you guys had been friends for a long time. When the cafe opened the following week, you greeted each other with a smile with you already punching in his order that you have memorised by heart.

"Here is your Matcha Green Tea Frappuccino."

---

[semischarmed]

Cocktease

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes...” mused a deceased Harland as he eyed a future acquisition.

The specter licked it’s lips in greedy anticipation, taking note of the sun-glazed man in front of him building a substantial fort in the sand.

Beautiful curves baked in golden sunset outlined the man’s every muscle. Harland gawked as he followed every bend and bump of the man, committing his form to memory. He continued to hover his intangible mass near his future skin. The man’s hair was jet-black, and gently spiked from ocean water. The man’s muscles moved expertly beneath his skin, revealing their strength. This was a body sculpted through years of work, hard-earned and built for power. Unable to control himself further, Harland began to caress the man’s body from behind, causing him to jolt in a shiver.

“You alright there, Marco?” A small petite woman waved from afar.

“Y-yeah, just a breeze.. Sorry for the scare Val!” He shouted back, reassuringly as he shook off the odd sensations.

This only prompted Harland to continue further, deeper. Harland was as ruthless of a businessman as he was effective. In his day he was never one to compromise. He loved a good, dirty fight. He relished in the struggle. A vessel of this much resistance was made for him. This time around, he dug his spectral fingers into Marco’s golden arms, causing a slight ripple in its muscled flesh. He watched in glee as he traced the outline of those forearms, causing the fine hairs he dragged his intangible hand through to glow briefly and settle white. Property of Harland.

Marco meanwhile went from small jolts to a slight convulsion, as he felt something inherently wrong penetrate him. There was something otherworldly to the sensation he had just felt. Moments later a stream of vile, negative emotions flooded him, causing him to laugh uncontrollably. 

Marco knew something was wrong. These were not the bright, sunny laughter he normally gave off. They were cruel, callous laughs which sent chills down his spine. He had no idea his body could even make these sounds. He glanced at his biceps and recoiled in shock as he viewed stray muscles writhing and moving on their own. Marco felt an enhanced sensation in his arms, like an increased awareness in his control of them yet by that very same sensation was an unnatural numbness to them. By all accounts, they were his arms but something was off. These appendages attached to him could hardly qualify as his arms. There was something not-Marco to them that his brain couldn’t quite resolve. Every movement he felt was unnatural, like he had to actively focus on moving every single muscle just to get his arms to move the way he desired.

Marco began to worry in his head, as more and more of his body began to follow in the same feeling. He ran through the day’s events, trying in vain to discern what could have caused these sensations. Then, his legs buckled and he collapsed into the very fort he had built earlier. 

In sweat and sand, in struggle and sun, Marco began to convulse on the ground. His desperation unseen by others, shielded by the pile he excavated to make the fort.

He thrashed and shook vigorously, as more unfamiliar sensations flooded him.

The feeling was moving throughout him. It was unmistakably living. And it was drawing closer to his head. 

A stream of drool left Marco’s mouth, as his shaking quickened. Veins bulged in his face and throughout his body as seconds later, his eyes began to roll back.

“F-Fuck!!” He shouted. 

“Mmmm yes, ‘Fuck’ indeed” an elderly voice inside him spoke.

“What the-“

“Pleasure to finally meet you... I’m Harland”

——

Marco grasped his head in pain. “W-what the fuck do you want?! 

“The answer to that question should be quite obvious.” Marco’s own lips spoke this time. His pained expression loosened and all visible struggle drained from it, as Harland commandeered Marco’s pretty face as his own. A hand still half-controlled by Marco shook in place until it eventually relented and caressed his face in rough unnatural motions. “I want this”. 

“GET OUT” Marco shouted in protest. His body shook violently in one swift motion before settling.

In a brief instance, Marco again found full control of his body. He let out one sigh of relief before passing out. 

——

Stirred awake by the sound of gently rolling waves and the vibration in his pocket, Marco awoke from a nap that had gone for far too long.

He viewed his phone, taking note of the hours lost in slumber. A new text from Val. 

“Today was fun, had a client booked. Was gonna wake you up but you looked way too cute like that. Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe no giant sandcastles next time ;)”

He laughed gently as he spoke to himself “Damn, quarantine has really done a number on your stamina, eh Marco?”. He continued to slowly get up from the hole he had created himself- stopping every few moments as if to anticipate another fight for his body, despite writing off the entire event as a dream. “Must have dozed off or something.” He kept repeating rationalizations to himself, chalking the whole thing up to an illusion born of fatigue. Yet somehow deep down, he knew it was all too real. Something foreign, something unnatural was still there with him. Still Inside. 

All reservations aside, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have occurred since waking up and Marco began to even slightly believe his own little lie.

“Of course it was just a dream”.

As soon as Marco began to truly relax himself, his body shook into rigid, unnatural poses, defiantly showing its owner his error.

He attempted to get his bearings, grasping at whatever he could, only to catch loose sand with his arms. In the midst of Marco’s writhing, a toothy sneer pulled itself from his lips.

Harland spoke using Marco as his mouthpiece. “You didn’t seriously think I would just leave all of this?”

Marco’s own struggling hands began to grope and fondle his body.

“Don’t worry, having me inside will a whale of a time- you’ll see” he spoke, trailing of in a moan as his fingers circled sensually around his nipples. “Being my new body will make you successful beyond your wildest dreams”

Marco felt an odd warmth build inside him. 

“Get the hell out of me!” He shouted in desperation. 

In that moment, he was hit with a tremor of earthshattering pleasure- burst from deep within his abs, pulsing and delivering into the rest him. His arms splayed out, his hips swung into unnatural angles, as he was forced to ride the wave. In the aftershocks from the initial burst, his limbs couldn’t help but twitch slightly in unprompted delight. Marco had never felt anything like that before. His body couldn’t help but leak a little precum in anticipation. 

“Some propriety is called for, young man. At least try to hide it.”

Embarrassed by the small stain that now appeared on his underwear, Marco began to shout back. 

“Shut u-sh-shit… oh shit… holy shit holy shit” attention was immediately drawn to the second tremor inside himself. Once the second wave hit, he could only manage to barely contain an unprompted moan in his throat. 

Marco tried to readjust himself, to acquaint himself with the pleasurable feelings and fight Harland’s onslaught on his senses. Instead, the pulses were getting quicker, stronger.

His abs were in pain, body sore, veins engorged. Muscles strained from their fleshy confine as they involuntarily contracted and relaxed in rapid succession from the increasing frequency of the pulses.

Marco laid in the ground shaking, riled up in pent up fury and ecstasy, expecting sweet, sweet release- only to be met with disappointment as his body, the very body he worked so hard to sculpt, betrayed its master. There would be no respite from the onslaught of pressure inside him. In fevered, labored breaths he cried out to his tormentor. “J-Just do it…. ah ah a-Holy shit. Take me. FUCK. We’re so close… please”.

Marco’s head hung back while his mouth contorted into a pained expression. The corners of his mouth twitched in place as the Harland new face took on a dark, lecherous expression.

“No, you were made to please me! You’re not getting a drop of this!” In that instance, something inside Marco’s body clicked into place.

This was it, Harland could see himself begin to manifest through his newly-acquired Marco-template. Marco’s eyes took on an evil, soulless demeanor. His hair began to flush white before settling into a dark gray color between Marco’s and Harland’s. All along his body, similar changes had occurred, cementing this new flesh as not-quite Marco and not-quite Harland. 

Of course, the mind was a vastly different matter. Marco was no more- his body only the template from which Harland had fashioned his new corporeal form. Harland devoured his mind, connecting the new body to its sole owner.

Marco was no more- for he was now fully Harland incarnate. Lewd fingers began to explore the body they were attached to, tracing over Marco’s biceps, his shoulders, and his thick neck. His fingers continued to drag themselves among raw other crevices in his body, before gliding down his abs, down the treasure trail and landing gently around his cock. Harland scooped the bit of precum still on Marco’s dick from earlier.

The newly-minted man let out a smug, venomous smile, as he sucked his new fingers clean. 

“Quite a delicious partnership”.

…

Though his mind no longer existed, Marco’s body was still pent up in lust and pressure, still attempting to shake and still yearning for that sweet release. With Harland in command, it was subjugated to stillness. Marco’s body continued with build in near-orgasmic heat and pleasure, further amplified by Harland’s mental fortitude. 

But even Harland himself could not deprive this new virile body for too long. His hand went back in and quickly grabbed his engorged cock.

With closed eyes, he gave it a light, sensual tug, nodding in approval as he let out a short moan.

“We’re at the home stretch, bud”.

Another tug. This time, with a slight roughness. There was no hesitation to it- this was now his body after all, he knew how to please it best. 

“You-this flesh was built for me, you just didn’t know it….and as for myself, I was built to control this to rule you… sorry I took so long to get home. You must have been so lonely building up all that muscle, sculpting all this without me inside to wear it” Harland stated as his free hand began to caress random parts of his body. The tugs began to quicken and his eyes fluttered in sheer delight.

“One final piece…” he moaned

…

In a quick jolt, Harland stopped dead in his tracks. Cum rapidly pooled over his hand, but he paid no mind to it.

He muttered but one word to cut the silence.

“Incompatible.”

In a flurry of feathers and a burst of red light, the two men finally realized their true form:

April Fools!

---

Note: Not actually a huge fan of the fried chicken company in question.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Float Like A Butterfly... Chapter 5: So Last Season

Summary: Now that Adrien is no longer Chat Noir he doesn't have to get hit all the time. Unfortunately, his luck doesn't seem to have gotten the memo... Or has it?

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

"So, how're you holding up?"

"Please, Adrien, it's my mother! I'm positively ecstatic!"

"Exactly. It's your mother."

Chloe looked down for a second before her eyes snapped back up, any doubts she had hidden in an instant. "She's finally coming back! I'll finally be able to show her what she's been missing." Chloe tossed her ponytail back to emphasize the unspoken Me. "Now, I've gotta go. Sabrina insisted we do an 'emotional support routine' or whatever beforehand. Ciao!"

Sighing, Adrien stared at his phone for a moment before putting it down. He knew Chloe was grateful for Sabrina's help but it was still a struggle getting her to admit it.

Or getting her to admit how much Audrey had hurt her.

It was one thing to travel halfway around the world for your career and leave your daughter behind. It was something else entirely to completely ignore her. In all the years since Audrey left Chloe hadn't received a single birthday gift, phone call or text message. Adrien would know. Chloe would've bragged about it endlessly if her mother had taken so much as two seconds to acknowledged her existence-

Adrien's foot jerked, striking the vanity table and making the connected mirror tremble. Heart suddenly pounding against his chest as tension built up in his forehead. Distressed expression reflecting back at him.

Breathe, Adrien. Breathe.

Slowly, he inhaled.

Then exhaled.

Again.

Good.

He was okay.

Adrien was okay.

Guilt pricked like a thorn for thinking of his own problems when Chloe needed him. Adrien crushed it with his anger and annoyance but it was still there. Like a splinter that wouldn't come out.

I hate you.

Swiping out of the video chat Adrien tapped on Nino's number. It rang... and rang... and rang...

He's annoyed with me. I did something wrong again and Nino doesn't want to-

Adrien smacked both sides of his face. No, dummy! Nino's just busy or something. Stop that!

It wasn't every day a teenage DJ provided the music for Paris Fashion Week, after all. Nino had to make sure all his equipment was working properly.

The door to his dressing room burst open.

"Adrien, your friend Mlle. Dupain-Cheng will be bringing the last article of the new Gabriel line," Nathalie announced. "Your father expects everything to be perfect for Audrey Bourgeois."

"Doesn't he always?" Adrien deadpanned.

Nathalie stared at his watery eyes before typing something into her tablet. "Your performance on catwalks only has a 99% success rate. He expects you'll do better."

Father thinks you're a failure just like everyone else. He-

Shut up! Adrien felt something heavy settle in his chest.

One of the makeup artists came rushing in and Nathalie gestured her towards Adrien. "Touch up his eyes," she instructed and then left.

Jaw clenching, Adrien sat perfectly still as the makeup artist did her job. He was never entirely sure what the staff thought about him. 'Professional' was a word that was tossed around a lot. That used to fill him with a little pride... Before all of this.

The last person to suggest that a thirteen year old mourning his mother wasn't 'professional' so much as he was 'depressed' had never come back to work... Oh. Adrien had forgotten about that.

Finishing quickly, the makeup artist left too. Leaving Adrien with his thoughts. He didn't want to be with his thoughts at the moment. They were distracting and Nathalie had not been subtle.

I hate-

His phone vibrated as it received someone's text.

Ni-Non: hey dude!

Ni-Non: it's crazy over here man

Ni-Non: break a leg! ;)

Adrien smiled as his unpleasant mood faded to the back of his mind... And if he saw similarities between his family and Chloe's, well, that's why he could empathize with her.

Adrien: That's theater but I guess there's not much difference.

Adrien: Thanks. ^_^

 ---------------

There was a knock at his door. Adrien stopped fidgeting in the awkward suit to go answer it.

"Hello, Marinette." Adrien smiled in greeting.

"Oh, uh, hello!" Marinette gave a small wave as she stepped up the short stairs and-

Adrien braced himself with one foot while his hands went to her shoulders. Steadying Marinette as she quickly removed her weight from him.

"Oh! Uh, sorry." Marinette looked away in embarrassment at having tripped into him.

"... No worries!" Adrien smiled as he shook his head. Marinette seemed... subdued. Reaching down to pick up the hat that had fallen. "Oh, no." The artificial feather Marinette made for his allergies had come loose. "I hope it's not too hard to fix it."

Marinette looked down. "Uh, y'know, it doesn't really matter. This hat is a complete failure anyway."

"What? No, it's not!" Adrien rose to his feet quickly in shock. "Why would you say that?"

"Because... the queen of fashion, Audrey Bourgeois, saw it and hated it!" Marinette's hands covered her face, voice breaking. "I'm sorry, Adrien. I really messed up. I'm a total no talent!" Her arms wrapped around herself in a hug. "Please, don't put it on," she pleaded.

Adrien's heart went out to Marinette as she laid her insecurities bare. "Marinette, everything's going to be fine." He searched for the proper spot to reattach the feather,  fiddling with it as Adrien reassured her. "Your hat looks great. I think it's awesome and so does... my father." Adrien cleared his throat as he managed to fix her hat. "Otherwise he wouldn't have picked it for me. Look!"

Putting Marinette's hat on Adrien walked across the dressing room like he was already performing. Striking a few poses to ease Marinette's anxiety. "See?"

It seemed to work as Marinette gave a small smile. "You got that catwalk down," she complimented.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. "Really? Thank you."

"Ah-hem," Nathalie cleared her throat. "We have to go." Without waiting for Marinette she turned on her heel and started walking towards the viewing area.

Adrien rolled his eyes but smiled at Marinette's back as she hurried to catch up. Turning back to look at himself in the mirror Adrien scanned his outfit. The suit may have been generic and a few seams too close to last year's entry but Marinette's hat was fire.

"Okay!" Adrien was gonna go out there and make sure they recognized Marinette's talent!

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

Holding Marinette's hat to his chest Adrien stuck his head out in a decidedly 'unprofessional' manner. Spotting Marinette's family and a bunch of his friends in the first row. Adrien's blond head caught Nino's eye from across the catwalk and he gave him a thumbs up.

Adrien waved as he ducked back behind the corner before the photographers could take any pictures of the Agreste heir acting like a kid.

You got this, Adrien. Nino's DJ-ing, your classmates came -even though most of them don't care about fashion- with any luck Alix and Kim will tease you about it for the next month.

That would give Adrien the opportunity to dish out a bunch of jokes he never got the chance to use!

The music started; that was his cue.

You got this!

Adrien posed on the runway. Camera flashes already starting. Strutting down the catwalk Adrien smirked at Marinette. See? Stopping at the platform's end he posed in various angles for the photographers. Nino seemed to be enjoying himself too and that made Adrien's smile come much more naturally.

A small eruption boomed behind him and Adrien turned to see Hawkmoth's latest fashion disaster. Gasping, as his heart started hammering in his chest.

"A fashion show without the Queen of Style!? Glitter-ally unacceptable!" The akuma villain announced. "Where's that ungrateful Gabriel Agreste. I demand that he kneels before me!"

Ugh, what has he done now?

"My father isn't here," Adrien snapped in annoyance. Hearing people running for the exits.

"Well, then. If fashion disaster daddy isn't here I'll just have to settle for Agreste Junior! You're fired!"

Adrien's eyes widened as he stepped back. Golden glitter exploding everywhere as his body became numb and his senses dark-

-Glowing ladybugs swirled around him as Adrien had the disorienting feeling of laying  down when he could've sworn he'd been standing. Glancing around, Adrien realized he was now at the Eiffel Tower.

"Adrik- Adrien!" Chloe tackled him as he stood, throwing her arms around him. "I was so scared!"

Adrien blinked in surprise as Chloe set her head on his shoulder. Not letting him go... Adrien smiled as he hugged her back. Enjoying this genuine display of affection.

"Pound it!"

Head snapping towards the sound Adrien saw another Black Cat, this one a girl with long, reddish hair, fist bump Ladybug. They grinned at each other in post battle relief.

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

A chill to rival Frozer's ice covered Adrien from head to toe. It was one thing to see Ladybug working with a different Black Cat on the news. Quite another to have his replacement. Three. Frickin. Meters. In front of him!

Chloe didn't notice... Or rather Adrien didn't notice when she'd let go to help her mother. Who tried to fire her own daughter as thanks.

Adrien jerked his eyes away from the superhero duo-

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

-Away from the Miraculous holders and forced himself to listen to whatever the Bourgeois were saying. Ears ringing as Ladybug and the Black Cat talked about something behind him...

"Oh, mom. If only you knew what a great team we made!" Chloe trailed after her mother as they walked down the tower's stairs; attempting to capture her attention. "We fired a bunch of incompetents. It was awesome. We should really spend more time together! What if I went back to New York with you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Casserole- Eh, Chloe!" Audrey dismissed. "First I have to get back to Gabriel Agreste's fashion show. And they better..."

Adrien's eyes narrowed as he looked down from the railing, his grip on it tightening. Heat from a growing indignation melting the ice he felt. What did she just call Chloe?

"Adrien Agreste, right? I can give you a lift back if you want."

His tensed body jerked in surprise as Adrien realized Ladybug was standing right behind him. Throat and chest constricting as his thoughts whirled. Spots darkened his vision as he felt lightheaded. Adrien's knuckles becoming white, the metal railing digging into his skin. A single thought rose above the ringing in his ears.

I don't wanna talk to her.

Giving his best model smile, Adrien schooled his features. "Ah, thanks but-" he pointed down, "-I should really check on them."

"O-oh! Of course!"

Ladybug's face was out of focus but Adrien could still feel the melancholy in her voice.

Powering past his queasy stomach Adrien made his way to the stairs. The sound of Ladybug's yo-yo whirring reached his ears; signaling her departure. Adrien took a shuddering gasp as he leaned against a metal pillar for support. Body suddenly limp.

Breath accelerating Adrien tried to calm himself. Why was he up here? Had- Had Audrey's blast mind controlled him? Again!? He couldn't breathe.

Adrien sank to his knees as he felt his skin crawl at the idea of that- that- asshole reaching into his mind and taking away his free will. He hated it! He HATED it!

Gasping as his rage broke him out of the panic, Adrien steadied his breathing... He wanted- no, needed to know what happened... Which meant getting up and moving forward... Forcing himself to his feet Adrien wiped the sweat from his brow and followed the others down.

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

"Remind me to tell your father to fire the person in charge of the Eiffel Tower elevators..." Audrie panted. "This is... unacceptable... utterly unacceptable!"

"Of course, mom. Oh!" Chloe glanced down to see what she'd stumbled on.

Adrien looked up as he fanned himself with Marinette's hat.

And dropped it.

He stared open mouthed at the small, black, octagonal box in Chloe's hands. Heartbeat leaping into his throat.

What the hell is THAT doing here!?

"Ooh! What's this?" Chloe turned the box around in her hands but didn't open it.

Adrien suddenly forgot his exhaustion and rushed to her side. The lie coming easily to his lips. "Oh, I recognize that! They sell them at antique shops."

"Ew, it's old! Get it away from me!" Chloe practically hurled it at Adrien.

Catching it easily. A thrill ran up Adrien's arms and down his spine as the box made contact with his skin. The hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

Chloe dusted her hands and kept walking. Glancing nervously at her mother. Hoping Audrey hadn't seen her with something so outdated.

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! The voice in his head said.

Shut up, Adrien told it as he stared at the unknown Miraculous in his hand. Heartbeat hammering in his chest. But it wasn't from fear. No, it was... anticipation.

The corners of Adrien's lips curled upwards.

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

Notes: Oh, would you look at that. I'm back! It only took... eight months!

[itsuki-minamy]

LIMITED KINGSHIP, WAR STORIES:

CHAPTER 1: BUTTERFLY AND MANTIS

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Uh... do I have to clean this up myself?"

With the mop and bucket on the floor, Tadashi Maruha complained.

Originally, it should have been a good room in this detention center. Whether in the reception room or the director's room, the custom-made furniture was so good that even Maruha could tell, and he might have imagined that it would be nice to live surrounded by such furniture.

If the burned blood didn't stick, he was sure he would.

At that moment, the interior of the room seemed miserable. Charred blood and internal organs were strewn across the table, couch, and cabinet, and every part of the human body, such as the hands, feet, and head, was rolling around randomly. It could be like this if you put multiple people in a red-hot mixer.

"I wonder if I should pick this up with tweezers... but if I don't do it early, Soma-san will get mad."

As he muttered and murmured, Maruha donned a mask, put on gloves, and placed a bucket on a charred table. At the moment, he started from a large place and raised the head that was nearby.

His face was familiar. One of his open eyes was crushed by a burn. "Wow.", he leaned back a bit, put his head on the table for the moment and Maruha clasped his hands.

"Well, what was your name? You sure were an acquaintance of Aniki, right? Well, anyway... Nanmandub, Nanmandub..."

Maybe it was Nembutsu, he didn't remember well. After muttering, Maruha threw the head of "one eye" into the bucket.

He started cleaning.

He put the scattered body parts in a bucket, put the debris from the shattered table in a garbage bag, and put the scattered debris in a bucket after a little hesitation. He could just throw away the garbage bag, but he couldn't bear to throw out the body.

"Sorry, I'll take care of you later."

When he finished cleaning the rough door, the living room door opened. What he see from there was a familiar face.

"Maru-san, are you finished? Let's eat meat, meat!"

With an innocent smile on his young face, Kyoji said that. Maruha looked up at the ceiling with furrowed brows.

"Kyoji, think about the moment and answer me. Do you think I can eat meat after cleaning the corpse?"

"Why? Isn't it good to eat meat at any time?"

"You might like it! I was cleaning burned human flesh just now! Maybe this is your kind of job after all!"

"Hehe, sorry."

The look that he laughed with his tongue out was that of a mischievous villain. Looking at him, he sighed instead of getting angry.

"Well, whatever, help me."

When the mop stuck out, Kyoji was surprised.

"Eh, but isn't it bad to keep Hiiragi-san waiting?"

"Ah? Why did Aniki's name come up?"

"No, because Hiiragi-san told me to go eat meat."

"Stupid, say that first!"

Maruha quickly looked back at the room. He was almost finished, but he had yet to finish. If he left it as he was, he would buy Soma's wrath, but an invitation from Hiiragi couldn't be refused.

"Kyoji, drop this! I'll bury it! Say nice things to Aniki!"

Pushing a garbage bag at Kyoji, he picked up the bucket. The bucket containing the human bodies of various people was quite heavy, and Maruha ran off, feeling the weight of the heavy corpse in both arms.

++++++++++

Executive class "Purgatory" member Hiiragi Soma liked meat

He liked to eat, but he preferred to bake. "Grilling" here was not what was often done in "Purgatory", but ordinary roast beef. Go to a proper steakhouse, order a large quantity of meat that you couldn't eat, and start grilling from one end. He liked the act of grilling and eating meat to the extent that he was careful and beat them when others tried to do so. As a man who had lived a life of violence and murder, it could be said that it was a strange habit.

That's why Hiiragi took Maruha and Kyoji to visit a local yakiniku restaurant. Most of the restaurants had already withdrawn from the area around the hideout. The yakiniku restaurant was one that remained.

Therefore, with the exception, it was like a hangout for "Purgatory". Mysteriously, order was maintained because there was a common understanding that "when this store disappears, there will be no place to drink alcohol". If someone tried to take away their oasis of life, mainly their opponents, "Purgatory" would kick them out quickly, most of the time.

"Hey. Top ribs, top loin, and 3 mugs of ale, old man."

An old man with the flavor of half a century had brought a lot of meat and sake. Hiiragi quietly began to arrange the top ribs and top loin placed on the table in the shichirin. Maruha found that it was always the same routine, but he was in a bit of a good mood.

"Sorry! I'll take it!"

Kyoji raised his mug of beer and began to drink with a squeak. Maruha slightly raised his mug in response to the "toast", and Hiiragi was still quietly roasting the meat. It was a show that would not be possible with a normal yakuza organization, but "Purgatory" is not a normal yakuza organization.

Kyoji, who had half the mug empty, wiped his mouth and then leaned forward and asked.

"By the way, Maru-san! What kind of kanji is King?"

Maruha took just a sip of beer and looked at Kyoji curiously, "Huh?"

"Maru-san, you were cleaning up, after the King fought, weren't you? Didn't you see him fight?"

Maruha was still unfamiliar with the fact that Kagutsu's name was not "Oyaji" or "Kumicho" but "King". Far from being a normal yakuza organization, "Purgatory" was not a yakuza organization in the first place. It was said to be a group of paranormal people with different abilities, led by what was called a "King".

Maruha responded with another mouthful of beer.

"No... I fought, I guess I went crazy. Don't look. I could die."

"Hey! It's a waste! It was close though!"

Kyoji felt sorry like a child who missed the hero show. Maruha wondered why such a boy had lived so long with his head on, and he thought on the other hand that he could have lived so long because he was such a boy. In fact, Kyoji must have been less than 20 years old.

Hiiragi threw down the pliers. Seeing the dripping sauce fall into the flames, he nodded, "Okay."

"Eat it."

"Ok, thanks!"

Kyoji swept about half of the meat with tweezers and brought half to his mouth. With a big smile on his face, he raised a voice between "Delicious!" and "Uhh!" Maruha also sighed as he minced the meat.

"Even so, I really don't understand Kagutsu-san."

"Eh? Why?"

"When I walked into that room, he looked in a good mood. I took some other guys along and I thought it was unusual, but he came out in less than a minute, and that's it. And when he came out he wasn't mad, he was still in a good mood. It was as if he had just taken a walk and came back."

"Mmm..."

"I wonder if I can be like this by killing those below. I don't know at all."

"Maru..."

When Hiiragi yelled, Maruha reacted sharply. It was a moment when he regretted saying that and criticizing, and Hiiragi immediately showed the Shichirin with his chin.

"Take it."

"Oh, yeah."

He took the tenderloin that was dripping with the sauce and popped it into his mouth. It was hot and delicious.

Kyoji, who drank the beer, raised the mug grandly, yelling "Oh, I get it!"

"They must have been spies of the blues! And the King suddenly noticed!"

"No."

Hiiragi denied it like a sled, and Maruha and Kyoji looked at his face at the same time. While he was roasting additional meat, Hiiragi said without looking at them,

"That person is that kind of man. It's the same as an accident."

"Accident?"

"You can't help it if you run into it. If you're lucky, you'll live, and if you're bad, you'll die. That's it."

It was hard to tell that Maruha and Kyoji, who didn't have any, fully understood the meaning of the word. But even so, the reactions of the two were contrasting.

"Uh...", Maruha was scared,

Kyoji admired him, "Wow…".

The two looked at each other. Maruha was stunned.

"Kyoji, you... will you die soon?"

"What's wrong, Maru-san?! What are you saying?"

"……"

Maruha narrowed his eyes. He feels on his skin that the air was tightening rapidly. It would be the same for Kyoji. He glanced at Maruha too, rolled up the arm of his black suit that didn't fit the body, and slammed it against the table.

"I'm not afraid! If the guys in blue come, I'll kill them."

Kyoji's eyes shone with brilliant fighting spirit. In response, the burn scars on his forearm began to glow red. The brilliance of extraordinary ability. Maruha opened his eyes to see if he was sane. If he made a fuss in this place, he may suffer a life-threatening injury from another member in black.

At that moment, Kyoji's body flew to the side.

Maruha was shocked and looked at Hiiragi next to Kyoji.

He had his arms straight at his sides. With the other hand, he was silently roasting yakiniku. Without even looking at Kyoji, he hit him with one arm.

"Guh..."

Kyoji's eyes, holding his cheeks and lifting up, blazed with anger. He wasn't mature enough to hold back here. Maruha was ready again for the worst development that suddenly fell.

However, he ended up melancholy.

Hiiragi looked at Kyoji. There was no killer instinct in his eyes, he was just in a bad mood.

"I'm the one who roasts the meat."

"……"

Kyoji's expression changed from anger to embarrassment.

Both Maruha and Kyoji were familiar with the fact that Hiiragi's words were not timely. Hiiragi was that kind of person.

He didn't know what to do, but there was no front or back. Hiiragi was angry because he tried to bake meat for himself, not because he was fed up with tantrums, or because he tried to wreak havoc in the place of the law.

It was absurd, but that's why it was "Purgatory". And Kyoji was also a person who could understand absurd language. He held her cheeks and bowed his head obediently.

"Sorry."

Hiiragi didn't reply, he was just roasting the meat.

Kyoji rebuilt his chair and sat there. He said to Maruha with the eyes of an angry child and bowed to him.

"Maru-san, I'm sorry. I said something wrong."

"No, not really."

Yakuzas are creatures like mantises. If they get sick, they should squeeze the other person immediately. It is like a reflection, not an action that is the result of thinking.

However, Maruha was no longer a yakuza. He was a member of the "Purgatory" clan.

Therefore, he sighed and sighed.

"I'm not scared. It's just ... I don't think it's appropriate."

That said, he drank the beer to the last drop.

++++++++++

The group that Maruha Tadashi belonged to was a group of leftovers so to speak.

Some might say they were a collection of yakuza and other gangsters. It was, but as with any group, there were differences in shit. Some leftovers can be laughed at, while others can cause nausea just by putting them on the rim of the eyes.

The Maruha group was the last group. Even within the industry, Shinogi with a frown was calm. Thanks to that, the wings were good, but the respect was next to nothing. The color of disgust was stronger than the astonishment in his eyes, and that color stimulated his outer ways.

They did anything to make money. It seemed like Maruha didn't even have the slightest bit of ethics.

The Shinogi are primarily drugs and human trafficking.

The kidnapped woman was drugged and sold to customs. They disarmed the kidnapped youths and sold their organs. In addition, they would take a photo of the situation and sell it to a rich man who had a hobby of hunting. In some cases, they used a combined technique to kidnap a pretty woman and sell her as she was to a rich man with a strange hobby (because the reaction was worse if she kept it on drugs). The woman would suffer almost every pain imaginable and die miserably.

Sachiko Kashiwazaki was one of those women.

The man who kidnapped her was Maruha's older brother at the time. One hot summer day, Maruha was summoned to a warehouse owned by the group. At that moment, he had a bad feeling. That warehouse was only used when making Shinogi in that direction.

There was a man and a woman in a warehouse room, where the concrete was exposed.

The man had scissors that were dripping with blood.

The woman clutched her bloody ankle and groaned without voice.

It was common group practice to cut off the Achilles heel to prevent the victim from escaping. Alternatively, the customer could have made such a request. In any case, man cut through the human body as easily as he cut weeds.

As he washed his hands in the built-in sink, the man turned to Maruha.

"It is time to ship."

"Prepare" meant to adapt the "goods" according to the customer's request, and "ship" meant to deliver the "goods" to the customer.

"Clean her body, you can't leave her bloody. I don't know what the rich think."

With a laugh, the man wiped his hands on a towel and touched Maruha's shoulders to leave the room.

Maruha turned his eyes inside and saw the box on the table. "Preparation", he probably he should use the content. He opened the lid and looked inside.

It contained a pure white wedding dress.

Maruha took a deep breath and exhaled.

Was the concept a bloody girlfriend? He couldn't understand anything.

He didn't even want to understand. He didn't want to understand what happened to the woman who would bring that to the client, but Maruha understood. It was because his older brother had shown him a video like that with half the fun.

Maruha looked at the woman reflectively, thinking that he shouldn't be looking at her.

They looked into each other's eyes.

Sachiko, of course, at that time, Maruha didn't know her name. The "item" was supposed to be called by number, but she was staring at Maruha, bleeding only with the pain of not begging for life and her silent resignation.

Perhaps at that moment, he reached the limit.

Until then, he had been doing the same. Each time, something sank into Maruha's chest, like drops of water in his cup. Then, Sachiko's gaze at that moment became the last drop, and the water finally overflowed from the cup.

By the time he realized it, Maruha was visiting Hiiragi. Hiiragi and Maruha were originally seniors and juniors from the same corps of fools. Even after the corps of fools disbanded and they belonged to different groups, the relationship continued to go out for drinks from time to time. He was a man who embodied the violence of that time, but Maruha did not hate him. He just wanted to hit him.

It was exciting to see that kind of honesty that was hitting the other person at the time.

He was not surprised when he heard that Hiiragi's group was attacked by "Purgatory" and that he belonged to "Purgatory". Within the industry, "Purgatory" meant a group of monsters, and it seemed natural for Hiiragi to be in that group.

Using holly as a messenger, Maruha encountered Kagutsu and gained a different ability in exchange for a part of his body.

Maruha took him to the warehouse and burned the man who was his older brother. After freeing the captive women, he went to the group's office and killed all the members, including the group's leader. He stole the group's entire vault and gave it to Soma, who later cleared up and became a member of the "Purgatory" clan.

He did not regret betraying the group and killing his friends. He just went to hell and sent them to hell. He was sure that he would go to hell, but at least he was no longer interacting with that garbage. That just made him feel refreshed, and the night he killed them all, he was fast asleep for the first time in a long time.

However, Maruha's chest started to feel uncomfortable again.

The meaning of the existence of "Purgatory" was simple. Destroy and kill, that was all. Like Kagutsu, most of the clansmen did.

Fight, raze, kill and die against the mafia, the Yakuza and, above all, the deadly enemy, "Scepter 4".

At the same time, they were causing enormous damage to the surroundings.

Only in that he was stuck. It didn't matter if he fought, rampaged, killed, or died. But it felt different to involve other people. So it was the same as that group. It was difficult to answer whether human trafficking or mass murder was better. Nothing happened, Maruha simply moved from one background to another.

Maybe Maruha was halfway there. He was so crazy that he couldn't live properly, but he was too plain in a swarm of monsters. Neither Hiiragi nor Kyoji could live anywhere else except in "Purgatory". This is where those guys were.

Where should he go if he didn't even have a place there?

Sachiko Kashiwazaki called out to him when he was about to overflow with such a sense of incongruity.

++++++++++

In a crowded cafeteria, he quickly found out where Sachiko was. She had her crutches on the side of her seat. Maruha somehow remembered the salvation that it was not a wheelchair.

"Ah."

Sachiko also soon noticed Maruha. He wore a black suit, which was labeled a "funeral home staff" in the industry, he emitted a seemingly insidious aura. He had an unbearable feeling.

"Oh."

Maruha's expression that raised his hand slightly was not clear. He wasn't sure why this girl called him. Wasn't it the symbol of a nightmare for this girl?

But in contrast, Sachiko smiled happily. She tried to stand up touching the table with her hand, she almost lost her balance and fell. Maruha rushed to reach out and held her body.

"I'm sorry. I'm still rehabbing, but I haven't been able to do it yet."

"No, do not worry."

After seating Sachiko, Maruha sat opposite her.

He was somehow uncomfortable because Sachiko was looking directly at him. Glowing eyes were the kind of thing that wasn't usually directed at him. He was not used to that. Maruha had to move his hips several times to endure the uncomfortable sensation.

"So what did you call me for?"

Sachiko slightly colored her cheeks when he asked her.

"Oh, no, that… I wanted to thank you again."

Maruha wondered what she was saying.

"Maruha-san… you helped me, but I couldn't thank you at the time. Thank you very much."

"I didn't help you in particular. It was a dead end."

It was a fact. He just wanted to get out of there, he just wanted to kill them all, and it was just incidental that he helped Sachiko.

But Sachiko didn't believe those words. She laughed and her eyes looked softly at Maruha.

"You are modest, Maruha-san."

Then Sachiko started talking about the ramblings. From her recent situation, her favorite food, hobbies, what kind of place did she live now, when she was rehabbing and walking around the neighborhood, she found a nice park and a bakery, so she always had lunch there.

Maruha was beginning to understand what the situation was like, as he established a suitable relationship.

Sachiko wanted to make up for it in some way.

She maybe she thought that Maruha was the hero who rescued her from the situation. It was a ridiculous misunderstanding. Maruha sent many women in the same situation as Sachiko to hell. Sachiko was saved because Maruha's boundaries coincided when it was her turn. No more than that.

Of course, he couldn't say that.

"What do you do on your day off, Maruha-san?"

Sachiko wondered if she had talked a lot about herself. She was impatient and nervous. She wondered if Maruha would be bored. Maruha replied with a slight laugh, as if he was a high school student.

"Well, I'm going to eat yakiniku."

He couldn't tell that he was killing and looting. Sachiko happily joined her hands when he responded appropriately.

"It's the best in the neighborhood, it looks delicious."

"You eat meat?"

"That's right. Yes! I like it!"

Maruha calmly analyzed that it was a lie. He maybe he didn't eat much meat. He only said that for her.

"Well then, would you like to go eat with me next time?"

With that said, Maruha closed his mouth tightly.

Sachiko was looking at Maruha with her bright eyes. Eyes with equal expectations and anxieties. The eyes of human beings that are unhappy but still look ahead and try to live hard.

Was he qualified to see that?

He could go eat with Sachiko. He maybe would repeat it two or three times and eventually they would start dating. There are some men who have a woman in "Purgatory" who can live with them, and some men approach the woman instead of hiding. He would be one of those people. Living under one roof, eating together, sleeping, getting up, helping with rehabilitation, eating delicious bread in a nice neighborhood park.

She could be killed by Kagutsu.

Or she may have been kidnapped by the mob who hold a grudge against him

Captured by "Scepter 4".

He could think of many ways to ruin it, but he couldn't think otherwise.

Alternatively, Maruha could expand his imagination and run away together. Somewhere far away, two people. He could escape from Kagutsu, the mafia, and "Scepter 4" and say goodbye to that sinister black suit.

Then he would follow a happy holly. Kyoji might also come. Soma did not allow anyone to escape. Even earlier, the "right hand" ended up being burned in the city. He did not think they would hesitate to involve a woman in the matter.

"Uh."

Maruha laughed. He was thinking about the future when he really didn't have a future.

Sachiko said with a mysterious voice.

"Maruha-san...?"

"Hey. Is there someone else besides you?"

Sachiko opened her eyes a bit in amazement and then shook her head. After all, Maruha thought, people who have family or relatives are not the target of that group.

Still, Maruha leaned forward and asked with a serious expression.

"Is there no one anywhere? Relatives?"

"Uh, I have an uncle and his partner in Kanagawa. They're nice people, but I don't usually get in touch with them."

Maruha was relieved. It was enough to ask for so much.

He looks for his own bag. He grabbed a couple of bills that he found and tossed them to Sachiko. With a pile of bills piled on her lap, Sachiko moved her body as if she had been pressed against a burned stone.

"This, huh?"

"Go to them with that money. They won't hurt you."

Maruha carried a bag on his back and stood up. Sachiko looked at Maruha with a cat face that understood the truth of the universe.

Maruha scratched his head and said...

"The other day, there was a conflict around Yodomiya. It was news. The city was burned down and many people died."

Sachiko blinked. The understanding hadn't caught up yet, but it was going well. If she only considered the facts, understanding will come later.

"It was my partner who did that. If you don't want to get burned, go somewhere far away."

With that alone, Maruha left the coffee shop.

He sighed deeply as he walked through the city for no reason.

"I am not suitable."

For groups, for "Purgatory" and for the world. He was not suitable. He did not know how to live. He was envious of Hiiragi and Kyoji who could find a place there.

Was when…

"You are Tadashi Maruha."

Before looking back, he had an idea who called him.

"We are "Scepter 4". Come with us."

Several blue clothes surrounded Maruha before he realized it.

He looks around. Maruha had come to the square in front of the station without realizing it. He can't find any way to take control. Perhaps he should limit himself to minimize the damage, but Maruha was easily enthused.

"If you resist, I will not forgive you."

There was no deception in the eyes of the blues. They have already cut many with their sabers. Just as "Purgatory" was not a yakuza group, "Scepter 4" were not police officers. It was a battle group to hunt down and kill those in black suits.

Maruha gave a fierce laugh.

"Hahaha!"

The burns on both arms glowed with pain from the heat. Fight violently, kill and die. Maruha also had that instinct. He was also a member of "Purgatory".

Suddenly, Maruha understood.

"Purgatory" cannot be a place for anyone. Only a handful of monsters, like Kagutsu and Soma, can "be" there. Hiiragi, Kyoji and he were the same. There was nothing there for them.

That was just his place of death.

"If you can, try it, blue clothes!"

While shouting happily, Maruha threw swirling flames from both arms and attacked the blues in front of him.

Three people died in the limited royal war that day.

On the "Scepter 4" side, Kuroshio and Kido Rokuhei's team.

Side of "Purgatory", Tadashi Maruha.

"Scepter 4" caught Maruha's movement and surrounded him with 6 people, but Maruha made a burst of different abilities and struggled as he burned his own body. Swinging the flames that sprouted from both arms like a sickle, he cut and killed two people, Kuroshio and Kido, and in the next moment, he was cut by four other people, was cut like a sickle and died.

[lillotte17]

Blossoms on a Bough

Fix-it/filler for the end of episode 36!!!

~

The first thing Wen Kexing notices, once his mind has floated up towards any sense of consciousness, is a bright cool light shining on his face. His brows twitch downwards in irritation, the intensity of it stinging his eyes even while they are still closed. His body feels like lead, and his thoughts are thick and muddy. He just wants to ignore the light and drift back off to sleep.

Wherever he is, he seems to have landed on something relatively soft and warm. It is surprising, since his general ideas about the netherworld involve darkness and cold, but he is certainly not going to complain. Perhaps, given the long list of his transgressions, his soul flew right past the Yellow River and dropped straight into hell, and now he is being fried in a pot just like that chicken that had chased Chengling around the Four Seasons Manor. The thought makes him want to laugh, but there is an odd tightness in his chest, so the best he can manage is an incredibly weak cough.

A faint rustling of cloth sounds by his ear as whatever he is reclining on shifts slightly. There is a vague sense of presence nearby, but he cannot tell more than that. Almost against his will, he cracks his eyes open to see who might be trapped in the stew pot with him, but there is only a dark looming blur surrounded by pale watery light. It makes him think of Zhou Zishu; his face bathed in sunshine, in moonshine, in starlight. He always seemed to glow with something intangible and dream-like. And Wen Kexing -helpless little month- could do nothing else but follow after it.

“Ah Xu,” he exhales in the barest of whispers.

A scent lingers in the air around him, crisp and lightly musky. It reminds him of burying his fingers in long dark tresses. Of the tenderness and care taken combing the tangles out of them afterwards. Of sliding his own hair pin into the carefully twisted knot at the crown of Zhou Zishu’s head. He should have brought him a different one to replace it, he thinks blearily. The key was most likely lost or broken in all of that snow, and now he will have nothing to remember him by.

This place is strange, wherever it is. Soothing and disorientating all at once. Is it some sort of hallucination? Did his soul get lost somewhere between life and death? Is he a true ghost now, doomed to wander the world in hopeless despair, witnessing joys he can no longer take part in? Thoughts spin around in his head in a billion tiny fragments. He cannot quite seem to catch hold of any of them, or arrange them in a pattern that makes sense.

“Am I dead?” he wonders aloud, his voice thin and raspy, not expecting an answer.

“You fucking better not be,” a cross reply rumbles out from somewhere above him.

Wen Kexing blinks. The sun still burns his eyes, but after a few moments of intense squinting, the dark blur leaning over him reconfigures itself into a familiar and beloved face. Zhou Zishu, leaning back against a dusty wall with Wen Kexing pulled more than half way into his lap.

“What…happened?” Wen Kexing wonders, head positively spinning in bafflement. Now that he is waking up a bit more, he is becoming more aware of his body’s aches and pains. It feels like a horse kicked him in the chest and then he fell into a river and drowned. Even wincing hurts.

“Something went wrong with the ritual,” Zishu tells him. His voice is raw and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks as haggard as Wen Kexing feels. “You collapsed. Your heart meridians were severely damaged, and your hair turned white. You must have used too much of your internal force. It has been more than three days since you lost consciousness and…I thought…”

His voice splinters and he trails off, looking away from him for a moment.

“But…it worked?” Wen Kexing presses, trying to feebly grip at Zhou Zishu’s sleeve, “You can hear me talking again now, so that means that it worked, right? The rest is fine, so long as it saved you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zhou Zishu answers, the first traces of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes. You are here.” Wen Kexing echoes, as though he still cannot quite believe it, “And…I am here, too.”

“You are.” Zishu confirms, his arms tightening around him, carefully tugging him up until he is all but leaning into his chest. “It was a near thing, though. My medical knowledge is limited, and even with the Yin Yang book, I was not certain that I could heal you.”

“Rong Xuan’s wife allegedly used the teachings in the book to heal his heart meridians and other serious injuries when he was near death several times over,” Wen Kexing hums thoughtfully, casually tilting his head against Zishu’s shoulder, “But she was an experienced physician. You have had no training, and yet you saved me on the first try. You must possess some kind of natural affinity for it. Ah Xu, you have so many talents, I am having a hard time keeping track of them all.”

“It had nothing to do with affinity,” Zhou Zishu huffs, sounding exasperated and perhaps even the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It was pure dumb luck.”

“Eh?”

“The Four Seasons Sect has a special technique that cripples someone’s heart meridians,” he explains somberly, a humorless smirk on his face, “I used it against Prince Jin to keep him alive, but bedridden. My master taught it to me, and as far as I know, I am the only one left alive who knows how to perform it.”

“That is very interesting, Ah Xu, but I am not certain I understand what it has to do with dumb luck,” Wen Kexing says smilingly.

“My master…he also told me how to counter the technique, so that the person’s heart meridians could be healed again and their qi could flow properly,” Zhou Zishu continues, turning his head slightly to directly meet Wen Kexing’s gaze. “I did not have much hope when I opened the Yin Yang book. You were slipping away, and there was no time for in-depth research. But…when I found the section detailing how someone with damaged meridians might be cured, it was obvious that…the techniques I learned from my master were based on this knowledge.”

“So…that means…my parents…?” Wen Kexing looks a bit lost at the revelation.

Zhou Zishu nods.

“It is likely that Lady Yue Feng’Er and your parents shared this precious knowledge with their friends, and possibly even helped my master develop this skill. I was only able to save you because of this.”

Wen Kexing furrows is brows, his thoughts whirling and his emotions complex. He seemingly stares at the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s lapels for what feels like ages, looking but not seeing, pensive and moody. Finally, he lets out a very tired-sounding sigh.

“And I only managed to save you because that dumb bastard Rong Xuan stole the manual for the Six Cultivation Techniques,” he says, sounding bitter, “But maybe no one would have needed all this saving in the first place if that old monster had never let his idiot disciple leave the mountain to begin with.”

Zhou Zishu frowns down at him.

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, a bit sulky, “The past is past. Zhao Jing was punished and the rest are dead. There is no point stewing on it now. I have just…been angry about it for so long, sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be anymore. Be patient with me, Ah Xu.”

“Hm?” Zishu blinks, as though suddenly coming back to himself. “Oh, it wasn’t about that.”

“Then what?”

“I was just thinking that…it really could not have been anyone else,” Zhou Zishu tells him slowly, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “I said it was only dumb luck, because I never believed in destiny all that much before. If you want to achieve something in this world, you have to be willing to create it for yourself. But…for things to end up this way… It had to be you, and it had to be me, didn’t it?”

Wen Kexing bursts out laughing, utterly delighted.

“I always knew you had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior,” he grins, slightly breathless, with an almost pleasant ache in his ribs, “But Ah Xu, I never imagined that you were secretly a romantic.”

“Shut up,” Zishu grunts, pinching his arm until he yelps, “Who is romantic?”

“Ai, there is no need to be shy about it now, is there?” Wen Kexing says pleadingly, giggling to himself all the while, “There is no one here except us.”

“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees blithely, a truly terrifying expression stealing across his face, “There is no one on this entire mountain except for you and me.”

“Ah Xu, don’t do anything rash,” Wen Kexing cajoles with a hint of genuine nervousness, “I only teased you a little bit, and I am still in such a delicate state of health. If you throw me out in the snow and beat me, I really won’t be-”

Zhou Zishu kisses him then, and whatever he won’t be promptly flies out of his head like a startled flock of birds.

The kiss is softer than he would have guessed, if he had gotten a moment to anticipate it. Clumsy, but tender. Hasty, but sincere. The mouth pressed so suddenly against his own trembles just slightly right before it pulls away. A thousand years too soon.

It is nowhere near the first time they have kissed each other, but Wen Kexing is almost always the instigator. It suits his own preferences to take the lead in most physical forms of intimacy anyway, so he would never complain about it. However, it does make the times Zhou Zishu reaches for him first feel more…something. Something that makes his heart full, and his eyes itch.

It makes him feel as though he is not only being accepted by this man, but chosen by him, too. As his partner. As his equal. As his friend. Lovers and soulmates and all the rest.

Wen Kexing is not certain that anyone else has ever chosen him before.

Not when there were other, better, options on hand, at any rate.

He swallows thickly, gazing up at Zhou Zishu with wide, startled eyes. Little flecks of cold mountain sunlight catch in the dark sweep of the other man’s hair almost like snowflakes. His grin is wide and fierce. Buoyant and hopeful in a way he has never been in all the time they have known each other. He looks impossibly beautiful, and horribly pleased with himself for managing to derail Wen Kexing’s usual babbling. There might be the slightest touch of pink to his ears, though.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing chokes out.

I love you.

But the words get stuck in his throat.

“What?” Zishu laughs, “Do you ever get tired of calling me?”

“No.” Wen Kexing offers him a weak smile in return, shifting out of his hold a little so they can sit facing one another.

Zhou Zishu heaves an exasperated sigh, but his eyes remain bright, his expression one of incalculable fondness.

“Is that all you were saying during the ritual?” he wonders, half joking, “You just sat there calling my name?”

“Huh?”

“You said earlier that you had tried speaking to me, but my hearing had gone,” Zhou Zishu reminds him, “What did you say?”

“Oh, yes, it was mostly just your name over and over,” Wen Kexing nods, “Plus a few embarrassing personal anecdotes I felt like sharing. Once I knew you had no way to stop me, I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Yes, Ah Xu?”

“After all we have been through together, what could you possibly still have to tell me that you think I would be unwilling to hear?”

Wen Kexing makes a face, caught outright.

“It…is not so much a matter of thinking you would not hear me out,” he admits carefully, “It is more that there are just things that are difficult to say to someone. The more important they are to you, the harder it gets, so between you and me… But when a man feels his end has come, all sorts of things seem to tumble out unwillingly.”

Zhou Zishu looks positively stricken.

“You could tell that the cultivation technique was backfiring?” he hisses out, gasping Wen Kexing by the shoulders, “And you still kept going?”

“What else could I do?” Wen Kexing asks helplessly, “If I had stopped wouldn’t we both die? Would it be better if I had starved to death with your corpse in my arms? Besides, that old monster promised me that this technique could save you, so no matter what the cost was going to be, of course I-”

“So, you knew there would be a cost already?” Zhou Zishu cuts him off, expression like a brewing storm cloud, “You knew this was likely going to injure you, and you did not even think to warn me first? We could have prepared beforehand! You could have looked through the Yin Yang book and point out things that I could use to help you in an emergency! Dammit, Lao Wen, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!”

“Was there really time for things like that?” Wen Kexing argues back, “Your senses were already dying out one by one, if we did not try the technique as soon as possible, you might not have been able to complete it! If I told you how risky it is, would you agree to it? Would you still let me try to save you?”

“I deserve the right to make that choice!” Zhou Zishu shouts hoarsely.

“You do!” Wen Kexing agrees just as hotly, “But I owe it to Chengling to save his family. And I owe it to our master to save his teachings. And I owe it to you most of all. I ruined your chance at happiness. To rebuild the Four Seasons with Chengling and the other new disciples. You threw it all away to try and avenge me… The number of people in this world who have been good to me are few enough to count on one hand. I would do anything for them, and you most of all. How could I live without repaying this debt?”

“And what if I hadn’t been able to save you?!” Zhou Zishu demands thunderously.

“I didn’t expect you to save me!”

For a few moments, the words seem to echo of the cold walls of the armory, bouncing back at them over and over. The silence that follows after them is deafening. Zishu’s eyes are red, and his hands are trembling on Wen Kexing’s biceps, but he looks as though he is about to breathe fire.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and deadly, “Very good. You feel like you owe me so much, but all you want to do is torture me.”

“What?” Wen Kexing baulks, “No! Ah Xu, that’s not what I-”

But before he can finish the thought Zhou Zishu has already pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his breathing erratic, and his face buried in the side of his neck. Wen Kexing makes a pained grunt, his ribs still tender from previous injury. It only makes Zishu’s grip on him tighten, however, holding onto him with a furious desperation.

“In such a short stretch of time, I have had to see you dead or dying before my eyes over and over again,” he mumbles thickly into the silk of Wen Kexing’s robes, “You spent all this time chasing me down, pestering me to let you stay by my side, begging me not to die, and telling me to find things to feel hopeful about. But now it seems as though you are set on leaving me behind.”

“I never wanted to leave you,” Wen Kexing protests, but his voice seems to have lost all of its strength, “I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if I died, and you had to be sad for a while, you have so much left to live for, and I wanted you to have it. I just wanted you to be…happy.”

“Bastard,” Zhou Zishu laughs wetly, “Wen Kexing, you really are…the absolute worst sort of person.”

Wen Kexing sags in his embrace, his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. His head droops, white hair falling across his eyes. Utterly defeated.

“I know.”

Zhou Zishu finally pulls back from him. There are obvious tear tracks down his cheeks, but he still looks fierce, regardless. He takes Wen Kexing roughly by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You are also…my happiness.”

Wen Kexing gapes at him, for once in his life completely at a loss for words. Seeing an opening, Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to kiss him again. Harsher this time. Brief and chaste and biting. It does not seem to help the other man’s sense of bafflement in the slightest. Indeed, Lao Wen looks as though his soul might have just flown straight out of his body.

Zishu smiles at him again, but there is still something sharp and wounded at its edges.

“Eternity would be an empty place without you,” he says quietly, “How could you leave me to bear it alone?”

“I…I’m…sorry,” Wen Kexing sputters, as though he does not know what else to say. He finally reaches back for Zhou Zishu, cautiously taking hold of his wrists. The ache in his chest seems to have spread outward, and he is shaking so badly that he fears he might not be able to sit up straight much longer. “I’m sorry. I just did not… I did not know how else to save you.”

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu nods in understanding, “I suppose I can forgive you for it this time, although some part of me still would like nothing so much as to throw you outside and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“I will accept any punishment you want to give me,” Wen Kexing tells him earnestly.

“Alright,” Zhou Zishu grins, “Then pay me back with your whole life. Stay alive, and stay with me. Always.”

Wen Kexing blinks in surprise, but the next moment he is laughing. Dizzy with relief and unexpected joy. Marveling at the gifts that fate has blessed him with after so many years of hatred and heartache.

“I can do that.”

~

When Zhou Zishu wakes up later that night Wen Kexing is sitting at the opposite end of their makeshift bed in nothing but his under robe. His back is facing him, and he takes a moment to stare at the snowy cascade of his hair. The living proof of what Lao Wen would sacrifice for him. It looks beautiful on him, as everything else seems to, but Zishu thinks he prefers the rich dark brown that he was born with. This new color comes with a twinge of guilt.

Not that he would ever say so.

“Lao Wen,” he calls softly, “What are you doing?”

Wen Kexing’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.

“Don’t come over,” he replies, “I’m not finished yet.”

“Ai,” Zishu grins, scooting close enough to lightly tug at a few strands of that bone white hair, “But that just makes me want to come over even more.”

“I have a knife,” Lao Wen says coolly, “I will use it if I have to.”

“You left our bed in the middle of the night to play with a knife?” Zishu laughs, not intimidated in the least. “Why?”

“If you stop pestering me for a few minutes maybe you’ll find out,” Wen Kexing snaps. Zhou Zishu is not fooled, though. He had caught the sharp inhale of breath when he had said the words ‘our bed’, and he is all but certain that Lao Wen’s threats are empty.

“But you’ll catch cold,” he coaxes, slipping his arms about his waist and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He obligingly resists the urge to peek at whatever secret Wen Kexing is fiddling with, though. The other man sighs, but does nothing to discourage him, as expected.

“The next time you accuse me of being insufferable, I want you to remember this conversation,” Wen Kexing says wryly.

“It must be your bad influence,” Zhou Zishu chuckles.

Wen Kexing hums noncommittally, going back to whatever he had been working on before. Zhou Zishu sits patiently behind him, leaning into the warm curve of his back, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the faint scraping sound of a blade chipping away at something. The proximity is comfortable, and the quiet almost meditative, and before long Zishu is already half way back to being asleep.

“Alright,” Lao Wen says finally, carefully pulling himself free of Zhou Zishu’s arms and turning to face him, “You can look now.”

Zishu has to shake himself a little to wake up again, but once he does, he finds that Lao Wen is holding out what appears to be an oddly shaped icicle.

“…What is it?” he asks after a few moments of trying to puzzle it out for himself.

Wen Kexing frowns.

“It’s a hair pin,” he tells him, as though it should be obvious.

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, saying ‘ah’ with such a doubting face?” Wen Kexing huffs in annoyance, “Of course it is a hair pin, what else would it be? You lost the one I gave you before, so now I have to give you a new one to replace it.”

“I lost the one you gave me before?” Zhou Zishu laughs.

“That’s right,” Wen Kexing nods seriously, “But I promise not to be mad about it.”

“Philanthropist Wen is too kind.”

“It’s true,” Lao Wen sighs dramatically, “People are always taking advantage of my generous nature.”

He firmly places the hair pin in Zhou Zishu’s hands. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be roughly shaped like a tree branch. There are two lumpy circles that might be meant to be flowers attempting to bloom from it. The finished product is crude, but the ice is clear and crystalline. Pretty, even despite the skill level of the craftsman.

“It is meant to be plum blossoms,” Wen Kexing admits somewhat sheepishly, “One bloom for each of us. There was meant to be a bud for Chengling, too, but I accidentally broke it off. Hopefully, that is not an inauspicious sign for him.”

“I see,” Zhou Zishu says, because he does see, and just like the morning he had woken up to find the Four Seasons Manor cleaned and Wen Kexing diligently repairing his master’s old painting, he feels very much like he wants nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms again.

“Ah Xu, will you accept it?” Wen Kexing asks, slightly trepidatious at his lack of reaction.

“Of course,” Zishu smiles easily, “But it’s made of ice, after all. If I wear it, it will likely melt or break in a day or so.”

“If it breaks, I will just make you a new one,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes soft. He plucks the hair pin from Zhou Zishu’s fingers, reaching up and carefully sliding it into the loose knot at the base of his ponytail. “I can make you a new one every day, if I have to. With any luck, they will eventually look less ugly.”

He takes Zhou Zishu’s hands in his own.

“There are still things I am not good at saying,” he tells him, “Things that I want to share with you. Things that you deserve to hear. Right now, my skills are not enough, but just like with the hair pin, if I keep working at it every day, eventually I can give you something worth having.”

Zhou Zishu tugs him down into his embrace. He thinks about kissing him. About pushing him down and pulling his robe open and showing him, again, how very much he is wanted. But Lao Wen is still recovering from injuries, and it would be a shame to snap his new hair pin tussling around in the sheets. So, he makes do with holding him close, for now. Tangling his fingers in hair the color of starlight.

“Say them, or don’t say them,” he says quietly against the shell of Wen Kexing’s ear, “Whatever they are, they have no bearing on your worth to me.”

“Doesn’t that seem like my current value is lower than mud?” Wen Kexing laughs nervously.

“It means you are treasured,” Zishu corrects him firmly, “There is no price that I would sell you for.”

“I suppose that means I can stop living in fear that you would truly try and sell me to a brothel.”

“You really are a brat.”

“Ah Xu?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

[tippytopdays]

Just a Typical Morning

literally slapped a fresh coat of paint on this little thing and did some proofreading, posting here because it's not really a story i feel like belongs on my Ao3

_____________________________________________________________

A snap. A small flare of light. A hiss. The light goes out with a brief spike of pain. The scent of nicotine filling his lungs, sitting there for a moment before being lazily huffed back out. He rolled the cig between his teeth, canines catching the paper.

For once, it was a slow day. Quiet too, if the silent city ruins said anything about it. No howling of some crazy Zed in the alleyways, no rushing of cars; nothing. Then again it’s probably something like, 6AM if he thought about it, since the sun wasn’t high enough yet to count as day.

Well as close to day as it could get, he assumed. It wasn’t like he knew anything else, anyways.

Deimos gripped the cig between his fingers, watching the flecks of tobacco sprinkle over the railing. The balcony was small, granted, but it was enough. Throw on a piece of metal or two along the railing and it even made for some quick cover if there was an attack. Overhead assault was harder to avoid, especially from so high up.

The end of the cigarette glowed dimly as he inhaled, smoke trailing into the air.

He didn’t like being up this early. It was too quiet.

Normally by now he would probably be going downstairs to fetch some grub from the cafeteria with Ford, talk about their evenings or whatever else would come up. Sometimes he’d be scrambling to get his gear on to check whatever combusted in the lower levels. Of course if it was the mercs just screwing around and breaking whatever had gotten mixed up with their roughhousing then he’d get upset. Fixing that shit isn’t easy you know, but it wasn’t worth straining his voice anyways; Ford could do that for him in spades.

He sighed in a soft plume of smoke. Really, what else can you do when the hired help has to be a bunch of knuckleheads, anyways?

Whatever it was, he definitely wasn’t throwing any parties for them that’s for sure. Last thing anyone needed was those guys keeping everyone up all night by being loud as fuck.

Another drag, a slight shake in his fingers as they met his lips.

His arms hurt like Hell from having to spend so long rewiring that at this point he was surprised they were even remotely steady at all. And when he thought about it him waking up at the ass end of dawn because the comms had crashed again was probably a good reason as to why he was up so early. Digging around in cramped crawl spaces was not how he wanted to spend his day; and being tossed into a late night mission on top of it was even lower on that list.

Damn his bed seemed real inviting, early morning or not.

When was the last time he’d slept in? Or just had a day off? Sure they’d had low days along with the high ones, but when did they get an actual break where they could relax? The last time there wasn’t some kind of emergency or chaos outside their doors was at least a decade ago at this point, maybe less. He didn’t really have it in him to care much, since he didn’t keep track of the days anymore. No point to it.

More smoke filled his lungs. He really should just get some extra shut eye, rest until he felt better.

But, for some reason, he couldn’t.

He’d snapped to awareness with a cold feeling of dread weighing down his stomach. It had been so strong he’d shot up, halfway reaching for the pistol at his bedside thinking someone was there. But there wasn’t. It was dead quiet, like the moments after a bad mission.

Maybe that’s why he was outside right now. The casual air helped to mask the intent in his eyes as he scanned the skyline.

A glint of reflected light from a nearby rooftop nearly made him crush the cig in his hands as he tensed. Eyes snapping upwards he focused, but relaxed when all he found was a few familiar faces among one of the many teams patrolling the area. He snorted, smoke curling around his face.

Another pull, the cold wash of nicotine a nice cleanse to the tension in the air.

He was overthinking this.

And after all they’d been through, who could blame him really? Being constantly on the run would make anyone look over their shoulder or keep a gun within reach. Still, it wasn’t like the Agency knew where they were this time. To add to it nothing could get through the blast doors even if it tried. They’d tested those well enough for him to be certain.

It was just a very quiet night and he wasn’t used to it. That had to be it.

The cig smoldered between his lips in one last drag before he flicked the used butt over the railing. Arms raising over his head he stretched with a groan, “Damn,” He muttered, wincing at the series of pops going up his spine, “Ya’d think I’m getting old with how I crack like a handful of spaghetti.”

He was done with his morning smoke anyways.

Mobility returned to his spine Deimos rubbed at his neck he turned his back to the city, meandering back inside. Hitting the switch beside the glass door to slide it shut behind him he glanced at the clock on the comically cluttered bedside table he owned. Yep, too early for him to be this awake, if the glaring red 7:37 was anything to go by. Well mostly glaring, since his cap was haphazardly draped over it when he’d tossed it there yesterday. Or last night, he didn’t look at it then because he was too busy flopping face first into bed.

A healthy gurgling from his stomach brought him out of his thoughts.

That’s right. He didn’t eat last night either. Not really any time to when you’re face first into the ugly end of some bastardized wiring job done nearly half a decade ago. He hummed under his breath.

Was it too early to get something from the cafeteria? It was still morning he supposed; maybe some breakfast sausage would be left this time since he’d be able to get there first for once. The thought alone was tantalizing despite the exhaustion tugging at the edge of his conscious.

Did he even change after all that sweatshop work yesterday?

Pulling at the hem of his tank top he took a whiff. Yep, stunk of old sweat and probably a hint of grease; he didn’t. Pants probably didn’t smell too great either but who would check those and not come off like a weirdo? A quick sweep of the cargo pants half hanging off his hips proved them to be good enough with no obvious stains or rips.

Deimos shrugged. It was good enough. At least he didn’t stink of blood or anything, otherwise Doc would be on his ass hard. Though it wasn’t like anyone would be able to tell the difference in this sausage fest anyways. He’d be fine for a quick early morning bite.

Just needed to grab his jacket and boots and he’d be good to go.

Deimos scratched the stubble lining his jawline while he scanned the room. He’d taken off his jacket somewhere mid collapse but he couldn’t place where. He wasn’t one to lose things—most of the time at least—but sometimes it felt like they just up and disappeared. With his luck it would probably end up in a really obnoxious place like behind the bed or something. Not like that would happen since the thing was braced up against the wall in the corner so it had to be somewhere around here.

He paused when he noticed the distinctly leather looking lump laying on the floor beside said furniture.

Oh. There it is.

Approaching the bed he picked up his jacket off the floor. It still had some dust from when he’d been crawling through the vents last night as he swiped a hand over the shoulder. He grimaced at the sticky webbing that stuck to his fingers; a few cobwebs, too. Gross. Shaking it to clear out any excess dust he threw it on haphazardly, adjusting his pants once it was snugly over his shoulders. Belt tightened up again he’d turned towards the table and nearly tripped over his own boots.

Welp, at least those weren’t far either. Glad he’d had half the mind to take those off before crashing.

Cursing a bit under his breath he snatched his cap off the clock. With a quick sweep of his hand through his hair to straighten it a bit he put his hat on and sat on the bed, scooting his boots closer with a foot. Once they were laced up and buckled he got to his feet, ready for the day—or at least, the really early morning.

He glanced at the clock again. It blinked lazily at 8AM.

Eh, early enough. But the call of some sweet breakfast sausage was not to be ignored.

The moment he turned towards the door there was a series of firm knocks. He jumped, nearly tripping again as he cracked out, “Uh, yeah?” Damn that cig wasn’t enough apparently because his nerves must still be fried from that morning.

“Deimos, it’s me.”

His lips quirked a bit, confused. Normally, Doc only went after him when something broke or got jammed up again but a glance at the tablet resting on the table face up didn’t reveal a blinking light for a missed message. Unless something went wrong in the handful of seconds he’d been standing there then why was he trying to talk to him now of all times, “Hang on.” Tromping across the room he swiped his code in, the door opening with a hiss.

Doc was standing in front of his room, arms behind his back and head turned away as he kept his focus down the hall before turning to face him. He scanned him head to foot, “You look like shit.”

Deimos rolled his eyes with a huff, “Good morning to you too, Doc.” Leave it to him to state the obvious. Not like he didn’t already feel like crap in more than a few ways. He propped an arm against the door as he nodded towards him, “What’s up?”

2B stood a bit straighter, and just by his posture alone he had a feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn’t good, “Boss called in this morning, we have another assignment.”

Well he wasn’t wrong.

Deimos sighed, traces of smoke licking at his tongue as he tossed his head back, “Seriously? Now? Doc I haven’t eaten yet.” As if to prove his point his stomach made yet another unhappy glug. Both men glanced down, the tech sweeping a hand towards it with brows raised.

“I can tell.” Doc merely returned his gaze placidly, “Have you seen Sanford yet?”

He shook his head, “Nah. Haven’t left until now.” Though if he were to take a guess, he’d say the demolition’s expert would be working out somewhere.

It seemed they shared the same thought as 2B nodded, “I assume he might be downstairs at this hour. I did hear some commotion from one of the training decks.”

He chuckled a bit. Typical Ford.

“I want you to be ready within the hour, Deimos. You’ll get to eat when you get back. I’ll tell the staff in the kitchen to keep something in the oven for you.” He turned around, fully intending to leave before adding, “And also, get some washing done when you get back. You smell like a corpse.” With that he took his leave while Deimos scowled at his back.

Great. Of course it would be doc who’d notice.

Still he only sighed, punching the code into the panel to lock the door behind him. Getting his gear from the locker he had downstairs would only take a couple of minutes, and Ford should already be up if he was taking up a training room.

Just another day in Nevada, per the usual.

Things never really change.

[thoughtfulgalaxytrash]

💎Specs of Blue

Blue glow danced across the cluttered room as Idia leaned back to his comfortable chair. The un-skippable cut scene called Entrance Ceremony was finally over. It was boring to see the new batch of npcs arrive every year, hearing Rosehearts instantly threaten them and Ahsengrotto trying to gather brownie points.....

At least this year had one small suprise event.

"But where did the headmaster go? He flew out right in the middle of the Ceremony." Schoenheit noted aloud.

"Abandoning his post..." Idia slumped back to his original pose and made the camera look at the other dorm-leaders. Al-Asim suggested something about a stomach ache, when Ceremony room's doors slammed open.

So the headmaster did come back, Idia groaned when the masked man announced loudly that stomach ache was not the cause of his dissappearence. Was he seriously listening the conversation behind the doors?

"I cannot believe you all. We were missing one new student so I went to find them."

Idia furrowed his browns, they were? He pulled down another monitor with the list of new npc names and short profiles that Ortho had provided with quick scans.

Felmier Epel, 156 cm, Pomefiore, human

Spade Deuce, 173 cm, Heartslabyl, human

Trappola Ace, 172 cm, Heartslabyl, human too...

They weren't supposed to be missing any students. Other leaders looked confused as well when Idia looked back at tablet's monitor.

Headmaster moved aside revealing much more smaller figure standing behind him. He was holding the edge of robe's hood like another faceless character, when the masked man motioned him to step in and in front of the Dark Mirror.

So they really had missed one.... Idia buried his face into his hands, now he had to spend even more time watching this cut scene! And listen to whatever the headmaster would say afterwards. Maybe he could just mute the feed when the rant would start, it's not like Crowley would notice it.

"Big brother..." Ortho's soft voice drifted out of the microphone, snapping Idia out of his wallowing. Yellow eyes peeked through his fingers as Idia moved his focus to the incoming message.

"Yes Ortho?" The last npc was standing in front of the Dark Mirror as it asked for a name. Idia ignored it, he would see it when Ortho would finish the scan.

"This person... They don't appear to have any pulse. Actually, I don't think that they're a person at all."

"........... Eh?" Idia snatched the monitor closer and pulled up Ortho's on-going scan. He heard Dark Mirror repeating student's name on the background as he followed appearing text.

"The shape of thy soul is...." Dark Mirror's monotonous voice said the phrase that was heard over and over during the night when the scan came to an end.

Name, Aquamarine

Height, 150 cm

Body function cannot be detected

Detecting extremely high levels of beryllium aluminum silicate

If Idia's skin wasn't so pale already, his knuckles would have been visibly white from gripping the monitor so hard as the Dark Mirror gave its final judgment.

"I do not know."

Hello!

I was really happy to see that people liked the first part of this fic. So here is some more!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

[jengajives]

Lots of feelings about how my fave siblings would have felt about Maedhros’s fun trip on Thangorodrim. Also Best Cousins as well

“Wake up, Your Majesty.”

Maedhros didn’t move until the sharp toe of an iron boot jabbed his side. Then he grumbled and rolled over, but would not rise.

“Your Highness,” sang the serpent’s voice from somewhere above him. “Your feast awaits, oh King.”

A clatter. The tray of whatever food he was gifted with for the day hitting the damp stone floor. Maedhros still did not move.

“No appetite, hm? Your Majesty just isn’t himself this morning. Usually you’re so excited for your meals.”

A high, hot laugh. Maedhros got the idea Sauron was putting his boot in the food. A lovely image.

“You can tell your master,” he said flatly, without cracking an eye or rolling over, “that if He wants me mocked and ridiculed, He’d better come down here and do it Himself. I give little weight to the word of lesser servants.”

“Lesser?” Sauron repeated. Heat leached into his voice; Maedhros could feel it rising from the coward’s skin even before the fire-bright hands reached down to grab him, burning another set of hand prints into his shoulders with fat, red welts.

“I will show you lesser, pup,” Sauron seethed, “Are the failure son of failure fathers, and I am Flame itself!”

“You,” Maedhros said though his voice quivered with exhaustion, “are just a slinking dog afraid to leave his master’s heels. More likely to roll over than to stand up and fight.”

The pain of heat grew red and wild, like touching molten metal. Sauron’s fingertips dug in and Maedhros found himself locked in a fiery scarlet gaze.

“We shall see who rolls over for whom,” Sauron snarled, and dragged Maedhros unresisting from the cell.

“Look at you!”

Sauron’s eyes glowed in the dim light, gleaming with smug victory. His hands, so rarely idle, twitched by his side until he had to grab Maedhros by the hair and yank his head up so he could get a good look at his face.

The small myriad of new cuts went from cheekbone to cheekbone. Jaw to jaw. It was nothing, of course, compared to the pain against his spine he was convinced would never leave.

It had been hours and still it hurt sharp and blazing hot as ever.

It seemed like Sauron was trying to burn letters into his very skin, though he worked too gradually for Maedhros to make out the script.

Sauron laughed and gave him a sharp slap.

“The High King of the Noldor, eh? I don’t see it. All I can see is a houseless and pathetic murderer getting what he deserves.”

Maedhros spit at him, splattering his face with blood. Immediately the flame in Sauron’s eyes went white hot.

“Why, you little-“

“Mairon.”

Sauron paused, one hand drawn back and glowing like molten metal, as his master appeared looming like a mountain in the doorway.

“That’s enough. Leave him.”

His eye twitched but slowly he straightened and obeyed, with a courteous bow.

“Of course, Master.”

He shot Maedhros a spiteful glare as he stalked from the room, still wiping blood and spit away with a sleeve.

The sound of Morgoth’s approach was like a rumbling in the earth, but Maedhros had learned to ignore it. He let his head hang limp, cheek pressed to the cold stone, breathing steadily, trying to convince his scrambled mind it was safe to rest, even if only for an instant.

He hadn’t yet fully mastered the terror when Morgoth reached him and lifted his head by the hair.

No rest. No rest was fine. He didn’t need to rest.

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Nelyo,” said Morgoth with mock pity, his expression twisted into a deep frown. “I’ve just gotten message back from your dear brothers.”

Something cold that probably had been hope once rose into Maedhros’s throat, and he didn’t have the energy to keep it from showing. Cruel amusement flashed behind Morgoth’s heavy eyes.

“Unfortunately, it seems they’ve abandoned you to torment and pain for the rest of eternity.” The sympathy dripping from his voice tasted like poison; it was difficult not to choke on it. “Isn’t that just awful? Your own family... not even willing to save their sweet Nelyo. Their King. How horribly tragic.”

Any attempt to think through the news logically failed, so the only thought going through Maedhros’s head was the certainty that it was a lie. Maglor and Celegorm wouldn’t abandon him to this, surely. Fingon wouldn’t... Fingon...

No. Fingon wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming, he couldn’t be, and even if he was, why would he want anything other than pain for the sons of Fëanor? After what they had done... after what Maedhros had done to him. No, there was no rescue. No freedom. The Oath bound his brothers never to give up the pursuit of their enemy, not even for his sake.

“Get on with it,” Maedhros growled, raising his gaze to meet Morgoth’s. “I’ll be avenged. You’ll be paid for the lives of my grandfather, and my father, and... and me. Go ahead and do it.”

A pause, and then Morgoth laughed wild and cold.

“Oh, sweet boy. You think I want you dead? You think I want to kill you? No, no...” He leaned closer, his breath a whisper of ice and stone. “I want you to watch your brothers die. I want you to see exactly how fruitless all your labors have been. You, my dear Nelyo, are not going anywhere.”

Maglor was so distracted looking out over the mountains that he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until he got a hand clapped on his shoulder.

“Brother.”

He almost jumped as he flipped around, but managed to restrain himself.

“Celegorm!”

“Your hair is getting long,” Celegorm said, with a weak smile on his face as he rustle his fingers through the growing curls. Trying not to look as sad as he was. “It looks nice. Going to braid it again soon?”

“Oh. Yes, I think so.” Maglor did not have the energy to attempt a smile. Didn’t have the will.

“Good.” Celegorm patted him on the shoulder again. “Good. A king should have braids, yeah?”

Maglor was nodding along until he processed the words.

“K-King?”

“Yes.” Celegorm straightened up, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. He had the same cool, collected expression that most of them wore nowadays. “You are next in line, Maglor.”

“Next in...” he trailed off, glancing east again to the mountains. “Wait, no, Celegorm, Maedhros is-“

“Maedhros is gone.” He would not meet Maglor’s shocked gaze. “It’s time we start accepting that. Our people need a king, and you-“

“No!” Maglor stepped back. “He is alive! Maedhros is our king, and he’s alive, and we aren’t going to abandon him like that!”

“I’m just saying we should think about it,” Celegorm said. “That’s all.”

“No.” Maglor looked at his brother in horror. “That’s awful, Celegorm, I’m not leaving him like that!”

“I’m sorry.” Celegorm backed up, hand raised. “But he’s gone. There’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry.”

He turned and left the room, and Maglor put his face in his hands and wept.

The air was bitter cold up here. Bitter cold and reeking of smoke.

Maedhros tried so hard not to feel the pain anymore. Tried to close his eyes and drift to sleep but he couldn’t. The pain was too constant.

If his hand could have come off, it would have by now. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

The stone was razor sharp and tore at his back like knives. The wind bit into his flesh. And the manacle sliced his wrist and sent a constant stream of blood down his arm.

It hurt too bad to find escape in sleep.

It hurt too bad to think.

When the clear sound of horns rang across the hills and echoed through the peaks, Maedhros almost thought his mind had wandered entirely out of reality.

But then he saw the blue banners of Fingolfin in the valley below, and the horns rang out deafening and clear, and it was so loud it shook him to his core.

Fingolfin.

Fingolfin was here.

He was here, waving his banners, banging on the gates of Angband under the light of the silver newborn moon.

Strength flowed immediately through Maedhros and he squirmed, pulling himself up by the chain around his wrist. The white gleam of armor and jewels glittered like a living river of hope.

“Uncle!”

He twisted, trying to get enough air to his lungs to scream.

“Uncle!”

He didn’t know how Fingolfin had gotten here but he was here. He had come.

“Fingon! Uncle! Aredhel!”

His voice rang across the rocks loud and clear. Surely loud enough to be heard. Surely.

Surely. Please.

Please.

Night and sat blurred into one honey-slow and unsteady pulse, so slow. So slow and he had hung here longer than he could comprehend.

His back was sliced to ribbons by the stone face behind, and the cuts around his wrist were never properly allowed to heal and had turned his entire site dull copper with dry blood. It rained every once in a while and rinsed him clean, but mostly he was suspended there in his own blood and sweat and filth without escape.

No escape.

Never any way out.

Never.

The sound of strings on the wind couldn’t be real because no one would ever crawl up here for his sake, for any sake, let alone play. Let alone sing. Sing a beautiful song in Quenya that Maglor had written about the white streets of Tirion like some ghost of long-lost peace.

His body shook with shivers and fever and he closed his eyes and raised his nose to the wind.

Humming along brought momentarily peace, so Maedhros parted his dry, cracked lips and took up the tune slow and gentle. His voice was in no shape for singing, but he managed it, and it made him feel at home, so he tried anyway.

Abruptly the song stopped. The music died. He lowered his head and returned to the cold and the torment.

“Maedhros?” called a voice, and over a face of rock far below poked the dark head of Fingon.

Fingon.

Fingon was here for him.

He’d come.

Tears steamed hot down his cheeks, the only water he had left.

Fingon crawled onto the flat granite shelf and got to his feet, a vision in gleaming blue with a harp at his side. He stood for a moment studying the rock and the sheer face between himself and his cousin, then he cupped his hands over his mouth and called again.

“Maedhros, I can’t reach you!”

Even from this distance, Maedhros could see the silver bow slung across Fingon’s back.

He croaked words and just had to hope they reached all the way down.

“Just shoot.”

Blood ran down his bicep and dripped through the hollow of his spine.

“Fingon. Please. Just shoot me.”

He closed his eyes and missed if Fingon replied, because his arm ached so horribly he couldn’t even think.

It seemed to him a long time before he opened his eyes again and saw Fingon sat on the stone with his face in his hands and the bow resting next to him. He was crying. Maedhros could see his shoulders shaking from here.

Eventually he stood, picked up the bow and turned around to face the precipice.

Maedhros saw his lips moving, but he couldn’t hear the words. All he could see was the gleam of the bow as he drew it.

He closed his eyes again.

Awaiting the momentary pain that would herald his release.

It did not come.

He heard the wind of a hurricane, felt it push against his face and smack him back to the rock, and the roar of beating wings, and then hands on his shoulders holding him, warm, and firm, and present.

“It’s alright!” Fingon spoke through tears, a desperate smile on his face. “I’m here. I’m here, Maedhros. I’m going to take you home!”

Maedhros did not answer. It hurt. It hurt and it wasn’t like Fingon would be able to get rid of it.

He could feel him tugging at the chains. Trying to pry the manacle off the rock. Trying everything.

“Fingon,” Maedhros breathed. “Fingon, please. You can’t get me out of here. There’s no way out. Just... if you could just... please...” He looked meaningfully at the sword his cousin wore at his hip. “Just end it. Please. I can’t...”

“No, no. Stop that, I’m not leaving you. You’re going to be fine!”

“I’m sorry.” He wanted to cry but his body wouldn’t manage it. “Fingon. I’m sorry. I-I never meant to leave you b-behind.”

“Just hush. Keep your strength.”

“I’m sorry...”

Another tug at the manacle. It wouldn’t budge.

Finally, Maedhros heard the scrape of a sword being drawn, and a silver flash of sunlight blinded him.

Yes. Yes, at last. At last.

“Hold still. It’ll only hurt for a second, cousin, I promise. Just- Just don’t move!”

The dull pain in his wrist turned sharp and he let out a scream that echoed endlessly across the peaks.

So sharp. So cold.

Turned him to ice.

Froze him all up.

He didn’t even notice Fingon holding him, wrapping him in a cloak, forcing warmth back into his body. Binding his hand tight and clean.

His hand his hand his fingers were twitching and he could still feel the manacles.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed quietly into Fingon’s chest, and for the first time in too long he received an affectionate touch.

He closed his eyes and went at last to sleep.

[nekomapi]

suggested listening: I Fall Apart by Post Malone

“Another.”

The bartender gauged the pro hero's current state and hesitantly obliged his request. "Think maybe you should slow it down a bit, eh?"

"The purpose of your job is to serve me alcohol and get paid in return. I didn't ask for your advice on whether or not I've had too much." He growled as he threw his head back to gulp down the shot, slamming the glass down on the counter. Ignoring the annoyed glare from the bartender, he ran his hand tensely up his face and through his damp hair, gripping the ends and squeezing them for a moment before letting go. It was late afternoon and sweat was accumulating around his forehead, making him more uncomfortable than he already was.

It had been a few years since Class 1-A graduated. Midoriya and Yaoyorozu worked hard to convince everyone to reunite for a week on this tropical island getaway. Shoto wasn't in the mood or right mind frame to renew the bonds with his former classmates, but he wound up agreeing to end their nonstop pleading.

He reluctantly flicked his eyes back to the lagoon pool, catching another glimpse of what had first driven him to start drowning his sorrows. You were right there, in a small rock cavern behind the cascading waterfall. His best friend who had always been by his side and never failed to comfort him when darkness was holding him down.

The past few years, things between you two had drastically changed. It started at graduation, when you had confessed your strong feelings to him and he told you he didn't see you in that way. Shoto clenched his teeth, cursing himself at the memory. He had been so dense and selfishly involved with his own personal bullshit that he hadn't recognized what his affection towards you really meant. After that night, it had become more difficult for you to continue as close friends, and you both began to drift apart. This hadn't been your intention, but lying to yourself about your feelings was something you weren't about to carry with you.

Your absence had become a gaping hole in his heart that felt more and more painful each day that passed and seeing you in this moment with your legs tightly straddled around Bakugou's waist, made him sick to his stomach. Your body was hugging the rock wall as he leaned into you, his hand squeezing your butt as you both were melted in a deep, rough kiss. Your suggestive body language made it look like you had  been used to each other's bodies for some time now.

'How could they be doing this so freely in public? Don't they know everyone can see them?' But that wasn't what bothered him at all. What bothered him was the fact that it should be him who's holding you under there. He should be feeling your warmth pressed up against his, while he explored your wonderfully curved body with his hands. Just him. He dropped his head into his folded arm on the bar counter. It was rare for him to publicly display emotions like this, but at this point he didn't care.

"Bakugou and (Y/N) are going at it again!" A loud and familiar voice from behind Todoroki spoke. "Damn, he's one lucky dude. I'd get down on that so hard if I could."

Kirishima slapped the back of Denki's head, causing him to shriek loudly, "WHAT THE HELL MAN?!" The red-head shook his head in disgust. "Don't talk about her like that! That's totally un-manly!"

"But, you can't say you don't agree? She's only gotten better looking since high school. And that ass is so——"

Todoroki’s hand slammed down onto their table, silencing whatever crude remark was about to follow. Ice crystals littered the surface, causing everyone at the table to quickly retract their hands. His breath was heavy and his eyes were glowing with rage. "Shut your fucking mouth, Kaminari." After a moment of glaring at him fiercely, he stood up straight and walked out of the pool bar a bit unsteadily, towards the hotel.

"Damn, I....I've never seen him that worked up," Kaminari finally stuttered out after having been glued to his seat in terror.

____

Shoto's eyes fluttered open slowly, awoken by the stream of moonlight sneaking through the small opening of the curtains. His head pounded like it was being stuck with an ice pick as he squinted to read the clock. '1:30 am.'

His legs clumsily hit the floor as he sat himself up. The fog from his drunken sleep started to dissipate causing memories of the scene he witnessed earlier to come crashing over him. Suddenly, the room felt suffocating.

He went to open the minibar, finding that there were a few small unopened bottles of alcohol staring him in the face. He picked up the ice bucket from the dresser, along with his hotel key and walked out the door.

Heading down the hall and towards the loud buzzing of the ice machine, he heard the faint noise of someone touching the buttons. 'Great.' He looked down at his disheveled appearance. His tank top felt almost painted on due to sweating in his sleep, his basketball shorts were wrinkled and he was sure his hair was a tangled mess of crimson and white. 'Quite the classy look for a pro hero,' he thought.

Once he got close enough to the door, he stopped abruptly, as the faint smell of something made his whole body tense. That cinnamon vanilla aroma that drove him crazy started to flood his senses and his body suddenly felt weak. He forced his last few steps forward as quietly as possible, setting down the ice bucket and stopping once he was in the doorway.

His cheeks felt hot as he took in your late night appearance. You were wearing an oversized t-shirt— he recognized quickly as Bakugou's from earlier. Your long, silky (h/c) hair lightly touched the ground as you bent down to retrieve your drink. The tiny, plaid pajama shorts you wore were doing nothing to hide the curves of your perfect shape. His chest suddenly felt tight, unconsciously moving him to lean into the doorway. The metal panel creaked softly causing you to jump, dropping the drink you were retrieving as you turned to face him. 

"Oh!” Your hand slapped over your heart, a faint smile forming. “It’s just you Sho.”

Your tone and how you addressed him was so familiar and warm that his mouth went dry.

"Y/N... I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's okay." You looked at him, your breath calming down as you awkwardly scratched the back of your neck, "Can't sleep?"

He shook his head, those beautifully mismatched eyes completely fixed on you. It's been a while since you two had been alone together, and you shifted uncomfortably at the memory. The last things you said to him, all the feelings you poured out at once came flooding back to mind. Your cheeks suddenly felt flushed. "How... are you?"

He didn't respond, too mesmerized by the sight of you. You couldn't help but look away while feeling something inside you stir, a fluttering sensation you had worked hard to push out a long time ago. The distance between you two suddenly felt heavier and the room started to feel like it was closing in. You fought the urge to reach out and hug him... just feel him...

‘No, (Y/N).’ You know how hard you’ve worked these past few years trying to move on and you refuse to go through it all over again.

You cleared your throat. "I'm sorry, I have to get back. Maybe we can catch up tomorrow?" Still no response. The silence was unbearable and you needed to exit. You started towards the door but before you could get there he reached his arm up, grabbing the other side to block you. His breath became heavy and you were now close enough to notice the slight tremble in his hands.

"(Y/n)....please." His voice sounded desperate and it made your knees weak. "Don't leave me.... again."

You reached your hand up, dropping it lightly on his arm and held it there. It was so warm and you couldn't help but grip it a bit tighter. Before you could say a word, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you up against the side of the door. His eyes looked like they wanted to scream something as they bored into yours. Your mouth gaped open at his actions as he brushed a few loose hairs behind your ear with his fingers. 'What is he doing?!' He brought his thumb slowly down to your lips, tracing them back and forth. They felt so soft and every part of him ached to feel them pressed against his. He leaned in to close the gap, but stopped right before he reached them, noticing your eyes that were starting to leak uncontrollably.

"You—you’re doing this now?? After all this time..." you choked out between sobs. "I....I.... wanted this for so long. Years, even. To forever be the one who saved you from yourself, from everything that weighed you down." You looked to the side, unable to face him with what you were about to say. "But I can't save you anymore. Not in this way. Because the truth is, he was the one who ended up coming to save me when I was broken. And ... now I love him."

Shouto’s grip on the door loosened. His body lost whatever adrenaline was left and he dropped his forehead, resting it heavily against yours. You welcomed its weight and his feelings that poured into you from it. A tear streamed down his cheek as you let him use your presence for a little longer.

Your hand squeezed his arm as you kissed his cheek and quickly went out the door, leaving a piece of your heart behind... for a second time.

xo n.pi

[owlheartt]

Star Sanses Extended Chapter 3: Error

Here is chapter 1 on AO3

“YOU CAN’T-” Undyne began, her face furrowing together in a sort of pure anger that felt very unlike her.

“PLEASE, WAIT FOR EVERYTHING TO CALM DOWN. MY FRIENDS AND I CAN EXPLAIN IN A BIT, BUT I CAN’T STAY HERE TALKING TO YOU.” Papyrus said, trying to be patient and not show how unnerved he was. It occurred to him that talking to Alphys might help her some, and he used blue magic to carefully grab her SOUL. Then, with full concentration, moved the blue bones and Undyne herself to the blubbering Alphys in the corner who had stayed where Papyrus had asked her to.

Behind him, he could hear a sound almost like a soft gust of wind. Turning around, he found Mettaton’s body collapsed on the floor. There were bones sticking out of his middle, solid ones. His arms looked burnt, like he had been hit with a Gaster Blaster and deflected it using them. Dream and Ink didn’t have blasters or bones, Dream had told him earlier. Therefore, Papyrus could assume Error had done this. Papyrus looked at the black boned skeleton. He had a scratchy grin scrawled across his face, and his expression was comically like a cartoon villain’s.

“Drreeaamyyy boyyy!” Error said, taunting. His voice was glitching in such a way that it sounded like an old radio’s version of nails on chalkboard. Dream threw a mourning glance at Mettaton’s crumpled body, which felt mildly excessive since he had only run out of battery.

“Error! Please! Leave this timeline alone!” Dream begged, stringing another arrow. He didn’t sound exactly desperate, more like he didn’t want to deal with any of these shenanigans.

“Pretty please?” Ink called from the ceiling, blinking his eye sockets and grinning.

“Can it squid!” Error said, his voice no longer sounding so ear-grating.

“FRIEND…” Papyrus trailed off, struggling to find the right thing to say. He wasn’t following what was happening. He wasn’t done training with Dream. He had just plunged into his first Alternate Universe and came face to face with a troubled skeleton he didn’t know that looked horribly like his brother. He just met Alphys for the first time and she was rude and terrified. He just met a grieving Undyne. The Underground felt like it had been flipped upside down and things were moving too quickly.

“Friend?” Error said, laughing. The glitching in his voice made his giggles sound halting. “We’re not friends, you idiot. In fact, I will be your downfall,” Error reached his hands up to his eye sockets, his fingers snagging on something Papyrus couldn’t quite see. Then he pulled them away, dragging brilliant blue strings that matched the permanent tears streaming down his face. He appeared braced to move, and then Dream grabbed his forearm. Error’s expression of glee turned to shock, then the errors and glitches riddling his body multiplied until it was hard to see any bit of him. Dream drew back, looking relieved.

“So. Now you’ve met Error,” Dream said, sighing. “I’m ready to go home, how about you?” He gave Papyrus a tired grin, and his slump showed he was just about ready to drop on the spot. Papyrus nodded, and shot solid bones to cut Ink loose. He reached out his SOUL magic to catch his falling friend, but he missed. Somehow. It was almost like there wasn’t a SOUL there for Papyrus to catch. Ink hit the ground and rolled, coming to a full stop splat on the ground like a puddle.

“Thanks!!” Ink said, grinning. “Ooone moment!” He danced forward (yes, danced) and scooped his brush off the floor. He then splashed bright blue ink all over Error that solidified into chains.

“Ink, the SOUL.” Dream said patiently. Ink looked at him blankly for a moment, his expression mirroring Papyrus’s feelings, then a little light bulb went off on his eye light. He splashed a pool of ink on the floor, just like he had when he made the shortcut, but this time all he stuck was his hand in. Then he pulled out a Determined human SOUL, just like that.

“WHERE’D THAT COME FROM?! DO WE NEED TO RETURN IT?!” Papyrus said, alarmed.

“No, no.” Dream said, walking over to Ink and reaching a hand out. “This SOUL belongs to this timeline. Error took it so that the timeline couldn’t RESET.” Papyrus opened his mouth to ask a question, but Undyne interrupted him.

“Who the hell are you guys?! Let me go and we can have a real fight!!” She yelled from the other side of the room, where Papyrus had left her.

“RIGHT, SORRY FRIEND,” Papyrus said, reaching out a hand to dissipate the bones.

“Paper, wait.” Dream said. Papyrus turned to him questioningly, but before he could ask Dream continued. “I’m going to show you something, alright? Come here.” Papyrus strode over and crouched to see the brilliant red SOUL Dream was holding.

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH IT?” Papyrus said tentatively.

“RESET the timeline. Do you know about RESETs?” Dream said. Papyrus felt his SOUL drop past his ribcage. The word felt… familiar. It did not feel good. But for whatever reason, he couldn’t place it.

“I’M… NOT SURE. I THINK I DO, BUT YOU BETTER EXPLAIN IT ANYWAYS.” Papyrus said. Dream nodded, his expression saying that he was thankful Papyrus was honest.

“Determined human SOULs have the power to manipulate time itself. They can SAVE, LOAD, and RESET. SAVING is when they place a bookmark of sorts in time itself. They can LOAD and come back to the savepoint. RESETTING is when they go back to the beginning, typically when the human first fell into the Underground.” Dream explained. Pieces were beginning to come together in Papyrus’s skull.

“SO WE CAN BRING THIS TIMELINE BACK TO BEFORE OTHER ME… LEFT.” Papyrus said, exited.

“Exactly!” Ink said, jumping up to sling his arm around the crouching skeleton.

“WHAT ABOUT ERROR?” Papyrus said, looking towards the skeleton, still glitch-ridden.

“Eh, he’ll be out for a while. We could take him with us for lunch though, he might like that!!” Ink rambled. “Do you have any chocolate?”

“I BELIEVE SO, WHY?”

“We are not bringing Error for lunch.” Dream said firmly, nervously glancing at Error. “Ink, please take him back to his anti-void.” Ink pouted before making another shortcut and dragging himself and Error through.

“MAYBE HE JUST NEEDS A FRIEND,” Papyrus said ponderingly. Dream barked a dry laugh.

“Ink’s his friend. If either of the idiots can remember it.” He said.

“THEN WHY DO THEY FIGHT? AND WHY CAN’T WE BRING HIM FOR LUNCH?” Papyrus said. If Error was a friend, then why did he act the way he did? Error needed to take some friendship classes.

“You know how Ink forgets everything if he isn’t looking right at it?” After Papyrus nodded, Dream continued. “Error’s the same way. He can even do it staring right at you.”

“I WONDER WHAT IT’S LIKE TO NOT REMEMBER YOUR LIFE.” Papyrus said.

“I don’t know, and honestly? I’m too concerned already to find out. Now, I’m going to RESET then teleport us straight to your place. Don’t worry, we’ll come out right outside of your door.” Dream said, closing his eyes in concentration. Papyrus refrained from saying anything in case he broke Dream’s concentration. A small blip, then two glowing buttons appeared in front of the human SOUL. One said LOAD and the other RESET. Dream brought a hand up and brushed a finger along RESET. A white flash, tinged with gold and red, then they were in Snowdin.

Snowdin looked just the same as he had left it. Nothing was changed, nothing at all. It didn’t feel different like that red timeline. It felt so bizarre, having just gone on this adventure, and home was the exact same. What was he going to tell Sans? The truth, obviously, but where to start? Papyrus’s fantastic mind had barely been able to keep up with it all. But it was lunch time. He could pause and think over lunch. Surely, nothing would happen over lunch.

“Come on, unless you’d like to eat elsewhere?” Dream asked. Papyrus straightened, realizing he was still crouched.

“NO, PLEASE! COME IN. I WAS SIMPLY ENJOYING BEING BACK AT MY FANTABULOUS HOME.” Papyrus said, striding forward to the door. He heard Dream mutter something to himself that sounded a bit like “is… real word?” before his boots thumped in the snow behind Papyrus. Papyrus swung open the door, ready for food (and his brother). Sans was, in fact, inside, and right in front of the door.

“hey bro,” Sans’s eye lights were out, which made Papyrus pause. Sans’s eye lights didn’t go out often.

“SANS, IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG?” Papyrus said, concerned.

“nah, nothin’. but uh, did ya’ know we got some visitors?” He said, turning his skull slightly to the couch that had a broom thrown behind it.

“AH, MY APOLOGIES DEAR BROTHER! THAT’S MY NEW FRIEND. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO COME WITH ME, BUT I GUESS HE GOT EXCITED.” Papyrus said.

“... friend? as in singular?” Sans said, his eye lights flickered back on, but he still looked concerned.

“WELL I HAVE A SECOND ONE HERE, SAY HELLO DREAM!! THIS IS MY BROTHER SANS.” Papyrus said, only after realizing Dream knew this.

“then uh, why’s he got a buddy?” Sans said, waddling towards the couch. Well, he was really walking, but Papyrus liked to call it waddling. He did look like a penguin. Papyrus followed, with Dream in tow, only to find that Error had been plopped on the couch with Ink.

“Heyyy buddy friend pal!” Ink said excitedly. “What’s for lunch?”

“I thought I was clear, Error is not having lunch with us.” Dream interrupted, stepping in front of Papyrus and his brother.

“Aww come on, why not??” Ink whined. Dream began lecturing him as Sans sidled up to Papyrus.

“hey bro, i’m glad you're making friends don’t get me wrong, but could ya’ have picked… better ones?” Sans said, raising an eyebrow bone (honestly I don’t feel like googling the terminology just shhhh).

“THESE REALLY ARE GOOD FRIENDS! WELL, ERROR ISN’T, BUT I’M SURE WE CAN HELP HIM!!” Papyrus said, trying to be reasonable and look at it from Sans’s perspective. “THEY’RE VERY IMPORTANT, I CAN EXPLAIN OVER LUNCH.”

“aight, guess that brings us back to lunch, huh? whatcha want? i can make it today, so you can keep hangin’ out with your buddies.” Sans said.

“MAC AND CHEESE, PERHAPS?” Papyrus offered. Sans nodded, and was beginning to walk into the kitchen when there was a shout.

“SQUIIIIIIIIID!!!” Error shouted, his voice escalating and glitching hard. Ink paused, looking at the mad skeleton.

“Uhh… yea?” He said, an eye light flipping pale green.

“Why the hell am I here?!?” Error said, glaring at his ‘friend.’ It did not look like they were friends.

“Oh- I thought you might like lunch!” Ink said cherrily, throwing his hands up.

“You are perfectly welcome to leave,” Dream said in a voice that would’ve been icy had it been used by anyone else. Dream himself was so warm though that it was impossible for his words to have the same edge.

“Fucking hell squid, how many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?!” Error growled, standing up. As much as he was pretending to not be listening to Dream, he seemed about to accept his offer.

“I HAVE CHOCOLATE.” Papyrus said, remembering what Ink had asked him. Error whipped around and stared straight at Papyrus, locking eye sockets. He glared for a moment, and Papyrus got worried that Ink had remembered something wrong (again). Then, Error sat back down.

“Fine, I guess I can stay for lunch.” He said, scoffing, pointedly not looking at Ink. Sans grabbed Papyrus’s arm, yanking him into the kitchen.

“papyrus, where did these guys come from?” Sans said, keeping his voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear.

“THAT’S… HARD TO ANSWER. ELSEWHERE, I SUPPOSE. MAYBE HERE. THEY ARE ABLE TO EXPLAIN BETTER.” Papyrus said. It felt like he was telling a lie, or avoiding the truth. Even though he just couldn’t find the right words. He hoped Dream would clear everything up. Sans just sighed.

“that’s aight. go back to the living room, i don’t want your glitchy buddy tearing up the couch,” Sans said. Seeing Papyrus’s look, he added, “i’ll get the chocolate for him, don’t worry. and i won’t burn anything.” Sans relaxed his expression, the previously strained smile looking a bit more natural. As Sans turned to the cupboards to search for food, Papyrus walked back out to the living room.

“MY CARING BROTHER IS TAKING CARE OF LUNCH, IT WILL HOPEFULLY BE READY SOON.” Papyrus said. Error scoffed again, turning to look at the door in what appeared to be longing. “ERROR, I DON’T BELIEVE I INTRODUCED MYSELF TO YOU EARLIER.”

“You did.” He said dryly.

“I- I DID? REALLY?” Papyrus said.

“I’ve got no clue if you did or didn’t, but I know who you are and I’m sure golden there told you who I am.” Without moving his head, Error drifted his eye lights back over to Papyrus. They were mismatched, Papyrus realized. Dream huffed.

“Don’t bother Paper. Error’s a prick.” Dream walked over to Ink, shoved him closer to Error, then sat down at the very edge of the couch.

“He’s not a prick per say…” Ink said in a wheedling voice.

“Sure, go ahead and talk about me as if I’m not in the room.” Error said, his eye lights gliding back to the door.

“I APOLOGIZE FRIEND. LOOK, I RECOGNISE THAT YOU DON’T WANT TO INTRODUCE YOURSELF, BUT I WOULD.” Papyrus stuck out a hand. Error glared at it. “GREETINGS! I AM PAPER. I BELIEVE I’M FROM UNDERTALE.”

“I’m Error. I’m an outcode. Leave me alone.”

“I call Error’s AU Errortale!! There are others from his timeline out there I think…” Ink said, trailing off into thought that would surely be forgotten.

“They don’t fucking matter.” Error grumbled, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Would you lighten up on your language?!” Dream said, snapping a little. He had squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fuck shit damn,” Error said, and Papyrus could see a little smirk appear on his face. Error was proving to have… a difficult personality.

“keep the cuss words down in m’house please!” Sans called from the kitchen. Papyrus winced, realizing that this was Sans’s first impression of his new friends.

“HOW ABOUT THIS- DREAM AND I CAN FIND A BOARD GAME WE CAN PLAY WHILE WE WAIT FOR FOOD!” Papyrus threw a glance at Dream. His eye lights had reopened and he stood up. Error rolled his eye lights and Ink just looked passively happy. Papyrus walked behind the couch to a tired bookcase. It had puzzles, games, and cards that he and his brother played with when their free time lined up. Or when the snow outside was too much to go anywhere. While Papyrus and Dream pursued the games, Ink blathered to Error in the background.

“What about this one?” Dream said, pulling out a tan box titled “Munchkins” with cartoon humans on the front. Undyne had given it to him a few months ago, he and Sans had played it once.

“AH, ALRIGHT. FRIENDS! WE’RE PLAYING MUNCHKINS.” Papyrus said, walking back over to the couch and sitting down uncomfortable in front of the TV. Ink slipped to the ground happily, and Error made a big show of getting up and sitting back down, dragging a pillow Sans had left from the night before to the floor with him. Dream plopped down between Papyrus and Ink. It was game time, and Papyrus was ready to be competitive.